Look What You Made Me Do

by Nikki Smith

  A quick glance across her carpet tells me nothing has fallen on the floor. Her window is shut but there’s a faint smell that wasn’t here before. I frown and turn to walk out when I notice something blue sticking out of her wardrobe door. The panic scrambles further up my body, leaving my stomach ice-cold. I don’t remember seeing that when I was in here before.

  I walk towards her wardrobe. The right-hand door is shut, the sleeve of one of Grace’s sweatshirts trapped between it and the frame, dangling at an odd angle, like a broken arm. I pull on the door which swings open and the whole garment slides off its hanger into my arms. I step backwards in shock. A shiver runs down the back of my neck. The rows of wooden hangers which are normally spread out evenly across the hanging rail have been pushed to each end, leaving a large gap in the middle, one that’s the perfect size for someone to fit into.

  The smell is stronger here. A stale muskiness. Something foreign and out of place in this room. As I peer in more closely, sliding the hangers back into place, I hear the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming. I drop Grace’s top on the floor and run across the landing, down the stairs, throwing open the door to stare out over the gravel. The driveway is empty. I’m shaking. I dig my nails into my palm as I lean against the wall, trying to persuade myself I’m imagining things. I can’t bring myself to contemplate the alternative. That someone has been in my house, hiding inside my daughter’s wardrobe.

  TUESDAY

  Caroline

  My heart had shrunk as I’d absorbed his words as he’d sat on Adam’s old bed on Sunday evening, each one slicing off a piece of me until there had been nothing left. I’d known early on in our marriage that he could be cruel, but until that moment, I hadn’t thought he was capable of going so far. Perhaps I had always known and hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. The thought that he’d been less than a few inches away from what was under the mattress flashes into my head.

  His forehead had shone with a layer of sweat and I’d wondered whether it had been from the heat or his eagerness to impart the information that had seemed to spill out through every pore.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ I’d asked.

  ‘No. I ran out of time. I searched everywhere in the house, so it must be outside in Paul’s office. At least now I can get in and out without having to worry about the bloody dog.’

  I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes this morning, concentrating instead on where his hair is beginning to thin at the front, revealing his skin, as pale as bone. I can’t see any resemblance to the man I married and wonder how long he’s been like this. Whether the line he’s stepped over has made me see how far he’s prepared to go, or whether he’s been like this for years, and I’ve chosen not to notice, focusing instead on keeping Adam safe.

  ‘Has your sister called the solicitor?’ he asks.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You said she’d changed her mind.’

  ‘I don’t –’ I start to say.

  He takes a couple of strides towards me across the kitchen. ‘She’s your bloody sister. You work with her. You must have some idea what she’s doing about it. Hasn’t she said anything?’ I glance at the pot of kitchen utensils on the granite counter; the handle of the scissors within reaching distance. He follows my gaze and smiles. ‘I don’t think we want to go there, do we?’ he asks, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin. My heart beats faster, and I hope the flush of adrenaline isn’t obvious on my cheeks. He reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist with one hand, clasping it firmly, wrapping his fingers round my forefinger with the other. I stay very still.

  ‘Just remember, Caroline, that I keep you safe. Don’t ever think about doing anything to jeopardise that. And I don’t have unlimited patience. If Jo isn’t going to change her mind then she might need a bit of gentle persuasion. Agreed?’ I nod, the pressure on my finger insistent enough to be uncomfortable. He hesitates, and I can almost feel the idea drop into his head. ‘And if I can’t find what I’m looking for, then we need to make sure no one else does. I’ll sort it this afternoon.’ He lets go of my hand and turns to walk out of the kitchen.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask after him.

  He doesn’t answer. ‘I need to get to work. I’ve got a meeting with Simon about the site. Don’t you need to go as well?’

  ‘I’m going in late. I’m going to do some paperwork here first. Finish writing some details for a property we’ve got a viewing on later.’

  He nods, but I can tell he’s already lost interest. I watch him through the window after he shuts the front door. Instead of getting straight into the car, he goes into our garage and reappears a minute later, holding something that looks like a watering can, but without my lenses in, I can’t see it properly. He lifts up the lid of the boot, puts it inside, shuts it again and drives off.

  I stand by the window for a few minutes, waiting for my heartbeat to slow, checking he doesn’t reappear, but the driveway remains empty. He won’t want to miss his meeting. I make myself a coffee, the jar of granules one of the few things in the cupboard that I don’t have to ask permission to use, running over his last words in my head. They keep floating back to the surface, like empty plastic bottles, rubbish that I can’t get rid of. I should get ready for work but I’m in no hurry to see Jo. I’m going to have to get her to call the solicitor. And the more I push the issue, the more she’s going to hate me. She won’t believe I’m trying to help her. As I finish my coffee the bruise on my face throbs underneath my thick layer of foundation and I realise with a jolt what Rob had been carrying as he walked to the car. I know what he’s going to do.

  I glance at my list of reminders I’ve written on the pad I keep on the counter; Rob’s company logo imprinted on the top of each page. I don’t need to write down the most important thing. I won’t forget that one, however hard I try. I was hoping I’d never have to do it. That somehow, I’d be able to leave it undisturbed, or throw it away like I’ve almost done so many times before, but it’s too late to back out now; I’d made a promise.

  I open the fridge to get out what I need to prepare dinner for this evening. I could do it when I get home but it’s another way to delay going upstairs. He said he wants chicken curry. He calls it curry but, really, it’s chicken in a sauce that doesn’t really taste of anything. He doesn’t like anything too spicy or hot as it gives him heartburn. I chop the onions and blink away tears. I should have put my lenses in before I started. I tip everything into a pan with some olive oil, being careful not to turn the gas up too high, and turn out two chicken breasts from their plastic packaging onto a chopping board, slicing them into pieces, the slimy raw flesh under my fingers making me cringe. I block out any thoughts of animals, leaving everything in the pan to cook for a few minutes before pouring in a jar of the sauce Rob likes. It’s a bland beige colour that smells vaguely of something artificially sweet and I have to turn the overhead fan on to get rid of the smell.

  I leave it to cook for fifteen minutes whilst checking the weather app on my phone to see what it’s like in Bali today. Twenty-six degrees with sunshine all afternoon and a couple of showers this morning. Hotter than it is here today. Adam must be so tanned by now. I turn off the gas and take the lid off the pan, holding my hand over the contents, the heat almost burning my skin. This is what he must feel. If I shut my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m there with him.

  I walk upstairs slowly, hearing his voice in my head. I tell him I don’t want to do this, that I need to go to work, but he says it’s time. No more delays.

  I go into his old room and put my hand under the mattress, pulling out his postcards together with the notebook they’re resting on. I put the cards to one side and sit down on the bed on the indent Rob left, holding the notebook in my hand. It’s brown leather, with ‘Ideas and Thoughts’ in black writing printed on the front cover, each letter debossed in the material so I can feel the grooves when I run my finger over the words. The leather isn’t as sm
ooth now as it was when it arrived, cracks have appeared over the years it’s been under the mattress, like wrinkles in aged skin. There’s a dark stain on the back where I’d dropped it in the dustbin when I’d first opened it after it had landed on my doormat, retrieving it a few hours later and hiding it away in here.

  It seems a lifetime ago. Adam had still been a teenager and I’d refused to do anything that could jeopardise his safety. I hope she understands, wherever she is. I had no choice. And now he’s the same age as she was then, and he still seems so young. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you,’ I whisper as I open the cover to reveal the same words I’d glanced at briefly three years ago, wanting to erase them from my memory the minute I’d read them:

  Private Property of Lauren Taylor. Keep your nose OUT.

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I had to wait for the right time,’ I say, propping up the pillows behind me on the bed, settling back on them as I’d used to do when Adam was younger, my arm curled around his shoulders as he’d nestled into me whilst I’d read him a bedtime story. This time he’s not with me and it’s her presence I feel instead as I draw my knees up in front of me and open the book. The spine bends and creaks, like someone whose joints are stiff from being stuck in one position for a long time, and I wonder if it’s me or her who lets out a sigh as I begin to read.

  There are only a finite number of ways to say no. And I’ve tried every one that I can think of, but you don’t seem to understand. Words are not solid enough. I know they mean different things to different people and the tone you say them in matters just as much as the actual things themselves. But I need more options than the English language currently provides me with. Like how in Inuit there are fifty different ways of saying snow. I need something definitive, something more impenetrable than Rapunzel’s tower, something that doesn’t leave any possibility for maybes to creep in through the gaps, long fingers scraping away the cement between the bricks, reaching inside to touch my skin. I need something that will bite back, something as real as scissors or a knife, something sharp and deadly that wounds you if you don’t take any notice, like shards of glass that will slice through one of your arteries, leaving you bleeding out all over the floor.

  WEDNESDAY

  Jo

  Where the fuck is he? Photos of him with the girls scroll round on the screensaver on my office computer in front of me; I’ve given up trying to do any work. I call his mobile again, the three seconds before his voicemail kicks in now so familiar, I can time them more accurately than a stop watch. I haven’t heard anything from him since Monday morning. Two whole nights. No phone calls, no texts, no emails. I’ve never been out of contact with him for this long since we got married. And I’ve always known where he was. At least, I thought I had.

  I can’t trace him on my FindMyFriends app as he’s stopped sharing his location and I can’t tell if he’s actually looked at any of the dozens of text messages I’ve left. Every one shows up on my phone as ‘delivered’ rather than ‘read’. I keep telling myself he could have viewed them on his home screen and never actually opened them, but I know it’s just another way of delaying the panic that keeps trying to climb up my body, shaking my brain so my thoughts end up in a tangled mess.

  How long do I leave it before I call the police? On Monday night I vowed I’d call them if I hadn’t heard from him in twenty-four hours, telling myself he’d be home before then, that he just needed a night away to sort his head out. But that deadline had come and gone and now over forty-eight hours has passed. They’ll ask me why I waited. I’ll have to explain how I’d seen some bloke I think I’d met once, briefly, getting into his car. That I’d confronted him about it. And then he’d disappeared. I can imagine what they’re going to say. I’ve run through it all in my head already. Probing questions asking me how well I really knew my husband with a few knowing glances that will destroy an already-fragile marriage.

  What have you done, Paul? What’s so bad that you’ve had to take off without talking to me first?

  I know he never really wanted to move back here, but I thought he’d accepted it, assumed he’d settled into the new routine we’d established for ourselves. I know he’s been quiet for the last couple of months but I never thought he’d do something like this. Perhaps I’ve been kidding myself; shutting my eyes to the signs that he’s never been completely happy. I keep replaying the memory of the way that man had looked at Livvi when we’d seen him at Parkstone Losey House. Like he’d wanted to know all about her. And how keen Paul had been to get us all away from him. Has he left us for him? Wouldn’t I have noticed if he felt that way in the twelve years we’ve been married?

  I’ve told the girls he’s gone away camping with some friends from university – a reunion to celebrate a birthday and they’ve accepted it along with the fact that it’s somewhere so remote he doesn’t have Wi-Fi or 4G access so can’t call them. I’ve kept his return date vague, but they’re going to start asking more questions and I’m at a loss as to what to say. None of his friends have seen him – the non-specific texts I’ve sent to those who we’re still in touch with in Bristol asking if they’ve heard from him have all proved a waste of time, and he hasn’t got that many friends around here to ask.

  He’s taken his car – I’d checked the garage after I’d assumed it was parked in there on Monday. Finding it gone had made me feel better initially, a confirmation that he’d left of his own free will, but then it had struck me that this meant he couldn’t have been the person I’d heard in Grace’s bedroom which made me feel worse than I had before.

  I’ve moved both girls into my bedroom with me for now; they think it’s a special sleepover treat whilst he’s away, the three of us in separate sleeping bags on top of the duvet so we don’t wake up if Livvi wriggles too much. That’s what I’ve told them, anyway. They don’t know I’ve kept the zip of mine open so I’m ready to jump out at any moment.

  I survived yesterday on caffeine, having spent hours lying awake in the darkness listening to every noise and creak that seemed so much louder than they had done in the day. I’d double-locked all the doors before going to bed, sliding the bolts across to make sure there was no way anyone could get in. I’d made sure the stairgate Paul had bought was shut tightly once we’d all cleaned our teeth, telling Grace it was so she didn’t wander down in the middle of the night, but that had just been an excuse. I’d wanted the extra reassurance that I’d hear it opening if anyone came up the stairs.

  I glance at my phone, debating whether to call Anna. Paul and Andy aren’t exactly best friends but they get on well enough. I dial her number, nothing left to lose.

  ‘Jo?’ Her voice is warm, friendly.

  ‘Hi, Anna.’ I swallow, not sure I’ve thought this through properly, wondering if she can hear the beat of hesitation.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I just wondered if you or Andy had spoken to Paul today.’

  She pauses – or is that my imagination?

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘I’m just trying to sort out who’s picking the girls up from school and can’t seem to get hold of him.’

  ‘Oh.’ She doesn’t seem to think it’s odd that I’m asking. Would I be able to tell if she was hiding the fact that she knew he’d left us? ‘I’m collecting Maddie and Jess later; I can get the girls as well if you need me to? I mean, if Grace is happy to come back with us.’

  I’m grateful she’s trying to build bridges, unsure whether Grace would want me to reciprocate.

  ‘Thanks for the offer. Can I let you know?’

  ‘Sure, no problem. Paul’s probably just turned his phone off whilst he’s working. Andy does that. Says he needs to concentrate. Can’t multi-task to save his life.’ Is she telling me that she knows his phone is off ? I didn’t tell her that. Only that I couldn’t get hold of him. Perhaps she’s just trying to be sympathetic and my lack of sleep is making me paranoid.

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’

  ‘If I
see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,’ she says as she hangs up. I don’t tell her that I’m a hundred per cent sure he knows this already.

  I have no one left to call. Paul’s an only child, his parents had died years ago and they were never close. It had been one of the things that had first attracted us together – both of us had missing pieces; unfinished jigsaws where we needed the other person to fill in the gaps. I set another deadline for tonight in my head; extending my self-imposed cut-off from lunchtime, an attempt to delay the inevitable. I tell myself I’m doing it for the girls, wanting to save them from what I know could lie ahead.

  Yesterday, when they’d been getting ready for bed, I’d gone outside into our garden, needing a few minutes outside alone in the dusk, the deep-blue sky tinged with smoky orange towards the horizon. I’d walked past the freshly dug earth in one of our flower beds that now had a large terracotta pot on top of it. Grace had said she wanted to plant an apple tree in the space. She’d thought it would be a good way to remember Buddy as he’d always tried to eat the ones that had fallen onto Dad’s grass. Paul hadn’t told her what the vet had said. That we needed to put something solid on top of where we buried him to stop the foxes digging up his body. I’d shuddered and had walked back inside, making sure I’d double locked the patio doors, hanging the key back on the wall out of Grace’s reach.

  I put my phone down on my desk as I hear my mother’s voice coming from the direction of Caroline’s office. It irritates me that she always goes in there first. She has to walk past mine to get to Caroline’s but my sister still seems to possess a greater appeal. The secret we now share, the horror that has been wrapped up in pillow cases and sheets that stops me breathing if I think about it, doesn’t seem to have brought us any closer together.

  I walk into reception and hover in Caroline’s doorway, watching as my mother bends down to kiss the air either side of my sister’s cheeks, not making contact with her skin, afraid to get too close. She sees me and smiles.