The Face At the Window

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘The little surprise I was telling you about has arrived.’ He grins and dashes into our bedroom. I can’t think what it can be.

  ‘Open it.’ He hands me a cardboard box.

  I pull up the tabs and take out a pile of tissue paper. There’s something carefully wrapped in more tissue paper underneath. I lift it out and glance at him.

  ‘Keep going,’ he says, rubbing his palms together.

  I carefully unwrap it. Inside are six beautifully carved wooden letters. I can’t believe he’s done this. Well, I can. Heat surges through me. I clench my teeth, holding in the urge to shout at him.

  ‘Don’t you like them? They’re all handcrafted and we can paint them if you want to?’

  I pin on my best smile. He’s been trying really hard lately.

  ‘All one colour, or different colours, it’s up to you.’ He picks up the letter T and smooths his fingers over the rounded polished edges, then holds it out to me between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘I thought we hadn’t decided yet.’ My voice is steady, considering.

  ‘I know but Thomas was the only name we both liked.’

  ‘What if they’re wrong and it’s a girl?’

  ‘Thomasina is nice.’

  ‘Is it?’ I take the letter T from him. The wood is cool and smooth. Tom, Thomas, Tommy. It’s a solid name with a softness to it.

  ‘Thomas was top of our list and you knew I really wanted to name him after my grandad.’

  ‘The baby’s not even born yet. What if you’ve jinxed it?’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap.’

  ‘I wish you’d checked with me first.’ I’m careful not to raise my voice.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for doing something nice. I thought you’d like it. I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘You have, honestly, it’s beautiful, but I wasn’t sure if I liked the name Thomas enough.’

  ‘What, you want me to send it back and call him something modern like Tyson or Tyler?’ His face reddens and the vein on his forehead is bulging. I should have kept quiet.

  ‘No, no, it’s okay. Honestly, it’s fine. You’re right, it was one of our favourite. And I do like it. I like it a lot. We’ll call our baby Thomas.’ I place the letter T on the window sill and he lines up the rest of them next to it.

  ‘Hello, Thomas,’ he says stroking my bump.

  After dinner, I hear Nick go out while I’m running a bath. I watch from the bedroom window. He hurries across the road, phone lit up in his hand. He seems to be heading in the direction of the park at the edge of the estate. I wonder if he’s meeting someone. If he is, I ought to feel devastated. Instead, a tiny part of me is relieved.

  Chapter Nine

  14 July 2018

  Scarlett

  I drive through Ashridge Forest and cruise slowly up the sweeping gravel drive to the country hotel in Aldbury. The white stone front is flood-lit with red lights. I pull up right outside, parking my old Fiesta next to a handful of Porches and Ferraris. A butler answers the door, takes my overnight bag from me and escorts me to the room at the top of the stairs, the one with the four-poster bed and luxury en-suite.

  Once I’ve freshened up, I wait for Cole on a gilt-edged chaise longue in the lounge. The chandelier reflects glittering light across the white-pillared room. A man in a tuxedo plays softly on the grand piano accompanied by the low murmur of intimate conversations coming from the other guests. I order a Sex on the Beach cocktail from the waiter and when it arrives I take a photo of it and add it to my Instagram page with the hashtag #livingthelife and #luxuryhotel. I Snapchat the same to Cole followed by a selfie of me holding the glass. I’d never have imagined being invited somewhere like this when we first met in the pub all those months ago.

  I’d gone in The King’s Arms that night by pure chance. I was supposed to be going to a house party, but I’d stopped there on the way for a couple of tequila shots with friends. Turned out the live band and the atmosphere was too good for any of us to leave.

  He was standing at the other side of the bar. His gaze kept sliding in my direction and our eyes met a couple of times. He exaggerated surprise at realizing it was me, apparently not quite believing it; he pointed at himself, at me and then the line-up of bottles behind the barman. I nodded, followed by a nonchalant shrug but inside I was screaming with utter, utter joy. It was as if the whole room fell away into a blur. I couldn’t believe it was really him. He was rock-star sexy in black jeans and white T-shirt with a fit body to match. He navigated his way over to me and his eyes were sparkling.

  ‘Is it really you?’ he’d said with a smile that ended me. He pretended he couldn’t remember my name. I was wearing calf-high boots, short tartan skirt and a black lacy top. I was no longer out of bounds.

  We’d leaned in at the same time and I let him kiss me on both cheeks. It merged into a half embrace which lingered with the side of his face in my hair, his hands gently on my arms. I took in a deep lungful of him mixed with Acqua Di Gio, setting off sparks all over my body. If I’d died in that moment, I’d have been happy.

  ‘So what have you been doing with yourself?’ He took a swig of beer, leaning on the bar. Even the way he held the bottle between his thumb and forefinger was sexy and cool.

  ‘I’m a shop assistant at Warehouse, saving up to do a journalism course. Trouble is I’m trying to save up for a flat too.’

  ‘You’ll get there, I know you will. You’re a hard worker.’ He’d looked me deep in the eyes and my pulse flew off the scale. Then he looked away abruptly as though he’d only just realized he was staring at me.

  ‘Where do you work now?’ I asked.

  ‘Local council’s environment department.’

  ‘Oh. Really? I would never have guessed you’d do something like that.’

  ‘I like it. Feel like I’m doing some good in the world.’

  ‘I thought you were before.’

  ‘Always good to try something different.’ He turned to the bar, making it clear that subject was closed. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Another Bud, please.’

  There were flecks of grey in the dark hair above his ears, he was at least ten years older than me, but his maturity added to his sexiness. He handed me a bottle and clinked his against it.

  ‘I watched some of those old films you were always banging on about. Rebel Without A Cause, Giant, North By Northwest, Rear Window, and yeah, I totally loved them.’ I put the beer bottle to my mouth and tipped it up. He seemed to be watching me intently.

  ‘Banging on, was I?’ He nodded his head slowly, a smile emerging on his lips. I laughed and he joined in, his eyes lingering on mine again.

  ‘I want to see more,’ I said.

  ‘Do you now?’ One eyebrow went up and we laughed again.

  ‘Seriously, I do. Got any other recommendations?’

  ‘I’ve got loads more I can suggest. But tell me about Hemingway?’

  ‘What about him?’ I tipped my head to one side and gently snagged my bottom lip with my teeth.

  ‘Did you ever?’ He pouted and waggled his beer bottle between us. ‘You and him?’

  ‘Yeah, actually. Several times. Fell for him completely. As soon as I read White Hills, then Francis Macomber, I was utterly smitten.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. So tell me what you made of the subtext in White Hills?’

  ‘That the man is an arse thinking an abortion is so easy.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve got to remember when it was written.’

  ‘Still an arse.’

  He laughed heartily. ‘You’ve not changed a bit, Scarlett.’

  We chatted for the rest of the evening and I soon found out he was drowning his sorrows because he’d not long split up with his wife. And I was there ready to pick him up.

  It wasn’t every day I was in the company of someone as gorgeous and intelligent as him. He genuinely seemed interested to hear what I had to say. I had no idea if he had feelings for me or simply admired me like other men did,
but it felt like it was about more than that, a real rekindling of minds. He wanted to know everything about me, what I liked, where I wanted to travel to, what I dreamed of doing with my life. We discussed our favourite American writers and all the countries and places we wanted to visit and found we both longed to tour Russia and Japan. I was in awe of us liking so many of the same things. Boys my age were usually into football and computer games and not many read books.

  ‘Will you come with me to the theatre one night?’ he’d asked, touching my palm with his fingertips.

  Was he asking me out on a date? The age gap didn’t bother me. He probably just wanted a bit of friendly company while he got over his wife.

  ‘I’d like that a lot. And one night you must let me take you to the Comedy Store.’

  I mentioned I was writing poetry again and he offered to read some for me if I wanted his opinion. He said he was writing too, a TV drama series he hoped to pitch to the BBC. He said I was the first person he’d told.

  ‘What’s it about?’ I’d asked him. We’d moved to a booth near the back of the pub by then, away from the live music down the front. No one else existed when we were talking, we were so focused on each other.

  ‘I suppose you could call it an up-to-date Waterloo Road,’ he said, ‘but based in a college rather than a secondary school. It covers all the subjects you’d expect: sex, drugs and bullying. The first episode is about a student who appears to be on drugs because they look so tired and dirty, but it turns out they’re caring for a sick parent whilst trying to study for their A levels. So far I’ve got a teacher love triangle and a student-teacher crush.’

  ‘Oh I see.’ I laughed and prodded his arm playfully.

  The smile in his eyes buoyed my heart. He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth, keeping his gaze fixed on me as he brushed each finger gently against his lips and tongue. From that moment on, I’d craved him with every inch of my mind and body.

  The butler opens the door and Cole strolls in like he’s James Bond, wearing a slim-fit suit and dicky bow. I come over all light-headed; I think I’m actually swooning. I wriggle my body, easing my tight dress into place before I stand up. He strides over and pulls me to him and kisses my lips.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he whispers in my ear and nibbles my lobe gently.

  After dinner, we’re all over each other as soon as we close our bedroom door.

  Later, we’re sitting on the bed in our fluffy bathrobes sipping chilled champagne.

  ‘Can’t we go to your house next time?’ I ask him, running the back of my fingers along the stubble on his face.

  ‘What – don’t you like it here?’ He reaches around my neck and guides me towards him. ‘I like spoiling you.’ He kisses me passionately, pressing his body against mine.

  I break away and gaze down at his chest, working my fingers through the hair covering his smooth skin. ‘I love it, I just wondered why you’ve not taken me there.’

  ‘It would be weird for you, upsetting maybe.’

  ‘Because her stuff is still in the house?’

  ‘Partly, although she’s moved most of it out. She’s not lived there for months.’

  ‘So let me come over, I want to see what it’s like so I can picture you there when you’re not with me.’

  ‘It could compromise the divorce if one of the neighbours saw you. She could accuse me of adultery.’

  ‘Okay, but once your divorce comes through, you want us to be together properly, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s the plan, but you wouldn’t want to live with another woman’s choice of décor, would you?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘You say that now but I don’t think you’d like it. You’re so wildly different from her. You have a much more eclectic taste and hers is so… bland.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Better for me to sell up and choose somewhere new together.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘Of course. Anything for you, you know that.’ He throws off his robe and stretches his long athletic body out on the bed.

  ‘Does she have to agree to the sale?’

  ‘It’ll be part of the divorce agreement.’

  ‘So she’ll get half?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It’s me who’s been paying most of the mortgage and I put the deposit down.’ He tucks his hands behind his head and starts doing sit-ups. I caress his taut biceps with my fingers every time his head touches the pillow.

  ‘By the way, I’ve sent off for my full birth certificate. Mum made sure I only had the short one which doesn’t have parents’ names on it.’

  ‘See, didn’t I tell you women have cunning ways of deleting fathers out of their children’s lives?’ He sits and tops up our glasses.

  ‘Well, not any more. As soon as I know his name, I’m going to find out where he lives and go and see him.’

  ‘Good for you. You can find out the truth behind why she stopped him seeing you in the first place.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m hoping, Sir.’ I salute him and he smiles, pulling me towards him. When he speaks to me in his teacher voice it takes me straight back to being in his classroom, and wanting to do anything to please him.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday 13 August 2018

  Gemma

  ‘Are you telling me you didn’t check a new employee’s address?’ Nick’s eyebrows shoot up, there’s fire in his eyes.

  ‘I checked it was genuine and was satisfied with that. There was no reason for me to question it.’ I picture Rosie walking into the cloakroom that day. How she’d comforted me and really listened. That wasn’t false. She’d genuinely cared.

  ‘But you checked her references, didn’t you?’ Nick clicks his jaw from side to side.

  ‘We’ll ask the questions here, thank you,’ says Seymour.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Have you got a minute?’ a policeman asks, looking round the door at Seymour and Read. They both excuse themselves and leave the room.

  As soon as the door clicks shut, Nick reaches over and spreads his hand out on my thigh, caressing my bare skin where my long shorts have ridden up. He holds me with his eyes, those eyes that first captured me, the dark rims around sea-green pupils.

  ‘How could you let someone walk off with our baby?’ His hand moves further up, under the hem and pinches my skin, pressing his fingers deep until I quietly yelp.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ I whimper, trying to pull away from him.

  ‘My son could be dead in a ditch by now, all thanks to you.’ He growls the words in my face through clenched teeth, his face screwed up close to mine, spit flying from his lips.

  ‘I didn’t know this would happen. She offered to help.’

  ‘She could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘It might not be her fault.’

  ‘Don’t be so fucking naïve. Palming him off on someone you barely know. What kind of mother does that?’ His fingers press my skin even harder, deeper. I try to move away, but he jabs the heel of his shoe down onto my toes.

  I squeal and reach down to press the throbbing pain. Blood seeps through my white canvas trainer.

  Then he lets go of me, sits upright in his chair and crosses his arms as though he’s not even spoken to me. The skin on my leg stings. The muscle feels bruised.

  The sergeant and inspector come back in and sit down, their faces solemn.

  ‘We’ve done a nationwide check on Rosie Symonds,’ Seymour says and glances at Read. ‘And there’s no one of that name living within a hundred miles of Bedford.’

  ‘What?’ I jump forward in my chair, trying to take in what she’s said.

  ‘How’s that possible?’ Nick drags his hand over his forehead.

  ‘It’s looking more and more like the woman who’s been calling herself Rosie Symonds has taken Thomas deliberately, befriending you, Gemma, for this very reason.’

  ‘I trusted her with my newborn baby.’


  ‘It’s okay, you weren’t to know, we’ll find him, I know we will.’ Nick takes my hands in his. I flinch, squinting up at him.

  ‘Why has she done this to me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gemma. If you can think of anything else she said to you that might be a clue…’ Inspector Read takes a sip of water, her eyes still on me.

  ‘Time is of the essence in cases such as this,’ Sergeant Seymour adds.

  ‘Which is why we’d like you both to do a TV appeal for information as soon as possible.’

  Nick nods, still holding my hand. But I’m not really listening, I’m thinking back to the day Rosie walked into the restaurant. Bright and friendly, full of enthusiasm. Something about it has been niggling me and suddenly, I remember.

  ‘There is one little thing.’

  ‘Yes?’ Read says.

  ‘The day Rosie came in for the waitressing job, there’d been another girl standing out on the pavement peering in through the glass. Something about her was familiar but I was distracted by Rosie speaking to me and I’ve only just thought of it now.’

  ‘Go on.’ Read finishes her water, exchanges a glance with Seymour and picks up a pencil.

  ‘The other girl had bright yellow trainers on. A few mornings before that I was opening up and felt someone following me. All the way from home pretty much. I’d glanced round a few times and all I’d seen behind me was this flash of yellow and black. I thought I was being paranoid because it was just a young girl, not a man who might have been a genuine threat.’

  ‘This could prove Rosie had already targeted you before she worked for you.’

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking. I mean, she came in off the street, she didn’t apply in the usual way and I was completely taken in by her experience and enthusiasm. One of the staff had let me down and she was there to help out. It seemed a good opportunity to give her a trial. She made me believe she really needed that job.’

  ‘We’ll have to see if this other girl helped her in any way…’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ I say, leaning forward, pressing my hand to my chest, ‘if her name’s not Rosie, then who is she? Who’s taken our baby?’