So far, so good, but still panic rises inside me. I run across to my car, open the door and turn the key, praying silently that the engine will start. It coughs and splutters. I turn the ignition again. The engine begins to throb. I push my foot down on the accelerator, and escape from the farm car-parking area as fast as I can.
64
Faye
My mount, Jack, is not a horse but a giant. He towers above me as I walk towards him trembling inside. I stroke his neck. He snorts and shakes his head as if he is trying to push me away.
‘Steady, boy,’ I say.
But he does not steady. He carries on snorting and shaking his head. I move back towards his belly and holding the front of the saddle with my left hand, just as I have been taught, put my left foot into the stirrup and lift myself over his back. I sit trying to be assertive, trying to remember everything Kate has told me. Firmly, calmly, pressing my bottom down. Sitting proud, shoulders flat, back straight. Holding his reins firmly. He lifts his neck back and whinnies, almost throwing me off.
‘First we want you to walk him around the arena a few times,’ Sandy instructs, standing legs wide, knees slightly bent, adjusting his camera. ‘Then rise to a trot and finally a canter for as long as you can stand it, so that I can get as many shots as possible.’ He pauses. ‘If I’ve not got enough we’ll need to start the whole process again.’
I manage a nod and a hesitant smile, and squeeze my thighs against the brute’s sides to get him to walk. Walking forwards distracts him. He stops throwing his head back and whinnying. Maybe he is calming down. Maybe everything is going to be all right.
I stroke his neck. ‘Nice and easy,’ I purr softly.
‘Trot now,’ Sandy says.
I squeeze his flank tightly but he carries on walking.
‘Use your whip, woman. Tell him who’s boss,’ Sandy barks.
Slowly, slowly I lift my whip. Slowly, slowly, I lash it down. He bolts from walk to trot to canter, in what seems like a matter of seconds. I lean forwards, holding on to his neck. A few more strides and he is galloping.
‘Pull the reins,’ Sandy shouts.
‘Pull the reins,’ Mrs Matterson calls through a megaphone.
He is moving so fast, vibrating my whole body, the reins have slipped from my grasp. Too frightened to move towards them in the saddle, all I can do is hang on to his neck. And scream.
‘Stop screaming,’ Mrs Matterson shouts. ‘You’re making it worse.’
I hang on more tightly, and my screaming increases. The gate to the arena is open and Jack thunders through it. The rhythm of his hooves is pulsating through my brain and stopping me from thinking. I don’t know what to do. He races through another gate and into the field beyond.
The pounding of his body is settling, becoming more consistent. I am getting used to the beat of his gallop. I manage to lean forward and grab the reins. To sit more proudly in the saddle and tug them. His head jerks back and he begins to slow. Round and round the field he canters. But at least it is only a canter now. I pull and pull, leaning back, and the canter diminishes to a trot. Up down, up down like Kate taught me. I am guiding him by the reins now.
I guide him past Sandy and Mrs Matterson, who are standing at the edge of the field. Sandy has the camera on me. I ride him back into the arena. I dismount and stand holding his bridle, trying to disguise the tremor in my hand.
‘That was awesome,’ Sandy says. ‘I got some amazing action shots.’
My body aches as I leave the arena and make my way back to the changing room to collect my things. But I am pleased; proud of myself for coping with this. When I am almost there, Sandy catches up with me. He puts his hands on my shoulders. I turn around and find myself looking into his soft brown eyes. He pushes his hair back from his face.
‘I thought that was awesome,’ he says.
‘Thanks.’
He stands, staring at me. ‘But Mrs Matterson didn’t, and she’s the client,’ he continues. He pauses. He swallows. ‘I am afraid she said we need to reshoot with a model who can ride.’
I smell the faint aroma of cigarettes on his breath, and wish for a second that I hadn’t given up when I was pregnant with Tamsin, and that I could have a smoke right now.
‘Thanks. You win some and you lose some,’ I say, hoping he can’t hear the wobble in my voice.
I turn away from him, towards the changing room, burning with anger, pushing back tears. I worked so hard for this. I need to pull off my riding clothes and get back in time to pick Tamsin up from school. My fashionable riding clothes are tight, so tight, they cling to my skin. They take some peeling off as my anger is making my fingers tremble.
Half an hour later as I walk back to the car park, it’s drizzling. A steady bone-chilling drizzle to match my mood. I should never have accepted this job in the first place. From now on I will not accept projects that mean I am punching above my weight.
As I approach my car, I know something isn’t right. The car looks to be at a funny angle. As I walk closer my heart sinks as I realise I have two flat tyres.
65
Jonah
Sitting in my car outside school, waiting. Scrolling through the photographs of you on my phone; all marred by Phillip. Then I find the photograph I took the night we made love and my heart lurches. I took it as a selfie, just before you climaxed. What amazing sexual prowess, to be making you come and taking a photograph. As soon as Phillip sees it your marriage will break up. It is my ‘pièce de résistance’. My trump card.
I look out of the window. Where are you, Faye? Why are you so late today? I need to have you near me now. To inhale your breath as it brushes across my face. To feel the heat of your skin, as you caress me. I take the photograph I stole from your house out of my wallet and sit looking at it. If I’d known you then, we wouldn’t have had to wait this long.
I close my eyes and see you standing in front of me. The way you are now, with a slightly softer body that has filled out. Liz Taylor eyes. Strawberry lips, slightly parted. You lick your lips. You open your legs. I put my hand down my pants and begin to play with myself.
66
Faye
Two flat tyres. No spare. I don’t know how to change a tyre anyway. Hands trembling, I pull my phone out of my bag to telephone the AA.
‘Please send help as quickly as possible,’ I beg. ‘I’m a woman alone, in the middle of nowhere.’
It’s not true, but I can’t face going back to spend time with the harridan Mrs Matterson, and to face Sandy, who had such high hopes of doing a good photoshoot with me. He will never want to work with me again.
I look at my watch. An hour before school pickup. If the AA come quickly I should just about be all right. Sitting inside the car to keep out of the drizzle, exhausted after the disastrous photoshoot, listening to iTunes shuffle on my iPhone. Before too long I fall asleep and dream.
Jonah and Phillip are wrestling one another in a ring, but Jonah’s body has become super-sized. The muscles in his arms are the same shape as a rugby ball. He throws Phillip across the ring, so that he lands on his back, then sits on top of him and begins to pummel his face. Phillip is screaming. I try to move towards him to help him, but my limbs won’t move.
The sound of the AA van’s engine wakes me up, and I sit watching it come into focus, worrying about Phillip. It parks next to me. I watch the mechanic step out and walk towards me, beginning to realise that Phillip must be OK, because it was just a dream. The mechanic knocks on the car window and I step outside into air still thick with drizzle.
‘Thanks so much for coming,’ I manage to say.
‘That’s what we’re here for.’
I smile. ‘Third emergency service, and all that.’
He smiles back. ‘Exactly.’
A middle-aged man, with a substantial stomach and a reassuring smile. He busies himself inspecting my tyres. He stands a while staring, head on one side. He turns towards me, face stern.
‘You’d better call the police,
this has been done deliberately,’ he announces. ‘The holes are in the wrong place for nails or glass on the road.’
I go cold inside. My chest tightens. Is Jonah here watching me? Waiting to attack me? Waiting to attack my husband, like in my dream? But I cannot call the police. I need to try and placate Jonah myself.
‘Thank you,’ I say, not able to explain how much I need to keep my problems to myself.
He meanders to his van and returns with two temporary spare tyres. I stand and watch as he removes my damaged tyres and replaces them. Thinking about Jonah. About what he could do to me. To Phillip.
‘All done now,’ the AA man says. ‘These tyres won’t last long but they’ll get you home. You need to get new tyres as soon as possible.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you all right? You look so pale.’
‘It’s been a busy day, that’s all.’ I shake his hand gratefully. ‘Thank you so much,’ I gush.
I look at my watch. I’ll have to ring the school and ask them to keep Tamsin in the After-School Club.
67
Jonah
Still sitting outside your daughter’s school waiting for you. You are usually here by now. Why are you late today? The other mothers are all arriving, warmly wrapped in their frumpy coats. I need you to arrive. I need your colour, Faye.
68
Erica
The mothers, interspersed with the occasional father, are congregating like gannets. Chatting and laughing, but only the in crowd understands the joke.
Parky, red-faced and eagle-eyed, as responsible and protective as ever, is letting children out of class. One at a time, as soon as he sees their parents hovering at the classroom door. I beam my best smile at him, step forward and introduce myself.
‘Hi, I’m Erica. A member of staff.’
‘School dinners?’ Parky asks with a smile.
I nod. ‘And I’m a close friend of Faye Baker’s. She’s been delayed and just telephoned me to ask me to pick up Tamsin. She’s coming out with me later anyway for my daughter Rosalie’s birthday treat.’
Parky beams back.
‘How lovely,’ he says. I sigh inside with relief.
He steps to the side and Tamsin walks towards me. She smiles. I think she is pleased to see me.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ she asks.
‘She’s been delayed at the photoshoot. She asked me to pick you up.’
Her face crumples a little. I take her by the hand, and start to walk her through the playground.
‘Mummy always picks me up,’ she says, trying to pull her hand away from mine.
Why is she being so whingy?
‘She’ll be here soon,’ I say, gripping her hand more firmly.
I tug her arm a little, in an attempt to make her move more quickly. Through the playground, past the climbing frame and swings. Past mothers walking the other way, towards pickup. Past the annexe. Past the school office. We step out of the school gate and I see your boyfriend, Faye. Car slung across the yellow zigzags. Wearing a black cashmere coat with a velvet collar. Very City. Very polished. He’ll have a long wait today to see you.
Still holding Tamsin’s hand, I rummage in my pocket for my car keys.
‘Parky says we should never get in cars with strangers,’ Tamsin says.
‘I’m not a stranger. Your mummy and I are good friends. We can wait here if you like,’ I say, smiling, ‘but I’ve got chocolate shortbread and juice for you in the car. And it’s much warmer in there.’
She is looking at me wide-eyed, unsure what to do. My heart is pounding. Why is she scared of me?
‘I normally walk home,’ she says.
‘We’re not going far.’
Holding my breath, I scoop her in my arms, her cheek pressed against my face. Her skin smells fresh, of cherry blossom. So young. So smooth. So perfect. I open the car door. I lift her into the child seat I bought in the Oxfam shop and strap her in. I hand her a bottle of juice and the chocolate shortbread.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
I turn the key in the ignition and drive off – locking the childproof door locks. Left onto the main road, right at the lights by the garden centre, weaving our way towards the A316 and the motorway. Watching Tamsin, demolishing her shortbread, through the rear-view mirror, crumbs all around her mouth. As I settle in the middle lane she starts to swig juice from the bottle.
After a while she announces, ‘I need a wee.’
‘You’ll have to hold it in.’
‘I can’t. I need to get out.’
‘We can’t stop here.’
‘I can’t hold it in.’
She begins to cry. To shriek. I turn the radio up loud to drown out her noise. After a while, much to my relief, she falls asleep.
At last we arrive at the Premier Inn I’ve pre-booked in Camberley. It is costing me all my savings to stay here for a few nights. Then I will have to lie low with her. Quite where I haven’t decided. Somewhere no one knows us. She will have to be home-schooled. A tremor of panic runs through me, as I realise I have not thought this through. All I did was plan to abduct her. I didn’t consider the practicalities of caring for her afterwards.
As I lift her from the car seat, she wakes up. ‘I need a wee. Where’s Mummy?’ she shrieks.
‘We’re going inside now, so you’ll soon be able to go to the toilet.’
‘I can’t wait. It’s coming out.’
I put her feet down on the car park tarmac, as she stands and wets herself. She is sobbing, shoulders heaving, gasping for breath between sobs.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll wash your knickers. It doesn’t matter,’ I say, lifting her back into my arms and stroking her hair.
Her sobs begin to soften and quieten. They stop.
‘You’ve got a giant house,’ she says pointing towards the Premier Inn, and wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
‘It’s not my house, it’s a hotel,’ I tell her.
‘A hotel? Why aren’t we going to your house?’
‘It’s on the way back from the photoshoot, so it’s easier for your mummy to come here.’
Large eyes become larger still. ‘Will she be here soon?’
‘Very, very soon,’ I try not to snap.
She begins to struggle to pull from my arms and get her feet on the ground. I hold her tightly, so tightly.
She continues to struggle while I check in. And even though I am fit, still doing plenty of exercise, her energy is already making me tired. The receptionist is wearing virulent purple to match the Premier Inn logo, clashing with her scarlet lipstick, which cracks as she smiles. She hands me a plastic key card.
‘Thank you,’ I say, exhausted.
Back aching, struggling with Tamsin in my arms, luggage slung across my shoulders, I move slowly in the direction of our bedroom. When we arrive it opens out before me: a giant double bed with a purple counterpane, ultra-modern TV. I place Tamsin on the bed, throw my bag on the floor and pop to the bathroom. I splash my face with cold water to try and relax. When I step back into the room Tamsin is sitting in the middle of the bed, watching a silly cartoon. A man with a sponge for a face. When we get back home she will have to watch something more erudite. My child will be educated properly. To make up for the education I never had.
‘Will Mummy be here soon?’ she asks.
‘Very, very soon. But please stop asking that.’ I pause. ‘And I think you’d better take your knickers off so that I can wash them.’
I haven’t got any spare clothes. I haven’t got any toys for her to play with. I haven’t got hold of the food she likes. I can’t drive home; the police will soon spot me. What was I thinking? How I am going to look after her without getting caught?
69
Jonah
I cannot see you, Faye, but I can see Tamsin. Stepping out of the gates, holding another woman’s hand.
A big woman who looks familiar, wearing a cashmere coat, with quirky pointy hair. Where do I know her from? I turn my mind in
on itself to concentrate. The more I concentrate, the more I figure that I just keep seeing her around. Is she your friend, Faye? But I’ve never seen you talking to her. Where does she live? Where is she going? Where is she taking Tamsin?
She lifts Tamsin into her car, looking as if she is inhaling her, and bends inside to strap her in. Then she stands outside the car and looks around as if she wants to know who’s watching her. She has strong cheekbones, a roman nose and small eyes. After she has scanned the surrounding area, she opens the front door of her car and slips inside. She seems to spend quite a while looking through the rear-view mirror before she starts the engine, as if she is checking up on Tamsin.
She pulls away from the school. I start my engine and follow her.
70
Faye
‘You don’t need to worry about Tamsin,’ the school secretary informs me over the hands-free car phone. ‘Our staff member Erica told us about the special treat she had planned for her. Erica told us you had contacted her to ask her to collect Tamsin for you.’
My mouth is dry. My heart stops beating.
‘I didn’t contact Erica,’ I shout at the speaker, trying to keep my eyes on the road ahead.
‘But … but …’ the school secretary splutters.
‘I don’t even have her phone number,’ I interrupt.
A lorry overtakes me on the motorway. It catches my car in its slipstream and pulls it to one side. When I have held the wheel steady and escaped from the pull of the lorry, I bark into the phone, ‘Find out where my daughter is!’
‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’
Nausea overcomes me. I retch as I hang on to the steering wheel. Was it Erica, or Jonah, who let down my tyres? I press the phone to contact Phillip on speed dial.
Envy Page 10
