by Alex Lake
Our life, she noted, with relief. It’s still our life.
‘The kids are young enough,’ Sarah said. ‘And our life wasn’t exactly awesome. Which is why we’re here. It’d be a fresh start.’
‘We came for a break,’ Ben said. ‘Not forever. Once we’re home, things’ll get back to normal. I think moving permanently is a bit of a drastic step.’
Sarah didn’t reply. He was right; it was probably an over-reaction. But at that moment it felt like an answer to all their problems.
The rest of the week slipped by. They visited the Transport Museum, went to Kent to see Phil, a friend of Ben’s who had become a cider maker, and spent a day at Churchill’s former home, Chartwell.
At lunchtime on Saturday, Ben, Diana and Roger took the kids for lunch at the pub; Sarah stayed at the house.
She sat in the back garden in the sun, sipping a mug of coffee. She knew this was a holiday, and the reality would be different if they moved here, but she couldn’t shake the thought that it would be a good idea. They should at least consider it.
Ben was in his element, the kids were happy, and she felt great. The feeling of tightness in her chest, of shortness of breath, of low-level anxiety that threatened at any moment to break out into full-blown panic, was gone. Vanished. Totally absent. She felt lighter, freer, able to give her best self to Ben and the kids. It was an intoxicating feeling, and she couldn’t bear the thought of going home and losing it again.
She picked up her phone and checked her email. There’d been nothing odd all week. Maybe there were books about depression and suicide piling up at the house, but so what? It didn’t matter, not when they were so far away.
Although it would be hard to leave. The kids had friends. Her roots were deep; Jean would miss her.
She opened FaceTime and selected Jean. After a few rings, her friend’s face appeared. She was in her backyard.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Great,’ Sarah said. ‘Really great. Lot’s happening, though.’
‘Fill me in,’ Jean said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Ben’s mom’s sick,’ Sarah replied. ‘A few months left, at best.’
Jean looked startled. ‘God,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. Tell Ben, would you?’
‘I will. The weird thing is, she’s so much more fun now. Relaxed and happy, in an odd way. We’re having a lovely time.’
‘I’d love to visit London,’ Jean said. ‘Maybe some day. What are you doing?’
‘Hanging out, mainly. Although we’re going to Madame Tussauds on Tuesday morning, then to Regent’s Park. Maybe London Zoo.’
‘Sounds fantastic.’
‘It should be. And guess what? Ben was offered his old job back.’
There was a long pause. ‘Is he going to take it?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think he necessarily wants to. But I think he should at least consider it.’
‘And then you guys would live in different countries?’ Jean said. ‘Is this because of the affair? Are you breaking up?’
‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘We wouldn’t be breaking up.’ She looked at her friend’s face on the screen. ‘We’d all move here.’
5
Jean blinked a few times. Even on the tiny screen she looked shocked, then disbelieving, then amused.
‘It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ Sarah said. ‘But all the stuff that was going on – it really got to me. I was having panic attacks, starting to doubt my own sanity. I’m not sure I want to go back to it.’
‘Sarah,’ Jean said. ‘When you’re away it always feels better. You don’t have work and the stress of managing the kids. But you’ll get jobs and it’ll be the same over there.’
‘Except there won’t be someone pretending to be me sending emails to people, or writing letters to Ben in my handwriting.’
‘Ben thought it was you, right?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t me.’
‘I know, but bear with me.’ Jean paused. ‘What if it was you, Sarah? What if all the stress – work, kids – as well as the guilt of hiding the affair, was getting to you?’
Sarah tensed. She could feel the panic fluttering around her for the first time since they’d arrived in England.
‘But it wasn’t, Jean. I explained it to you. The quadcopter—’
‘I know. I’m only saying, what if it was? Then you would only be bringing it to a new place. When the stress started – it could all start again.’
Sarah felt tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe Jean doubted her. Jean, of all people. God, even five minutes talking to someone from Barrow had destroyed her peace of mind. It made her never want to go back. She was going to talk to Ben as soon as he got home.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Speak later.’
When Ben came home she steered him into the back garden. They stood on the edge of the lawn and Sarah told him about her conversation with Jean and her decision to ask him if they could stay for good.
Ben didn’t answer for a few moments.
‘I don’t think it’s the right time to make such a big decision,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary.’
‘It’s the perfect time,’ Sarah replied. ‘Don’t you see?’
‘No,’ Ben said. ‘I see it as the worst possible time.’ He looked at a hedge to avoid looking at her. ‘We just went through a very difficult few weeks,’ he said. ‘And then you told me you’d had an affair.’
‘Right,’ Sarah said. ‘Exactly. And you said it yourself the other day. Things are better here, and you’re worried if we go home we’ll be back to square one. Well, I am too. So let’s stay. We need to put this behind us, and moving here is a fresh start.’
‘And I don’t want a fresh start,’ Ben said. ‘I’m not even sure yet what the future holds for us, never mind making a massive decision to uproot our family.’
Sarah stared at him. ‘What do you mean, you’re not sure what the future holds for us? Are you saying you want to break up?’
‘No, not exactly.’
‘Then are you saying you think we might break up?’ Sarah said. ‘Because I didn’t think that was even on the table.’
Ben gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You had an affair, Sarah. You have your excuses – how you felt at the time, whatever other bullshit – but the fact is you had sex with another man, and I only found out because someone sent me a note. Someone who claims to be you – a claim you deny.’
‘Because it’s not true.’
‘But don’t you see, that makes it worse?’ He shook his head. ‘That means you had no intention of ever telling me. But you got busted, so you did. Or, you did send the letter, which means you did all the rest of the stuff, and in that case you’re lying, too.’
‘Or I’m crazy. Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde.’ She laughed. ‘I really can’t win, can I?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t. And so, to answer your earlier question – yes, it is on the table. For now, anyway.’
She didn’t reply. After a long pause, he spoke again.
‘But only on the table, Sarah. It’s not what I want. So let’s let things settle down. One step at a time, OK?’
Sarah nodded. She had no choice.
6
From her visit years ago she remembered Madame Tussauds as a bit dark and tawdry, a city-center version of a fairground attraction, but in its current incarnation it was fabulous. There was a magical sheen to the wax figures; even though you knew they were not real your mind was tricked by how closely they resembled their subjects, and when you stood near them there was a small surge of adrenaline, as though you were somehow closer to the actual person.
And for the kids it was a massive thrill: they posed with Kim Kardashian and Kanye, sat with the members of some boyband Sarah didn’t remember the name of, copied Usain Bolt’s lightning-bolt pose. Ben played air guitar beside Freddie Mercury – she could see he almost believed it was real, too – and she took her place
beside Sherlock Holmes – the Benedict Cumberbatch version.
Afterwards they walked through Regent’s Park, where they stopped to admire the black swans.
‘Don’t seem all that rare,’ Ben said. ‘At least not here.’
‘Where do they go in winter?’ Miles asked.
‘To Africa,’ Faye replied. ‘Birds go to Africa, where it’s warm.’
Miles smiled at his sister. After a week and a half away they were closer, friends as well as siblings. They all needed this as a family, needed this time to deepen the bonds between them. And, whether Ben was prepared to admit it or not, it was good for him too. He was relaxed, more himself. This was the right place for them; the longer they spent here, the clearer it became to Sarah.
‘I’m not sure swans go to Africa,’ Ben said. ‘It’s probably a bit far for them to fly.’
‘They do,’ Faye said. ‘I know they do.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Ben said. ‘What do you think, Sarah? Do swans fly to Africa in the winter?’
Sarah looked at the swans, paddling over the surface of the pond. They were beautiful, strong and regal, but she didn’t think they went to Africa in the winter. She couldn’t imagine them, flying south in a V-formation.
But geese did. Maybe swans did too. She realized she didn’t really know.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure. We can ask someone and find out.’
‘Google it,’ Miles said. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll Google it.’
Sarah took her phone from her bag and handed it to him. ‘There you go,’ she said.
‘Mom,’ Faye said. ‘Where’s Kimmy?’
Those two words – when spoken about a two-year-old in a public park near water – explode in your mind like a bomb. Sarah spun round, looking for her daughter.
She was not there. Not in their immediate vicinity. She looked up and scanned the rest of the park.
‘Ben,’ she said. ‘Kim. She’s gone.’
‘I know,’ Ben said, his voice tense. ‘I’m going to look for her. Stay with the kids.’
He began to run along the path, calling Kim’s name. Sarah felt the edges of her world close in. This couldn’t be happening, not now, not here, not when things had been going so well.
‘Mom,’ Miles said. He pointed to the other side of the pond. ‘She’s over there. Next to the trash can.’
Sarah followed the line of his finger. Half-hidden by a tall black trash can was the figure of a toddler.
It was Kim. In the water in front of her there was a large group of ducks; she was holding a plastic bag in one hand and with the other she was taking out chunks of bread and throwing them to the ducks.
‘Stay here.’ Sarah sprinted around the pond. ‘Ben,’ she called, as she ran. ‘Ben, she’s here.’
Ben – fifty yards away now – stopped and turned.
Sarah reached Kim and scooped her into her arms.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Don’t do that, Kim. Don’t ever run away again. Mommy was scared.’
‘Feeding ducks,’ Kim said.
Sarah looked at the bag in her hand.
‘Where did you get that?’ she said.
‘The woman gave it to me,’ Kim replied. ‘She was nice.’
‘What woman?’ Ben said. He was out of breath; he pressed his face to Kim’s cheek and she pulled away. ‘Is she nearby? Can you point to her?’
Kim looked around. She shook her head. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Was she old? Young?’ Sarah said. ‘What did she look like?’
Kim frowned and touched her head. ‘Hat,’ she said.
Sarah looked for any hat-wearing woman in the vicinity; there were a few baseball caps, but nothing else. It was pointless; she could hardly accost every woman in a hat and ask if they had – done what, exactly? Given a toddler a bag of breadcrumbs to feed the ducks? They hadn’t harmed her, or taken her. It was, at worst, an inappropriate thing to do without consulting the parents, but it wasn’t exactly a crime.
Although Sarah thought it should have been.
She was being over-sensitive because of what had been happening back in Barrow. This was nothing; she knew that.
But even so, Sarah could not shake the uneasy feeling there was more to this than she could see.
7
So, she comes to the final scene.
She thought she was safe on her vacation, the poor fool, but she is having doubts now, because of the woman in the park.
Really, she should have known. Did she think this is like a schoolyard bully? A clingy ex-boyfriend? An awkward situation at a party?
It is almost an insult. She should have figured out this is not some simple stalker or ill-wisher messing with her life.
This cannot be run away from or ignored or wished away.
This can no more be run away from than cancer. A change of location makes no difference whatsoever.
The only thing she could do would be to excise it. Cut it out. Cleanse the system of its poison. But she will not. She cannot. She would not know where to even start looking.
So instead she runs away. Pathetic, really. Feeble. And irritating.
And this was her best effort. This is all she had. Never mind; her best effort will soon be over.
She is a fish on a hook and the hook is stuck. The more she struggles the deeper it goes.
And now it is deep enough. It is time for this to come to its inevitable conclusion.
8
‘What about Hampton Court?’ Diana said. ‘I thought you were going there today?’
Sarah shook her head. She sipped the tea her mother-in-law made every morning for breakfast. ‘Slight change of plan. We decided to stay local. Have a low-key day.’
‘Oh.’ Diana raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, it’ll be nice to have you around. But I hope it isn’t too boring for the children.’
‘They’ll be OK. They’re tired after yesterday. They might even have a nap.’
Which would be a bonus, but it wasn’t the reason they’d decided to stay home. The real reason was that Sarah felt safer there. Yesterday’s duck-feeding episode was probably nothing, but she couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling it had left her with. And so a day at home was fine by her.
And she couldn’t fully shake the suspicion it could have been Diana. A woman in a hat – it fitted. Diana was wearing hats and scarves these days. And, with sunglasses and a disguised voice, Kim wouldn’t have recognized her. She didn’t see much of her grandmother, after all.
‘Diana,’ Sarah said, forcing a nonchalant tone into her voice and immediately regretting the obviousness of her effort, ‘where were you yesterday?’
‘At a medical appointment,’ Diana said. ‘As usual.’
‘Oh? What did they say?’
‘What they’ve been saying for a while.’ Diana looked at her. ‘Is this professional interest?’
She seemed defensive, which could be because she had been at the park. It could also be because she was a private person.
And then, why would she be at the park? If she had created all this to scare Sarah and Ben into leaving Barrow, why upset them now they were here?
‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘I was just asking.’
Before Diana could reply, there was a slap as the letterbox flapped shut. Diana stood up. ‘I’ll go.’
When she came back into the kitchen Diana was holding a postcard in her hand. She had an odd expression on her face: part confusion, part concern.
Sarah recognized the expression. It was how Ben had looked when the books and letters started to show up at their house.
‘What is it?’ she said.
Diana held it out to her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit strange. Take a look.’
The postcard was of the swans in Regent’s Park. Sarah didn’t need to turn it over to know what she would find on the other side.
It was her handwriting.
Dear Ben, Miles, Faye and Kim
I hope you are having a wonderful ho
liday. Both of me are! I AM! says one of me. ME TOO! says the other.
All the best! Sarah / Mom (or ‘Mum’, as they say here!)
Diana poured a glass of water. ‘It looks like your handwriting,’ she said. ‘Did you send it?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t.’
Diana nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But then who did send it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said. She could hardly get the words out; her chest was constricted, her breathing shallow. She fought a growing dizziness. She inhaled deeply, then slowly let the breath out.
‘Sarah? Are you OK? You look like you’re having a heart attack.’
She took another deep breath. ‘It feels like it,’ she gasped. She swayed in her seat. ‘It feels like a fucking heart attack.’ She looked up at her mother-in-law. ‘All this stuff at home,’ she said. ‘I thought it couldn’t touch us here, but I was wrong.’
The door opened and Ben came in. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
‘Wrong about what?’ he said.
Sarah slid the postcard across the table to him. ‘This came.’
He read the card and paled. ‘Shit. I thought this was over.’
‘I hoped we’d be safe here,’ Sarah said. ‘I was enjoying feeling free again.’
‘No,’ Diana said. ‘Whoever’s doing this wouldn’t be stopped by geography.’ She folded her arms. ‘Whoever it is, they are not sane, Sarah. These are not the actions of a rational human being. I’m at a loss, though, as to who it would be. Or why.’ She looked at Ben. ‘This could be dangerous person. You have considered that, I hope?’
Ben nodded. ‘We have. Can I talk to Sarah? Alone?’
‘I’ll go upstairs,’ Diana replied.
‘It’s OK,’ Ben said. ‘Would you mind keeping an eye on the children? We’ll go for a walk.’
They set off along the street. There was a Lebanese café on the corner; Ben sat at a table outside. The waitress came and he ordered a coffee; Sarah didn’t want anything.
‘So,’ he said, and put the postcard on the table. ‘Regent’s Park. Sent yesterday. We were there yesterday.’
‘I know.’
