Emma’s mouth opened in horror. ‘No! God, no, never. I mean, there was . . . but that was one time. A mistake. A terrible, awful mistake. No . . . please. We . . . we didn’t even like each other.’
She could see by Carrie’s face that she believed her.
‘So why were you at the beach house?’ asked Carrie.
Emma thought of Geraldine. ‘I was . . .’
What? Working for him? She’d never believe that. It was nonsense and an insult to Carrie to say such a thing.
‘I wanted Adrian to pay for everything he’d taken from me. I told him I’d meet him there to talk about a programme idea, one that I’d share with him if he paid me some money.’ She saw the look of distaste on Carrie’s face. ‘Oh, come on – he got me fired. He stole my first idea and passed it off as his own,’ she snapped, and a flicker of shame crossed Carrie’s face.
‘OK,’ Carrie relented, her voice going tight. ‘He did take your idea, but he didn’t exactly get you fired. That was down to you – to both of you for sleeping together.’
Emma swallowed hard. ‘You don’t understand . . .’
‘What is it I don’t understand, Emma?’
It was suddenly too much to keep in. ‘He begged me to keep it quiet but then told you about it himself. And worse . . . he pretended to me that you’d found out through someone else.’
Carrie was frowning. ‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. Who did he say had told me?’
Emma turned away.
‘Was it Elaine?’ Carrie suddenly asked, trepidation in her voice.
Emma’s throat grew thick with the dammed-up tears and the petrifying truth.
‘Is that why you were with Elaine at the lake? Were you confronting her?’
Emma turned back, eyes blazing.
‘Oh my God . . .’ said Carrie, her hand at her mouth.
‘You’ve got it wrong,’ said Emma defiantly. ‘It was a chance meeting. We’d bumped into each other there before. But when I saw her, I did ask her about it. I was angry. I . . . I shouted at her.’ It was as good as a confession, but somehow she didn’t care anymore. ‘Adrian set me up. He deliberately let me think Elaine had told you. I never wanted to hurt you, never.’ She began to cry silent tears, while Carrie stayed silent, just watching her. Ashamed, Emma blew her nose.
‘Are you going to tell the police?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been arrested,’ said Carrie. ‘On suspicion of murder.’
‘What?’
‘Adrian was trying to kill me, thinking it was you. You’ve changed your hair,’ Carrie said accusingly, looking at her bob. ‘I pushed him away. The police took me to the station last night and interviewed me under caution. They took Rory away from me for a few hours. Placed him with a foster family. Strangers. If I go to prison, that’s where he will end up.’
The terror and anger in Carrie’s voice made Emma shake. ‘But . . . but it was self-defence,’ she stammered. ‘He was trying to kill you.’
‘He’s dead,’ snapped Carrie. ‘You started all this. With your lies.’
‘No, I—’
Carrie cut across her. ‘I know who you are.’
A guilty hook in her heart, wrenching it out. Emma looked at Carrie in badly disguised alarm. Her gasping heart started to beat faster. Thump, thump.
‘I spoke to your mother. Alice.’
Thump, thump, thump.
‘She called me to tell me something. You see, I spoke to her a few days ago, and as part of that conversation, naturally I told her my name.’
Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthump.
‘You’re the baby I had when I was seventeen, the one I gave up.’
Emma closed her eyes, unable to take in the blinding lights, the screaming truth. And yet this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? She took a few deep breaths and then slowly reopened her eyes. Carrie was still sat at the side of her bed, watching her.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
Emma knew there was a logical answer to this but couldn’t form the words.
‘Why did you write to Adrian all those years ago? You knew we were married. You knew who I was the whole time.’
‘Yes,’ started Emma tentatively. ‘Yes, I did. I originally wanted to write to you, to ask for your advice. I admired you so much. It seemed so . . . serendipitous when I found your name in my parents’ documents and on a curious whim decided to look you up. It only took a couple of searches . . . I couldn’t believe it. It was as if you’d been listening all along. As if you’d been there the whole time. Waiting. You worked in television; you had interests like my interests. But in the end I didn’t write to you, because I was afraid. I couldn’t take it if you didn’t reply. If you . . . rejected me. And so it was safer if I wrote to Adrian. It wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t write back.’
Heart in mouth, Emma forced herself to meet Carrie’s eyes.
FADE IN:
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – DAY
EMMA is terrified. She feels like a little girl again, all her hopes pinned on one person. On her mother.
CARRIE begins to stand and raises her arms. Hope blooms in Emma’s heart. She moves towards Carrie, tentatively raises her own arms for an embrace. But then Emma realizes something is wrong. Warmth does not emanate from Carrie’s eyes. Carrie’s arms go to encase themselves in her coat sleeves.
CUT TO:
Emma watched as Carrie walked out of the ward.
NINETY-NINE
Wednesday 28 February
Emma cast her eyes around the ward, but no one was paying her any attention. She surreptitiously opened her bag and rummaged inside. All her stuff was still there from her frantic packing the night at the beach house. Buried at the bottom, hidden underneath her clothes, were the handcuffs. Putting the bag on her shoulder, she quietly left the ward. Her wrist bracelet still identified her as a patient, but if anyone asked, she was going for some fresh air. She followed the overhead signs out of the building until she was in the cold, bright February morning. It felt good to breathe in the cool air and she took a few breaths before beginning to circumnavigate the building. It wasn’t long before she found a walled area that contained waste bins, and checking no one was around, she took the handcuffs from her bag, wrapped them in a carrier she’d got from the hospital shop and dropped them in the industrial bin. Then she quickly walked away.
She found a bench overlooking a tiny patio garden, and getting out her phone, started to type an email.
Dear Carrie,
I wanted to let you know that I’m going to speak to the police, tell them everything. It’s important that you know what it is I am going to say so that you can prepare yourself.
As she went on to detail her confession, she decided she’d call the police that afternoon. It was best this was wrapped up as soon as possible.
ONE HUNDRED
Wednesday 28 February
Detective Sergeant French had bought her a weak tea from the hospital cafe and they were sitting in a quiet corner, DC Baker flanking Emma on her other side. She was struck again by their names. French and Baker? What would happen if they got together? Would they have a croissant? This stupid joke made her want to guffaw with laughter – she must be more nervous than she thought. Stop it. DS French was looking at her expectantly.
‘I was upset,’ said Emma. ‘My head was pounding, and the news of Adrian . . . it was hard.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said DS French. ‘Are you sure you’re happy to make a statement now?’
Emma nodded. ‘Fine. I had been working there, helping Adrian to develop his new series. As I’ve done in the past. I stayed in a hotel in Margate and would come over to the house every day and we’d go through his ideas.’ She looked at the detectives, who were both listening intently. ‘On that night, a couple of days ago, Carrie had come to the house. Adrian and Carrie are – were – estranged.’ She lowered her eyes, looked penitent. ‘He and I . . . We’d had a
n affair and it had come between them. You see, it wasn’t me he thought he was attacking, it was actually Carrie. He wanted to hurt Carrie.’
She looked at them again, saw the surprise in their eyes.
‘How can you be so certain?’ asked DS French.
‘Because just before she came in, he was upstairs with me. We were in the office, working together.’
‘In the dark?’ asked DC Baker.
‘The lights had just tripped. Adrian was going down to the fuse box when he heard Carrie come in.’
She took a deep breath. ‘It’s because we are mother and daughter.’
The younger detective’s mouth dropped ever so slightly.
Emma continued: ‘Carrie put me up for adoption at birth. Adrian had only just found out and he was furious that she’d kept it a secret from him. It was what made me feel a relationship with him was difficult, perhaps impossible. He hated that it stopped us from being together.’
It was her story and she was sticking to it. She’d deny knowing anything about him being tied up for the rest of her life. No one could prove any different. The police would be unsatisfied, but as it had no bearing on his actual death, she was pretty sure they’d eventually drop it.
She felt a tear well up and let it roll down her cheek. Let them think she was crying over him. It was worth it if it meant Rory got to stay with his mother.
ONE HUNDRED AND ONE
Tuesday 6 March
Carrie watched Rory as he lay on the floor, a rattle in his chubby hand, which he alternated between chewing and haphazardly waving above his head. He was, of course, oblivious to his father’s death and the events of the previous week. His innocent determination that they get on with the day-to-day helped Carrie not to dwell.
When he slept and she was alone, she’d often be overcome by a black, paralysing fear that these moments with her baby would be taken away from her if she were sent to prison. She’d asked her solicitor what would happen if she were found guilty and knew she could apply for a place for Rory to be with her if she were sentenced. This was little comfort, however, as it would only last until he was eighteen months old. After that, he would be sent to a foster family.
Since Emma had made her statement to the police, insisting that she and Adrian had been having an affair, things had shifted. All Carrie had needed to do was admit she’d got her own statement wrong. She told the police that Adrian must have lied to her when he’d said he was trying to hurt Emma, not his wife. She admitted that she’d let herself believe him because deep down a part of her still loved him.
That part, the bit about still loving him, or loving what they’d once had, that part was true. The rest was lies, but this way, she had a chance of staying out of prison: her solicitor had said as much. The actions that had led to Adrian’s death had come firmly out of self-defence and the charges had already been reduced from murder to manslaughter. Her solicitor was optimistic that the evidence provided wouldn’t be enough for the CPS to warrant taking the case to court, and they’d know for sure in a few months. By the summer, her solicitor had said.
The first tendrils that led to that season were already beginning to show out in the garden. The daffodils were out in force, and red and orange tulips were just showing their heads, their rich colours catching in the sunlight.
It was warm in the kitchen, with the sun streaming through the glass. On a whim, Carrie got up and opened the patio doors and the soft, fresh spring air embraced her. Sensing the change, Rory dropped his rattle and held out his arms to be picked up.
Carrie carried him into their small garden and walked round, showing him the buds on the trees and the new tulips. His eyes roved over everything, fascinated, and Carrie couldn’t help smiling at his wonder and occasional puzzlement. Yet more firsts – each week presented them, and she delighted in every single one. This morning, he’d put his fat little arms round her neck, his first hug, and she’d felt such an overwhelming sense of love she’d wanted to hold him forever. She’d wanted to tell someone of this tiny yet momentous milestone, but there was no one to call, no one who’d recognize just how special it was.
A ladybird suddenly landed on Rory’s hand. His eyes opened wide as he stared at the bright red insect, and then raising his arm, he promptly tried to put it in his mouth.
Carrie laughed. ‘No, no,’ she said gently, holding his hand. Maybe her mum wasn’t missing everything after all, she suddenly thought, and almost immediately shook her head, amused by her fanciful thoughts.
They watched the ladybird together as it crawled from Rory’s hand onto hers.
Could it be?
The ladybird journeyed across her hand, seemingly unhurried and unafraid. Then stopped, settled and content.
There they stayed, the three of them, peaceful, caught in the sunshine.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWO
Friday 9 March
Eyes blinking, head spinning, Emma stepped out of the office door into the Soho sunshine. She was unable to fully take in what had just happened.
The real world hurtled around her – black cabs speeding down the narrow streets, cycle couriers dodging the crossing pedestrians – and she looked at it all almost in surprise, as if she’d forgotten such things existed. For the last hour she’d felt as if she’d been in a parallel universe.
It had all started with the phone call. She’d been discharged from hospital the week before, and with nowhere else to go had thrown herself at the mercy of her old university friend Amy, who had a one-bedroom flat in St Albans. There, she spent her days walking round Clarence Park, while Amy went to work in her marketing job, already a deputy manager having joined them as a graduate trainee. In the evenings, they drank wine and cooked dinners together, and Emma had told her a little of what had happened. Amy would ask what she was going to do next and all Emma could say was that she wanted to continue writing. She knew she had to find somewhere to live, another flat-share, and she had to retrieve her possessions from Lucy. But she was somehow unable to get the focus and the energy together. Her life felt as if it were on hold.
Emma was anxious not to overstay her welcome on Amy’s sofa, and so when her phone had rung three days into her stay – a call from Harriet Seward’s assistant asking if she would like to come into the office to discuss her script submission – her heart had leaped with nervous optimism.
The meeting had had a surreal quality to it. Harriet loved her script and wanted to sign her. That in itself was an extraordinary thing, but Harriet had gone on to talk about several well-known producers who would want to meet her and felt there was a good chance her script would sell quickly. Emma’s euphoria was held in check by a sense of impending loss. She looked at her watch. It was almost time to see Carrie. That was the other unexpected contact she’d had. A text asking if they could meet up.
Emma was anticipating bad news. Carrie was going to say how she wanted nothing to do with her after everything that had happened. She knew this with a sense of fatalistic gloom. It seemed more brutal that Carrie had arranged to do this in person. It would have been much less painful if she’d just sent her a message, instead of expressing her disillusionment to her face.
The coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet was only a couple of streets away and she made her way there, stopping outside when she saw Carrie sitting in the window, Rory in a buggy beside her. Carrie looked up and they held each other’s gaze for a moment before Emma took a deep breath and went inside.
She took a seat opposite Carrie and ordered a drink from the barista. Then he left and it was just them. Emma was stiff with nerves and couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘How is your head?’ asked Carrie.
‘Better, thanks.’
Carrie nodded. ‘Good.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘And you?’ asked Emma.
Carrie looked confused.
‘Are you well?’
‘Yes, fine.’
The barista brought over her latte, sign
alling the end of their agonizing small talk, and Emma knew she had to ask. She needed to know, to be put out of her misery. Her hands shook, so she wrapped them round her cup, looked at the milky coffee with the white frothy heart the barista had fashioned on the surface.
‘You didn’t need to see me, you know. To tell me to stay away. You could have just emailed.’
She saw Carrie start. ‘Is that what you thought?’ Carrie shook her head. ‘That’s not why I asked you here.’
Emma’s hands trembled even more then and, unable to speak, she took a mouthful of coffee. It scalded her tongue and she winced.
‘How was your meeting?’ asked Carrie.
Emma was startled and Carrie gave a small smile. ‘Liz told me,’ she said.
‘Oh. Right. It went well, actually. Really well. Harriet wants to sign me.’
It was the first time she’d said it out loud, shared the news with anyone, and it felt good.
‘She seems to think my script will sell.’
‘It will,’ said Carrie.
Emma looked up in surprise.
‘You didn’t hear it from me but Liz has already put an offer in. But don’t rush. There’ll be others.’
A small tingle danced over Emma’s skin. The sensation of possibility.
‘I hear it’s quite something,’ said Carrie.
Emma blushed.
Rory, who’d been sucking on a fabric book, suddenly got bored and started to grumble. Carrie leaned over and got him out of the buggy, put him on her lap.
‘The reason I asked to meet you is that I wanted to thank you,’ said Carrie, her voice wavering, ‘for what you did. My solicitor thinks it will make all the difference.’
The news took her breath away. Emma gazed at Carrie, her eyes lit up, her heart flooding with an emotion she didn’t really know how to deal with.
So you’ll get to stay with Rory?’ she asked.
‘It looks like it.’
Emma saw something flicker across Carrie’s face as she looked down at her baby, a tightness full of pain and love. A tear escaped and rolled down Carrie’s cheek. She brushed it away quickly, but not before Emma felt her own eyes fill up. Self-conscious, they both looked at Rory as he happily banged the palms of his hands on the table.
The Temp Page 30