The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  I could see a man coming toward me and moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk to let him pass. He looked up at me and grinned, then said, “Hello.” I didn’t respond, but kept my head down and hurried on and I heard his footsteps recede, then the sound of him kicking a plastic bottle from the sidewalk onto the road.

  Then the road was quiet, the streetlights dimmer and more infrequent. There were few houses along this stretch. On one side was a park, quiet now, of course, and pitch-black beyond its railings. On the other were shops and offices, all of them closed. Few had left a light on so I hurried from lamppost to lamppost, realizing it had been years since I’d walked home down a dark road on my own. I tried to remember the rules I’d learned as a girl: I didn’t walk too close to the buildings, in case someone dragged me down an alley. I didn’t walk too close to the parked cars alongside the road in case someone was lurking there. I didn’t put my headphones in. I was on high alert. My house key almost scarred the palm of my hand, I was gripping it so tightly.

  Then I don’t know what happened, but suddenly I felt strange. My skin prickled and my ears strained to pick up cues. I straightened my back and walked a bit faster, while I tried to work out what was happening. And then I realized. I felt someone was there.

  The road was quiet and then I heard the soft clink of a car door closing. I turned quickly, but couldn’t see anyone. I stood still for a second, focusing on the road behind me, and saw in the distance the guy in the light jacket who’d said hello. He was nearly over the bridge now. I turned and hurried on, but still I felt uneasy pinpricks on the back of my neck.

  Cars and vans were parked along the side of the road and the sidewalk was quite narrow. For a moment I thought of walking in the middle of the road, but then a car drove past and I stayed on the relative safety of the sidewalk. The car slowed down and took a left turn farther up the road and for a few minutes everything was quiet again. The turning for my road was several hundred yards ahead. Then there was the sound of another car coming up the road behind me.

  It was only after it went past that I realized it was the same car that had gone past me just minutes earlier. It was silver, quite big, but I couldn’t tell the make or model. I could see it was a five-door and had a dual exhaust. When I saw it drive past the second time I saw the number plate started with MW. Once again, it took a left turn farther up the street.

  I frowned. Why would the same car come past twice? And then I felt panic rising in my chest. I was walking down this road on my own. There had been no other cars, just this one.

  It was as though all my senses were heightened. The sky looked darker; any stars had disappeared. The lights from the shops seemed more sinister, as they cast shadows on the sidewalks. And my hearing was sharpened: I could hear the sound of the breeze in the trees and the thrum of distant cars. Just then I heard the sound of a car coming up the road again.

  And suddenly I was terrified. I couldn’t look behind; I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. My eyes flickered from right to left and ahead again. There was nobody else around.

  I slid my phone out of my bag and held it tightly. When the car went past for the third time I registered the color: silver, the exhaust: double. The number plate starting with MW. And then it slowed down ahead of me. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I saw it stop in the middle of the narrow road. Its hazard lights started to blink.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. There was no way I was going to walk past that car. Both of us were still, like adversaries waiting to see who made the first move. Then the driver’s door opened.

  I took a huge breath, turned on my heels, and ran back the way I’d come. There was a side street on my left and I raced around the corner and along the quiet street and then turned into a road that was parallel to the one I’d walked down before.

  All was quiet. I couldn’t hear any car engines or footsteps; nobody was on the streets. Some of the houses had lights on in either the living room or bedrooms at the fronts of the houses and as I ran I made a mental note as to where I could bang on the door.

  It was still more than a mile to my house, through all the back streets. I went a zigzag route, always choosing the street with the most lights on downstairs. By the time I reached my street all I could hear was the blood pumping through my veins, the pulse in my ears, my heart beating like a drum.

  Holding my keys in position, I raced to my front door. My fingers slipped over the key as I tried to insert it. As the lock turned I thrust the door open and slammed it behind me.

  When I was safely upstairs I stood in the hallway, panting. The light from a nearby lamppost shone in through the window. In my bedroom I stood at the edge of the window and looked up and down the yards and the backs of houses on the road parallel to mine. All was still. Slowly I drew the curtains, but I didn’t put a lamp on.

  The kitchen looked out onto houses on the side street. That, too, was silent, though enough lights were lit to reassure me. Quickly I pulled down the blind. Again I didn’t switch the light on in case my shadow could be seen.

  In the living room I relied on the hallway light to guide me to the window. I flattened myself against the wall and looked out onto the street.

  And then I saw a silver car crawl down the road. There was no reason for it to move that slowly; there was no other traffic about. The driver was on the other side of the road to my house and I couldn’t see them at all. At first I thought of using my phone to film it, but I couldn’t risk its light being seen. I grabbed a pen and paper to write down the number plate but the street was dark and I couldn’t make it out. I stayed hidden and watched as the car turned down the side road, just past my house. A few minutes later it was back.

  Someone was watching me.

  CHAPTER 46

  Emma

  It was so odd living with Harry in those early days of my pregnancy. We both had such huge secrets. He knew nothing about mine and didn’t have a clue that I knew his. Whenever I looked at him I would wonder whether he was still involved with Ruby or whether everything had changed for them. He certainly wasn’t giving any of the usual signals. He was absolutely present in our marriage and never seemed preoccupied or sad. He was the happiest I’d ever seen him.

  And I was happy, too. Of course I was. I was pregnant after thinking it would never happen. But I was furious, too. Harry had caused all this. If he hadn’t been having a fling with Ruby, then I wouldn’t have gone to Tom’s house. I wouldn’t have slept with him, I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, and I certainly wouldn’t have to put up with Tom bullying me now.

  Even though I hadn’t seen Tom again, the threat was still there. Every time Harry was about to leave for work, I ran to the window to check that Tom wasn’t waiting for him, ready to spill the beans. Even though the landline was unlisted, whenever it rang I froze in terror and made sure I grabbed it before Harry could reach it. In the end I turned the sound off; Harry wouldn’t notice as he rarely used it, but it saved me worrying about him picking it up when I was out. And then I went one step further and canceled the landline itself, telling Harry we so rarely used it, it was a waste of money. He’d laughed at this unexpected thriftiness and arranged for that money to go into the baby’s savings plan. In the evening I’d be back at the window again when he was due home, so that I could be there to divert him if I saw Tom. When I’d hear Harry’s car turn into the driveway, I’d check his face, to see whether he looked furious or puzzled or frantic with worry. It was exhausting having to anticipate Tom.

  But Harry was always happy now. News of the baby had given him a new lease on life. He’d bound out of bed as soon as the alarm rang every morning, starting the day with a huge smile on his face. He’d kiss me good-bye at the door, holding me tightly and whispering he loved me. It was just like the old days. And at night he’d leap out of his car and run up to the house to find me.

  “Hey,” he’d say, wrapping me in his arms. “How are you,
sweetheart? Feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I’d reply. Physically I was, after that early bout of morning sickness, but mentally I was a wreck.

  “And how’s my little one?” He’d stroke my stomach gently. “Is he being good for you?”

  “She’s been great,” I’d say automatically.

  He’d grin every time. “Do you think it’s a girl, then? I’d love that. She’ll be just like you. Perfect.”

  Usually I’d started cooking dinner by the time Harry came home, but he’d always make me sit down and put my feet up while he carried on with it. He’d put the radio on and I’d hear him singing away, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Well, he hadn’t, I suppose. He thought he’d gotten away with an affair. He also thought he was the father of my baby. He may well be, who knew?

  For a few days, I heard nothing from Tom. Gradually I started to calm down. I’d told him that he wasn’t the father. I’d told him I was happily married. Even if he did think he was the father, what did he think was going to happen?

  I soon found out.

  * * *

  • • •

  The phone call came just before I was going to bed, a few days after I saw Tom in the café.

  Harry and I had had a lovely evening. He’d come home with flowers, and though I knew they were borne out of guilt, they were still nice to have. He was just so happy now; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him like that. Whereas before he’d been weary and tired and would be quick to squabble about something or nothing, now he just couldn’t do enough for me.

  “You look like you could do with an early night.” He winked at me. “What about a massage?”

  “What do you want in return?” I asked suspiciously.

  He laughed. “Nothing, sweetheart. This is just for you.”

  “Wonderful. Let me have a quick shower first.” I poured him another glass of wine and jumped up to go upstairs. Then my mobile rang in my handbag in the hallway. I frowned. “Who on earth’s that? It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

  “Just ignore it,” he said. “It’s too late to take a call.”

  I scrabbled in my bag for my phone. I didn’t recognize the number, but answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  A man spoke. “I’ll say this just once.”

  Every nerve in my body jumped to attention. I knew that voice. Slowly I moved nearer to the front door, so that Harry couldn’t hear me. “What?” I whispered.

  “Either you tell him or I will.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Emma

  By the time Harry came up to bed, I was too agitated for a massage. While the shower was running I’d saved Tom’s number to my mobile, using the name Anna. I was so glad I’d canceled the landline; I couldn’t cope if he called on that when I was out.

  “Who was on the phone?” asked Harry when he came into the bedroom minutes later.

  “Oh, no one.” I smoothed moisturizer over my face, closing my eyes so that I didn’t have to look at him. “Just a call center.”

  “I didn’t think they were allowed to call at this time of night.”

  I went into the bathroom. “Yeah, well, it might have been one from another country. I didn’t stay on long enough to find out.” I started to brush my teeth, knowing that conversation would be impossible now, and by the time I went back into the bedroom he seemed to have forgotten all about it.

  I turned down the massage in the end, saying I was feeling a bit sick, but Harry then held me for an hour, talking about the baby, what we’d call it, the holidays we’d have, how we’d decorate their bedroom, when I thought she would stop calling him Daddy and call him Dad instead.

  I felt like my heart was breaking.

  While he slept quietly by my side, one hand still lightly protecting my stomach, I gently turned away and took out my phone, angling it so that even if he woke, Harry wouldn’t see the screen. I went onto private browsing and filled in a form so that I could find out who on earth was my baby’s father.

  Once my payment was accepted, I was able to access their instructions. I read them religiously. I had to provide a blood sample myself. That was easy enough to arrange through the site. Then I had to collect Harry’s DNA and since I couldn’t ask him for a swab, the only way I could do that was to collect some of his nail clippings. I guessed that Tom would have happily provided swabs for me, but I didn’t want to involve him. And then he’d want the results: What if they weren’t what I wanted?

  * * *

  • • •

  So the next day I replaced the bin liner in the bathroom bin and scrubbed the nail clippers. When he had a shower before bedtime, I called through to him, “Harry, you scratched me in bed last night. Cut your nails!”

  He came out of the bathroom looking all apologetic and I felt like such a bitch. When he was asleep I crept back into the bathroom and replaced the bag with a new one and hid the evidence in my study. The next morning, after he’d left for work, I put the nails into the bag provided.

  The online clinic I’d chosen offered a blood sample collection service, thankfully, given that I hadn’t a clue how to find a phlebotomist. I arranged for someone to come to my workplace; it wasn’t something I could risk Harry discovering. I arranged an appointment early in the morning, before Annie arrived, and pulled the blinds down in our office so that nobody passing would see what was going on. When the nurse arrived, she was able to take a blood sample without anyone knowing about it.

  I felt like a criminal, having it taken so secretly. She was very discreet, though, and was clearly used to this sort of thing. I’d arranged for a courier to pick up the tests immediately afterward and to take them to the clinic and the whole thing took only an hour or so, but the way I felt now, I knew it would be a long time before I could look at myself without shame.

  Later that morning, when I was trying hard to focus on work, a message appeared from Tom:

  Do you want me to be with you when you tell Harry? Happy to do it myself if that makes it easier.

  I’d had enough. Before I could consider whether I should, I called him.

  “Tom? Will you stop sending me messages? You’re driving me mad.”

  “Hello, Emma,” he said, as calm as you like.

  “I’m not going to tell Harry anything!”

  “Then I will,” he said. “If you think I’m going to let that man sleep with my wife and bring up my child, then you need to think again.”

  “You slept with me!” I shouted. I hurried to the office door to shut it tight. “You did the same thing.”

  “It’s not the same at all.” The trouble was that I didn’t know whether it was or not. I didn’t know what I thought about that. “You realize he’s getting away scot-free? He’s had an affair and you’re trying to protect him from knowing about us.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t know why I wasn’t confronting Harry about his affair. I couldn’t work out whether I was scared in case he left me for Ruby, or whether I wanted to appear the innocent as far as the baby was concerned. I was terrified the baby wasn’t his. It was all I could think about. “There is no us.”

  “Of course there is. We’re having a baby. And he needs to know.”

  “I’ll deny it,” I said. “I’ll tell him I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, that would be difficult. After all, you left something at my house, didn’t you?”

  I breathed out. My bracelet. I’d tried to forget about it and luckily Harry hadn’t noticed it was missing. I flushed as I remembered him holding my wrists down that night. When I’d wriggled, it had rubbed against my wrist and he’d taken it off and put it on his bedside table. “You have my bracelet?”

  “I do. It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Give it back to me, please.”

  “I will. Of course I will, but not yet.” There was a
long pause. “How would you explain that?” he asked. “How could it be in my house unless you were there, too?”

  I had no answer. I could feel I was about to start crying out of sheer temper and was determined not to let him hear that.

  “I’m sure Harry would like to know how willing you were,” he said in a soft voice. “You came to my house. You slept with me. I just want to tell him about the baby.”

  “He knows about the baby!”

  “He doesn’t know it’s my baby, though, does he? He doesn’t know that you’re carrying my baby. That he was cuckolded.” He laughed. “I have to tell you I am really looking forward to telling him that.”

  I ended the call, shaking. When I went to Tom’s house that night to tell him about Harry and Ruby, I’d wanted revenge on Ruby. It had backfired on me.

  CHAPTER 48

  Emma

  Annie called me a few days later, just after Harry left home to go to London. It had rained all night and the sky was still heavy with clouds, but she was as bouncy as ever.

  “You sound really tired,” she said. “Once you’re through the first trimester you’ll feel a lot better.”

  “I hope so. I’m exhausted.” I didn’t know whether it was my pregnancy that was tiring or the constant thinking and worrying about dates and times and who was more likely to be the father. I’d lie awake most nights now, while Harry slept beside me, chatting to women on online forums, checking figures and charting little graphs. I felt ashamed of myself that I was in this situation; it was something I might expect of a teenager, but I was in my late thirties. The results would take a few days to come through and I felt as though I couldn’t relax until then. At least if I knew, I could do something about it, I told myself, but all I could think about was that if it wasn’t Harry’s baby, our marriage was over.