The Perfect Family

by Samantha King

  Unless her diary was another figment of my imagination, conjured up from the depths of my distress, along with her being propelled backwards across the garden by the impact of a bullet . . .

  I can’t believe I’ve invented the existence of a whole diary, though. My memory of it is far too vivid; if I close my eyes, I can feel its sharp corners, the bumps and indentations where Annabel’s pen had carved into the smooth white pages. I remember telling Dom about what I’d read in the early hours of the twins’ birthday; I can clearly recall his shock and anger, too. And I’m sure he mentioned the diary when I was still in hospital, but that seems so long ago now . . .

  Once again, I’ve lost my grasp on where the line between truth and reality lies. Only one person can tell me: my daughter.

  But will I ever get to see her again?

  FORTY-FOUR

  I wake to the sound of laughter: children’s laughter. It’s just my imagination playing tricks on me again, I think. The room is dark; I am alone. For how long? Dom will surely return for his answer soon, and I need to be ready.

  I wonder if this is all just another test. He said the choice is mine, but experience teaches me that he’s probably already made his decision. He asked me to choose between the children, but it wasn’t a real choice: he just wanted me to die believing I’d made it.

  Power.

  I realize now how disempowered Dom had been feeling. By his own admission, his business was failing; our relationship had also broken down and he was getting increasingly wound up by Max’s constant presence and sly taunts. He must have reached breaking point when Max seemed to hint at us having an affair. When Dom found my suitcase, it surely confirmed his worst fears: he was going to lose everything. So he snapped. He’s not a psychopath, or a natural born killer: he’s an ordinary man who became desperate to the point of crazed, vengeful malevolence.

  And he’s got me exactly where he wants me now. I should have fought back a long time ago; that is my biggest regret. I loved Dom, and we were good together, but then we weren’t, and, in truth, I’d realized after the very first slap that none of my attempts to appease or re-engage with him were going to work. At that point I should have got out, but I held on to hope too long. Lucy was right: I left it too late. What was I waiting for? For Dom to change? For life to get better—or worse? Was I waiting for someone literally to put a gun to my head?

  I hear another hoot of mirth followed by a chorus of giggles, and for a second I wonder if I’m actually still asleep and dreaming, or if the shut-off valve in my mind has rescued me from horror once again by diverting my thoughts towards happier places—the park, the playground, with the twins happily playing and chasing each other. Then I hear shouting and realize it’s coming from outside on the street. Chattering. Excited screeches and more boisterous laughing.

  It’s Monday morning, I realize, the back of my neck prickling as the implication of this sinks in. There are people just a few meters away from me. If I could just signal my presence to them somehow—bang on the window boards, summon up enough voice to scream. I struggle to raise myself from the bed, but the effort defeats me and I can only fall weakly back on to the mattress, battling tears of frustration as I imagine the parents and schoolchildren walking past Max’s front door without a second glance, noticing nothing unusual in boarded-up windows on another empty house, their thoughts focused on the day ahead.

  My mind spins with memories of the daily school run, of Annabel and Aidan climbing on to the bus dragging school bags and gym kits, Aidan struggling with his violin case. I remember how I’d walked them all the way to the gates when they first started at the prep school, clutching their hands in mine, trying to encourage them that everything would be all right, they would soon make new friends and they could see their old ones any time they liked. I remember loitering until I’d watched them cut across the lawn and walk into the main building, never taking my eyes off their progress but all the while distracting myself by chatting to whomever I was standing next to, wishing it were Lucy, wishing we were back at the old school gate.

  It was Annabel who first suggested they should start taking the bus; lots of the other girls in their class did, she claimed boldly, and she didn’t want to look like a baby.

  “But don’t, like, wear your dark glasses and follow us all the way there, Mum, will you?” She looked up from spreading peanut butter on her toast; she’d taken to making her own snack after swimming club and it was a meticulous process that always made me smile.

  “You mean like your own personal bodyguard? You should be so lucky.” I let the comment about my dark glasses pass, clenching my teeth at the reminder of bruises I’d tried to hide. I popped two more slices of bread down in the toaster in case Aidan wanted some.

  “Stalker, more like,” she said, laughing.

  “Can’t you come on the bus with us, Mum?” Aidan asked, wandering in to the kitchen and dumping his bag in the corner before remembering to hang it up in the cupboard under the stairs. Dom didn’t like the house junked up, as he called it. I encouraged the twins to be as neat and tidy as possible downstairs, with the promise that they could be as messy as they liked in their own rooms.

  “Course, love, if you want me to,” I told him, glad to have an excuse to do exactly that. I felt nowhere near ready to trust them alone on public transport and had every intention of tagging along somehow, even if it meant following them from a distance. I wrapped an arm around Aidan’s shoulder as he sauntered back into the room, giving him a squeeze.

  “We’ll be safe, Mum,” Annabel insisted, rolling her eyes at her brother when he reached over to grab a slice of her toast. “The stop’s right at the end of our road, and James and Sally get on at the corner. If you’re worried, just ask their mum to make sure we get on the same bus, and we’ll sit with them. They’re two years above us. Practically grown-ups.”

  “You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you, smarty pants?” I said, hunting in the fridge for something to cook for Dom’s dinner, knowing he probably wouldn’t come home to eat it.

  “Well, if you got us a mobile, you wouldn’t need to worry at all, would you?” was her response, accompanied by a cheeky grin.

  “Let’s have a trial run, then, shall we?” I gave her a look, refusing to be drawn on that subject; I’d made my feelings clear already. “I’ll speak to James’ and Sally’s mum and see if you can sit with them. But don’t be surprised if you see me lurking on the back seat. At least to begin with. I know the school’s only along the High Street, but even so. I don’t want to run the risk of you two monkeys getting into any trouble.”

  “Trouble? Nothing even the tiniest bit dramatic ever happens round here, Mum!” Annabel said, and this time Aidan rolled his eyes in agreement.

  I’d asked Dom for his opinion the following morning while he was shaving, and his only comment was that he’d walked to school since he was old enough to tie his own shoelaces, and he didn’t know what I was making such a fuss about. The kids were mixing with a better class of families now, he added. Not so much to worry about as when they were hanging out with riff-raff.

  Bad things happen to posh people, too, I remember saying in my head, but I’d learned the folly of sharing that kind of anxiety with Dom.

  Lucy had been far more reassuring. “We can’t baby them, Maddie. It’s hard, God knows it goes against every instinct to let them loose without us at their side, but at some point we have to trust them. We’ve taught them well. We need to let them spread their wings. At least as far as the bus stop, anyway. And with us walking fifty paces behind them on their first day,” she added, grinning.

  “I just feel like I wouldn’t be doing my duty, or something. School, clubs, ferrying them around—that’s what I’m here for. To be with them. And I like it. Shoot me but I like hanging out with my children. I just don’t want to turn into one of those—what did I hear one of the nannies say the other day? Helicopter parents?”

  “Easy for a nanny to say. Not their chil
d,” Lucy said, pursing her lips. “Not their heartstrings, not their maternal guilt. I feel the same, Maddie, but you deserve a life too.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Luce.” I’d tried to be discreet about how things were with Dom, but I couldn’t hide every bruise, and Lucy wasn’t stupid. “A life to do what? The twins are my life.”

  “And what about Dom?” she said quietly. “Don’t tell me, he’s made you feel you don’t deserve anything else,” she said intuitively. “You’re his personal—”

  “It’s not that simple,” I said, sighing.

  “Isn’t it? How many second chances are you going to give him, Maddie? Because he’ll take as many as you offer. And he’ll keep on taking, until you stop giving.”

  “Last night I dreamed of us at the seaside,” I said wistfully, all talk of the school run forgotten. “Just me and the twins. They were splashing in the sea and I was just sitting there. Watching them. That was it. Nothing more than that. But I was safe. They were safe. We were happy.”

  “You only have to name the day, Maddie. The cottage is yours whenever and for as long as you want it. I know only too well what it’s like. I told myself Matt would change, but the day he shook Jasper, I realized I was deluding myself. Jasper was only six months old. I’m lucky he’s still here. Don’t wait till it’s too late, hon.”

  * * *

  Too late.

  Is it all too late?

  I’ll never forgive myself if it is. I need to make it up to my children, and I hope with everything that’s left in me that they are all—Annabel, Aidan, Lucy and Jasper—safe, happy . . . alive. Even if I can’t be with them, I just want them to be OK.

  Please let them be all right; please, please don’t let them be hurt or in pain.

  My eyes finally snap open but I feel groggy, disoriented and tearful as the memories evaporate into the dank, murky air. The sound of children’s voices floats towards me again, more strongly now, as if they are indeed passing right in front of the house. Definitely not a dream. I picture the sprawling groups of local schoolchildren making their way through the estate towards Ivybridge Primary School, chatting about what they did at the weekend, what they watched on TV the night before, which boy has started fancying which girl, and whether the teachers will notice if they don’t hand their homework in for another week.

  The ordinariness of it breaks my heart and a dry wracking sob hurts my bruised ribs. How many times have Lucy and I complained over the years about the busy school days, the rush to get to after-school clubs, the endless quest to keep up, keep in the loop, keep on top of everything? Go, go, go. Lucy always seemed to be one step ahead of the crowd; my organizational skills were rather more haphazard, but the twins always said they loved opening their PE bags to find odd socks and a random T-shirt; they said it was fun waiting to discover what unusual combinations I’d packed away in their lunchboxes. It made school life more interesting; it reminded them of me, and they carried that reminder with them like a hug all day.

  Small stuff. Tiny pockets of gold tucked inside the beige anorak of everyday domestic life. Dom has taken all that away from me. Maybe there is still a chance. If I ever get out of here; if Dom keeps faith with the deal he offered me . . . Max is dead; it can make no difference to him if I denounce him as the gunman. And I feel no guilt about it: I was never in love with him; there was no affair. I’m now completely certain of that. Either Dom got the wrong end of the stick, or Max was just winding him up. Maybe he was tired of being the lonely bachelor and, after half a bottle of whiskey, the devil came alive in him—exactly like his younger brother—and he tried to cause trouble with a big fat lie, not knowing that Dom would believe him or where it would lead. Well, now it’s my turn. The difference is that my lie can’t hurt anyone, certainly not Max. The police already think he pulled the trigger, in any case. But it will make all the difference in the world to me—and the twins.

  My throat is burning and my stomach feels empty, cramping. I cough and it turns into a rattle. Trapped in this cold, damp room with no food, no warmth except my jacket to use as a blanket, I must have developed a chest infection. I constantly feel sick and feverish. I can hardly hold my head up; dizziness makes it feel like a spinning top. I battle to keep my shoulders upright for a few painful moments before my muscles begin to tremble with the futile effort and I sink backwards, losing all hope.

  I’m overtaken by a coughing fit so I don’t hear the key in the door and shock bolts through me as I hear the ceiling light fizz and open my eyes to see Dom standing in front of me.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  FORTY-FIVE

  “You found the tickets in my suitcase. Did you find anything else?” I say carefully.

  Dom has at least helped me to the bathroom. He’s even brought me a bottle of water. No food, though; he clearly intends to keep me weak and unable to make a break for it. As if I could . . . I can hardly walk . . .

  “Such as?” He rests his thumb on the tip of the knife, just reminding me of its presence.

  “You took it, didn’t you?”

  “It’s my get-out-of-jail-free card. Of course I took it,” he says scathingly.

  “What do you mean? How on earth could Annabel’s diary protect you?”

  “Because she was writing about Max, of course. What father wouldn’t want to protect his daughter and stop the man who was trying to hurt her?” He smirks.

  “Easy to say, now he’s not here to defend himself. How many more crimes does your brother have to take the rap for, Dom? You can have your deal,” I say wearily. “But will anyone actually believe me, that’s what I’m wondering.”

  “I had no trouble getting myself an alibi at the golf club. I’m sure I can find witnesses to corroborate Max’s interest in young girls. He was almost sacked for it once. I only have to ask his manager at the gym and he’ll confirm the truth: Max was a dirty bastard.”

  “Yet you let him into our home. And you didn’t tell me,” I say, anguish warring with anger.

  “I didn’t think even my brother would be idiotic enough to shit in his own nest,” Dom says. “But when you told me about her diary, I knew instantly. It was him, beyond a shadow of a doubt. One more reason he deserved a bullet in his dumb brain.”

  One more reason for Dom to storm out of our bedroom and sit waiting with the gun in his hand for Max to arrive.

  “And is this what Annabel has said? Have you asked her?”

  Is she still alive? Is she OK?

  “I don’t need to. And neither should you. Where’s your mother’s instinct now?” He sneers. “It’s all there in her diary. Why don’t you take another look? You’re lying on it.”

  I take a sharp intake of breath as I suddenly become aware that the lump at the end of the mattress isn’t just broken bed springs, and I try to scrabble towards it, but my arms and legs are stiff and heavy. The mattress suddenly tips and I roll to one side. Dom slides his arm underneath and pulls out a hardback book covered with white roses. I hold out my hands and my eyes fill with tears at the weight of Annabel’s diary on my palms; it feels like I’m holding a piece of my daughter, and as I open the book her words blur in front of my eyes. I’m so caught up in my distress that I almost don’t hear the first knock.

  But Dom does; I feel him tense beside me.

  A louder banging noise almost makes me jump off the bed. Louder and louder; it sounds like someone is trying to break down a door. I clutch the diary hard against my chest, wondering breathlessly if someone else has come to settle a score with Max, only too late.

  “Don’t. Move. A. Muscle.” Dom’s hands shoot out, one grabbing my wrist so hard I think it might snap, the other clamping over my mouth.

  “Mrs. Castle? Maddie? Are you in there?”

  I recognize that voice!

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Castle. We’re coming in to get you.” A different voice calls to me from outside the house. Louder. Authoritative. English. It’s vaguely familiar but I can’t quite place where I’ve
heard it before.

  “Make one move and I’ll finish you right now,” Dom says gruffly, yanking me off the bed and dragging me behind him, my weak legs scrabbling desperately.

  He turns off the light and backs himself against the bedroom door, bolt upright, clutching me against his body. His heart thuds against my shoulder blade and for a moment his left hand curls almost protectively around me, pressing flat against my midriff in a mockery of a lover’s touch. Then it slides up to cover my mouth as he reaches behind himself with his right hand. A second later, I feel the tip of the knife pricking the skin of my throat.

  “If you can hear me, Madeleine, just hold on tight for a few more minutes. Don’t be frightened. Please just try to stay calm . . .”

  Call me Maddie, I think. And as tears of fear mingled with relief roll down my face, I smile.

  FORTY-SIX

  “We know you’re in there, Dominic. We’ve been to your house and found it all shut up. Bit of a mess in there, though. Can you tell us anything about that?”

  I feel Dom stiffen behind me, but he says nothing.

  What has he done to our home?

  I can hardly breathe as I try to picture what’s happened. Are the children still there? Is Lucy?

  My thoughts fly all over the place as I wait for the detective to speak again. I recognize DCI Watkins’ monotone drawl now, and I remember how unflappable he seemed during our interview at the hospital, but I can’t believe he can be as calm as he sounds. If he’s really sure that Dom is here, and isn’t just bluffing, then he must also know he’s holding me captive and that I’m in danger. Why isn’t he yelling at him or breaking down the door, or something?

  Because this is a hostage situation, I realize.

  I am Dom’s hostage.

  Immediately I think of news footage I’ve seen over the years; I think of the twins saying that nothing dramatic ever happens where we live, and I wonder if they’re watching the headlines on television right now: a siege situation on a west London council estate. Is Lucy with them, comforting them as they watch in shock and horror?