It’s times like this when I have this urge to talk to you. You were always so good at keeping your cool, at knowing how to play things. You were even more pragmatic than me. That’s why you were OK with what we were doing – as was I. We felt able to separate our affair from our everyday lives, as if it existed in some fantasy realm, distinct from the real world. We weren’t in love. We were in lust with each other, obsessed with having sex with each other, being dirty, being naughty, and that is how our rational minds justified what we were doing even though – when I look back now – there is no justification for what we did, or the hurt we will cause should the truth come out.
I go downstairs armed with my knife, check every room, then bolt the front door. I then go to the kitchen, grab the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and pour a large glass, before taking it upstairs to my bedroom. I badly want to call Janine, but I know I can’t. This is something I must brave alone.
I should eat something after my long run, but I don’t feel hungry. I am incredibly tired, though, and yet, at the same time, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, knowing that the kidnapper has probably been in my house; knowing that there are photos of me and you together, but not knowing whether the kidnapper plans to send them to Greg and your wife.
But I must sleep. I need sleep badly. A deep, restful sleep. I realize there is only one solution. I go to my handbag and fish out the pills Dr Cousins gave me. Without hesitating, I unscrew the cap, tip one out and swallow it with a generous slug of wine. I pause, then down the rest of the wine and, in no time at all, I am asleep.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Greg
Now
You’re dead to the world, Amber, when I wake with a start at 3 a.m. We’re both naked and your bed is infused with the smell of sex. You’re lying flat on your stomach, your blonde tresses sheathing your shoulders and back, and when I see you like this, it’s hard to believe how rough you can be in bed. You were rougher than ever last night. I could feel your nails digging into my back when I went on top, and when you went down on me I was worried you might bite my penis off. But you didn’t, of course, and my climax was out of this world. But now you look so innocent, and I feel somewhat mortified to be lying naked next to you. Perhaps that’s why my sleep is disturbed?
In truth, I know it’s not just that. Chrissy’s affair is always there, chewing away at the back of my mind. I’m desperate to know who she slept with. I just want to see the bloke; understand what it was about him that excited her more than I could.
My mouth is dry, and I badly need water. I creep out of bed, pull on my boxers, then –
with one last look over my shoulder to make sure I haven’t disturbed you – I gently open the door and slink out into the hallway and head for the kitchen.
There’s a jug of filtered water in your fridge. I grab a tumbler and drink two glasses in quick succession. My mouth refreshed, I realize I’m starving because we fell asleep after having sex, having had no dinner. I find some cold leftover pasta and eat it straight from the plastic tub. I’d prefer it warmed up, but I don’t want to wake you with the microwave – it still tastes pretty good and satisfies my growling belly. Wide awake now, I decide there’s no point in going back to bed just yet. I’d be better off finding a book or watching some TV, and hope that one of these distractions makes me sleepy.
I head for your living room, pick up the remote control lying on the coffee table and switch on the TV but keep the volume down. Nothing grabs me. I switch it off, get up and look around for a book, but all you have are women’s magazines. I’m guessing you keep all your books in your study, but it’s the one room you didn’t want to show me, and so I respect your wishes and refrain from going to look in there.
Still restless, it occurs to me that a smoke might help. Since meeting you, I’ve been smoking on and off. I used to smoke but gave it up when Chrissy and I got together because I knew it was bad for me. But there’s nothing like a cigarette after sex, and it’s become a kind of tradition for us. I know you sometimes keep a pack in your coat pocket, and I’m sure you won’t mind me checking if you have any. I go to the hallway and find several coats hanging on the rack attached to the wall. I try a couple of pockets with no luck, then your plaid overcoat, hoping to strike lucky in there. And I do. I pull out a packet of Marlboros, but also something else.
A business card for Dr Freya Cousins. Chrissy’s psychiatrist and Dan’s ex-fiancée. Strange. I suddenly get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wonder, are you in therapy too? If so, why haven’t you mentioned this to me? Especially as you know Chrissy’s been seeing Dr Cousins, who was also dating my son. It makes me wonder what else you are hiding. And although I feel like I’m betraying your trust, something urges me to check out your study. A feeling that I might find some answers in there.
Although the door is shut, thankfully it’s not locked. You hadn’t banked on me getting up in the middle of the night to snoop around. I quietly go inside and close the door behind me. There are bookshelves to the left and right, a desk with a laptop, phone and assorted bits of stationery, various filing cabinets and a poster of the human brain – which strikes me as a little odd – on the wall. There’s no debating it’s kitted out as an office. But then I spot something rather alarming: a reclining couch to the left of the desk. A psychiatrist’s couch. I scan the bookshelves, stacked with various titles on the mind, psychology and psychiatry, along with a few novels, all psychological thrillers.
And then I spy confirmation of what I was most dreading. Pinned to the wall just behind the desk is a degree in medicine from Imperial College awarded to Dr Freya Cousins.
The ghastly truth hits me like a slap across the face. I’ve been sleeping with my wife’s shrink, and even worse, my son’s fiancée. But why are you pretending to be someone else with me?
Why are you playing this sick game with me and my family?
And who are you, really?
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Christine
Now
Jesus, I feel sick. Sick, dizzy and dry-mouthed. And my head is killing me. I’ve just woken up and can see from the time showing on my bedside clock that I’ve been asleep for fifteen hours. I didn’t wake once in the night; exactly what I wanted. So why don’t I feel refreshed? Why do I feel like I’ve got the biggest hangover ever, when I drank no more than one glass of wine last night?
I ease myself off the bed, my head still feeling like it’s being stabbed by a thousand needles, while my stomach is churning so violently I virtually have to crawl to the bathroom to pee. And then, sitting on the loo, I remember taking one of Dr Cousins’ pills, and why I took it. The photographs of me and you kissing; the note warning me not to show them to the police.
I still can’t understand how the intruder got in. There was no visible sign of a break-in, and the only people apart from me who have keys to the house are Greg, Daniel, Ella, Janine and Miranda. And it can’t be any of them.
Can it?
Downstairs, I drink a pint of water, make some strong coffee, and slowly begin to feel better. It was absolute bliss to sleep through the night, but I’m not sure I can face feeling like this every morning. I wonder if the pills affected Janine this badly? Maybe they can’t be mixed with any alcohol? But surely Dr Cousins would have warned me if that was the case? I’m about to call Janine to ask if she can shed any light on this when the doorbell rings. It’s 9 a.m., too early for the postman. Feeling on edge after last night, I go to the window to check who it is.
It’s Daniel. I’m shocked to see him standing there, not just because it’s early but because Greg said he was refusing to see or speak to me. Plus he invariably lets himself in with his own keys. No doubt he’s here to lash out at me. It’s the last thing I need, but I can’t turn him away. I’ve done that enough times over the years, and I know how badly he must be hurting.
I’m not dressed, but I can’t possibly go to the door in my dressing gown; he’ll respect me even less.
I call out, ‘Hang on,’ then rush upstairs and throw on some joggers and a sweatshirt, before racing back down and unbolting the front door.
He looks awful. Sunken eyes, blotchy face, as if he’s been drinking too much, and his hair is greasy and unkempt. ‘What took you so long?’ he snarls. ‘I was about to let myself in, but thought it only polite to knock first. Even though you don’t deserve it.’
‘Come in,’ I say, ignoring his remark. There’s no point in getting into a meaningless argument.
He comes in without taking his coat off, then heads straight for the living room. I follow him there and we sit down on opposite sofas. The atmosphere is stifling as I wait for him to speak. Finally, he says, ‘So you had an affair behind Dad’s back, and that’s why Freya feels uncomfortable being my fiancée and your shrink at the same time. You managed to make things so awkward for her, she’s ended our engagement. Tell me, Mum, why do you do it? Why do you seem to enjoy making me miserable?’
I’m crushed by his words because what he’s accusing me of isn’t true. Causing him further unhappiness is the last thing I wanted. But I understand why he sees it that way.
‘I don’t enjoy making you miserable, and it was certainly never my intention to break you and Freya up,’ I say. I yearn to go over to him and place my hand on his, but I know he’ll snatch it away so there’s no point. I wasn’t a good mother to him as a child, so why would he welcome my affections now?
‘Why confess to your affair now, after all these years you’ve kept quiet, lied to me, to Ella, to Dad? Was it purely because of the note, the email?’
I realize Greg must have told him about those. ‘No – I mean, I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t even aware of the email when I told Freya. She was very persuasive. She encouraged me to be honest with her in a way that others hadn’t before. And there was something so soothing, so engaging about her, it just felt right to tell her. Yes, the note played a part in my decision, but so did hearing about your father’s affair, which I assume you now know about?’
Daniel nods.
‘I guess it made me less afraid to tell her.’
‘I see. An eye for an eye, right, Mum?’
‘No,’ I protest, although he’s probably not entirely off the mark. I certainly felt less guilty telling Dr Cousins about my affair after finding out about Greg’s.
‘And what about the email calling you a whore? How does that make you feel, Mother? Not good, I bet.’ Daniel’s eyes are scornful and it’s obvious he enjoyed saying that word, making me feel cheap, making my cheeks prickle with shame.
‘No,’ I reply, ‘not good at all.’
‘Can’t you try and change her mind?’ Daniel pleads. Scorn is replaced by despair, and my son looks about ten again. ‘Won’t you at least do that for me? Ella says you’re too self-absorbed to do such a selfless thing – that you always put your own needs first and there’s no chance of you changing now – but is she right, Mum?’
‘Ella knows about my affair?’
‘Yes, of course. She’s the one who told me about it; along with the note and the email. She knows about Dad’s affair, too. He told her when they met up for dinner.’
It feels like my entire family is ganging up on me. ‘Your father said you didn’t want my help.’ I look at Daniel, hoping for a reaction, but he remains poker-faced. ‘Despite that, I tried to help. I asked Freya yesterday to rethink her decision.’
‘You did?’ Daniel’s eyes are suddenly anxious.
‘Yes.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said it was too late, that she knew too much.’
I watch his shoulders slump. ‘I don’t get it. It’s not like I’ve lied to her. And it can’t be our age difference. It’s never felt like an issue. It’s you, all you!’
‘Daniel…’ I say, rising from the sofa to go and comfort him, but he anticipates my move and leaps up before I can get to him. ‘I can try again,’ I offer. ‘She might still change her mind now that you know the truth. She won’t be keeping anything from you any more.’
Daniel looks up, mutters, ‘Yeah, OK, whatever.’
‘Do you want me to or not?’ I say more sternly.
‘Yeah, I said yes.’
‘OK then, I will.’
Daniel’s face relaxes a little as he offers a grudging, ‘Thanks.’
There’s an uneasy pause, and I hate the fact that there should be such awkwardness between me and my own child. But there it is, it’s all my doing, and I need to accept it.
‘Who was he, Mum?’ Daniel’s question breaks the quiet. I’d half expected him to ask, but I still don’t feel prepared for it. I answer the only way I’m able to.
‘It’s not important. What’s done is done. It happened a long time ago, and not a day’s gone by since Heidi was taken when I haven’t regretted it.’
‘Still not being honest, even after causing all this heartache.’ He grimaces, before making for the door.
‘Please, Daniel, I’m not keeping quiet for my sake. Other people’s feelings are at stake, and I’m thinking of them, not me.’
‘Yeah, right, you’re such a saint,’ he sneers, before leaving and slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Sixty
Ella
Now
I’ve not seen or heard from you in some time, Robyn, and I’m starting to worry. OK, so you’ve always been secretive. I mean, I’ve never even seen your flat because you say it’s safer for you to come to mine, which is probably true because I know you live in North London and so there’s every chance of us being spotted together by Mum or someone she knows, and I’m still not ready to tell her I’m into women.
But still, I’m beginning to wonder what you’re hiding from me. Why you go off for days on end, fail to return my messages, almost vanish into thin air. Are you seeing someone else? The very idea makes me feel ill. I can’t bear the thought of you being with another woman. Or a man.
Dan’s gone to have it out with Mum today. I told him all about my dinner with Dad; what he said about the note, the email (omitting the fact that we sent them, of course), and the fact that Dad’s having an affair. Dan almost seemed jealous of Dad, perhaps because he and Freya have split up and – in his usual selfish way – he’s finding it hard to be happy for someone else who’s found a bit of joy in life. And he didn’t even seem bothered about the possibility of Heidi being out there. He said she’s like a bad penny: always turns up and manages to ruin our lives, even after all this time. He said there’s no getting away from her, that he wishes they’d find her body and we could be rid of her for good.
And for once, I agree with my brother.
Chapter Sixty-One
Christine
Now
It’s midday, and I’m with Dr Cousins again. When I turned up without an appointment, she looked very surprised to see me. In fact, I thought I detected a hint of anger in her demeanour, despite telling me before she doesn’t believe in strict rules. Perhaps she thinks I’m becoming obsessed. Stalkerish. But after leaving me in her office for five minutes while she sorted herself out, she was all smiles and back to her usual composed self when she returned.
‘So why are you here, Christine?’
‘Well, firstly, I took one of those pills you gave me.’
‘And? Did it work?’
‘Well, yes and no,’ I say.
She frowns.
‘Yes, in that I slept through the night, but no, in that I woke with what felt like a raging hangover. The absolute worst. And my mouth was so dry. Is that normal?’
‘Did you have a glass of wine at the same time?’
I feel myself blush, give a feeble, ‘Yes.’
‘Ah, that’s the reason then. Sorry, I should have made that clear. They’re perfectly safe provided you don’t combine them with alcohol and aren’t dehydrated. Did you at least take the pill with water?’
No wonder I felt like death. Not only did I take the pill with wine, I must have been massively dehy
drated from my run at the gym. I meant to drink the water I took upstairs with me after I got home, but the photos distracted me. I tell her about my oversight (but not about the photos), feeling relieved that there’s a rational explanation, but also annoyed with her for not warning me of the possible side effects. It feels slack, irresponsible, and not what I’d expect of a professional.
‘And the other thing?’ she says. ‘Has something happened since yesterday?’
As usual, she reads my mind. Like she knows something’s happened to upset me since we last met. But how can I tell her about the photos, let her into my life again, when the main reason I’m here is to try and convince her to get back with Daniel? It’s the opposite of what I should be doing. I’m not here for me, I’m here for him.
So I lie, say no, nothing’s happened since our last session. She seems surprised, but lets it go. I then tell her how unhappy Daniel is.
‘Won’t you reconsider? Surely you still love him? You can’t have fallen out of love with him so quickly because of me? And now he knows about my affair, what does it matter? It’s all out in the open.’
‘Please don’t tell me how I should be feeling, Christine.’ She doesn’t raise her voice, but there’s an acidity to it which unnerves me.
‘I’m not,’ I protest. ‘It’s just that I feel guilty for breaking you two up. I feel responsible for Daniel’s unhappiness.’
‘Daniel’s a grown man, he’ll get over it. Besides, you’ve been responsible for his unhappiness his whole life, why change old habits?’
Her vindictive words stun me, but before I can say anything in response, she says, ‘I can tell something’s troubling you, Christine. Something other than Daniel. Tell me what it is.’
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