Feeling better, I washed my hands and prepared myself an omelette. Tempted as I was to have a decadent glass of lunchtime wine, I stopped myself, knowing Topher would not approve. Sod him. I gritted my teeth and poured myself one anyway.
I emptied the dishwasher again and popped in the crockery from my lunch. Time to tackle upstairs. I restored order in the bathroom where Stephanie had left bath towels on the floor. I polished the mirror and the basin until they sparkled. I knew I was procrastinating. I was avoiding going into the guest room, where Topher and Stephanie had probably made love last night. How could she do this to me? I’d asked her to get close to him, not make a fool of me under my own roof.
At the doorway to the guest room I stood for a while with laundry basket in hand. I could smell the mix of her perfume and his aftershave. At that moment I hated them both. I rushed to the bed, pulled back the duvet and saw the unmistakable patch of semen stains. I doubled over as if in pain. My stomach turned to liquid and I rushed to the bathroom, destroying the order I’d created. Each time I thought I was ready to stand and return to the bedroom, another bout of diarrhoea hit me, and I flopped down onto the toilet again. When at last my stomach felt well enough for me to stand, I made my way to the master suite, showered and collapsed, exhausted, into bed.
The sun was setting when I woke, the last rays streaming through the light-coloured curtains. It was nearly eight pm and the house was silent. Perhaps Topher was keeping the children quiet and entertained downstairs, but as hard as I tried I was unable to hear even the muted sounds of the television. Pushing the duvet back I swung my legs to the floor and tried to stand. I was a bit wobbly, never having been the sort of person who was better for an afternoon nap. I grabbed my kimono and wandered downstairs.
The house was in darkness. No Topher. No James and Darcy. Where could they be? I scrabbled in my handbag and found my mobile. No messages. No missed calls. I called Topher, but my call went straight to voicemail. I tried Stephanie’s number. The same. Voicemail. Where were they? Where were my children?
I Googled the numbers for local hospitals and started dialling round accident and emergency units. I did an Internet search for accidents in and around London, but there were none. I called Topher again. Still no answer. The same with Stephanie. Then the thought occurred… They’ve gone away together and taken my children! I threw my phone across the kitchen and it came to rest against the table leg. For a moment there was nothing and then it began to ring. I skidded across the floor to snatch the phone up. It was my mother. Was she calling to apologise? She’d picked a fine time to call. I wanted to reject the call but my index finger hovered over the green icon.
‘Yes,’ I snapped.
‘Well that’s no way to answer the phone to your mother,’ she said.
‘You’ve called at a bad time, Mum.’
‘Topher asked me to call and let you know he and the children are heading back now. He’s been having some problems with his phone. He said to say they’ll be home in an hour and a half.’ She gave one final sniff and ended the call.
I sat on the floor staring at my phone. I gasped. My babies were safe. Clenching my jaw, hot angry tears fell on to the floor in front of me. How dare he do this. How dare he take my children to see her without mentioning it to me? My breath came in short pants. My body tense, I squeezed my phone in my hands until they ached. I didn’t know how long I sat there but I only got to my feet when I heard his key in the front door. I went to the sink and washed my face.
He smirked at me and it was all I could do to keep my cool. I spent time preparing a snack for the children and listening to their stories of the day out with Daddy and Granny.
Topher fetched himself a beer from the fridge and, as he walked past me to get himself a glass, he whispered in my ear. ‘If you ever, ever behave again the way you did last night, I will make sure you never see your children again. Don’t forget, if you go to prison for death by dangerous driving, I’ll need your mother to look after the kids long-term. So, I for one, need to keep the old bat sweet.’ He toasted me with his beer and James smiled at us, contented to see we were happy together. He leaned over to help Darcy with her cheese and my heart melted a little.
A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. James came to give me a kiss. ‘Silly Mummy, we were with Daddy. Don’t cry. We were safe. We’re always safe with Daddy.’
‘I know sweetheart. Mummy just got a bit scared, that’s all.’ I hugged him close and Topher smiled sweetly at him.
I excused myself and went to the toilet. I sat on the lid and took my mobile out of my pocket.
Daddy, he’s threatening to take the children away from me. I texted. He says Mummy will have to look after them if I get sent to prison.
You’re not going to prison. But if you really think he was trying to kill you in the car accident, you need proof. Can you get in his office?
Yes, I have a key. I just need him out of the way for a while so I can have a good look. I replied.
You need that so-called friend of yours to take him away for a weekend, he typed.
I’ll see what she can do.
I texted Stephanie and outlined my plan.
Fine, she replied. But just as soon as you’ve seen what he’s up to, let me know immediately and I can break it off with him. Tell him how guilty I feel about betraying you.
Okay, thanks. I replied. I was grateful for what she’d done, but I felt she had betrayed me and put a strain on our friendship – could that be repaired? I wasn’t sure it could.
Chapter Thirty
Lily
Peter Robinson rose to greet me with a doleful expression and my heart sank. He pushed his glasses up his nose making his large eyes looked even bigger. Was he going to cry? I really needed to get my own lawyer. One that I could trust.
‘How are the investigations into the accident going, Peter?’ I said. I tried to keep my voice optimistic. His grey, lined face told its own story.
‘Not well, Mrs Gundersen.’ He shifted legal pads around on his desk. ‘The lorry driver is still unconscious. He could die, which doesn’t help your case at all.’
This was the first time he’d told me that Vinnie Craycroft was so ill he might not live. I jumped as the cold water in my plastic cup dribbled onto my trousers. I put the cup down and mopped at the water but, the tissue simply left white bobbles on the black material. I was making everything worse.
‘I didn’t realise he was still in a coma,’ I said. My chest tightened. A crippling pain gripped my heart. I clutched my ribs under my breast and leaned forward, trying to make the agony subside.
‘Are you alright, Mrs Gundersen?’ Peter stood behind his desk, wringing his hands.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine. Have you got hold of a copy of the CCTV yet?’
‘Er no, there seems to be something of a hold up there. The Highways Agency are saying the footage has gone missing.’
‘Missing? How the hell can CCTV from the highways agency go missing?’ I spat the words out, furious with this incompetent, pompous little man.
‘I, er, I don’t know,’ he said.
At least he had the grace to look embarrassed.
‘Have you been able to find any other witnesses?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No one has come forward.’
‘So, you’re telling me that we have no CCTV, and we have no witnesses.’ I folded my arms and glared at him. ‘Please explain to me Mr Robinson, exactly how you’re planning my defence?’
He flushed. The colour flowed across his face, even as far as his receding hairline and with a sense of dread, I realised I was on my own. I rose and placed my knuckles on the edge of his desk. ‘Mr Robinson. You’re fired.’
I stalked out of the building and into the busy London street below. The noise was deafening, and I needed somewhere quiet to make a call. On the other side of the road with a grinding of gears, a red bus pulled away belching out black smoke behind it. As the smoke cleared, I saw a small café, the ow
ner on the pavement trying to waft away the diesel fumes with a tea towel. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it would do. Checking the road was clear, I dashed to the central island and made it to the other side of the road.
Despite the stench outside, inside the café was cool and dark. I ordered a coffee and went to sit at the back, away from the street noise. I pulled my mobile out of my handbag and stared at my contacts list. Who are you gonna call, Lily? I flicked back and forth between Stephanie’s number and my father’s. When the coffee was placed on the table in front of me, I’d decided.
‘Dad,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your email. I’ve missed you too. And now, I really need your help.’
I related to him everything that had been said in Peter Robinson’s office.
‘I’m with you,’ he said. ‘Seems a bit convenient that the CCTV is gone missing?’
‘I don’t even understand how that could have happened.’ I sipped some coffee; it was surprisingly good.
‘And you’re sure footage has really gone missing? It’s not just the case that your solicitor has failed to get hold of it?’
‘I don’t know, Dad,’ I said. ‘He is incompetent, I’ll give you that.’
‘Right, here’s what you’re going to do. You need to find a new solicitor and you need them to organise a private investigator to find out what’s happened to the CCTV stuff,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But how am I going to pay for it. Topher controls all my money.’
‘Oh Lily,’ he sighed down the phone. ‘I should have tried harder to keep in touch with you. Look don’t worry, once you’ve found someone, let me know and I’ll pay for them. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’ll find a new solicitor straightaway. I just needed someone to hear me out and tell me I’m not going completely mad.’
‘And when you’ve done that,’ he continued in a brisk tone, ‘you need to go home and pack some things for you and the kids and come here.’
‘The police have told me I need to stay in London.’
‘Nonsense. You’re not leaving the country and you’ll be there for the court appearance. They can’t stop you,’ he sounded annoyed.
‘I’ll ask them Dad. But DI Blaine told me I couldn’t go anywhere.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Stephanie
Returning once more to the car park underneath my flat, goosebumps rose on my skin. I rubbed my arms, trying to soothe the tingling flesh. I knew I was being watched. The police had spoken to John, but he denied damaging my car. He was lying. I knew it was him. The injunction appeared to be useless, he’d just ignored it. All the same the sense of being spied on was becoming the new normal and I hated it. I walked to the lift with my keys protruding from my clenched fist. I was hyper-alert; swivelling my head constantly so that I could maintain all round vision. In truth all it did was give me a headache and blurred eyesight.
A car alarm went off, making me jump. Damn. It was my hire car. I trotted back to it wishing I’d changed out of heels and clicked the remote. The alarm stopped and the hazard lights ceased flashing. My heart pounded. Hairs on my arms and the nape of my neck prickled. I turned back to the lift, telling myself to walk, but I could not help it. I lost it and sprinted for the lift, stabbing the button for my floor. I stood with my back to the lift door, keys still clasped in my fist, staring around the car park for movement. I was met with nothing but darkness. Only the spot where I stood was illuminated. I heard the lift, the creak of the cables and the shudder as it made its way towards me. I let go of a breath I was unaware I was holding. Sobbing with relief I stepped into the lift and squashed myself against its reassuring solid wall as the lift doors began to close. Happy at my reprieve, I exhaled contentedly until a light in the far corner of the car park flickered into life.
I gasped. Who moved and tripped the sensor. Was it John again? A tiny drop of urine trickled into my pants and I clenched again to make sure I got home before I wet myself. I wanted to vomit too. I knew it was just coming down from the adrenaline rush but the knowledge did nothing to reassure me.
The doors slid open and I saw my front door. Outside were more flowers from Topher. He’d started using a company, which delivered the flowers in a box, but he’d brought me a beautiful Waterford crystal vase to display them. I smiled. The horrors of the car park were behind me. Opening the front door, I pushed the box of flowers over the threshold with my toe, slammed the front door and rushed to the toilet.
Recovering and back in the living area, I picked up the box and placed it on the kitchen counter. I removed the recent flowers and put them in the bin. The vase I rinsed out and filled with fresh water. Before I opened the box I poured myself some wine. I needed it after the shock in the car park. Briefly I wondered if I should consider moving again, but it was such a hassle.
I sniffed the air. Something must have died in the back of the fridge. I noted clean fridge on my list of things to do this weekend. Gulping my wine, I opened the box. The smell was overwhelming, but so was curiosity. I raised the lid, gagged, dropped my wine and staggered away from the box.
It was full of rotting vegetation and rancid meat. Maggots crawled over everything, wriggling out of the box, onto my work surface and the floor. I clasped my hands over my nose and mouth to supress the smell. Shaking and gagging I stood over the sink until I saw one wriggle close to my foot and I stamped on it. That was all I needed to spur me into action. I put on rubber gloves, grabbed a bin bag, and shoved the box into the bag. Snatching kitchen cleaner from under the sink I sprayed the work surface and the floor to kill the maggots, but they simply wriggled away from the liquid. Does nothing kill them, I thought. Bleach! I covered the kitchen work surface with bleach and wiped them into the kitchen bin, stamping on the ones, which had fallen on the floor. I went out into the hallway and placed everything into the chute, which fell to bins in the car park. I left my kitchen bin in the hallway but brought a kettleful of boiling water to the bin and drowned the little monsters in scorching water.
Back in my flat, I repeated the process of bleach and boiling water, until I was sure that every last one of the wriggling miscreants had died. I took a black bin bag, stripped off my clothes; I was never going to wear any of those again. Once in the bathroom, I stepped in the shower and scrubbed myself until my skin was sore. I wrapped myself in a towel and my dressing gown.
I couldn’t face the kitchen but poured a large whisky and brought the glass to my lips. My hands still stank of bleach and I began to retch again. I made myself take a swig of whisky and, as the liquid slid down my throat and warmed my stomach, I felt more in control.
I took another swig. Who could have done this? The box was from the same company Topher had been using, but I couldn’t believe he would do something so cruel, despite the stories Lily had told me.
It must have been John. He’s still watching me. He knows the flower company Topher’s been using. Should I call the police again? But what could they do? They’d not helped so far.
Then I decided to call in a favour.
In my briefcase I kept a black book of contact numbers I didn’t want on my phone. I turned to M and ran my finger down the list. I dialled the number.
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Mehic,’ I said. ‘Mr Shubhendu Mehic?’
‘He’s not available,’ came the replied. ‘Who is this?’
‘Steph… Stephanie Silcott,’ I finally managed to stutter.
‘Hmm,’ growled the voice. ‘I’ll tell him you called. Await instructions.’
The line went dead, and I staggered to the sofa, sinking into the cushions, wrapping myself in a cashmere blanket, my mind racing. Finishing the whisky, I poured another.
In the early hours of the following morning, my phoned skittered across the coffee table. A text. Instructions.
Mr Mehic will meet you tomorrow. At 7pm. Location will be sent to you in morning. Come alone.
I poured some more whisky, sipped it slowly, thinking about what
I wanted to ask of Mehic. Eventually exhausted, my head swimming from the booze, I laid back on the cushions and fell asleep on the sofa.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lily
I was surprised to hear from Stephanie so early the next morning, because she usually headed into her office, arriving long before her colleagues. She was still hoping to make partner in the next few years.
‘What’s up,’ I asked.
‘Something awful happened last night,’ she said. ‘Can I come over?’
‘Of course, but aren’t you going to work?’
‘No, I can’t face anyone today. But I need to get out of my flat. Has Topher left?’
‘Yes. He was out the door about six am and won’t be back until after six this evening.’
‘Good,’ said Stephanie. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’
Within half an hour there was a ring at the doorbell. Stephanie was on the doorstep, and was halfway through the front door before it was even fully open. I was shocked at the change in her. Far from her usual groomed perfection, her hair needed washing and was stuck out at all angles, as if she’d gone to bed with wet hair and had a very sleepless night.
I peered past her, the whiff of stale alcohol overwhelming. Her sports car was parked haphazardly on the driveway. ‘Stephanie are you crazy driving over here? How much have you drunk?’
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