by Jess Ryder
My mouth opened in a silent, agonising scream and I gripped the edge of the duvet. It was a terrible thing to take a life, but he’d deserved to die after what he’d done to me.
To begin with, I’d been sure I’d killed him. I kept seeing his battered, bloody body falling backwards, the look of shock and disbelief on his face as he hit the water. I imagined him sinking to the bottom of the lake and lying on its muddy bed, the last bubbles of breath popping to the surface. But the weeks had gone by and there’d been no news in the media, no call from the police informing me that his body had been discovered. No accusations. No threats. Just silence.
What if he’d managed to get out of the lake and was still alive? What if he and Jen were sitting by the pool in some villa in Spain, celebrating Emily’s birthday together? Toasting their success as they watched her rip the wrapping paper off her presents? Last year, Nick had been ridiculously extravagant, buying her enough teddies, books and toys to stock a small shop. ‘Spoiling her rotten’, as he put it. We’d had a big party with caterers – Nick’s entire family came up from Bristol, and we invited loads of his friends, their kids included. I’d refused to invite Jen, but she called by all the same, ‘just to give Emily her present’, and ended up staying for hours, getting pissed and gossiping with Nick’s family. I couldn’t believe her cheek, couldn’t understand why Nick let her swan around like she still owned the place, filming Emily on her phone and announcing to everyone that she was just days away from taking her first steps. Like Emily was her child and she knew every detail about her. When I moaned to Nick and demanded he get rid of her, he accused me of being mean and uncharitable. Now I could see that she’d been rewriting history, compiling a false record of Emily’s life. Maybe, in years to come, they would show her that first birthday video. Would she spot a grim-faced young woman lurking in the background and feel a surge of recognition, even a slight sensation of love? Or would I have been edited out altogether?
A bolt of anger shot through me. I flung the duvet off and sat upright. I couldn’t let Jen get away with this. Couldn’t go through birthday after birthday not knowing where Emily was or what she was doing. I was not going to let Jen erase me from my daughter’s life.
But first, I had to find out whether I was fighting one enemy or two. Either she and Nick were having a wonderful time together, or she was on her own, clinging desperately to Emily and praying that Nick’s body would never be found. Because if I were convicted of murder, she would be convicted of kidnap, and then none of us would have Emily. I had to know whether Nick was still alive – my entire future hinged upon it.
It was late afternoon by now. Mum had given up trying to coax me out of bed and left the house for her evening shift. I picked up my new phone and scrolled through my imported contacts, my finger lingering on Nick’s parents’ landline number. Dare I call them? What the hell would I say? I rehearsed a few lines in my head, but everything sounded too loaded, too obvious. I knew they hated me and wouldn’t be co-operative. They’d probably pretend not to have heard from Nick anyway. His sister would be the same. She could even be in on the whole deception. No, his family were not the right people to ask; it would be humiliating.
But who else could I call? I didn’t have the numbers of any of Nick’s friends – he’d always been the one to contact them, and most of them were loyal to Jen anyway. The only person I could think of was Johnny, Nick’s lawyer. He was a slippery character, but he’d been pleasant enough to me. The last time I’d spoken to him, I’d sensed that he felt sorry for me. I could ask him what was happening to the house, say I needed to talk to Nick about getting access to my things …
My fingers trembled as I keyed in the office number and I struggled to keep my voice steady when the receptionist answered the phone.
‘Hi, it’s Natasha Warrington here. Is Johnny available?’
It was gone six, but nobody was going home yet. After being put on hold, I was told he was in a meeting but would call me straight back. It was gone nine before he rang. He was speaking from a pub, his voice competing against the background jangle of chat and clinking glasses.
‘How are you, Natasha?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been thinking about you. I wanted to call but … I wasn’t sure … didn’t want to intrude …’
He’d caught me nibbling at a piece of toast, the only thing I’d eaten all day. My throat went dry and a crumb stuck in my throat. I took a swig of cold tea and tried to sound casual, rather than desperate. ‘Have you seen Nick lately?’
‘No, not for weeks, not since he walked out.’
‘Oh. Right …’ My pulse quickened. The image of Nick’s body falling into the lake snapped into my head. But I had to act normal, behave as if I believed he was still alive.
‘Are you okay?’ said Johnny. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
I tried to recover. ‘I suppose you already know that he changed the locks on the house.’
‘What? No, I didn’t. I would never have advised him to do that, Natasha, believe me. I’m sorry, I had no idea. That was harsh.’
‘Yeah, it was pretty shit. I had no warning. All my things are still there and I need them.’
‘Of course. And Nick won’t allow access?’
‘No. He’s taken Emily and I can’t get hold of him. I was wondering if you could—’
‘Well, I don’t advise him personally any more,’ said Johnny quickly. ‘Not after the driving ban. And family law’s not my bag either. I’m sorry, Natasha.’
‘I was thinking, maybe you could pass on a message. As a friend.’
‘Well, yes, but I haven’t heard from him in a while.’
A shiver ran over me. ‘Really? How long?’
‘Um, let me think. I had to call him about an urgent contract issue last week, a loose end he’d left behind.’
‘And? Did you get to talk to him?’
‘Well, it took several threatening voicemail messages to finally get him to call back.’ Johnny carried on speaking but I was no longer listening. Waves of relief were flooding through my veins and my eyes were brimming with tears. I was not a murderer. I wouldn’t have to go to prison.
‘Look, I’m happy to pass on your message, Natasha, darling, but I can’t promise he’ll do the decent thing. You may have to drag him through the courts.’
‘Yeah, I know …’
There was a long pause. My brain was on fire, connections sparking in every quarter. Nick was alive. Jen and Emily were bound to be with him – maybe they were still in the Lake District, or maybe they’d moved to another location. How much did Johnny know about what was going on? He was acting like he was on my side, but could I trust him? Nick must still be weak from his injuries, but he would eventually recover. Then what would he do?
Was my life in danger?
Johnny broke the silence. ‘Mind you, legal action can get very expensive,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to talk some sense into him. Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you. By the way, where are you living now?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you,’ I said, and hung up, suddenly afraid.
36
Then
Jennifer
* * *
Nicky was on the mend. Physically, at least. He was still feeling weak and suffering from headaches, but he was well enough to get out of bed. His battered face was gradually healing, the swelling had reduced and the bruises on his body had faded from a bloody purple to a sickly yellow. Emily had been very wary when he first emerged from the bedroom and had refused to look at him, but she was more used to him now. The only thing she couldn’t understand was why he wasn’t able to pick her up and swing her round any more.
He spent most of his time in the sitting room, legs up on the sofa, thighs warmed by the laptop. Sometimes he played computer games – car chases or violent sci-fi things – but mostly he shopped for Emily’s birthday. Every day, a courier would arrive bearing gifts: dolls, teddies, a fairy princess outfit complete with wand and tiara, puzzles, books, a bath-ti
me play set, a wooden farm, a toddler’s tablet for learning colours and counting, a pink scooter with matching helmet – and those are just the things I can remember. He ordered a designer party dress in pink brocade that cost nearly three hundred pounds, a hundred silver balloons and a huge chocolate cake decorated with her name in icing. Not only was it wildly extravagant, it was insane. In his head, Nicky seemed to be imagining a huge family celebration, but we were still holed up in the Lake District and there would only be the three of us.
‘Buy her some more clothes,’ he insisted. ‘Choose whatever you like. Stella McCartney, Armani, Dolce and Gabbana, they all do kids’ stuff. Natasha used to dress her from high-street chains, but Emily’s a princess. She should wear your taste now.’
I trawled the web for designer children’s ranges and ordered a few things for the autumn – coloured tops and leggings, mostly, as she managed to dirty them at an alarming rate. I also bought her a snowsuit and a cute yellow raincoat with matching hat and floral-patterned wellies. Summer was drawing to a close, the temperature already dropping. If we were going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, we would all need bad-weather gear.
In the past, I’d spent hours fantasising about how I would dress Emily once she was mine, but now that it was a reality, I felt uneasy about shopping for her. It was as if I’d borrowed another girl’s doll – I was allowed to play with her for now, but only on the understanding that one day I would give her back. Nicky believed the situation was permanent, but everything felt very fragile to me and I was frightened of getting too fond.
Not that there was much chance of bonding with Emily too tightly just yet. I had been tolerated when there was nobody else, but now that Nicky was up and about again, she only wanted her father. Dada had to put on her shoes, button up her jacket, clean her teeth, cut up her banana and read her bedtime stories. Only Dada could sing ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ and ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, and I wasn’t allowed to join in the actions. Only Dada could play ‘Where’s Emily gone?’ and find her hiding behind the sofa. I had become a background figure, the annoying servant who cooked food she didn’t want to eat, the tedious babysitter who tried to make her sleep when she wasn’t tired. She refused to call me ‘Mummy’, despite all Nicky’s efforts. She didn’t call me anything – I was anonymous, of no interest. And she threw a tantrum when Nicky tried to put her between us in bed. It was as if she understood that I was Natasha’s replacement and wasn’t having any of it. Fake Mummy just didn’t cut the mustard.
The worst moments were when she woke up in the night, or when she banged her head or fell over in the garden. She always cried for Mama and nothing could console her, not Gemma Giraffe, not a chocolate treat, not even Dada. It made me feel terrible, watching her little chest heave with deep, guttural sobs, the tears cascading down her hot, pink cheeks. Nicky said they were just toddler power tantrums, but I knew they were cries of real anguish. She didn’t want a learning tablet for her birthday. Or a bath-time play set, or a baby doll. If her fairy princess wand had really had magical powers, she would have conjured up her mother.
Her birthday was a disaster. Nicky insisted on giving her all her presents at once, and she became completely overexcited, hurling one toy aside as she grabbed for the next. She broke the plastic bath-time boat before it ever reached water and became frustrated because she couldn’t ride the scooter. We had a ridiculous ‘party’ in the afternoon. The silver balloons were too thick to blow up without a pump and the cake, although delicious, made us feel sick after three mouthfuls. Emily’s new Young Versace dress – which was dry-clean only, for God’s sake – quickly became covered in chocolate ganache, and the following day I actually threw it away. She wouldn’t let me join in the happy birthday song, pointing at me and shouting, ‘No!’ Nicky got angry with her for being so rude and she burst into tears. Cries for Mama filled the kitchen, and I felt as if Natasha’s spirit was with us. If she’d still been locked in the cupboard I would have happily released her and told her to take Emily away.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Nicky, once Emily had cried herself into a state of exhaustion and fallen asleep on the floor. ‘Two’s a difficult age.’
‘It’s not her age,’ I replied. ‘The poor thing’s missing her mother.’
He took my hands and kissed them. ‘You’re her mother now. She’ll get used to it, she just needs time.’
‘This isn’t fair, not to any of us. We can’t live in this fantasy for ever, Nicky. There’s a real world out there – we’re talking about real people. Emily’s unhappy, Natasha is—’
‘I told you, I’m sorting out Natasha. It’s all under control.’
I couldn’t understand how he could act so calmly. ‘I can’t stand it, Nicky,’ I said. ‘We need to get out of here, go somewhere else. What if she comes back and tries to take Emily?’
‘She won’t come back, and she won’t call the police. She probably thinks she killed me. But even if she finds out I’m still alive and tries to take Emily from me, no court is going to grant her access after what she did to me.’
‘She’ll say I lured her here and that you attacked her.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s no proof of that. It’s just our word against hers. Honestly, darling, we couldn’t be in a better position. Natasha hasn’t got a hope.’
I pulled my hands away and crossed to the other side of the room. There was such a hardness in his voice and such a coldness in his expression that I couldn’t bear to be close to him.
‘I’m glad it didn’t work last time,’ I said. ‘It was wicked of us even to think of it. Please, please don’t try to kill her again.’
‘So you don’t mind that she tried to kill me?’ he replied. ‘Charming!’
‘It was self-defence, you know that.’
‘Oh no, she wanted me dead, believe me. I should know, I was on the receiving end.’ He touched the bruises on his face and winced theatrically.
‘Can you blame her?’ I said. ‘You’d stolen her daughter.’
‘You can’t steal your own property,’ he snarled.
I rounded on him. ‘Emily is not your property! She’s a little girl and she needs her mother. What we’re doing is wrong, Nicky. That’s why it’s not working.’
‘It’s early days, that’s all …’
‘No, no, it’ll never work. It’s got to stop now.’
Nicky’s expression changed from one of anger to little boy hurt. ‘But I’ve done all this for you,’ he said. ‘For us. It’s what you wanted, what we always dreamed of.’
‘I never wanted to kill her,’ I said.
‘Yes, you did. You hate her guts, you wanted it more than me. You said—’
‘I didn’t mean it to go this far. I just thought you’d divorce her and get full custody. I wanted you and I wanted Emily, that’s all.’
‘And now you’ve got us. But Natasha is in the way, she’s a loose end. You said yourself that she’ll never give up trying to get Emily back. I’m not sharing her, Jen.’ His eyes glittered a warning, and I could see that it was meant for me. I felt trapped. I’d waded into this swamp with him and he had no intention of pulling me out.
Nicky poured himself a large whisky and hobbled out of the room, the glass trembling in his hand. I sank onto the sofa and buried my head in a cushion. I heard him climbing the stairs – he would go back to bed now and sleep until dinner. Emily would wake from her nap and I’d have to make her some tea and try to amuse her. I prayed that she would sleep on for a while yet. I didn’t have the strength for another fight and I needed to think.
I realised now that I could never be Emily’s mother. How could I bring her up and love her as my own daughter, knowing what we had done? It was impossible. I couldn’t go on with this. After more than thirty years of worshipping the ground Nicky walked on, I’d finally fallen out of love with him. I could see him for what he was.
I lifted my head and looked around at the alien room. I felt deeply ashamed. Every embroidered cushion and tape
stry throw, every watercolour of the landscape, every little ornament had been designed to make us feel at home. But we had turned it into a house of violence and hatred. A place where a child cried helplessly for her mother.
I wanted to be back in my own apartment, living my single life. I wanted to free myself from the Warringtons, forget about the last few years and move on. Except Nicky paid my rent and gave me a monthly allowance. I had very little money of my own. I’d neglected my interior design business since we’d got back together, and owed thousands in unpaid tax. He would not be reasonable. If I walked out now, I’d get nothing. And more importantly, I would be his enemy. I’d seen what he’d been prepared to do to Natasha. What might he do to me?
37
Then
Jennifer
* * *
‘It’s done,’ Nicky said as he came into the kitchen, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.
I swept a pile of potato peelings into the bin and looked up. ‘What’s done?’