I always felt vulnerable and exposed after confession (maybe that’s where I first developed my taste for therapy) because the desire to share something is powerful. I’ve made up my mind, I’m not going to confess to anything. The secret stops here, with me.
I’ll say the words out loud when I visit her grave tomorrow. (As long as no one is in earshot, of course.) Nina must be left to rest in peace.
* * *
Stuart is out for a run when the doorbell chimes. I’m cooking, the children are watching their allotted one hour per day of TV. (No longer as strictly enforced as it used to be, if I’m honest.) I hesitate. It doesn’t ring again so I ignore it.
“Marie!” Felix’s voice calls out. “There’s a box for you!”
Heart pounding, images of all the nasty things I’ve seen in horror films, such as dead pets, birds or other such gruesome warnings, makes me drop my chopping knife and rush to him.
The front door is wide-open.
“Why did you unlock the door? Don’t ever do that!”
Tears fill his eyes. “I wanted to be helpful—you’re busy.”
My conscience pricks immediately. “I’m sorry, darling.”
I hate the person who is doing this to me even more for making me live in fight-or-flight mode every time something that should be perfectly innocuous occurs.
Resting on the step is a cardboard box, a standard one used for deliveries. A message is scrawled on top.
Thought you could do with this. Greg.
I lift it up; it’s not too heavy.
“Did you see a man leave this?”
Felix shakes his head.
“Okay, thanks, sweetie, go back and finish watching your show.”
I carry it through to the kitchen and place it on the counter. Curiosity takes over. I pull the sharpest pair of kitchen scissors out of their holder and slice through the beige packing tape.
After my adrenaline spike, the contents are oddly anticlimactic. Home CCTV security equipment. It doesn’t eliminate Greg as a suspect completely, not yet, but I can’t deny it’s thoughtful of him after my accusations and outburst earlier.
My back aches. It’s been a long day. Yet, it’s win-win, I think as I study the instructions. If the mystery person is Greg, the messages will stop. If not, I’ll finally get proof of who is behind everything.
Twenty-Eight
I wake up early, bursting with excited anticipation. I had fixed up the CCTV after a fashion the night before. Downstairs, disappointment kicks me twice in short succession: once when I see the mat is devoid of any suspicious envelopes (what’s wrong with me?!), and again when the footage is blank. Frustration hits as I try to figure out what I’ve done wrong.
Stuart and the children appear in the kitchen before I’m any the wiser. Caught up in the morning rush, my day begins before I feel properly ready. My new toy will have to wait.
I write Deborah a heartfelt card, which I drive over and pop through her letterbox. I hope it does the trick. As I emerge from my prenatal class, my phone rings. It’s the school; they’ve not been able to contact Stuart. I’m summoned in because, Felix, of all children, kicked another child. It’s not until I’m in the headteacher’s office, defending Nina and Stuart’s son, that she drops a second bombshell. The child Felix allegedly kicked is Tamsin’s. It would be.
“Why did you kick Harry?” I ask as we walk home.
“Because he said that his mum said you were wicked. I know what wicked means and I didn’t like it.”
My blood runs cold. Wicked is a word frequently used in the threatening cards and it’s not a word I hear commonly used outside of children’s stories. How dare she say such a thing to a friend of Felix’s.
“Thank you, darling,” I say. “You were quite right.”
I’ll let Stuart decide what is the best thing to say overall, because, quite frankly, I feel immense pride at Felix’s defense of me.
Stuart thanks me for dealing with it over a late dinner once the children are in bed.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up for a while...” I say.
I’ve had to put off the adoption conversation (surprisingly, neither child has dropped me in it by raising the subject in front of Stuart) because something else unsettling has cropped up. Finances. Mine. It’s my own fault that I’ve put myself in such an awkward position, but still...it places me at a disadvantage. I don’t like feeling reliant on him.
However, I have to live with it for the time being because it doesn’t take away from the obvious fact that I need more say. Once the children are adopted and I have much more control over everything without Nina’s unsaid presence hanging over us, we’re all in for a better chance at our collective new lives. The children must have lived with us both for at least six months before we can begin the adoption process—well, that’s one hurdle out of the way already.
“I’d like to adopt Felix and Emily,” I continue. “Formally, of course. I’ve been looking into it, and it’s relatively straightforward with your cooperation. They weren’t a part of our wedding, and I don’t want them to feel left out after our baby is born. This could be the best thing for us all, a total fresh start.”
Stuart looks at me. Not in a good way.
“Did you say something to the kids about it? Emily mentioned the word the other day.”
Trust Emily.
“Briefly. But I didn’t make any promises. They were asking if I was their new mummy now and...it slipped out as a potential option.”
Stuart looks...traumatized. It’s annoying. He recovers well, throws me a weak smile.
“That’s a lovely gesture, but it feels too soon after Nina. I’m not ready to take such a big step just yet. I’d need to think about it.”
“So, I’m good enough to look after them twenty-four-seven, take them to the dentist and doctor, throw birthday parties, get up in the night, change their bedding, help with homework, to name a few things, but not good enough to be a real mother, to make proper decisions about their welfare?”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’ve suddenly sprung this on me and—”
“You mean you’ve never thought about it?”
He doesn’t reply.
Rage and regret simmer.
I’ve never felt more alone.
* * *
Felix is invited to play in a friendly football match as a one-off. I agree without consulting Stuart.
“Nina wasn’t keen on him playing football,” he says. “Neither am I. Maybe when he’s a little older. But before we know it, he’ll be signed up for a team and our weekends will involve little else but football.”
“I doubt it,” I say. “He’s not a natural. This is just a bit of fun, a chance to kick about with his friends. I’ll take him. And,” I can’t help adding, “it wasn’t football she didn’t want him to play, it was rugby.”
He doesn’t know everything.
I’m pointing my lens, snapping pictures of Felix as he proudly tries to save goals, when I capture him falling down. I want to run and save him, but I freeze, powerless to act quickly enough, to do anything but watch as a group of seven-and eight-year-olds kick their studded boots right near his head. I brace myself for the seemingly inevitable, but instead, something marvelous happens. He saves it! Still clutching it to his chest, he stands up—completely fine—with a massive grin on his face. I capture his image of happiness. All the parents on our side cheer and several shout, “Well done, Felix!” but I am the loudest.
I belong! It’s wonderful to feel quite so full of genuine pride because I never thought I ever truly would. I feared that I would always feel like a bit of a fraud, a thief, accepting the stolen crumbs of Nina’s life.
Greg is there, snapping pictures for the school website again. He is smiling and joking with some of the parents in between shots. He loo
ks benign, like book-group Greg. I walk over to him and hold out my hand.
“Friends?” I say. “Thanks for the gift.”
“Friends,” he responds. “You’re welcome. Caught the culprit yet?”
“I haven’t installed it properly. I need to read the instructions more thoroughly. I think I was too overkeen when I first tried to set it up.”
“Let me know if you need a hand. I can go through all the security options.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“Felix is really coming along nicely as a player,” he adds.
“Thank you. Sorry for—”
He holds out a hand, palm upward.
“No need. Water under the bridge. I’d feel the same in your position. Sorry for my accusations. I let myself get caught up in general opinion. It was wrong. Clearly, I’m not busy enough.”
“Photography’s coming along well, then?”
“Yes, fingers crossed. As well as this, I’ve been asked to take some pictures for a local angling magazine.”
Professional jealousy hits. I was stupid to let my business slide as much as I have. I miss my old life more than I thought I would.
“I can’t think of anything I’d like less than hanging out by a river or a lake with a fishing rod, especially, waiting for something to happen. And surely, it’s cruel?”
He conveniently ignores my cruel comment.
“It’s surprisingly addictive and peaceful. I try to go at least once a week. I’m embracing the whole work-life balance ethos now ever since the doc broke the news that I have high blood pressure. I even go night-fishing sometimes.”
“Definitely not my sort of thing,” I say as he names a nearby river where a friend has a lodge.
My heart sinks as he continues with the inevitable enthusiasm of a recent convert.
“It’s bloody expensive, I need to choose a cheaper hobby next time. By the time you’ve bought or hired the equipment, paid for a license...”
“Must dash,” I interrupt as I spot Tamsin. “Bye,” I say to him over my shoulder, striding over to catch up with her.
“Excuse me, Tamsin. Felix, go and kick a ball with Harry for a few minutes.”
“We’re in a bit of a rush,” Tamsin says.
“Go on,” I say to the boys.
They don’t need any further encouragement.
“I understand that Harry told Felix you called me wicked.”
She laughs. Nervously.
I hold her gaze.
“It was a misunderstanding. It was something taken completely out of context. Felix really shouldn’t have kicked Harry.”
She gives me that annoying boys will be boys grin that infuriates me so much.
I wonder whether to mention that the police may be interested in the use of the word, wicked, but decide against it. Let her dig her own grave and get caught doing it.
“Actually,” she says, “it’s great that we’re having this little chat, as it has been decided that I’ll take over hosting the book group.”
I haven’t been imagining that I can sense the hatred coming from outside and my paranoia isn’t helped by this unwelcome news. I glance over to see if Greg is watching. I wonder why, now we’re such great pals, he didn’t think to mention this?
There is no sign of him.
“We all decided you’d be too busy preparing for your new arrival,” she said with a generous smile.
I can’t wait for her to be caught out, arrested and forced to confess.
“Thoughtful of you,” I say.
“Thanks, I knew you’d be fine about it. Greg is going to take some photos at the next meeting, raise our profile a bit.”
“It’s our local book group. There are ten members.”
Well, nine now if you exclude me.
“Yes, but it will be fun to share our views on social media, that way, more people can join in! What’s the point in living in this century if you can’t use it to your advantage?”
I honestly don’t know how she expects me to answer that.
“There’s just one more thing...”
What now? I half listen. Apparently, I broke some unspoken rule when I hosted a recent birthday party for Felix.
“The general feeling was that it was a little over-the-top, Marie. People can’t compete, and it isn’t fair to put that kind of pressure on others.”
Tamsin is lying. So many parents (well, two) messaged me afterward to say that their little ones had the best time! I didn’t have the confidence to have parties as a child. I couldn’t cope with being the main focus of attention. Felix and Emily will always have whatever kind of parties they like.
“It was his first birthday without Nina,” I say. “Honestly, you can’t begrudge the poor child that.”
“Nina didn’t want them to be spoiled,” she says, igniting fierce defensiveness deep within me. “You only did a small one for little Em.”
“She got exactly what she wanted, a pirates-and-princesses one!”
I spent hours online organizing Felix’s party after Stuart suggested we take a load of kids swimming! As if I’d want to leap about in a swimsuit in public, notwithstanding the sheer responsibility of all those children in water.
I call Felix back over before I can give in to the strong urge to follow Felix’s lead and give her a good kick in the shins. My hands are clenched.
It’s fortunate that I have my own friends now, too, made through the baby groups I used to mock and be so envious of. I get it now, that Nina wasn’t excluding me intentionally (not then, anyway), that it’s natural to gravitate toward people with whom you have something in common. I have embraced my new world, and I love the delicious secretiveness that no one but me knows the sex of my future child. It is one of the few things that I have all to myself. I cling to anything positive because so much else feels off-kilter.
Greg is waiting for me in his car when I arrive home. He eases his large frame out of the driver’s seat as I pull up.
“What are you doing here?”
“You can say no, but I’m here to install the camera,” he says. “It’s simple enough for me to do and it sounded like you were having difficulties. I know you can do it, but thought it would cross another thing off the to-do list.”
I hesitate.
He shrugs. “I have sprung it on you, I know. No worries—it’s an open offer. I can come back another time.”
I don’t like to admit defeat. Despite that, I agree. He’s right about the to-do list, it’s too tempting.
“Did you know I was being kicked out of the book club?”
Maybe kicked out is a bit strong, but it feels like it to me.
Greg opens the trunk of his car and removes a tool bag. “What? No!”
“Yes.”
I brew us a coffee while he sets to work and moan about Tamsin. I can’t help it, he’s a good listener.
“Thanks for this,” I say, as he runs through how the equipment works.
“It’s a pleasure. I always wanted to be a policeman. I don’t like ‘the bad guys’—” he mimes quotation marks “—getting away with it.”
“Why did you go into private investigator work instead?”
“Long story. My jobs have been pretty diverse over the years.”
My response is silence, to encourage him to spill some (potentially interesting) beans. Perhaps I should retrain to be a therapist.
He half bites at the opportunity.
“Like I said, it’s a long story, which I don’t bore people with, but the outcome meant I had to kiss goodbye my career dreams.”
My face must give away my unease because he rushes to reassure me.
“Don’t worry, it’s not as if I murdered anyone!”
“Well, of course.”
“I wish you’d confided in me sooner. Usua
lly, a camera alone is a good enough deterrent. Spread the word that you’ve installed one if you’re convinced it’s someone you know. That also usually does the trick.”
“How well do you know people in the village?”
“I moved here over five years ago, so I don’t have a long-term history with anyone local.”
I note that it was the year Emily was born, a year in which I felt almost permanently despondent at my inability to conceive. Conscious that I’ve gone silent for too long, I come up with something polite to move the conversation on and so as not to dwell on now redundant, sad times.
“Where did you move from?”
“Devon. And, before you ask, it was for love.”
We both smile.
“It didn’t work out in the way I thought it would,” he continues. He sounds mournful? Bitter? Wistful? I can’t quite put my finger on it. “But I like the area, so I’ve settled, made it my home.”
I type his name into a search engine after he’s left. Nothing immediately untoward leaps out. It’s funny how I’ve sat next to him so many times in book meetings and never given him or his background a moment’s thought. Until recently, in my mind, he has always been just book-group Greg.
I distract myself instead by staring at the images of our house entrance and immediate surroundings, watching cars, cyclists, ponies and pedestrians pass by. It’s reassuring, and I’m grateful for the fresh focus it has given me; a practical approach to divert my fears.
Yet, come morning, impatience and disappointment strikes again with more uneventful footage. Whoever it is, they aren’t going to make it easy for me to unmask them.
Twenty-Nine
I will soon be forced to take a break from therapy because the countdown to my due date is turning into weeks, no longer months. The thought of losing my emotional crutch is disconcerting. When I sit down opposite Christian for one of our last sessions, I can’t get comfortable. It’s not just my size, it’s the unsettling atmosphere at home, Nina’s shadow and the secret.
The Last Wife Page 21