Rage.
Dominic has read these letters, seen these photographs and even left one where he knew I would find it – all to scare me into trying to see Scott. Of all the dreadful things he has done, writing to my son to tell him I don’t want to have anything to do with him is the worst. It is unforgivable. Why would he do that to a child he doesn’t know? Why?
I notice some scribblings on the back of one of the envelopes. It’s Dominic’s writing.
Happy with my life…secure family…don’t want to disrupt my children’s lives…explanations would be difficult…no space for you in my life.
I know what these are. They’re ideas for what to put in his reply, the one Stephen believes came from me.
‘No space for you in my life.’
If I didn’t hate Dominic before, I do now.
I know exactly why he wanted to keep Stephen out of our lives. He is the son of a man I loved, and based on all he had discovered Dominic concluded that I loved Scott more than him. So his child could never be part of my life. He would upset the balance, and Dominic would no longer have had his perfect family.
Judging by the dates on the letters it seems he made this decision a while ago – before he decided I was no longer worthy of his love. Maybe when Stephen’s last letter came, just a couple of weeks ago, Dominic finally realised that my brave son wasn’t going to give up, and I was bound to find out the terrible thing he had done. Maybe the last letter was the catalyst – the moment he decided it was time to end it, when the lying had to stop.
Sunday
72
Tom glanced sideways at Louisa, who was sitting next to him as he drove, a brightly coloured box resting on her lap.
‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ he asked, not for the first time.
‘Of course I am, Tom. As long as you think the invitation was genuine.’
Lucy had phoned the day before asking if her dad and Louisa would come for a barbecue as it was her mum’s last day at home before the operation. Fortunately the weather had turned warm and sunny again, although it wasn’t expected to last.
‘Are you sure she wants me there?’ Louisa had asked, so Tom had phoned Kate to be doubly certain.
‘Yes, of course,’ Kate had said. ‘It’s what Lucy wants, and as Louisa is going to be looking after my daughter, I want to get to know her. And no, before you ask, it’s not to vet her.’
Tom hadn’t been entirely sure he believed her, but for Lucy’s sake he’d accepted, and Louisa said she was more than happy to come. She could do the cooking, if Kate would let her.
‘What’s in the box?’ he asked.
‘Oh, just some bits and pieces that I thought she might like to take with her into hospital. There’s no point bringing flowers; she’s not going to be there to enjoy them. And she might not fancy chocolates even when she’s allowed to eat them, so I thought of some other stuff.’
‘Well, we’re here now.’ He pulled up outside Kate’s house. ‘Thanks for coming, darling. Just so you know, I love you.’ He leaned over to kiss her gently and thought how lovely she looked today. Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes were bright. He hoped it wasn’t going to be too depressing.
The atmosphere felt surprisingly relaxed as the four of them sipped pre-barbecue drinks. Lucy had teased Tom about the stings on his face, but everyone could see she was bursting with pride in her fearless dad.
‘Becky phoned to see how I am, and she told me about you how you yelped every time another one stung you,’ Lucy said with a giggle.
‘Very funny, I’m sure.’ Tom wrapped his arm round Lucy’s neck and pulled her close.
Lucy had hovered between them all for the first half-hour, clearly wondering how this was going to work out – whether the adults in her life were going to get along with each other – but she finally seemed to have relaxed.
‘Can I tempt you with a glass of wine?’ Kate asked Louisa, who was watching the father–daughter interaction and thinking how great Tom was as a dad.
‘I’m driving so that Tom can have a drink for once, but thanks. I’m fine.’
‘Right. I’ll get the food ready. Tom, you can light the barbecue.’
‘Okay. Lucy can help, can’t you?’ Tom said to his daughter, who nodded enthusiastically.
Kate turned to go into the kitchen, Louisa close behind. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Kate? I can do this. Enjoy some time with Lucy.’
Kate shook her head. ‘I want everything to be as normal as possible today. Lucy’s told me you’re a good cook, although how you’ve managed to persuade Tom to give you access to his precious kitchen, I don’t know. He never thought much of my cooking, but today I’ve kept it simple. I need to get the chicken that I marinated out of the fridge, and the prawns need some lemon zest and garlic. Perhaps you could do that.’
Louisa looked at the raw, grey prawns and swallowed hard. She hoped Kate hadn’t seen her, but she had.
Kate looked at her for a moment before she spoke, and then seemed to decide to be kind. ‘Actually, Louisa, forget the prawns. Would you mix up some salad dressing, maybe?’
The two women worked side by side for a few moments.
‘Thanks for the box of goodies,’ Kate said finally, as she saw to the prawns. ‘Very thoughtful of you. I’ve packed all the obvious stuff to take in with me, but the lavender pillow spray, the lip balm, the extra-soft eye mask – and all the rest – I wouldn’t have thought of myself.’ She put the spoon and fork that she was using in the bowl and turned to Louisa. ‘I hope it’s not going to be too much for you, taking care of Lucy with your job and everything?’
‘We’ll make it work. Don’t worry. Lucy’s a lovely girl, and I think we get on okay.’
‘I have to say I’m glad she’s not being looked after by Tom’s ex, Leo. Lucy liked her enough, but I thought she was a bit of a cold fish.’
‘She was okay.’ Louisa laughed. She had been Leo’s anaesthetist when her arm was badly injured and had quite enjoyed spending time with her.
Kate transferred the prawns onto skewers, threading them carefully. Louisa tried not to watch.
‘Have you told Tom yet?’ Kate asked, her voice crisp.
Louisa lifted her head and looked at her. ‘Told him what?’
Kate checked out of the window. Tom was at the end of the garden with Lucy. ‘That you’re pregnant.’
Louisa froze.
‘Oh bugger. How did you know?’
‘No wine, even a small glass hours before you have to drive? Not to mention the fact that you nearly turned green at the sight of the prawns. Oh, and you keep touching your tummy.’
For a moment Louisa wasn’t sure what to say, but giving the oil and vinegar a final vigorous whisk, she decided to tell Kate the truth. ‘He doesn’t know. I found out the day you told him you were ill, and it didn’t seem an appropriate moment. Now I’m worried about Lucy. She’s going to need all the attention we can give her and I don’t want her to feel in any way less of a focus.’
Kate stopped what she was doing and leaned on the worktop with both hands.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Lucy will love the whole idea of being a big sister, and it will give her something to be excited about.’ Kate dropped her gaze. ‘Tom will be thrilled, of course. He always wanted more children and perhaps if I’d stayed with him we would have had another. But I made one bad decision, and I’ve paid the price. Funny how the threat of death hanging over you can make you realise what’s important and what isn’t.’
Louisa was searching for an appropriate response, but at that moment Lucy came racing up to the back door and leaned in. ‘Come on, you two. What’s taking so long? This might be our last chance for a barbecue.’ Lucy said it with a smile, but then her eyes went round with horror and her mouth dropped open.
Mother and daughter stared at each other for a second.
‘You’re right, Lucy,’ Louisa said with a smile. ‘They’re saying the weather won’t last more than another day, so this is
likely to be the last barbecue of the summer. Take these out to your dad, would you please?’ She handed Lucy the marinated chicken.
When her daughter was well out of earshot, Kate turned to Louisa. ‘Thank you. That was very tactful.’
Louisa nodded. ‘She’s obviously going to find it difficult over the next few weeks, but we’ll take care of her. I promise.’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘I know you will. Now come on, let’s go and feed them. And I’ll keep you away from the prawns until they’re cooked.’
Walking out into the garden, the two women shared a brief laugh.
Tom lifted his head to give them a quizzical look. Louisa grinned at him without offering an explanation, and with a smile he turned back to the barbecue.
73
Every minute seems to bring a new rush of emotions, and I fluctuate between fury, fear, guilt and profound sadness. I don’t know how the children and I managed to get through the whole of today, or how we will cope with what next week is bound to throw at us. I’ve taken a leave of absence. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to talk to Jen yet, although I must and I know she will be supportive, but I’m not sure about the trustees. I don’t think the wife of a murderer fits with their vision and values, and I can hardly blame them.
We did make it through though, helped by the fact that my mum arrived. She’s become quite blasé about catching trains since we moved here, and I was glad to see her, falling into her arms for the hug I needed so badly.
Finally the children are both in bed. I kiss Bailey’s plump cheek softly and say goodnight just the way I have since he was baby. I’m striving for normality and I need to get them back into a rhythm.
When I get to Holly’s room, she is lying with her sore leg on top of the bed. It has been healing well since her accident, but each evening I clean it to make sure it’s not infected. It’s not just the injuries to my poor little girl’s leg that I’m worried about, though.
‘You know, Holls, whoever you heard talking that afternoon when you hurt your leg, he was just a man playing golf. There’s no one watching the house, I promise. There’s nothing to be scared of.’
‘I know. That’s not why I ran.’ Her little face screws up as if she’s going to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy. I was hiding from Bailey. He was being a pain, and the shed door was open so I ran in. I told a fib. I shouldn’t have, but I thought Daddy would be mad at me because I’m not supposed to go in there.’
I stroke her leg gently.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart. You mustn’t worry about that now.’
‘It was Daddy’s fault anyway. He dropped the shed key down the drain and had to break in. He thought you’d say it was his fault I got hurt, so it was our secret. But you said no more secrets, so I’ve told you now.’
I swallow and try to smile at Holly. I now knew that no one had been watching the house, but I hadn’t worked out how the lock had been broken. I kiss her gently and go to my bedroom before she can see the new wave of rage building behind my eyes.
Whatever I’ve done, I always believed I was protecting my family. I may have been foolish and misguided, but I never wanted to hurt anyone. Dominic has followed me, spied on me, scared my children by telling them that someone was watching them, and told a teenage boy that his mother didn’t want to know him. Every time I think of Stephen, a knife pierces my heart, and I struggle to imagine how he has been able to deal with the rejection.
I sit at the dressing table and pull out the photo that Dominic left in the shed for me to see. I can picture him comparing Stephen’s photos with those of Scott that he found in my box of secrets, knowing I would mistake my son for his father. They are so alike.
What would Scott make of me if he was still alive? I wonder. Which version of me would I want him to see? He would be amused that I became a teacher after all my wild dreams. But it turns out that I love my job, and I’m going to fight to keep it. I shouldn’t be held responsible for my husband’s actions. And what about Saskia? Saskia is the part of me that learned to fly, and Scott would love her. She is competitive, confident, a woman who loves excitement, who thrives on the rush of adrenaline when she plays poker.
I think back to that last game and know that I lost my focus. Too much was happening. If I play again – no, when I play again – I will feel the power flood back and I won’t make the same mistakes.
My heart beats faster at the knowledge that I don’t have to say goodbye to Saskia. I no longer need to play to pay Cameron, but poker is part of me, and anything I win that we don’t need I’ll give to charity. After all, it was a charity raffle and the bad choices I made that brought us all to where we are now.
Best of all, I no longer have to ask myself who I am. There are no separate versions of me. I’m a steady, sensible head teacher who also happens to be a thrill-seeking poker player, and I’m good at being both. Then there’s the other part of me – the most important part. I’m a mother and will do everything in my power to keep my children safe and happy. All three of them.
I look down at the photograph that I’m still holding and realise there is one thing I need to do while my two youngest sleep. Whoever is to blame – me, Scott, Dominic – Stephen has been hurt enough. I don’t know how I will ever explain everything, but I have to try to be honest with him. No matter how I’m feeling now, I can’t bear the thought of my child believing for a moment longer that I don’t love him, don’t want to know him.
I open a drawer to pull out notepaper and pen. At first I don’t know what to say, but then the words are there, in my head, in my heart, and I begin to write.
Dear Stephen…
Monday
74
I’ve let the children lie in this morning as none of us will be going to school today, but I wake early after a fitful night and stumble down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Images of Dominic, the wasps and Stephen have tumbled over each other in my dreams, and I feel numb with lack of sleep.
Mum is already up and in the kitchen, the radio playing quietly in the background. She looks startled to see me.
‘You should have stayed in bed, love. I’d have brought you some breakfast.’
I shake my head slowly. ‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m going to make a cup of coffee. Do you want one?’
‘Sit down. I’ll make it. The kettle’s just boiled.’
I don’t argue as she pours water over granules and hands me a mug.
She reaches out to switch off the radio, understanding that chirpy music might not be what I’m looking for, but as her hand touches the button, she freezes.
‘It’s the day you’ve been waiting for, folks. Scott will be here in four minutes to tell us all about Spike and what tore them apart in “The One That Got Away”. We thought we’d lost him when he didn’t answer his phone, but he’s travelling and has called in. Hang on in there. He’ll be with you soon.’
Confusion washes over me. I breathe slowly in and out, trying to calm myself.
Neither of us speaks. Mum knows as well as I do that it was Dominic on the radio last week, but it can’t be him now. So who is this? She looks at me with horror as her hand falls away from the button. I want to tell her to turn it off, but I can’t. We gaze at the radio as if willing the presenter to tell us it’s a huge mistake, but we have to sit through Ellie Goulding singing ‘Love Me Like You Do’, which does nothing to calm me.
The cheery voice invades my kitchen over the dying notes of the song. ‘Here we go, listeners! Just to recap: Scott told us last week about him and Spike and how things had gone badly wrong in Nebraska. Well, I won’t say any more, I’ll leave that to Scott.’
For a moment all I can hear is the background noise of a busy location – the sound of people talking, an announcement over a tannoy, but I can’t make out the words. Then a man speaks: ‘Good morning, especially to Spike, who I do hope is listening.’
My coffee mug crashes to the floor, spraying my legs with hot liquid. I feel nothing. How could I have ever believed
it was Scott on the radio last Monday? Even with the fake Welsh accent, Dominic sounded nothing like him. But there is no mistaking this voice, even after fourteen years. I know for certain that this time it really is Scott.
I’m barely listening to his words. I grasp the edge of the table with my hands, wondering whether the events of the last few days have made me delusional.
How can it be Scott?
But it is. I have no doubt at all.
Gradually his voice penetrates the fog in my brain, and I realise the story he’s telling isn’t ours. He’s making it up – something about stealing a car, being arrested but being let off with a warning. It’s a total fabrication.
Why? I can only imagine he doesn’t want the truth to be aired any more than I do.
‘Do I detect a hint of a North Atlantic twang in your voice?’ the presenter asks.
‘Well spotted. I’ve lived in the US for a long time now, but I still listen to Manchester radio – mainly for the football. You always do a great run-down of the weekend’s matches on a Monday morning. I wouldn’t miss it.’
It’s true. It’s the segment just before this one. Oh God – he heard it last Monday!
‘And I keep an eye on what’s happening with my old friends, of course. The joys of social media, eh?’
Scott laughs, but he’s telling me he’s been watching me online. I recognise the warm chuckle, but maybe there’s a bitter edge to it.
‘I thought this would be my chance to reach out to Spike, who I believed back then was the love of my life.’
The presenter goes a bit over the top after that, and I can feel my mother’s eyes on me. But I’m staring blindly at the worktop.
‘Are you going to tell us her name?’
‘Do you know, I’ve decided that’s not fair. Sorry, everyone. I bet she’s married to some safe, reliable guy and has a couple of kids – a little boy and an older girl, I reckon. She was always destined to be a teacher, and I’ve no doubt she’s a head by now. It wouldn’t be fair to disrupt her life.’
The Shape of Lies: New from the queen of psychological thrillers Page 30