So Adrian had won. He’d done the dirty and got away with it.
Carrie had considered whether she should say anything – morally, now she knew, perhaps it was her duty. But who would she tell? Elaine, who had made the show with her husband? But Elaine was dead. Maybe she’d already known, or suspected, but had taken her secret to the grave.
It had been just over a month since she’d died, thought Carrie. Time went by so fast, marching on with no regard to who had been left behind. She wondered about Elaine’s poor friend, the one who’d tried to save her. Elaine’s relatives, who were left to grieve. She knew she had an ex-husband whom she’d divorced in her thirties, but there were no children as far as she was aware. Just that dog she took everywhere. Her company would most likely be wound up, those who worked for her forced to look for something else. The show that Elaine was in the middle of developing with the A-list screenwriter would likely find a home elsewhere. In fact, producers would be queuing up to take over, like vultures, except pretending to be acting in her memory, to take her last show to the screen, an homage to the great Elaine Marsh.
Carrie balanced Rory’s bottle in her left hand and stretched over to the table to pull her laptop towards her. She idly googled ‘Elaine Marsh’ and the screenwriter’s name. The show came up in an old ITV press release, announcing it had been green-lit and was due to be shot the following year. She scrolled further down the search page, but there was nothing about who would be making it now. Too soon, perhaps. She was about to close the laptop down when suddenly she jerked it forward, causing Rory to fret. She soothed him, one eye still on the screen; there was a local newspaper article about Elaine’s death and in the introductory text was Emma’s name. Puzzled, she tapped on the link.
Her eyes widened as she read, unable to believe the words in front of her. A friend of the victim who had valiantly tried to save her was a local woman by the name of Emma Fox.
Emma. Carrie looked up from the screen, tried to take it in. Emma was the one who’d been there, the friend who’d witnessed Elaine’s death?
A sudden chill ran down the back of her neck.
FIFTY-NINE
Friday 23 February
When the train pulled into the station, Emma’s sense of rebellion hadn’t waned. Energy surged through her, pushing her onwards. She didn’t care that what she was about to do wasn’t right, not legally. But morally – well, the cards were stacked in her favour. She had absolutely nothing left to lose.
Once she reached the High Street, she stopped at the supermarket for some essentials. She pushed the small trolley down the aisles, stocking up on food, also throwing in toothpaste, a toothbrush and some underwear.
Carrying two full bags, she decided to take the road along the clifftop that followed the sea and walked another half a mile until she came to the North Foreland Estate. Pulling up her hood and keeping her head down as she passed the CCTV, she took the pedestrian path alongside the barriers. The estate was quiet and she met no one as she followed the private road down towards the cliff edge and then past the Thirty-Nine Steps. At the house, she checked through the bars of the gates. There were no cars, and a look at the house told her it was empty. She considered the gates. There was nothing for it but to climb over. She checked up and down the road at the other grand houses that stood some distance away, but no one was around. Emma dropped each of the shopping bags over the gate posts as carefully as she could, thankful there was nothing glass in them, and then went over herself.
At the front door, she took out the Yale key she’d been holding in the coffee shop in London that morning and let herself in. Remembering the code from her previous visits, it only took a few pushes to the keypad and the alarm was disabled.
Emma stood there for a moment, listening to the silent house. Realizing how cold it was, she looked for the boiler, finding it in a cupboard in the kitchen. It didn’t take long to work out how to switch on the central heating, and as she heard the boiler fire up, she took a relaxing breath. She then placed her perishable food items in the fridge and found a cupboard for the rest. She shivered, then decided to make herself a hot drink while the heating kicked in properly. In her search for the cutlery drawer, she came across a small, grey plastic box. It took a second for her to recognize it; then she plucked it out of the drawer with elation – a spare remote control for the gate! She’d no longer have to climb over the gate post to get in – good for her clothes but also good for keeping any suspicious neighbours at bay.
Carrying her hot tea upstairs, she avoided what was clearly Adrian and Carrie’s room and chose a large spare with a dual aspect that overlooked the sea and the side garden. She hummed to herself as she made up the king-sized bed with the clean sheets and coastal-striped duvet cover she’d found in the wardrobe. The chest of drawers was empty and she opened up the packet of knickers she’d bought earlier. Individually unfolding them, she placed them carefully inside. Tomorrow, she’d have to buy a bit more. Bras, socks, tights. In the en suite, she placed the toothbrush and toothpaste, lining them up just so on the shelf. She then went back into the bedroom, and lying on the bed, texted Lucy to say she was staying with a friend at the coast for a few days as her friend’s mother was unwell. She didn’t elaborate where she was or how long she’d be away.
Her stomach started to rumble. Time to make dinner. She thought about the groceries she’d just unpacked. Should she cook the chicken or make some pasta? Emma decided she was in the mood for Italian, so went downstairs and started to chop an onion for a tomato sauce. She suddenly stopped midway, knife poised in mid-air.
Something was wrong. She cocked her head, listened. Music! She needed music. She switched on the radio and shook her hips as she continued to chop, then scraped the onions into the sizzling pan.
Tomorrow, she would change the locks. She suddenly had a thought. It might actually be better if she didn’t.
SIXTY
Friday 23 February
Neither Carrie nor Adrian had thought much about where they should go for their ‘talk’ and so they’d fallen back on their favourite local restaurant, run by couple Dominic and John. As soon as Dominic held open the door of the Fig Tree for her, a smile stretched across his face, Carrie realized it had been a mistake – there would be no anonymity for the difficult conversation ahead. But she returned the smile and allowed him to take her coat.
‘It’s been so long!’ said Dominic, pulling out their chairs.
‘Six months,’ said Adrian.
Dominic clutched his chest in horror. ‘No!’
Carrie noticed he wasn’t actually hamming it up. ‘That’s what happens when you have a baby,’ she said lightly, which was met with a look of sympathy from Dominic, while Adrian pretended not to hear, his face buried in the menu.
‘John will be out to say hello in a bit,’ said Dominic, ‘when he gets a moment away from the kitchen. You’re in luck – he’s still got two of the venison loin left. Can I get you both a glass of something? We have a new pilsner in from the Czech Republic, golden yellow in colour with a taste of orange.’
They both agreed to try Dominic’s recommendations, Carrie relaxing her rule on not drinking when she knew she’d have to be up in the night. She felt as if she needed it to get through the evening, anyway.
She placed her phone on the table alongside her drink and clocked Adrian’s frown. ‘What?’
‘Do we have to?’ he said, eyes on the phone.
‘It’s a new babysitter. The only babysitter we’ve ever had,’ she corrected, feeling the anxious pang again at leaving her baby for the first time. With no family or available friends nearby, they’d had to use an agency, and Carrie had been aghast at the expense: ten pounds an hour. Still, what price to save a relationship? she’d thought.
She saw he still looked disgruntled. ‘I’m not going to be taking any other calls,’ she said. ‘It’s only if Marnie rings.’ Her tone was final and he backed down. Inwardly, she took a breath. This was already proving hard and they
hadn’t even opened up discussions yet.
‘How are the ideas coming along?’ asked Carrie without thinking, and then immediately regretted her words.
Adrian tensed. ‘Can we not talk about work tonight?’
‘Course,’ agreed Carrie readily. She tried to think of something else to say and it suddenly struck her she’d forgotten how to speak to her husband. A few more seconds ticked by and each was aware of the awkward silence. They smiled at one another with sad, desperate eyes.
‘What shall we talk about?’ Carrie said, trying to make a joke out of it.
‘I don’t know . . . Us?’ said Adrian, and she instinctively stiffened, while knowing they had to face up to it.
‘I’m unhappy,’ Adrian suddenly blurted out. He slumped down in his chair as if the admission had taken all the air out of him, air that had been building and building until it just needed to be released.
‘OK . . .’ started Carrie slowly, taken aback by his frankness.
‘I’m sorry to say it like that, so bluntly, but it’s been preying on my mind. For weeks . . . months now.’
Clearly, thought Carrie, before chastising herself. Sarcasm was not helpful to either of them at a time like this. She knew why she’d thought it: she was unhappy too – he was the one who’d had the affair.
‘And I know a lot of that unhappiness has been down to me,’ continued Adrian. ‘I’ve failed you . . . wow, so many times.’ He shook his head with the breathless realization of it all. ‘Not just the affair but as a husband. Now our lives have changed.’
‘You mean Rory,’ said Carrie.
He nodded and she saw it was difficult for him to admit.
‘I feel guilty,’ he said quietly. ‘I . . . I don’t want to be a parent. And I know that’s a taboo thing to say, something that society doesn’t like, but I can’t help it. I miss my old life. We have so much less sleep, less sex, less fun. Less joy. I’m sad too, sad for us and for our relationship. And the guilt,’ he repeated. ‘I’m not the parent Rory deserves.’ He suddenly stopped and took a gulp of his beer, then inhaled deeply and looked at her. ‘I’ve been afraid to be honest with you,’ he said.
Carrie watched him, feeling her world crumbling away. Actually, she realized it had already disintegrated; she’d just been clinging on to the remaining few bricks that had once made up Adrian and Carrie, Carrie and Adrian. Sixteen years of a life that had been so different from where they were now that it felt like it was a figment of her imagination.
‘Please say something,’ said Adrian.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Do you understand?’ he asked desperately. ‘I know it’s probably different for you, but I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of monster. It’s important that you don’t think that,’ he said hollowly.
It was the most honest he’d been with her for months – more than a year. Ever since he’d said he was ‘happy’ to go along with the pregnancy, something she now knew, perhaps had known back then, that he was just hoping would be all right.
‘I don’t think you’re a monster,’ she said.
A glimmer of deep-felt relief appeared in his eyes, only for a second, and then the sadness took over again.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
A single word that brimmed with regret and finality. It was the sound of the death knell to their relationship.
Tears started to gather behind her eyes and he quickly placed a hand on hers, his own eyes glistening. ‘I want him to have a good life,’ he said. ‘I’ll provide, of course.’
She was unable to speak and blew her nose into a tissue. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John approach from the kitchen, proudly carrying aloft two plates of food. She quickly composed herself and smiled, and she and Adrian both engaged in pleasantries and catch-up conversation, the most united they’d been in months. Ironic it should be as they were breaking up.
It was a quick dinner, neither much in the mood to drag it out, and they returned home early. Carrie paid Marnie, the young babysitter, who was piqued that she’d received less than she’d been expecting, and then Carrie and Adrian each went to their own bedrooms.
Carrie silently undressed and got into bed. She could hear Adrian on the other side of the wall, the faint rise and fall of a TV show he was watching quietly on his tablet. Part of her longed to go in, to snuggle up to him and engage in some of the silly banter that used to come so naturally to them both. But those people they’d once been had long gone, changed irrevocably, now ghosts of another life.
The decision had been hers. She’d known all along that she was the one who’d driven the pregnancy, who’d convinced Adrian – superficially, at least – to have a child. He had protested, she remembered, but she’d glossed over it, so determined had she been to seize this last chance in her life. She was the one who had set their relationship on a new path that had led to a dead end.
Next to her, Rory stirred, flinging an arm above his head in his sleep. She looked over at him, his soft blond hair still barely visible, his fat cheeks flushed pink. Her baby – their baby – who had caused such a seismic change in their lives. The most demanding, most exhausting thing she’d ever had to cope with.
She suddenly remembered how she’d been frightened of him at the start, when he’d first arrived and she’d had no idea what to do with him. At what point had that feeling gone away? When had the transition taken place? Now she couldn’t bear the idea of being parted from him.
She had no regrets. Given the choice, she’d do it all again.
PART THREE
Adrian
SIXTY-ONE
Saturday 24 February
Emma woke naturally the next morning, the late-winter sun filtering through the cracks in her curtains. She lay in bed and stretched, enjoying the pleasant sensation in her muscles, then looked around the room, taking in her surroundings. It was a lovely house, full of light and space. As long as she kept out of Adrian’s study, she knew she’d feel at home here, and the reason for that was because it had been bought with the proceeds of what was her TV project. Her project had earned these walls, these large, airy rooms. She got out of bed and looked out of the window. Her idea had procured that amazing view of the sea, the sun glittering on its grey waves. So really she had no qualms about staying here at all. In fact, if you thought about it, the beach house was rightfully hers.
After a shower, Emma slipped on some of her new underwear and contemplated her clothes. The jeans would be OK, but she could do with a fresh top. She wandered out onto the landing and then into Carrie and Adrian’s bedroom, where she opened the wardrobe. She was in luck. Carrie had several items of clothing hanging there, and there were more in the chest of drawers. Emma looked through them, holding garments up in front of the mirror. It wasn’t ideal, but she could hardly return to the flat and get her own. Arms full, she carried the clothes back to her room, where she carefully started hanging them in her own wardrobe. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did so, a snapshot of herself in one of Carrie’s tops, and she smiled.
Breakfast was a simple affair of toast and honey, and then Emma headed out for a walk. The day was cold and windy but bright and she decided to go down to the beach. The tide was out and she walked along the vast swathes of sand, glancing behind at her footprints defiling the otherwise smooth beach. Funny how in another five hours her marks would be washed clean again, no traces left of them.
As she continued along the beach, Emma looked up at the cliffs to her right, holding her hair back so it didn’t blow in her face. They towered above her, imposing blocks of white chalk, and she was again struck by the lack of railing or fence at the edge. She liked this section of the beach; it was deserted and still belonged to nature. As you headed closer to the town centre and Bleak House, it became more populated, and there were shops and amenities designed to serve the summer tourists.
She walked among them, up towards the High Street, where she stopped and got herself some more milk, a
phone charger, some socks and a plastic bucket. She thought of her possessions back in the flat with Lucy. Lucy wouldn’t throw them out just yet, even when it became clear, in a few days, that Emma hadn’t paid the rent. They were safe for a couple of weeks at least, which was just enough time to put her plan into place.
SIXTY-TWO
Saturday 24 February
It was officially the day after her marriage had broken up. The first day of not being Adrian’s wife anymore, at least not spiritually. The divorce – as that’s what they’d presumably agree to – had still to be arranged. Carrie had heard Adrian get up, shower, and then knock on her bedroom door. He’d said that he was going to go to the office, which would be quiet as it was the weekend, and he’d work on the new idea. She knew by the sounds coming up through the floor that he had opened the front door and was about to leave. She lay there waiting for the clunk of the door closing, and when it came, she involuntarily slumped back against the pillows. Lay there and reflected on her feelings.
How was she now her marriage was over? Carrie was surprised to find that in among the deep sadness, something she dared not dwell on for too long for fear of it ambushing her, there was a curious release. She considered the sensation for a moment, mentally tossing it around. There was still pain, but also the relief of not needing to try and avoid the inevitable anymore. The metaphorical tooth had been pulled. Despite all her hopes that things would change, if she’d actually been honest with herself the last few months, she’d known things were never going to work out once Rory had arrived. At one point, she’d hoped Adrian might adapt, come round to the massive change in their lives, but that was like asking a polar bear to live on an African plain. Sooner or later, it was going to die – inside if not literally.
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