by Jess Ryder
‘It was in my bag.’ I rinsed the glass, setting it noisily on the draining board. My feet were burning with pain and I was on the point of collapsing.
‘You went to see Nick, didn’t you?’ She stared, waiting for me to vomit out the truth, but I clenched my stomach and kept it down.
‘No.’
‘You’re lying,’ she said curtly. ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back from my shift.’
She left the house annoyed and empty-handed. I forced down a couple of biscuits, then went upstairs to my room and lay down on the bed.
It was a miracle that I’d arrived home in one piece. Driving the Range Rover all the way from the Lake District had demanded all the concentration and survival skills I possessed. I’d avoided motorways and major routes, but my eyes had been constantly flicking to the rear-view mirror for signs of police cars behind me, and every time I heard a siren I almost skidded off the road with fear. After navigating about a hundred roundabouts and several terrifying one-way systems through town centres, I reached the outskirts of Milton Keynes, where I ran out of petrol and had to abandon the car. I managed to hitch a lift to St Albans from a sweet old pensioner who gave me a lecture about personal safety, then walked the rest of the way home. It had been a nightmare journey, especially for someone who hadn’t yet passed their test. But driving illegally was a very minor crime compared to murder.
Murder.
I had committed murder.
What was I going to do? I lay on the bed, motionless, going over my options again and again. Only they weren’t options, they were inevitabilities. It could only be a matter of hours before I was arrested. Jen would report Nick missing and it wouldn’t take long for the police to find his body. I’d panicked and left traces of myself everywhere. I hadn’t thought to dispose of the weapon, which would surely be covered in my DNA.
It would be more sensible to go the nearest police station and confess. But what if I was charged with premeditated killing? There was no guarantee a jury would believe those horrific injuries were inflicted entirely in self-defence. And Jen would have no qualms about perjuring herself to stitch me up. She’d say she’d taken me there to negotiate a settlement with Nick; that I’d turned violent and she’d had to remove Emily to protect her. Nick had already prepared the ground, told his sister, lawyer and God knows who else that I was mentally unstable, that he’d left because he was worried for his and Emily’s safety. It was a pack of lies that had mysteriously and horribly come true.
I couldn’t stop seeing the image of his body floating in the lake, his blood-soaked shirt billowing with water, his smashed-up face looking helplessly up at the black sky. Bizarrely, it made me think of our first proper holiday together, just after he and Jen had split up. We’d gone to a luxurious hotel in Tuscany, but it was baking hot and I was too heavily pregnant to want to sightsee. We spent our days lying on our backs in the infinity pool with our Ray-Bans on, making plans for the future – the wedding, the house redecoration, being parents for the first time. It was where we decided on Emily’s name. I was so full of happiness I felt it might spill over.
Now I was overflowing with terror and hatred. I’d killed the man I once loved, and my beautiful little girl had been stolen from me. I had no idea where she was or whether I’d ever get her back. Would she be able to visit me in prison? Would she want to visit me once she was old enough to be told what I’d done? Jen wouldn’t be allowed to keep her (one good thing), but Hayley would probably get custody. My poor mum wouldn’t stand a chance. Emily would never know the truth about her father and she’d be brought up to hate me.
I couldn’t bear it. If I was destined to spend the next thirty years in prison, rejected and despised by own daughter, then there was no point in living. I’d be better off taking an overdose or jumping in front of a train. I started to sob and shake violently, curling into a ball to make myself as small as possible. I wanted to shrink until I was a speck of dust, invisible to the human eye.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when sounds from downstairs woke me up. I’d been dreaming about my arrest and thought it was the police crashing through the front door. But it was only Mum, arriving home from her cleaning shift. I was still fully dressed and lying crumpled on top of the duvet. My head felt heavy and my stomach gnawed at itself with hunger. I sat up, blinking in the eerie moonlight, and started to undress, hoping to get into bed properly before Mum came upstairs. She was still in the age-old habit of popping her head around the door to check that I was asleep, and I wasn’t up for another interrogation.
I could hear her in the kitchen, making herself a late-night snack. Hopefully she’d watch a bit of telly before going to bed. I flung my clothes onto the floor, took a deep breath and dived naked under the covers. It was dark and stuffy, and the sheets smelt of fabric conditioner. I drew my knees up and hugged my breasts, trying my hardest not to make a sound.
But I was not to be spared. A few minutes later, she knocked at the door. ‘Natasha? Are you still up, love? I saw you hadn’t drawn the curtains.’
I popped my head out of my den and sighed. ‘I’m trying to sleep, Mum,’ I said.
The door handle turned, and she walked in, holding a mug. ‘I thought you might like some cocoa.’
‘Thanks, but—’
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you all evening. Barely did a scrap of work.’ She put the mug on my bedside table, then sat on the bed. ‘Sit up and talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘Nothing’s going on.’
‘Natasha …’ Her voice took on a warning tone. ‘You can’t fool me.’
I wriggled up the headboard, reaching for my dressing gown and wrapping it around my shoulders. ‘It’s too awful. You don’t want to know, Mum. Honest – it’s better that you don’t.’
‘I’m your mother,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s clear you’re in trouble. Now tell me.’
So I told her.
Once I’d finished the whole sorry tale, Mum put her head in her hands and bent over. She sat completely still without saying a word. I thought she was crying, but when she lifted her face, her eyes were dry. In those few moments she seemed to have aged years.
‘It wasn’t murder,’ she said. ‘You were trying to save your own life.’
My heart surged with gratitude. I hoped the police would see it the same way. ‘Should I hand myself in?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’ She got up and drew the curtains, shutting out the rest of the world. I felt safe inside the house with her, but I knew the feeling was an illusion. She turned back to me. ‘Are you sure he was actually … well … dead?’
‘No. I didn’t hang around to make sure. But he was very badly hurt, and he was in the water. I don’t think he’d have had the strength to pull himself out.’
‘Hmm, Nick’s a fit man, strong. I’m going to check online. See if there are any police reports.’ She walked towards the door.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ It sounded so inadequate. ‘I’m sorry. For bringing all this trouble on you.’
‘If he is still alive, I’ll kill the bastard myself,’ she said, and left the room.
She went downstairs to switch on her arthritic old laptop. I dragged on a clean T-shirt and a pair of leggings and joined her at the dining table. We put all the keywords we could think of into the browser, but nothing came up. However, it was still early days, less than twenty-four hours since I’d run from the scene. If Jen didn’t come forward, it might take a while for Nick’s body to be found (I could hardly believe I was thinking in such terms; it seemed unreal, like it was happening to somebody else). He might have rented the house under a false name, so it could take a while for them to establish his real identity. I’d never been in trouble with the police, so my DNA wouldn’t be on their database. The more Mum and I discussed it, the less likely it seemed that I would be caught immediately, perhaps ever. But I could tell she was just humouring me, trying to keep my spirits up. What happened next wasn’t up to us. M
y fate depended on what Jen decided to do.
‘If she goes to the police, she’ll have to hand Emily over,’ said Mum, shutting the laptop lid an hour later. ‘And my guess is she won’t want to do that. She and Nick were prepared to kill you, for Christ’s sake, so she won’t give Emily up unless she’s made to.’
‘What do you think she’ll do, then?’
Mum lit a cigarette. ‘I don’t know. Go into hiding? Take her abroad? She’s got the same surname; if she’s got her passport, who’s going to suspect she’s not her mother?’
‘Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.’
‘You asked me what I thought she’d do.’
‘I know, but …’
Part of me wanted to ring Jen and plead with her to give Emily back. In return, I’d offer not to tell the police about her involvement. But my phone was in my bag in the boot of Jen’s car, and I couldn’t remember her number. Anyway, it was highly unlikely that she’d want to do a deal. She and Nick had tried to take everything from me. I had no home, no possessions, no money … But without Emily, none of those material things mattered. All I had was my freedom and I had to make the most of it before I lost that too.
I turned to Mum. ‘So where do we start looking for her?’
‘The obvious places, I suppose.’ She blew the smoke away from my face. For years I’d tried to stop her unhealthy and expensive habit, but my stress levels were so high, I was almost tempted to join her. ‘Her flat. Your old house, maybe. She might go home to pick up some stuff, might even leave a forwarding address. We’ll ask the neighbours.’
‘I can’t imagine them helping, but it’s worth a try. Anything’s got to be worth a try.’
A silent tear dripped down my cheek and she wiped it away with her finger. We stared deeply into each other’s eyes for what seemed like minutes. After all those years of fighting, of disappointing her and suffering her disapproval, I felt we’d finally made peace.
32
Then
Jennifer
* * *
I found Nicky on the grass, his face so smashed up he was barely recognisable. I bent down to check for a pulse. He was still breathing, thank God. His eyes were black and puffy, sealed shut like a kitten’s; his nose was battered and oozing dark blood. He must have crawled out of the lake, because his clothes were soaking wet and his shirt was covered in mud.
I touched him lightly on the shoulder and whispered his name. He moved slightly and groaned through his swollen lips. ‘It’s me, Jen,’ I said. ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ He groaned in protest, lifting his hand and attempting to grab me. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going to try and get you back to the house.’
He was too heavy to carry, so I had to lift him by his armpits and drag him up the bumpy slope. I apologised constantly as he cried out in pain. As we approached the driveway, the sound of Emily’s hysterical screams reached our ears. Nicky tried to talk, but only gurgles came out.
‘She’s in the car,’ I told him. ‘Strapped into her seat. Let’s get you inside first, then I’ll see to her.’
Spurred on by Emily’s cries, he struggled to his feet. I slung his arm over my shoulders and we limped towards the front door.
Inside, the staircase loomed before us. The climb was beyond us for now, so I took him into the sitting room and laid him on the sofa.
‘What happened?’ I asked, propping his head up with a cushion. ‘Where’s Natasha?’
He moved his head slightly and said something that sounded like ‘Emily’. I raced back to the car and took her out. But I paused before bringing her inside. I couldn’t let her see Nicky in that state; she would be terrified. What was I to do with her? I couldn’t lock her in a room – she wouldn’t be safe. I felt torn. I had to help Nicky.
‘Let’s go and find your cot,’ I said, carrying her up the stairs. ‘You can play there for a bit while Mummy helps Daddy.’
‘Dada?’ she said, looking around.
‘Yes, Dada’s a bit poorly. He fell over and hurt his face. Silly Dada!’ I took her into the bedroom and set her down in the wooden cot. She was too big for it really. I hoped the sides were high enough to stop her climbing out. She looked at me, disgusted, and her face started to crumple. I glanced around for some toys, but everything had been packed away.
‘Won’t be long, I promise. Be a good girl for me, yes?’
I tried to block out her cries as I ran into the bathroom, looking for a first aid kit. Surely holiday homes were obliged by law to provide at least some basics. There was no sign of a kit there, so I grabbed a toilet roll and went downstairs. I found a plastic box in the kitchen that looked as if it hadn’t been used for years. Taking out some musty-smelling bandages, a packet of fabric plasters and a tube of antiseptic cream, I ran a bowl of cool water and went back to the patient.
‘Let’s patch you up, shall we?’ I said, thinking what he really needed was some morphine and a brain scan. Nicky yelped and squealed as I tried to clean his wounds, the toilet paper disintegrating and sticking to the congealed blood. ‘I presume she did this to you.’ He tried to nod. His nose looked broken, his face was badly bruised, and his mouth was cut inside where he’d bitten his cheeks.
‘I really think you should go to A and E,’ I said. ‘You might need stitches. And you need some decent pain relief; all I’ve got is paracetamol.’
‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘Better … this … way.’
‘What do you mean?’ But his lips were so swollen he couldn’t say any more.
I went back upstairs to release Emily from her prison. She’d thrown all the bedding out of the cot and was trying to launch herself over the top rail. Her blonde curls were all tangled, her face was hot with crying, and she gave me such a filthy look I wanted to cry. I put her down and sat on the padded window seat, catching my breath while she ran around like a demented fairy.
This was not how it was supposed to be. By now, we should have been on our way to London. The set of new keys to the house was sitting at the bottom of my bag. I hadn’t dared use them before and was longing to step across the threshold. I wanted to reclaim my territory, to eradicate Natasha’s presence and restore our old life. With one important addition – the child we had always wanted.
I thought back to that wondrous night six months ago when everything had changed. Nicky had called at my apartment very late one evening, waking me up. I opened the door in my kimono and he staggered past me into the kitchen without so much as a word.
‘What’s up?’ I said, feeling irritated yet intrigued. ‘Why are you here?’ I guessed that he’d been out entertaining clients. His smart black suit had a dishevelled look and he stank of booze.
‘Tonight was a fiasco,’ he said, running the cold tap. ‘This Russian investor I’ve been schmoozing brought his wife along to dinner – I wasn’t expecting her, she just turned up. She didn’t like anything on the menu, said the champagne was too dry, sat through our discussions with a face like a smacked arse and then demanded her husband take her home straight after the main course.’ I fetched him a glass and he drank the water down in one go, then splashed his face. ‘I can say goodbye to that deal.’
‘You should have brought Natasha with you,’ I said, slightly mischievously.
Nicky plonked himself down on my sofa and took off his tie. ‘You must be kidding. She’s a liability. I can’t trust her not to say the wrong thing. She dresses like a hippy and comes out with all this socialist crap. It’s so embarrassing. I mean, who wants to talk about climate change over cocktails? It’s like having a bloody teenager with you. Anyway, she doesn’t want to leave Emily.’ He swept his hair off his forehead and let out a long sigh. ‘I miss you, Jen,’ he said. ‘God, I miss you … You were wonderful with my clients. Everybody fell in love with you. I swear you clinched loads of deals.’
A thrill ran through me as he carried on about what an asset I’d been. I missed those days, too: parties on yachts in Cannes, dinners in swanky restaurants in New York and Los Angeles. I’d e
njoyed putting on a show as Nicky’s glamorous partner, chatting up the men and amusing the wives. I never talked politics or about the business, sticking to subjects like shopping, movies and fashion. And if any of the men made a pass, which happened occasionally, I deflected it with charm.
‘You still haven’t told me why you’re here,’ I said, sitting next to him on the sofa. My kimono fell open, revealing my newly waxed and tanned legs. It was as if I’d been expecting him without knowing it. ‘It’s one o’clock in the morning. Won’t the wifey be worried?’
He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest. ‘I was so pissed off after the dinner, I went to a club and got hammered,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to go home. All I could think of was the old days, when it was you and me. We were a great team, Jen. We know each other inside out, understand how the other one ticks; we know the good bits and the not so good bits. We get each other, you understand? We think the same way.’
‘I know,’ I whispered, cuddling into him. My heart was beating fast. Was it the alcohol talking, or was this the turnaround I’d been dreaming of? Hayley had assured me that Nicky would come back eventually, but Emily was over a year old now and there’d been no sign of it until this moment.
‘I don’t have that chemistry with Natasha,’ he continued, stroking my hair and sending delicious tingles down my spine. ‘She’s not my generation, for a start. We have nothing in common, we hardly share the same opinion about anything. She doesn’t understand my world, doesn’t appreciate how hard I work.’
‘To be honest, I’ve never thought she was your type,’ I ventured.
‘You’re right, she isn’t. I don’t know what got into me. I think it must have been a mid-life crisis or something.’ He shook his head in dismay. ‘I was such a shit, Jen. I feel so guilty about how I treated you, making you leave your home, pushing you out of the family. No wonder they took your side. I hurt so many people – Mum, Dad, Hayley, our friends – but I hurt you the most. I really made you suffer.’