The moment I put the phone face down on the bed, it pings. A text from Becca.
Hey, Gemma, I’m still at work. I’ve only just seen your message. What the fuck happened? This is unbelievably terrible!! Going to watch latest news now. Will come over as soon as I get back. Chin up xxx
I haul myself off the bed, unbutton my skirt and let it slip to the floor. In the en-suite I peel off my cotton shirt and bra and drop the breast pads into the bin. Under the shower, I adjust the water to a cool light sprinkle as though I’m standing in the rain. Moments of my long labour flash through my head. The burning pain as Thomas was crowning, and later, the midwife saying the umbilical cord was wound around his neck. Nick shouting for her to get a doctor and me trying to stay in control breathing in gas and air.
As I dry myself off, I glance in the mirror at the bruise blooming on my arm. My eyes are drawn to the jagged scar on my leg, which never fails to make me shiver.
Once I’m dressed, I sit in the nursery, holding Thomas’s soft toy Peter Rabbit. The pain of labour seemed to fade as soon as he was placed in my arms. Seeing my baby for the first time made everything I’d been through feel worth it. I’d done something right at last. Out of all the darkness, he was my beam of light into a possible brighter future. I believed everything could change for the better, including Nick. He seemed different the moment he became a dad, but after today I’m scared that he’s worse than ever. He blames me for Thomas being taken. And he’s right. I’ve lost the one thing that was going to bring us back together and give us a chance at normal family life. I rock backwards and forwards, sobs building in my throat. Tears spill onto the toy’s soft fur. Nick will surely kill me if Thomas isn’t found safe. How can my life have become so unbearable?
I’d had such high hopes that day on the plane to Las Vegas. I’d never been anywhere so far away. When I was growing up most of my trips abroad had been to European countries like France, Belgium and Germany. Always culture-driven holidays. Neither of my parents cared much for beaches so we visited museums, art galleries and national parks. Nick had borrowed my passport, pre-booked the tickets and only told me the day before that we were going on a mystery tour. I’d been beside myself with excitement to be flying away with him. When I found out we were going to America, I panicked and wanted to call my parents, but Nick reminded me of how little they thought of him and their opinion on our relationship. He didn’t want them stopping me from doing what I wanted.
We arrived at lunchtime and by the afternoon I had a headache from the heat and jetlag and probably all the wine and liqueurs we drank on the plane, if I’m being truthful, so Nick had a doctor sent up to our room. I was lying in darkness when he arrived, the sun was too bright and made me feel sick. The doctor thought it was a migraine, so he signed a piece of paper and gave it to Nick, which I guessed was a prescription because Nick went out and came back with some strong painkillers which made me throw up.
He went out again for the rest of the afternoon, said he had some papers to sort out at the local authority office. I guessed it was something to do with his work. He wouldn’t tell me exactly what it was about.
After sleeping off the migraine and jetlag, we spent the first two days lounging by the pool in the searing heat. Every now and again we swam across to the bar to order cocktails, usually a Pina Colada with a slice of pineapple for me. In the evenings we played a few slot machines in the hotel, and after dinner we strolled along The Strip with the zillions of other tourists, popping into a few of the other themed hotels like New York, New York and MGM Grand for a show or luxury shopping. It was a feast for the senses. Everywhere was as glitzy and dazzling as I’d seen it on TV. I couldn’t get over how big everywhere was. All the hotels were like small villages with a variety of restaurants on every level. Casinos, bars and rows and rows of whirring bleeping slot machines stretched across the whole of the ground floor, further than it was possible to see.
Nick bought me loads of designer clothes, all hand-picked by him. Not things I would have necessarily chosen for myself, but he said that was the point, he was showing me how to be more grown-up and sophisticated. I liked my new quirky look; casual chinos, longer-line skirts, buttoned-up blouses and soft leather loafers. He said I looked beautiful, like a young Andie MacDowell in Four Weddings and a Funeral.
The following day was my eighteenth birthday. I wore the cream shift dress Nick had bought for me, had my hair and nails done, and there I was sat in a limo with the man of my dreams. I still hadn’t worked out what he was up to. All I could think was how I’d never have guessed in a million years that I would celebrate becoming an adult in such style. Nick opened a bottle of champagne and poured me a glass. To control my nerves, he said, like it had on the plane. He kept smiling stupidly and wouldn’t answer me when I asked him again and again where we were going.
The limo took us to the Little Garden Chapel. The driver opened the door for us. Nick got out first, then reached in and took my hand. I thought we were there for some friends of his, to surprise them on their special day.
It wasn’t until we were inside and a woman in a pink blouse and smart trousers handed me a bouquet of twelve white roses that it finally dawned on me. I was speechless and he seemed to be too – he couldn’t stop smiling.
‘Is this for real?’ I asked him, wondering if maybe we were at some crazy American make-believe place where you could try out your fantasies.
‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s what I want.’ A frown flickered across his brow. He’d clearly not expected this reaction from me.
‘What about my parents?’
‘What about them?’ He took my hand between his. ‘This is about you and me.’
‘I always wanted them to be there for my special day.’ I couldn’t even bring myself to say the words ‘wedding day’ because it still seemed insane.
‘But it’s all been arranged.’
‘When? You didn’t say anything.’
‘Because I wanted it to be a surprise for you, on your birthday.’
‘I need to call my parents.’ I laid the bouquet on the table and put my hand out for my phone.
‘Don’t spoil it, honey. We can celebrate with them when we get home.’
‘But I want to at least tell them.’
‘Call them after.’ He held my hand up and kissed it then pulled me into his arms.
The registrar came back in and sat behind the desk which was decorated with tall vases of white lilies.
‘Can I have your papers, please?’ the woman asked eyeballing each of us, a smile fixed to her face.
Nick took out a folded form from his inside jacket pocket. He kept me tight to him, away from the desk.
‘We want to be together, don’t we?’ He cupped my face with his hand and pleaded with me with those eyes of his. This was the man I loved. He looked heartbroken, probably wondering why I wasn’t overjoyed after he’d made everything so special for me. Why was I complaining? Nick was always saying that I shouldn’t live my life trying to please my parents, I had to start pleasing myself. Wasn’t that why I was here? To break free from them, not to have to seek their approval. I’d prove that I could make decisions by myself. I didn’t need them to okay everything for me.
Nick knelt down on one knee, took a box out of his pocket and opened it to a huge diamond solitaire ring.
‘Gemma, will you marry me?’
There was only one answer for this kind, generous, gorgeous man.
‘Yes, I will.’
And in those three little words, I’d put the seal on the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Four
25 July 2018
Scarlett
By the time we reach home from the canal walk, Amy’s mum, Tina, has texted twenty times asking when we’ll be back. She says she wants her daughter to go home with her tonight. I wonder what for. Maybe to clean the flat or cook dinner. It’s usually something like that.
‘When are you bringing her back?’ Mum asks when Tina tur
ns up on the doorstep. She lets her in, but Mum won’t let Amy go until she knows.
‘Sunday, Kelly. I’ll bring her back Sunday. Is that all right with you?’ Tina taps her long orange gel nails on the counter. I know how much they cost to get done. She could have bought Amy trainers instead. She could really do with a new pair.
I take Amy upstairs and help her collect her things together. We don’t speak. Neither of us has anything good to say about her leaving.
‘You can’t keep treating her like a child.’ Tina’s voice suddenly bursts through the floor. Amy and I stop still, listening.
‘How many times have I told you it’s my decision, no one else’s,’ Mum loud whispers back.
‘I cannot believe you sometimes.’
‘I mean it, Tina.’
‘You have to let her grow up.’
‘So easy for you to say.’
‘You can’t protect her forever.’
‘You don’t understand.’
I switch Amy Winehouse on and try to drown their voices out. I can’t even begin to decipher what they mean. What must I never know? I presume it’s about me. Is it something to do with my dad? Does Tina know who he is?
‘Come on Amy, time to go.’ Tina bangs on the bannister.
There’s a strange silence when we come downstairs. The air laden with everything that’s been said and all the truths held back. Amy and I hug and quietly say goodbye. Mum and Tina don’t say any more, they don’t even look at each other.
After they’ve gone, it takes a while for the atmosphere to settle. I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s just me and Mum. How it’s always been, the two of us against the world. She pats my shoulder and slinks off to the kitchen. I hear the glug of wine being poured. I want to ask her what they were arguing about, but I have a feeling now is not the best time.
I mooch upstairs and lie on the low bed, staring out of the window, up at the stars emerging as night falls. They always put my problems into perspective, knowing what a tiny dot I am in the universe. What’s Amy doing right now? And Cole?
I hear giggling and pull my mattress up only to see Mum with Rob – is it Rob? – rolling about on her bed, the soft hypnotic sound of jazz coming from her old CD player. I didn’t hear him come in. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she introduces me to one of these blokes as my long-lost dad. I just wish she could be honest with me about where he is now. Doesn’t he want to know me? Aren’t I grown up enough to accept whatever happened between them? My life feels like one of those sad puzzles that nobody wants to buy at a jumble sale because it has that one important piece missing which inevitably spoils the whole picture.
I check my phone. No new messages. I leave a couple of comments on the mouse’s Insta page. She’s not been posting up very much, but there’s a new one of the newly decorated nursery, pale blue walls and wooden block letters on the window sill, spelling ‘Thomas’. I take pictures of myself using bunny ear and devil horn filters on Snapchat and send them to Cole. Is it too late to drive there? I might catch a glimpse of him.
I’m there in six minutes. Barely any traffic at this time of night. I park a short distance away and walk by their house. There’s a light on in the hall and a room upstairs. Someone’s up there. I stand back, near the hedge over the road. They won’t see me in these dark clothes and my hair is tucked up in a baseball cap. The door opens. Cole is wearing jogging bottoms and a faded REM T-shirt. The cat under his arm is struggling to break free. Cole’s stubble is growing into a beard and his hair is thick and floppy already. It only makes him sexier in my eyes, although I can hear him laugh at that. He dumps the cat on the doorstep and pushes it with his bare foot then slams the door shut. The cat flicks its tail and struts off behind a bush. All I want is a message or a little heart or kiss emoji from him. No words needed when you feel like I do. Just something. He said he felt the same, but was he playing with me? What if you’re not the only girl? I shake my head and scatter Amy’s words that keep coming back to me. Something she said ages ago.
I drive back home and think of Amy in the tiny bed behind the curtain. What is her mother up to? Mum called Tina a bitch once. I want to know why they’ve fallen out this time. I hope it’s not permanent, for Amy’s sake and mine. But with Tina, anything’s possible.
In the early morning, I dress and creep silently downstairs. Amy is not replying to my messages. Cole is ignoring me. I eat a banana and a glass of milk then pinch a tenner in one pound coins from the jar Mum hides behind the cereal packets. Then I’m out the back door, using the key to close it so it doesn’t click.
The air is fresh but already edged with the warmth of the day to come. I drive to his house. The street is quiet except for the rumble of someone wheeling their bin out to the pavement. I park across the road and check my watch: 5.40 a.m. His bedroom curtains are closed. His wife isn’t due to leave for another fifteen minutes. I drive on to Amy’s flat. My throat tightens as I turn the corner. There is a ‘TO LET’ sign planted in the front. I skid my car to a halt, jump out and run to the main door. The name ‘Smith’ in Amy’s handwriting has been removed from the space next to the buzzer. I press the button anyway, holding it down until the flesh under my thumb splits away from the nail.
‘No one’s there,’ a postman says, stopping by with his cart. I spin round.
‘Do you know where they’ve gone, number twelve – Tina Smith and her daughter Amy?’ I stare up at the block of flats, the stained cladding, washing hanging over the edge of a balcony in the flat below theirs.
‘Nope. All I know is she never paid her rent. Mr Andrews owns this empire.’ He taps the side of his nose as though this is top secret information.
‘Aren’t her letters going to a new address?’
‘Not that I know of. Couldn’t tell you if I did.’ His sniffs.
‘Thanks a bloody lot.’ I stomp past him and get back in my car. He tuts to himself as he trundles away with his cart in the opposite direction.
It’s all Tina’s fault. Why didn’t she pay the bloody rent? She’s got a job. I imagine her dragging Amy out of her tiny bed, suitcase in hand and Amy screaming my name all the way down the road to the bus stop. There’s only one person who’d have known about this and who’ll know where they’ve gone – the same person who’s been keeping secrets from me all my life – my mother.
Chapter Thirty-Five
26 July 2018
Scarlett
I drive as fast as I can all the way home. So much for going back to Cole’s house to follow their movements. I can’t do this without Amy.
Mum’s tonging her hair when I burst in through the back door.
‘Where is she?’ I shout. Her smile is smooth as a knife slipping through butter, as though she doesn’t know.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I shout again, the words as rough as sandpaper on my throat, tears pushing behind my eyes.
She frowns at me and carries on twisting her hair around the tongs. Her dressing gown dips open as her arms come down. Sometimes I wish she’d cover herself up.
‘Answer me, Mum. Where’s Amy gone?’ My thumb is throbbing from pressing their buzzer so hard and now my throat is sore from shouting.
‘Tina’s got a new place.’ Mum turns her back on me and admires herself in the mirror. ‘I’m sure I told you.’
‘No, you didn’t. Where is it?’ I yank her arm to make her look at me, but she pulls away. Her flesh feels spongy, not firm like it used to be.
‘She’s Tina’s daughter not mine. We don’t have a say in where she lives, what she decides.’
‘Tell me where they are.’ My eyes sting, voice ragged.
Mum turns and grabs my shoulders. ‘Calm down.’
‘It’s something bad, I know it is. Amy would have told me.’
‘Look, they’ve had to go and stay in a B&B. Just for now. They’re not far, not really and Amy can still come and stay again soon.’ She meets my eyes, swollen with tears.
‘Where?’ I croak.
‘Argyle Street.’
‘Can we go there now?’
‘Let them settle in for a bit. Maybe we can visit them this afternoon.’
After Mum’s gone to work, I drive to Cole’s place and park up. There’s a transit van outside blocking my view. I back up a bit and watch two men deliver a cot and some other pieces of furniture – a rocking chair and footstall, changing table and chest of drawers. All matching no doubt. After the morning I’ve had, I’m not sure I can take this. I watch Cole sign for it and hand a black device back to the delivery man. Cole glances up but doesn’t appear to see me. I’m parked where I was last night and I stand further back by the hedge, hiding behind the railing. I may as well be tied to them for all he cares. I drive off to the park. We spent some of our happiest times here. Hidden in the folly, me on his lap. Chatting and kissing for hours and hours. I was the one there for him when the mouse left. Has he forgotten that? It makes me wonder again if she had really gone. He said some of her stuff was still in the house, that she’d come back to collect it, but did she ever actually leave? He’s going to wish he hadn’t messed me around. I’m not going to let him get away with it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monday 13 August 2018
Gemma
Becca texts to say she’ll be here in two minutes. I tell her to come through the back gate and I’ll let her in. Greg the Liaison Officer is on his way over too with some news about a possible lead. I’ve no idea how long Nick’s going to be, he’s still not texted or called. It’s not unusual for him to disappear for hours on end, but if he’s really looking for Thomas, why doesn’t he keep me updated? Does he know something about it that he’s not telling me?
I try calling him, but it goes straight to answerphone. I don’t leave a message. He won’t like me telling him what to do, but he should have told Greg where he was going.
I unlock the back door and rapidly clicking cameras start up immediately. I shield my face with my arm and hurry to the gate. Several long-lens cameras are focused on me over the wall at the bottom of our medium-sized garden. The estate is so new there are no established trees to give us any privacy, but on the other hand the reporters have nowhere to hide. Fortunately, it’s a high wall – about six feet – and the other side of it is a parking bay for the houses behind, so either they’re on top of ladders or they’re standing on residents’ cars. I can only imagine how much stick we’ll get for that at the next Neighbourhood Watch meeting. If we even survive that long.
The Face At the Window Page 12
