My Husband's Lie: A page turning and emotional family drama

by Emma Davies

  Drew is carrying a cup of tea and a plate of toast which he slides onto the bedside table. He’s about to perch on the edge of the bed before he changes his mind and straightens again. ‘You should try to eat that,’ he says, walking towards the door. ‘You’ve hardly had anything the last few days.’

  I can’t bear the stilted conversation between us. We move around each other with polite detachment, like two wounded animals wary of further hurt. At times, when the girls are around, we’re almost animated as we slip back into the easy practicalities of parenthood and, for a little while, it feels like we’ve forgotten what happened. But it doesn’t last long. And, each time we withdraw, the shores on which we stand seem even further apart than before.

  I struggle upright, clearing my throat which still feels thick. ‘No, that’s okay… I need to get up.’ He’s almost at the door when I call him back. ‘Drew?’

  He turns.

  ‘Have Lauren and Chloe been all right?’ I ask.

  There’s a slight softening of his face as he nods. ‘They’re okay, Thea. A little confused I think. Chloe especially, but this friend of hers… Beth… seems very sensible. I’m not aware that they’ve heard anything they shouldn’t…’

  That wasn’t really what I meant.

  ‘And Lauren?’

  ‘Quiet…’

  It’s her I’ve been worried about the most, particularly as Anna and I parted on such bad terms. ‘But Tilly…?’

  Drew holds my look. ‘Anna knows how well Tilly and Lauren get on and I don’t think she’s going to let anything get in the way of that. What would be the point?’ He hovers by the doorway a moment longer. ‘Anyway…’

  I nod. ‘Yes, sorry. You must have things to do…’

  And just like that he’s gone from the room, the echo of our conversation hanging like stale air.

  My hair feels rank, my body both stiff and jelly-like at the same time, but I have to get up and out of this bed. If I don’t do it today, I fear it may never happen. I lift my mug from the bedside table with a shaking hand and drink my tea. Then I swallow every mouthful of toast as if it’s medicine I can’t live without and, taking in a deep breath, swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  The shower has always been a favourite place to think. And today, I need it more than ever. Because it isn’t enough to start simply behaving like a wife and mother again. I need to think like one. I have moved my family to Pevensey and, if we’re going to stay, then I need to change the way I’ve been feeling – about Drew, my dad, everything that makes our life here worthwhile.

  It takes an age to get dressed, to clean my teeth and dry my hair. My fingers tremble as I put on my mascara and I almost give up on the whole thing and sink back onto the bed again. But I have to be better than this. By the time I’m done I think I vaguely resemble my former self. I pick up my mug and plate and prepare to go downstairs. There are some things I need to say.

  I start to rehearse them in my head as I walk across the landing, but a glance in through the open doorway of the spare bedroom sends my head reeling and tears springing to my eyes. Sometimes it’s the smallest things that crack your heart wide open.

  Leaving my plate beside the sink, I begin to make a pot of coffee. I’m desperately thirsty, but I’m also stalling for time before I go through into the studio to speak to Drew. I know he’s in there; I can feel his sadness even if I can’t see him. I carry the coffee through when I’m done, my caffeine-laden peace offering.

  ‘You’ve tidied up all the photos,’ I say. ‘Thank you… I…’ But I can’t finish the sentence.

  Drew is sitting at his computer but his fingers are unmoving on his keyboard, the mouse beside it untouched. He’s staring out of the window. It seems an age before he turns away from it.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to see them like that,’ he says. ‘Like they were unloved.’ He swallows. ‘And whatever else they are, they’re our memories, Thea. I thought they deserved better.’

  I nod, and a tear spills down my cheek.

  ‘They do… I was angry,’ I add, lip trembling.

  ‘And what are you now, Thea?’ he asks, his eyes holding mine.

  I think for a moment, trying to find the right word. ‘Sorrow,’ I say eventually. ‘I am sorrow.’

  His lips part slightly. ‘Me too,’ he replies.

  I so desperately want him to get up from his desk, to cross the room and hold me, but he doesn’t and he isn’t going to however much I want it. The distance between us is still too great.

  ‘I made some coffee,’ I say, placing down the pot. ‘I thought you could probably do with another… How are things going?’

  The day that Drew got his first order was only just over a week ago but it feels as if several months have passed.

  ‘Okay,’ he replies, glancing at the coffee. There’s an empty mug beside him on the desk. ‘Thanks,’ he adds. ‘I don’t remember even drinking the last one.’ He hits a key on his laptop, awakening the screen. ‘Actually, Thea, I… No, it’s okay, it doesn’t matter…’

  ‘No, what is it?’ I ask. ‘Come on, tell me.’

  Drew is being very careful but I still hear the slight sigh of frustration. I wait a few more seconds but his gaze remains on the screen and I know he isn’t going to tell me. He can be as stubborn as I am at times.

  My desk is exactly as I left it and I’d like to sit down and try to remember how to draw. But I feel self-conscious, as if I’ll be in the way. I did the odd little bit before I got ill, but it was as if someone else was holding the brushes and I long to feel the deep connection I have to everything when I’m working well. Colours seem brighter, sounds richer, and the earth reveals itself in so much glory some days the poignancy almost hurts. More than anything it makes me feel alive and is where my energy comes from. I could certainly use some right now. I trace a finger along the edge of the desk but I don’t think I can do this today, there are other things to attend to first.

  ‘Anyway…’ I say, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get on, but don’t worry about picking the girls up from school today, I’ll do it. I’m sure you’ll appreciate not having to stop what you’re doing.’

  Drew’s hand stills on his keyboard. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know how.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask again.

  He hesitates a fraction. ‘No, don’t worry, I can sort it. I really don’t think you’re well enough yet.’

  ‘Drew, I have to go sometime… and the longer I leave it, the harder it’s going to be.’

  He picks up the pot of coffee and pours some into his mug. ‘Aren’t you having one?’ he asks.

  ‘No, I’ll get one… in the kitchen, in a minute, I’ll just have an instant…’

  His look softens slightly. ‘Sit down,’ he says. ‘I’ll get you a mug.’ He returns moments later.

  ‘Here,’ he says, pouring me a drink. ‘It shouldn’t be too hot now.’

  I sip it gratefully. ‘What is it you need to sort?’

  His response is guarded. ‘Just the offer of a meeting, but it’s okay, I can go another time, when you’re feeling better. It’s really short notice and besides, I had thought when you were feeling up to fetching the girls again that I really should come with you but…’

  His eyes dip away and I suddenly realise what he’s getting at. It isn’t the meeting that’s the problem, it’s the picking up the girls from school. Fear takes hold before I can even think about it and the hand that’s holding my mug shakes a little. Automatically, Drew reaches out to steady it and, in that second, I see what I’ve become: not a wife, an equal partner, Drew’s cheerleader, his best friend and soulmate, but instead a burden. And Drew doesn’t deserve to be my carer.

  ‘Has it been awful?’ I ask, eyes wide.

  He surveys me for a moment before nodding gently. ‘Not all the time,’ he replies. But I know the score.

  ‘What time’s your meeting?’ I ask.

  He pulls a face. ‘If I’m going to make it I’ll
have to leave in an hour or so and I need to put the finishing touches on my presentation.’ He checks his watch. ‘I probably ought to go and get ready… But you still look very peaky, Thea, you really don’t need to do this.’

  Except we both know that I do.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ I reply, trying a wan smile. ‘So go on, go and get yourself sorted.’

  I put down my mug and edge my fingers towards his, willing him to take them. But my invitation is ignored and instead Drew rises from his desk. His eyes linger on mine for just a moment before he leaves the room and the heavy silence left behind wraps itself around me like a cloak. I take a sip of my coffee to hide my emotion and try to pretend that I’m okay.

  He leaves an hour later and I wait until he’s gone before returning to the studio and sinking onto my stool. Somewhere in this room is my muse and, apart from anything else, I damn well need to find it. My head is beginning to pound again and I force my shoulders down, trying to recall the lightness that flows through me when I draw. I pick up a pencil and begin to doodle, quickly sketching what I can see through the window. It might be the only thing I manage today, but it’s a start.

  It’s only when a bird flies close to the window, startling me, that I realise I’ve been talking to my dad for at least ten minutes. It started off as a conversation in my head but now I’m speaking aloud, waiting for him to answer a question. One that I’m sure he answered for my mum over and over again. What was he doing on the night that Georgia Thomas was dragged into the bushes? He replies, pretty much straight away, giving me his full attention just like he always did, just walking, Thea, just walking. And I wonder how long it will be until I stop feeling the need to ask him this question.

  I stare out into the garden, thoughts swirling around my head, because it’s just like my mum said. It almost doesn’t matter what I think, whether I’ve made up my mind what I believe or not. After all, that wasn’t what drove my family from the village. It was what other people thought…

  My head still feels as if it’s full of thick fog, but there’s a thought in there somewhere, trying to materialise through the mist. I sit a little straighter, willing it to attain solid form, a ghostly apparition made corporeal. And then I see it.

  I don’t just have to change the way I’ve been thinking, but folk in the village too. I’m under no illusion that it will be easy but I have to challenge Stacey’s behaviour. I know I can’t change the past, but I can try to ensure we have a future. Despite everything that’s happened, this is still the perfect place for us, and our children. I want them to have just the same loving and carefree childhood as I had.

  My mum and dad did all they could to ensure mine and if I don’t stand up to Stacey and her lies now it will have all been for nothing. My own family will have to go through everything they fought so hard to protect me from, and the events of the past will perpetuate themselves long into the future.

  Twenty-One

  At least it’s not raining, but I’m glad of my jacket as I walk up the road to school. It gives me somewhere to put my hands, which are thrust deep into the pockets. My shoulders are tensed, lifted up somewhere around my ears, but it helps to make me feel slightly more in control, the shaking slightly less obvious. It’s far easier to feel like someone who can change the world in the privacy of your own home.

  I’ve deliberately timed my arrival so that I’m not one of the first on the playground. In fact, I’m later than most and there is already a gaggle of mums inside and outside the gates. No one notices me at first but I’m not daft enough to think that I’ll get away with this scot-free. Sure enough, a conversation stalls as I stand just inside the gate. It’s irritating but not my primary concern right now, because I’ve just spotted what is over by the far wall of the playground.

  Stacey’s standing with Jackie and another two mums, and I wonder how long it will take them to see me as I walk across the yard to stand next to them. Not among them, not looking at them either, but close enough that I’ll be able to hear their every word. Funnily enough though, no one seems to be talking.

  I don’t actually want to speak to Stacey, all I want today is to make a point. To stand my ground and show them I can’t be intimidated. But it’s taking all my willpower not to turn and run. I want my very presence to unnerve them, for them to know that something has changed and that, whatever it is, there’s more of it coming. Though my heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised they can’t hear it.

  The silence continues for a few moments longer and maybe it’s just my imagination but I’m sure there are conversations grinding to a halt all over the playground. Or maybe it’s just that the tone of them has changed, from a relaxed burble to an expectant buzz. There’s a definite shift in the atmosphere and, close to where I’m standing, a tension, as if breaths are being held. And then, all of a sudden, Stacey laughs. A loud brash sound and the words ‘child abuser’ float out behind it. Clear as a bell. And loud enough for the whole playground to hear.

  No one says a word.

  I feel physically sick, but I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands and try to picture one of my favourite photos of my dad. I want to experience the contrast between how looking at it makes me feel – suffused with love, pride and happiness – to how Stacey wants me and everyone else to feel – sickened and disgusted. I want to feel a burning sense of injustice build within me, letting it grow, unleashing a surge of anger, and it does, fury rolling over me in a wave.

  More than anything I want to slap Stacey, to hear a single sharp retort as my palm meets with her skin, to feel the cleansing sting of the pain. There’s a moment when I think I might. Can feel my muscles twitching all the way down my arm. Instead I walk over to Stacey until I’m standing inches from her.

  ‘Don’t.’

  The word is loud, imbued with far more confidence than I’m feeling, and she can see the coiled spring of violence within me, only just under control.

  She takes a backward step, her eyes darting to either side. ‘I’m sorry, love, did you say something?’

  I can hear the tremor in her voice, the surprise that someone has challenged her. She’s trying to shrug it off, make light of it, even looking for support from her fellow coven members. But she won’t get it, I can see by the looks on their faces.

  ‘Don’t,’ I say again, just as loud. ‘Don’t ever talk to me. About me. Or my family ever again.’

  Her face contorts into a vicious sneer.

  ‘Yeah…? Or what?’

  But I don’t answer. My silence is far more powerful than my words could ever be.

  I give Stacey one last look before returning to my original position, staring out across the playground, head held as high as I can muster. A pulse is beating in my ears, and I focus on breathing in and out until the roaring subsides. But I have done it. First step taken.

  I daren’t look either left or right, even though I can feel the stares of countless parents, and among them, Anna. I glimpsed her when I first came in, chatting to another mum, but I don’t want to talk to her yet, not here. It’s neither the time nor the place. So instead I concentrate on maintaining my stance just in case Stacey should feel she needs to have another go. But she doesn’t. I’m still very much in their space and it doesn’t take long for them to move slowly away until I’m on my own again, but I don’t care. Let folks have a good look at me. I’ve got nothing to hide.

  The atmosphere changes again as the first children come out from school, their bright chatter cutting through the subdued conversations. And, all at once, there is movement, normality, and a more purposeful air. I spot Lauren and Chloe almost immediately, their anxious faces scanning the groups of parents, and I’m so happy I did this today. They need their mummy back. Lauren breaks from Chloe’s side and comes running across.

  ‘Mummy! Oh, you’re here, are you feeling better?’ Her face is lit with happiness.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart, I am.’ And I realise it’s true. ‘Have you had a lovely day?’

&nbs
p; She screws up her face. ‘S’been all right… Tilly got top marks in our maths test and I came second, so that was good.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘We didn’t cheat though, honestly…’

  I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t have supposed you did for one minute.’ I pull her to me, wrapping her in a big hug. ‘And is Tilly okay?’

  Lauren pulls back, looking up at me with her familiar earnest expression. ‘She’s very sad at the moment, Mummy.’

  I stroke a hand over her hair. ‘Is she?’ I say. ‘Well then, we’ll just have to do what we can to make her happy again, won’t we?’

  Her face brightens. ‘Can I go and play, just until teatime?’

  I glance across to where Anna is standing, already making to leave. It would be a good opportunity to talk to her. ‘Let’s just see, shall we,’ I say. ‘I’ll have a chat with her mum in a bit.’

  I scoop Chloe into my side and give her a squeeze, knowing that she’s far too old for a full-on show of affection in public. ‘All right?’ I ask, and she burrows into me, her face pressed against my breast. ‘Come on then, let’s get home.’

  The crush of people slows us down as we near the gates but I wait our turn, conscious that most of the mums are, if not actually avoiding me, anxious not to make eye contact. The few that do, I meet with an open smile and a friendly greeting. Where Stacey is among the throng I have no idea, but in a few moments we’re out of the bottleneck and into the lane. Anna is somewhere behind us but we walk on. I don’t want to rush things and I’m happy just listening to the girls’ chatter about their day.

  By the time we get home, the usual routine of stowing bags, hanging up coats and collecting a drink and biscuit swings easily into action and I’m grateful. The day is far from over and I need the sustenance that this normality provides.

  Drew isn’t home yet, but I check on the dinner and am about to sort out another load of washing when there’s a knock on the back door. I open it to find Tilly standing there.