Nick gently squeezes my hand.
I pull away and run to the toilet next door and throw up.
Chapter Eleven
Nineteen Days Before
Gemma
Lunchtime trade today is busier than ever, but I’m desperate to sit down. I drag a stool over to the reception podium and ask Bonnie to show people to their tables for me. I rub my bump with the heel of my hand. Maybe the baby has shifted into its engaged position because it feels like it’s dragging down, so much heavier than last week. I’m not ready to become a mum yet. I’m terrified. I’d like to have waited a few more years but Nick was so desperate to become a dad, it was impossible to say no.
There’s a lull around 4 p.m. so I pick up my phone and check for messages. I keep hoping there’ll be a voicemail from Mum and Dad but there never is. I thought they might make an effort when I told them I was expecting their first grandchild, but it seems to have pushed them further away. If a baby doesn’t help them change their minds and forgive me, I don’t know what will.
I open Instagram and check the likes and comments. I blocked the person who was making crude remarks and put up a new set of photos of the redecorated nursery before the crib and furniture arrive. Now it’s finished it’s so fresh and airy. I took a photo of the wooden block letters on the window sill too. No harm sharing the baby’s name now we’ve decided, is there? If Nick doesn’t think it’s jinxing it then I shouldn’t either.
Nick’s already in bed when I get home. I stayed at work later than I intended but I need to make sure I’ve got all the rotas and supply orders in place in case the baby comes early.
I switch the kitchen light on and open the fridge. Nick has left me some chicken wings and salad. There’s a note stuck to the top of the cling film in a heart shape with ‘I love you xx’ written on it. He’s been different these last few days. More into the pregnancy and reading up on what to expect during childbirth, how he can prepare, what he can do during labour, rubbing my back, passing me drinks. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the delivery room at first and I didn’t push him because I knew Becca would be there for me if he wasn’t. But he’s researched it, talked to other dads, and he thinks he’ll regret it if he stays in the waiting room.
I turn the kitchen TV on low and catch up on the news while I eat. It’s so uncomfortable lying in any position now, I put off going to bed. But then I’m so tired in the mornings, I’m struggling to get up early. Some nights I seem to lay there tossing and turning until daylight.
I put Missy out and go upstairs. The nursery door is open. I go in, switch the light on and imagine carrying my baby to bed or coming in to check on him. I don’t want to be a stay-at-home-mum, though. I enjoy my job too much. Why should I give it up? Working after the baby’s born is going to be a challenge though because Nick thinks I should employ a manager to take over so I can have a year’s maternity leave, but I know that once that happens, he won’t want me to go back full time. He’ll make it as difficult as possible. My parents started a trust fund for me as soon as I was born, and that money helped me start my business three years ago. I’m grateful they didn’t change their minds about letting me have it. It gives me hope that they’ve not turned their backs on me completely. I named the restaurant Papa’s Pizza after my dad, as he’s the one who showed me how to make the best pizzas. Sometimes it feels like it’s the only bit of independence I have left although the profits go into our joint account.
I stand at the window looking out over the new estate. From here rooftops can be seen in all directions and skinny young trees that barely cast a shadow. Nick chose this house before it was built, months before we met, and by the time we came home from our honeymoon it was ready to move in to. We’re lucky to live in such a beautiful house that’s so perfect and pristine. But it’s not really me. If I had the choice, I’d live in the country in a house with a bit of space around it and character features like old fireplaces and alcoves, somewhere that needed renovating with a bit of TLC.
Something moves across the road, giving me a start. Someone is standing there in a baseball cap and tracksuit looking this way. I step back from the window, switch off the light. There’s a car parked half up on the pavement not far from them. I’m not sure of the make but it’s one of those old cars that teenagers race up and down in. What if they’re checking the place out to burgle later tonight? I creep downstairs and make sure all the doors are bolted.
When I check out of the nursery window again, the car and the person have gone.
Chapter Twelve
20 July 2018
Scarlett
I wonder what Cole is so desperate to tell me. After our night at the hotel last Saturday, I’m wondering if he’s going to ask me to move in with him. Anxiety dances in my stomach as I check his message again on my mobile. I stand at the corner of Bridge Street, out of sight. A black cat meows and rubs around my ankles. He looks a bit like Pixi. I shoo it away with a gentle swipe of my hand. Cole strolls up to the Co-op in his white T-shirt, jeans and Ray Bans. The doors swish open as though he has commanded them to.
Five minutes later, he’s out again, gripping a bottle of red by the neck in a see-through bag as though it’s a chicken he’s caught for dinner.
I haul my bag up higher on my shoulder and hurry after him. He rounds another corner, the bottle swinging low by his side.
I stop at the cafe, eye up the queue to check he’s there, then sit at a table set out on the pavement. A minute later he sits opposite me with a cappuccino and a black coffee, a bubble floating in the centre like an all-seeing eye. I cross my bare legs and turn sideways, as though he’s intruding on my space and I’ve never seen him before in my life.
He leans in close, grazing the side of my cheek with stubble and in his deep chocolatey voice come the words, ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ Sharp minty breath mixed with sexy aftershave. He momentarily pulls down his sunglasses and gazes at me. His eyes crease his tanned skin, the smile is surprisingly coy. A shimmer runs through my body. I want to touch him, kiss him but the rules are clear. No shows of affection in public. He can’t afford to compromise the divorce proceedings, I understand that. He doesn’t want me to be named as the reason his marriage has ended. Thoughtful of him. It was broken before I came along, though. I’m not a marriage wrecker.
He tips down a mouthful of coffee, eyeing me again over the top of his glasses. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting off to work?’
‘I’ve been laid off.’ The job at Warehouse was only temporary but it stings. I needed the money.
‘You’ll find something better.’ He taps a cigarette out of a packet from his shirt pocket. ‘I always said you were a rising star.’ He sticks one in his mouth and lights it, blows smoke away from my face then looks over his shoulders before he continues. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
I shrug as though I’m not bothered, but I’m desperate to hear what he has to say. ‘You texted, so here I am.’ My voice comes out in a strange undulating wave. Nothing like the confident way I usually sound.
And then his hand is on my knee, and my entire body melts to his warm touch, smoothing higher up my bare thigh and reaching all the way down to my ankles. I’m tingling all over. I want him so bad.
He checks around then leans in close again, his lips then teeth skimming my ear lobe, hot breath on my skin. Under the table his fingers caress between mine. I take in a lungful of his aftershave and float away on a fantasy.
‘It’s over, honey,’ he whispers in that sexy tone of his, so I’m not sure at first if he’s serious. He could be suggesting I strip off, his delivery is so steamy.
‘You what?’
‘We’re done.’ He draws his hands away and sits back as if that’s it, he’s had enough of me. The look on his face is that of someone who’d never contemplate going near someone like me.
Pins prick my eyes. I blink them away. Maybe I conjured his words up in my head and he didn’t say that at all, so I stay silent. But then he slams me
hard with:
‘I mean it, Scarlett.’ It’s his superior tone now. Always goes back to that. He shifts further back in his seat so he’s sitting poker straight.
‘I don’t understand—’ I cross my legs. My ditsy print skirt fans out either side of the chair. He can’t help glancing up and down, then straight at me, swallowing me up.
‘It’s complicated. You understand, don’t you.’ It’s not a question. He touches my shoulder lightly. A miniature version of me is reflected in his shades.
‘You mean the divorce is?’ I probably sound naïve but I don’t understand the ins and outs of it. Am I meant to know what it means to be stuck in a loveless marriage?
‘It’s just not possible.’ He presses his forehead.
‘I don’t understand… you said—’
‘I know, honey, I know.’ He gives my arm a gentle pinch as if to say he was stupid enough to believe it too.
‘But the other night at the hotel, I thought—’
‘I had an amazing time too, but things have changed.’
‘What has? I don’t understand.’
His phone rings, an old-fashioned trill and he stands abruptly, shifts his sunglasses onto his head. He holds a hand up to me which I guess is goodbye, then he weaves around tables to one as far away as possible and sits.
And just like that, I’m forgotten.
I stare into space, zone into the easy chatter around me. The clatter of cups on saucers and bursts of laughter. I’m dizzy with disbelief, trying to catch his eye but he’s still talking on his phone, checking his watch, then swinging back on the chair, scanning around everywhere, at everyone, except me.
Minutes later a woman joins him. She has mousy features, tiny eyes made bigger with smudged black kohl, beaming at him with her thin lip-gloss smile, fake honey-tanned skin, caramel balayage hair which snakes sleek and shiny halfway down her back. She raises two hands full of shopping bags. There’s a gold band round her ring finger. Cole stands, takes the bags from her and she holds his face, pausing a moment before kissing his lips.
This is his wife.
I am suddenly made of stone, unable to move. His arms wrap around her, face nestling in her hair – she is mine, he is saying to me, you don’t matter. Nausea pushes a lump into my throat. All our months together. All his promises. Now he’s back with her just like that?
She sits with him, unbuttons her coat and in slow motion it falls away. My mouth drops open at her undeniable bump. I’m such a fool. Always the fool. He’s hidden it well from me. I’ll give him complicated. He was fobbing me off.
We belong together, Cole, don’t you know that? I want to scream at them. A rage deep inside me threatens to erupt. I want to leap at him, tear him to shreds. But no. Far wiser to bide my time.
So I pretend to leave, scoop a stack of coins left for a tip into my palm and slope away without passing their table, but I know he’s seen me go. Her back is to me, the swathe of hair perfectly in place. Two innocent shopping bags packed with baby clothes nestle under the table by her legs.
I stride to the pavement at the front of the cafe and stop at the feet of a man sitting against the wall. He’s probably not as old as he looks, bowed over a plastic cup in front of his crossed legs. Grubby trousers full of holes. I drop the coins in with a satisfying clunk, half filling it. The man’s bearded face and earnest eyes tip up to meet mine. The question that springs to mind is: Is he old enough to be my dad? Mum’s voice pipes up in my head: I’ve told you not to ask me. I don’t want to talk about him.
In the car park behind the cafe, a honeysuckle bush gives off its thick sweet scent. I rub my eyes and wish I’d taken my hayfever tablet.
I wait in my Fiesta and watch them return to their flashy motor. A VW people carrier with fancy wheels. We’ve done it on the back seat. I feel stupidly melancholic and wonder for a moment if he’s thinking about us too. How special we are together. He promised me they were over long ago. What an idiot I was to believe him.
I have a sudden urge to pick up a handful of stones and chuck them, shatter the windscreen all over their smug faces. I’d love to get hold of his phone, scroll through all our sexy text messages and show her. I bet he’s deleted them now they’re back together. I wonder what she said to persuade him, apart from, I’m having our baby. What does he see in her? She’s nothing more than a mouse.
They get back to their car and Cole helps her into the passenger seat. If he spots my car, he doesn’t let on. She is seriously humongous. He must have known about it for months and kept it from me.
I follow them all the way back to a posh new estate on the other side of Bedford. I cannot believe he lives here. They pull onto the drive of their detached house, the size of about three of our semis. The front garden is full of flowers and exotic-looking shrubs, set back from the road. Pots of conifers perfectly lined up either side of the front door and there are even hanging fucking baskets. Kept me well away from all this, didn’t you, Cole?
Why does she deserve this life? Why should she have him? She’s got a fight on her hands because I’m going to get him back. Even if it kills me.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday 13 August 2018
Gemma
The police whisk us off to Millennium TV studios about ten miles away in Thurleigh. In the back of the car, Nick clicks the BBC news on his phone, and turns it up so we can both hear it.
‘Gemma Adams, a new mother from Bedford, left her newborn baby in the care of her employee outside Sainsbury’s supermarket this afternoon. Both employee and baby have since been reported missing. The young woman, Rosie Symonds, which is not believed to be her real name, offered to look after the crying infant while Gemma finished her shopping.
‘Baby Thomas, who went missing in his pram around 2.55 p.m., is just five days old. The police are concerned for the welfare of both baby Thomas and Rosie Symonds, and are asking the public to come forward with any information that may lead to their whereabouts.
‘Police have released CCTV footage of Rosie Symonds walking at pace, pushing Thomas in the pram towards the exit and out of the supermarket. Detective Inspector Rachel Read is with me now. What can the public do to help?
‘“Although we can’t see her face clearly in the footage, partly because of the large sunglasses she’s wearing, we’re asking for anyone who recognizes anything about this woman to come forward. She is aged 21, with mid-length blonde hair, slim build and approximately 5’ 7” tall. Any members of the public who saw her pushing a distinctive green BABYZEN pram should contact the police as soon as possible. Time is of the essence in cases such as this. We’re in what we call ‘the golden hour’, the first hour after anyone goes missing, which is when we’re most likely to find the person, child or in this case, baby, alive and well.”
‘Thank you, Inspector Read. Let’s go over live to our reporter who is outside the Adams’ family home in Bedford.
‘“Hello, yes, this is where Gemma Adams set off just a few short hours ago for what she thought would be a normal everyday shopping trip in the sunshine, enjoying being a new mum about town with her new baby. There was nothing to indicate that today she wouldn’t be bringing her baby home.
‘“Within the next half hour, the parents are to make an appeal for Thomas’s safe return. Police are asking for Rosie to give herself up and bring this little boy back to his distraught parents. Back to you in the studio.”’
Nick closes it and opens Facebook. He types in a post on his page in capital letters then shows it to me:
OUR NEWBORN BABY THOMAS WAS TAKEN FROM GEMMA THIS AFTERNOON WHILE SHE WAS IN THE SHOPS!!! CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT? PLEASE, IF ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO THIS WOMAN IS – ROSIE SYMONDS – THEN PLEASE TELL ME OR GEMMA OR THE POLICE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE SO WE CAN GET THOMAS BACK SAFELY. IF THIS SICKO IS READING THIS MESSAGE, YOU’RE TEARING US UP HERE, PLEASE BRING HIM BACK SAFE AND SOUND. (Please share this message far and wide. Link below to news story).
I open my bag, and take out Thomas’s sma
ll blue rabbit, clutching it to my face which is wet with tears. Please come back to me, my darling boy.
Chapter Fourteen
Eighteen Days Before
Gemma
I’ve taken the morning off because I have a check-up with the midwife at 10.30. The delivery van bringing the new furniture arrives just after 9 a.m. I’m upstairs but can’t rush to the door as easily as I used to, so I call Nick in case he hasn’t heard. He comes out of the kitchen drying his hands on a towel which he promptly slings over his shoulder and opens the door.
‘Could you bring them up to the nursery, please?’ Nick says when one of the deliverymen asks where we want them. He gives him two pairs of elasticated plastic shoe coverings.
The two of them open the back of the van and carry every box inside and up the stairs. They carefully unpack the handcrafted pieces and move them into place under my direction then take the packaging back out with them. The room looks exquisite. It’s almost ready for you, Thomas. I glide my hand over my bump and I can’t stop my mind flashing back to Christmas, the pain and blood and how I never thought I would reach this day. I’m so close to welcoming my baby into the world. He will be so loved.
One of the men hands Nick an electronic reader to sign. My gaze is drawn away from them to something moving across the road. There’s that person hanging around again. Baseball cap and hoodie. It’s probably one of the kids from the estate. I shouldn’t assume they’re all trouble just because of the hoodie. Maybe they live in this road or are waiting for someone they know. But the same car is parked further up so maybe they’re not from round here. I can’t see the number plate. They could be watching all the houses. See who’s coming and going. Should I call the police? I’ll mention it to Becca. Ben’s Neighbourhood Watch secretary for another month. He can email everyone about it.
The Face At the Window Page 5
