by Elena Wilkes
* * *
‘Emma?’
I had this urge to tell her.
‘Oh hello you! I was going to ring you later. How is it? Is it still really painful?’
If only she knew.
‘Aw, ouch!’ she sympathised. ‘Never mind, Paul’s picking up those stronger painkillers at lunchtime so they’ll maybe work better.’
‘Stronger painkillers?’ I had absolutely no memory of discussing that.
‘Yeah, he mentioned it last night.’
‘He rang you last night?’
‘No—’ There was the slightest hesitation. ‘He came round on his way back from the office. He just popped in to let me know how you were getting on.’
‘Oh.’
In those seconds I mentally configured Emma’s flat and Paul’s office. They were in opposite directions.
‘He’s a lovely guy, isn’t he? So easy and nice to talk to when it’s just one on one. I think it’s because he’s so comfortable around women.’
Harry wasn’t there.
‘That’ll teach you to wash up in bare feet.’
‘I didn’t,’ I said, but I don’t think she registered the comment.
Paul hadn’t said anything about seeing Emma. He’d said he was late because he’d put petrol in the car and picked up some milk.
I tried really hard to listen to what she was saying.
‘…Hold on! Someone’s just come to see me, Luce, I’ll ring you later… Oh, will you be in?’ I heard the smirk.
‘Oh such a comedian! Bye.’
Hopping into the kitchen, I dropped a teabag into a cup and flicked on the kettle. Hitching over to the fridge, I pulled open the door and dipped inside, looking for the milk he said he’d bought, but knowing I wasn’t going to find any. I made the tea, poured the dregs of the old carton into the cup and limped my way through into the living room and then I stopped. Something: a sound, or a sixth sense, I don’t know, but something made me look at the window. My stomach somersaulted.
She was standing at the end of the driveway next to the copper beech tree, the colour of her linen jacket and the colour of the tree in perfect contrast. Her face was pale against the dark hair; her jacket was open and flapped slightly in the wind. She took a step forward as if considering coming up to the house but then changed her mind.
Somewhere, out in the kitchen, my phone started to ring, its insistence shrilling into the quiet. If I moved, I knew she’d see me. I looked back; it was too late, she was walking cautiously up the path.
The thought of her knocking on the door terrified me: it meant I could speak to her. I could open the door and invite her in and I would know everything: but now it was here in front of me, I couldn’t do it.
Within seconds, I managed to get into the shadow of the wall. From here I could see the hallway and the front door. Her outline weaved menacingly on the other side of the glass; the darkness danced for a moment, and then slid away. There was the crunch of stones and I realised to my horror she was making her way round to the back of the house. Was the back door locked? I panicked: I wasn’t strong; I was vulnerable and wounded. She’d got me; I couldn’t get away.
Dropping to my knees, I half-shuffled, half-crawled into the hallway, pulling myself into a stooped crouch so that the kitchen window was in full view. She was there, cautiously peering in. I absorbed every detail of her: the wide forehead, the weird maddened eyes, dark cropped curly hair, white shirt collar, green jacket. She looked odd, desperate. It was Caitlin, there, right in front of me. Real. Not imagined. Caitlin.
I watched in horror as the kitchen door handle began to move, slowly, slowly down and then stop. Locked. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. Her eyes glossed over the walls above my head for a moment and then she dipped away. The breath I’d been holding left me and I let myself sink to the floor, feeling the grinding ache in my foot ease. I leant my head back. She wants to see me. She wants to talk to me. I’m going to have to face her…
The phone’s sudden jangling smashed into the silence. Heart pounding, I saw it flashing on the worktop as I half-fell, half-hopped to grab for it.
Paul.
‘Hello you, how’s it all going?’
I tried to keep my breathing level and my voice steady. ‘I’m okay. I’m okay.’
‘Sure?’ he sounded doubtful. ‘Are you resting enough?’
I was too scared to think or speak – especially to Paul. I glanced out of the window. I couldn’t see her. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Look, I don’t know what time I’ll get back. It won’t be this afternoon. I’m sorry. I’m stuck on a bloody train trying to get to a meeting in Kent and it hasn’t moved for ten minutes. Thank God you’ve got Emma coming round tonight.’
‘Emma? Emma’s coming?’
‘I’m glad you’re meeting up.’
‘Are you?’ I couldn’t imagine what had changed his opinion about her. ‘Did you ask her, then?’
‘Me? No, you did.’
‘I did?’
I suddenly saw a movement. She was standing facing the house, leaning against the copper beech tree.
Paul sighed audibly. ‘I was there at her flat when you rang, don’t you remember?’
I was distracted by her watchful gaze as she checked up and down the street as though looking for someone.
‘The junk shop stuff?’ he sounded irritable. ‘You asked me to drop off some old candlesticks and rubbish that she forgot to take with her on Sunday… No? No recollection?’ I heard the sarcasm as a loud tannoy announcement blared in the background. ‘Look, there’s no point going over all this, I’ll just see if Emma can come earlier and I’ll ring you back—’
He disappeared, my anxiety rocketing as I peered out of the window again. None of that mattered. This can’t carry on. I won’t let this carry on. She wasn’t doing this. Not anymore.
I limped to the front door. She had walked onto my territory. She wanted to speak to me? Well, come on then. I flung open the door. She turned her head.
‘Aren’t you coming in then, Caitlin?’ I shouted, my voice sending a clatter of birds skyward. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it? You want me to know you’re in our life?’ I gestured angrily. ‘Well I know now, don’t I? Come on, then. Come right in!… What’s the matter? Not scared, are you?’
A woman walking past with a child in a pushchair glanced round at me warily and then looked away. Caitlin looked startled, glancing back before scurrying off across the road to where a car was parked. She got in, hurriedly slamming the door and driving off.
I stood breathing heavily as pulses of pain fired again and again into my calf. I was close to tears, close to being defeated, and very close to just collapsing right there on the step.
Who was this man I’d married?
Birds fought wildly in the guttering above me and the sound of car horns blared somewhere far away, but everything else remained oddly flat and still. The pain throbbed persistently, bringing me back to myself. I was sick of feeling afraid. I was sick of not knowing. I was right; this couldn’t carry on. I wouldn’t let it. No more phone calls, no more texts, no more of this. I was done.
Emma was the answer.
Lou was right. She was the only possible answer. No matter what had gone on before with Gould, I knew if I talked to her she’d help me… Emma had been my constant, my immovable, my rock. But how the hell would I begin to tell her?
Closing the door, I texted her there and then. ‘What time are you coming?’
The reply came straight back.
Afternoon appoint just arrived. Be there soon as poss
The pain in my foot was becoming sharp and insistent, shooting its way up through my groin. Picking up the tiny vial of painkillers from the coffee table, I unscrewed the top. The label caught my eye. My name, my married name, shocked me: Lucy Webb. I didn’t know her. She was like some blank page of a person, ready to be written on, and Paul had made up her story. She was a character, performing a part in some terrifying drama without k
nowing where it was going or how it would end. Paul and Caitlin were the real main players. Whatever my role was, whatever the function, I wasn’t playing anymore.
The pain in my groin pulsed again and I shook a tiny white pill into my palm as the pulse in my belly throbbed and grew stronger. But this time I recognised the pain: it was that same monthly grinding ebb and flow, internal and secret and one that I didn’t want to blunt this time. I savoured every cramp and twinge as I dropped the tablet and limped my way to the bathroom.
Blood. And with it came a raft of emotions, but mostly a terrific sense of relief. A baby would have chained me to Paul forever, and yet somewhere in the background was the memory and grief of Dan and that other time, and with it came a terrible feeling of emptiness.
My little secret wasn’t a secret, and it never had been. It was just messy, and ordinary, and gut-churningly sad.
* * *
‘God you look awful.’ She bustled past me into the hallway.
I attempted a weak grin. ‘I think your record’s stuck.’
‘No, I don’t mean awful, awful. I mean you just look like death warmed-up. Here.’ She grabbed me under one arm and helped me back to my chair.
‘Oh well, that’s okay then.’ I wiggled my bottom back and raised my leg stiffly onto the stool.
‘How is it?’ She nodded at my foot. ‘I can’t believe you severed a tendon.’
‘Better than it was.’
‘Has Paul been a ministering angel?’ She dumped her bag down and gazed around. ‘This room’s very cosy isn’t it? I thought you said it was a mess? You should see my place. I’ll make my own tea, shall I? You want one? I’m starving actually. Have you eaten?’ Her voice trailed off as she headed down the hall to the kitchen. ‘Oh, are there any biscuits?’ I heard the kettle boiling and the chink of cups.
I took a breath. ‘Emma—’
She appeared in the doorway. ‘I see that ministering angels don’t do milk. Hey, no one’s perfect… For God’s sake, Lucy, sit back and relax! Have you got a lemon then?’ She disappeared again.
‘Emma—’
‘What?’ She called from the kitchen. ‘Hang on, be there in a sec!’
She came in carrying a tray with two mugs of tea that she shoved onto a side table. ‘My God, Luce, seriously, let’s get you upstairs and into the shower. I’ll go and get a plastic bag for that foot. You’ll feel miles better once you’ve washed and dried your hair. Trust me.’ She pattered off into the kitchen and came back with a battered plastic stool and an old Tesco bag. ‘As you look like Worzel Gummidge’s girlfriend, I thought it’d be very fitting!’ She grinned. ‘I’ll go and stick these in the shower and once you’ve drunk your tea we’ll manhandle you up there.’
‘Emma, stop. I need to tell you som—’
But all I could hear was the sound of her bounding up the stairs. What would I tell her, though? I didn’t know where to begin.
‘Right!’ she appeared breathlessly back in the doorway. ‘What were you saying?’
‘There’s this woman…’
‘Uh-huh.’
I tried to gather my thoughts but my brain was sluggish and fogged. I started again. ‘There’s this…’
‘I suspect you need those stronger painkillers. Paul will bring them later.’
‘No these make me feel bad enough.’ My mouth felt dry and sticky. I couldn’t formulate my words. I had to tell her before Paul got back.
‘Hmm… you do look a bit out of it,’ she chuckled. ‘Come on anyway. Let’s be having you… I’ll cook us something decent while you’re abluting,’ she grinned. ‘Sorry, washing, I forgot you were a northerner.’
I’ll tell her over dinner, I promised myself. She heaved me up and bodily managed me up the stairs. I did everything she said and found myself ensconced in the shower cubicle, perched on the stool with my foot out of the door and lathering my hair. She was right: it was wonderful. With Emma in the house, suddenly everything came right in the world.
‘Alright in there?’ Her voice boomed from the other side of the door.
‘Emma?’
‘What?’
‘Thanks.’
‘You haven’t tasted my cooking yet. Don’t get too grateful.’
* * *
Ten minutes later, I turned off the shower and, holding on to the cubicle door, tentatively tried my foot on the floor. Actually, it didn’t feel that bad at all and my head had cleared a bit. I’d tell Emma everything. She’d know exactly what to do and what to say. It was going to be okay.
Wrapping my hair in a towel, I dried myself off and then pulled on some clean clothes. Examining my face in the mirror, I understood what she meant. I looked pale and drawn, but I also saw a determination back in my eyes that had been missing for a while. I grimaced a smile; the old me was definitely still in there somewhere.
Clicking the bathroom door open, I was just stepping out onto the landing when I heard voices. I recognised Paul’s straight away and gingerly managed the first three stairs. I could just see the sleeve of his coat. He was standing in the living room with his jacket on as though he wasn’t staying. They were talking: it sounded serious.
‘Of course I will,’ I heard Emma say.
There was the jangle of keys and Emma asked a question, but I couldn’t make out exactly what she was asking. I cleared my throat and they both stopped talking instantly. Emma came out into the hallway, wide-eyed. ‘Oh heck, that was quick! Let me give you a hand—’
Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs watching me.
‘I thought you were stuck on a train?’
‘Mike’s rung in sick.’ He avoided the question. ‘He’s supposed to be at a conference in Hull so they’ve asked me to go in his place,’ he shrugged. ‘I told them I couldn’t because you weren’t well but they’re putting real pressure on me. I would have to get up there tonight so I was wondering if Emma could stay with you. It would really put my mind at rest.’
‘You don’t even have to ask, you know that.’ Emma helped me down the bottom step.
I knew what he was doing. The hurt formed a hard stone in my chest. Caitlin. Who else?
‘Here,’ Paul came towards me and bent to scoop me up. ‘Let’s get you off that foot.’ I caught the smell of his jacket as he pulled me to him and my heart lurched: he smelled of road fumes and sweet soap. Hers?
My stomach rebelled. As he lowered me into the armchair I looked into his eyes.
He was smiling appreciatively over my head at Emma, but to me they only looked hard and dead, like a grey winter sea. ‘This is so good of you, I really appreciate it.’
‘I’ll think of a way you can reciprocate.’ She smiled coquettishly and for a moment I saw what he meant about her flirting. ‘You can invite me round again to sample your cuisine!’
‘I’ll go and pack my overnight bag, then.’ Paul leaned down and kissed my cheek. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
I saw the look that passed between them as they parted in the hallway and things became clear to me. He’d gone round to her flat to get her ‘on side’ and Emma, being Emma, had fallen for it. The only person I could trust, helping my husband meet his lover… Disgust, then anger burned as the room blurred. Once Emma knew… Once I told her… I busied myself with my head down searching for a tissue up my sleeve and blew my nose to cover the tears that were streaming down my face. Neither of them noticed.
* * *
We stood on the front step watching Paul get into the waiting taxi and I shivered even though the evening was warm. As the door slammed, he waved cheerily. I raised a hand but couldn’t bring myself to smile. Emma did.
‘Let’s get inside. I’ll go and put the pasta on.’
I limped slowly after her into the kitchen and leaned against the door post as she set the kettle on to boil. ‘C’est ou?’ she queried. I gave her an odd look.
‘That’s “Where is it?” in French. Are you impressed?’
I pointed to the cupboard in the corner.
‘Did
I tell you? We’re off to the South of France in ten days’ time, so I’ve been practising.’ She pulled out a packet of spaghetti and ripped the top with her teeth. ‘A whole month away. I can’t wait. Harry says—’
‘Emma, what do you think of Paul?’
She stopped mid-pour and gave a little shrug. ‘Seems nice, seems to care… still a bit frog-like in some lights,’ she giggled. ‘Why, what’s up?’
‘I think he’s seeing someone. We had a fight. My injury wasn’t a complete accident.’
She swung round and nearly dropped the whole lot on the floor.
She stood there open-mouthed, her eyes wide and frightened. ‘Oh my God, Lucy. What’s been going on?’
‘There was a message on his phone.’
‘What kind of message?’
‘It said something about once she’d found him she wasn’t letting him go.’
Emma frowned. ‘What? Say that again.’
‘It’s this woman. She’s started hanging around. I’ve seen her. Paul disappears. I have no idea where he goes. He has calls on his phone that he won’t answer in front of me, and then these texts that—’
‘Hang on, hang on.’ Emma had turned to face me. ‘I’m not following, just—’
‘Her name’s Caitlin.’
‘You know her name?’ She stood there, astounded.
‘They had a relationship, years ago. He told you he’d never lived with anyone, but that was a lie, he had. He lived with this girl: this woman. She was pregnant and they split up. Now she keeps turning up. She even came here.’
‘Pregnant?… What?…’ She couldn’t get her head around it. ‘Here? Hang on. You spoke to her?’
‘No, she came to the front door and then stood watching the house.’
It did actually sound weird articulating it.
Emma frowned. ‘So they’ve got a kid together?’
‘He says he doesn’t know.’
‘Could that be true?’
‘Could be. He says she disappeared and he hasn’t had any contact with her for donkey’s years. He says he has no idea what I’m on about and this is just some random person…’ I took a deep breath in. ‘There was a flower too…’