‘Cup of tea?’ I offer – anything to keep him in the kitchen and avoid the remainder of the conversation with my son.
‘You read my mind,’ Scott says, placing a hand on my arm as I flick the kettle on. Kieran doesn’t notice my shudder. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. I catch the scent of him – something like fresh country air and aftershave. I tell myself it’s unpleasant. ‘How was work?’ he asks.
‘Fine.’
‘You’ll be on maternity leave before you know it,’ Scott says, giving a sly look at Kieran. It makes me want to pour boiling water over him.
‘Were you out property hunting?’ I ask hopefully, not wanting to talk about babies or Jeremy or anything else vaguely touching on the knife edge that is my life.
‘There’s no point,’ he replies. ‘Every rental in the area gets snapped up the moment it comes on the market. With me working late most nights at the restaurant, I don’t want to have to travel far. That’s why staying here with you is so handy.’ Again, Scott glances at Kieran. ‘Thank you,’ he says when I put a mug of tea in front of him, banging it down harder than I’d intended.
‘I’ve got homework,’ Kieran says in a way that yet again reminds me of his dad – an exasperated release that tells me our conversation is far from done.
‘We can have a few games on the PlayStation later, if you fancy it,’ Scott calls out to my son.
‘Sure, cool,’ Kieran says, his face brightening as he leaves the room, the sound of his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
Scott’s fake smile repulses me. ‘Sit,’ he says to me, patting the seat beside him. ‘I have another favour to ask.’
My skin goes cold. ‘I’m all out of those,’ I tell him, chastising myself for sounding riled. I need to keep calm, act like I’m not bothered. For now. The moment I show him I’m wavering, he gains control. Although something tells me it’s too late for that.
‘I won’t get paid until the end of next month, so I could do with some cash. To tide me over.’
I stare at him. ‘You’ve got a fucking nerve.’
‘Don’t be like that, Jennifer. Just a couple of grand until I get on my feet.’
‘A couple of thousand? You agreed to leave this morning, for Christ’s sake, and now you’re asking for money?’
‘I never agreed to anything, Jen. I don’t know why you can’t just accept that I’m here to stay, and just enjoy it. It makes perfect sense. Me, the father of your baby. You, a widow with a big house. What’s the problem?’
‘The fucking problem, Scott Shaw, is that you raped me.’ I slam my hands down on the table, making his tea jump. I can’t help myself. I’m boiling inside. ‘And I’m left with this.’ I jab a finger towards my stomach, flinching inwardly. It’s not the baby’s fault.
‘Then why haven’t you gone to the police? Why aren’t I in an interview room being questioned and charged right now?’ Scott shrugs, slowly shaking his head with a pitying look.
My hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out my phone. I don’t take my eyes off him.
‘Because you know it’s a lie, Jennifer, that’s why. You were drunk, playing away from home, and you wanted sex with me – an escape from your oh-so-less-than-perfect middle-class life – and now that you’re pregnant, you’re regretting it. You thought that there’d be no repercussions, that things would just pick up where you left off before the conference. Well, you’re wrong, Dr Jennifer Miller. Very, very wrong. Life doesn’t work like that.’
The slap is short, sharp and as hard as I can deliver it. Scott’s head twists to the left to parry the blow. His hand comes up to his cheek, covering the smarting area. He stares at me for a moment, watching me as I’m unable to speak, my mouth hanging open.
‘You’re hormonal,’ he says quietly. ‘I forgive you. Now, go on. Call the police,’ he says, eyeing my phone. ‘Let’s sort this out once and for all. I’ll show them all the photographs and it will be done and dusted. Everything taken care of.’
I maintain my stare, my breathing tense and heavy in my chest. I’ve never felt so much hatred for a person. I close my eyes for a beat. ‘You fucking bastard,’ I spit. ‘If I give you the money, will you leave?’ I sound as pathetic as I feel.
‘There you go,’ Scott says with a satisfied smile, reaching out to take my wrists. ‘That’s more like the Jennifer I know. You’re finally seeing sense. Let’s agree on three thousand to begin with.’
Nothing around me seems real. It’s as if I’ve woken up in my worst nightmare and there’s no way out. ‘And you’ll really go? Leave me and my son alone? Leave the area… you could get a job somewhere else. You don’t even have to pay me back.’ I just need him gone from my life – my son and my baby’s life. ‘And I want you to delete those photos. All of them.’
‘Jennifer, Jennifer,’ he says, taking my hands again. ‘Stop overcomplicating things. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you see? I’m in love with you, my darling. I have been since the moment I first set eyes on you.’
Before I get a chance to respond, I see bright car headlights sweep around the drive, briefly shining in through the window above the sink as a car swings round outside. I get up, dashing to the window to see who’s here, hoping it’s someone who’ll save me from this hell. But the car continues to turn and, on the next go, I see its red tail lights as it speeds off down the drive towards the lane.
‘That’s odd,’ I say, suddenly aware of Scott standing right behind me. His hand slips onto my waist. ‘Whoever it is, they’ve gone again.’
‘I don’t think they arrived in the first place,’ Scott says, his breath warm in my ear. ‘That’s my Mercedes,’ he says quite calmly. ‘Looks like your son has just stolen my car.’
Twenty-Seven
Jen
The reality of Scott’s words don’t sink in at first.
‘Shit…’ I gasp, wriggling free from his grip. I charge through the kitchen and up the stairs. ‘Kier?’ I call out breathlessly, taking the steps two at a time. ‘Kier, are you here?’ Please let him be in his room doing his homework… please.
I shove open the door to my son’s bedroom, my eyes scanning quickly about. Not at his desk, hunched over his laptop; not lying on his bed, tapping on his phone. Not sitting behind his drum kit, beating out a rhythm, and he’s not lounging on the floor on his beanbag, listening to music. I race through to the small en suite bathroom, not caring if I’m invading his privacy.
‘Kieran?’ I call out, but the bathroom is empty too.
‘Jesus Christ…’ I pull at my hair, while my other hand goes to my stomach. Collecting myself, I go back down to the kitchen and grab my phone, dialling my son’s number while Scott watches on, a smug look on his face. It rings out, going to voicemail. ‘Kier, call me back? Just come home. You’re not in trouble, OK? Just get back here now, love.’ I try to disguise my shaking voice.
‘A small drink to calm your nerves?’ Scott says from across the kitchen. He’s holding up one of Jeremy’s prized bottles of whisky.
I stare at him, my face crumpling in disgust. ‘No!’ I snap. ‘I don’t want a bloody drink. I want my son to come back. Why the hell has he taken your car? How did he get the keys?’
Scott shrugs, seemingly unperturbed by events. ‘I’d like to know myself,’ he says calmly. ‘Perhaps I left them on the hall table. He’d better not damage it.’
‘I have to go out and look for him,’ I say, grabbing my bag, incredulous that all he’s concerned about is his stupid car. ‘And you’re coming with me,’ I add, knowing he’ll have to drive his car back when we find him. Thoughts of Kieran in a ditch, the car wrapped around a tree, or him speeding along the dual carriageway out of town fill my mind – or, God forbid, being pulled over by the police and being locked up in a cell for the night.
‘Surely I should report my car stolen first?’ Scott says, holding up his phone.
I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘Let me find him first. This isn’t l
ike him at all. He’s upset about his dad… or perhaps he overheard us talking. Please don’t report him… not yet.’ I hate that I’m begging, my voice pleading.
Scott comes up to me and wraps his arms around me, making me tense. ‘We’ll get through this together,’ he croons into my hair as his lips come down on my head. I force myself to play along for as long as I can stand, gritting my teeth before pushing away from him.
Then it occurs to me. ‘Find My…’ I whisper, unlocking my iPhone. My mind is all over the place, my finger trembling as I log into the app. ‘Please… please…’ I say, waiting for the screen to resolve. We’ve always had family location sharing turned on, ever since Kieran got his first phone. Although Jeremy wasn’t keen on it, often disabling his whereabouts, as he’d done just before the ski trip – though I can’t stand to think what that meant now. We had far too many arguments about it, me reading one thing into his secrecy and him claiming another. Perhaps now the app will finally prove itself useful.
‘His last known location…’ I zoom in on the screen but it only shows me where he was heading a few minutes ago, rather than where he actually is now. ‘He must have turned his phone off, or his battery has run out,’ I say, jabbing my screen to refresh it.
‘Let me see?’ Scott says, leaning close.
‘He was heading out of the village up the hill towards the reservoir,’ I say, pulling on my jacket. ‘Hurry,’ I say, heading outside. ‘It’s a start at least.’
My legs are like jelly, my feet shaking on the pedals as I reverse my car, the wheels spinning in the gravel as I do a three-point turn and roar down the drive. It’s fully dark now and I pull straight out onto the lane, pushing my car to its limits through the gears as I head into the village. The ‘Slow Down’ sign lights up, flashing my speed – forty-eight miles per hour – but I step on the accelerator even harder as I swing round the sharp bend onto the main street of Harbrooke. I barely register the lights glowing outside the pub, or the corner shop, still open, with a couple of people chatting outside, and neither do I notice the person about to step out onto the zebra crossing until they’re halfway over. I jam on the brakes, just missing an old man staggering across, clearly fresh out of the pub.
‘Calm down, Jennifer. You’re not going to do the baby any good in this state,’ Scott says, patting my thigh.
‘Just look out for your car,’ I tell him, wanting to add on or off the road, but I don’t so as not to tempt fate. Kieran knows how to drive – well, as much as can be expected from trundling a quad bike around the field since the age of eight, and the old Land Rover when he could reach the pedals. Jeremy had our son learning how to drive from a young age, though the only actual on-road practice he’d gained were a couple of illicit tutorials late one evening in an empty supermarket car park. I grumbled at the time, but now I’m grateful for the limited experience he’s had. It might just help keep him safe.
‘Where the hell are you, Kier?’ I say, scanning all the side turnings as we exit the other side of the village. I press a couple of buttons on my console and call Kieran’s phone yet again. Nothing – this time it doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail so I leave another pleading message for my son.
‘Unlock my phone,’ I bark at Scott, telling him the passcode. ‘Refresh the Find My app. See if there’s a new location showing.’ Please be OK, please be OK, I pray silently.
Scott does as he’s told. ‘Nothing,’ he says, gripping onto the door as I hurtle round the corner up past the entrance to the reservoir.
The lane narrows and the sky seems even darker up here as the lights of the village and the town beyond are obscured by the woodland as it closes in around us. I jam on the brakes, forced to slow down as two other cars approach from the opposite direction, pulling over onto the verge.
‘Is it him?’ I say, squinting out of the window to check the drivers of the other cars. ‘Your registration plate?’
Scott leans forward. ‘Not my car,’ he says, his tone strangely flat – not angry, not concerned, not even a note of urgency. ‘Pull over here,’ he says before I’ve managed to get up any speed again. ‘In this gateway.’
It’s where I go into the woods for my morning runs, not that I’ve been on one of those lately.
‘Did you see something?’ I say, yanking the steering wheel sharply to the left and parking diagonally. I grab my phone off Scott. The app is still showing Kieran’s last known location right about where we are now, within a couple of hundred yards or so.
‘No, but look at your phone reception and 4G. It’s as good as dead.’ He gives me a look. ‘If Kieran had driven through this black spot, it’s likely his location would have updated again by now. There’s a chance he’s still nearby. And my guess is he’s either in there…’ Scott jabs a finger against the side window, gesturing to the woods. ‘Or down by the reservoir.’ He points with his other hand through my window, across the fields and the sharp incline to the old quarry. If I stood on the sill of my car, on tiptoe, I’d see the shimmering, inky surface of the water that, even in full sunlight, somehow always appears black and bottomless. I shudder.
‘If he’s in the woods, then where’s your car?’ I say, unclipping my seat belt and getting out. ‘And what if his phone battery has died or he’s turned it off? That would also explain him not showing up on the app.’
Scott pauses and I see his eyes flashing through the dark. ‘My car? It’s either in a ditch somewhere around here or perhaps down in the reservoir car park. Let’s search for him here first.’ Scott gets out and joins me by the bonnet as I contemplate the five-bar gate. ‘And as for him turning off his phone, it’s a possibility. But let’s work on the assumption that it’s poor reception for now.’
For a second, I see something akin to compassion and empathy in Scott’s expression, as though he really does care – that he isn’t out to destroy me and blackmail me for whatever he can get. But until I know Kieran is safe, I have to put all that out of my mind. Scott is the only help I have right now, unless I’m forced to call the police. And that fills me with dread.
‘Kier-an…’ I call out into the night, leaning over the gate. The night swallows up my voice. ‘Kieran, are you out there?’ My throat burns from yelling so loud.
‘Kieran!’ Scott yells too. ‘Kieran, we’re over here!’ He grabs hold of the metal gate with both hands and rattles it hard, the locking chains making a clanking sound that echoes through the trees. Then the gate wobbles and squeaks again as Scott climbs over it, jumping down the other side. ‘Coming?’ he says, holding out his hand.
I hesitate, looking him in the eye, his features just visible by the moonlight as clouds scud past. There’s something about his expression, something deep inside his eyes that makes everything seem even more terrible than it already is.
After a second, I put one foot on a bar halfway up the gate and hoist myself up, swinging my other leg over with Scott holding onto one hand firmly. I jump down the other side, careful to land lightly. I don’t want to hurt my baby.
‘Kieran?’ I call as we walk through the woods, my feet trudging through the deep leaves still rotting down from autumn. We both have our phone torches on, illuminating a path ahead of us, making the trees appear silver in the electric light. ‘Where are you, Kier?’ I yell again, already knowing it’s futile. There’s no good reason for Kieran to be in the woods. But I follow Scott anyway, starting to think that his theory about my son being here is less and less likely.
‘Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough?’ These woods have always seemed endless, as though they change every time I come up. I never seem to do the same run twice.
I stop, grabbing onto the trunk of a tree to steady myself. The ground is uneven and littered with roots, even more treacherous in the dark.
‘I don’t think we’ve gone nearly far enough,’ Scott says, drawing up beside me. I feel the warmth of his body and breath on me, the light from his phone shining on the ground as it hangs down by his side.
‘I’m going back to the car,’ I say, shuddering. ‘Kieran isn’t up here.’ I take one last look at my phone, refreshing the app just in case, and that’s when I see it resolving – grindingly slowly – but changing locations nevertheless. Perhaps a lucky patch of reception for me and for my son at just the right time. ‘Look!’ I say, hating that I grab onto Scott’s arm as I show him.
‘Look indeed,’ he says, ignoring my phone. Instead, he bends down where the torch has lit up the ground and brushes away some leaves. He retrieves something and holds it up, turning it round and round, just at the same time I see the icon on my screen indicating that Kieran is close by – down at the reservoir, by the looks of it.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I say, the relief making me feel weak. Then my eyes flash across to Scott’s face and then down to what he’s holding. It’s a skull – small, fragile and greying from age with part of its lower jaw crumbling away. I can’t help the gasp.
Twenty-Eight
Jen
‘Shall I get my Gray’s Anatomy out to prove it?’ I say when we’re home. I’m exhausted. Pregnancy hormones, relief, fear and anger make for a heady cocktail. The main thing is that Kieran is safe. Remorseful and ashamed, but unscathed. One worry ticked off the ever-increasing list.
Scott examines the little skull, setting it down on the kitchen worktop. There’s mud between its remaining teeth and dirt crusted between the plates of its head. ‘You’re the doctor,’ he says, giving me a sly look.
I cup my hands around my mug of tea. ‘It’s some kind of rodent,’ I reply dismissively. ‘Or maybe a rabbit.’ I check my sour tone, hating that I should feel grateful to Scott for agreeing not to call the police about Kieran stealing his car. Oh the irony, I think. It’s me who should be calling the police about him.
The Trapped Wife: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a mind-blowing twist Page 18