‘How badly hurt were you?’ Ruan asks. ‘After the…’ he waves his finger ‘… you know.’
‘I woke in the ambulance, my head pounding. I’d several facial cuts and—’ I lift a section of my hair up, about an inch below my middle parting ‘—a nice little gash. A few broken ribs from the side airbag. The front airbag didn’t release; it had been disabled. His released though. Concussion, and a serious case of whiplash. We were both lucky apparently. The terrain broke the speed, before impact.’ You knew what you were doing, didn’t you?
A high-pitched whistling and a swoosh of the shrubbery against the front window makes us jump. It’s so dark outside, and blustery as the coastal wind approaches a crescendo. I can’t see beyond the shadows and the promise of a new moon.
‘The wind’s picking up again – think we might be in for another stormy night,’ Ruan comments in an exaggerated Cornish accent. Bea glowers at him. ‘Sorry, Evie, go on.’
‘I remember coming to. It was like a reverse plughole effect, images circling me so rapidly as my head spun. I panicked because I didn’t know where Jack was, then apparently became hysterical, screaming out his name. Then it was black again. When I came back to, they told me Jack was fine, remarkably unhurt but in shock. He also had minor impact injuries from the side airbag. He was in the ambulance behind as they needed to take him in for observation.’
‘But he’d gone,’ clarifies Bea.
‘Yep. He’d gone by the time the ambulances arrived.’
‘Who called for the ambulance, then?’ Ruan presses.
‘I don’t know. The police said it was a woman, said she’d discovered us but she’d left before the emergency services arrived. We’re not sure who it was. They couldn’t trace the mobile number either. It was a pay as you go; it didn’t lead to anyone.’ Both Ruan and Bea nod. ‘He conveniently seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. I didn’t hear anything, until I received an odd phone call a few years later, a man’s voice, advising me he was living abroad somewhere. Somewhere being Spain, then he hung up. I don’t know who that guy was either.’
‘Bizarre. But why? Why would he do that? Why move to Spain?’ Bea asks.
‘Oh, Bea, it’s so convoluted. For the moment, please can we leave it at my ex-husband, Jack’s father, was a manipulative, cruel machine? Made our lives hell, then things started to go wrong for him. He slipped, while I grew stronger; he knew it too. He lost control, before I was ready.’
‘Ready for what?’ interrupts Ruan.
‘My plan. Years of planning our escape. Jack and me needed closure, not this. Always trying to forget, always hiding from our imaginations, from thinking the worst, watching the shadows, listening for noises. Sleeping with my car keys and mobile phone. Always wondering when, always waiting. I didn’t get the chance to put my plan into place. We’ve not been allowed to break entirely free. He was supposed to be content with the life he made, a successful partner, to become senior partner; Jack and I would have stood a chance to escape. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.’ It hasn’t ended, has it?
I’m drained and exhausted and it’s only just beginning.
‘But it still seems so bloody unreal, to want to kill you both?’ Bea continues.
‘Bea, please don’t try and make sense of this. Rational behaviour is not relevant here, so rational reasoning will get you nowhere. Like I said, I don’t know for sure he did. He may have only wanted to teach us a lesson, to hurt us, scar us. If we were dead, he wouldn’t get to see the results, we wouldn’t pay for our mistakes, so I’m not convinced he did intend to kill us, just that he meant for us to crash. Though, as the front airbag had been disabled and he abandoned us, if someone hadn’t called 999, we or at least I could have been in trouble from the amount of blood loss. And it was cold, so, so cold too.’
I also had his flash-drive, whipped last minute from his laptop in his study, but that’s remaining my secret. Our secret. It may once have been reason enough to keep me alive that night. But now? I’m not so sure. You know I have it, don’t you? But why now, why is it only now you’ve come looking for it? Or is it something else? Is this simply twisted revenge?
‘Lucky, he didn’t take Jack with him,’ adds Ruan.
‘No. It wasn’t luck, he didn’t want Jack. Jack was an asset for the future. He only wanted Jack because I needed Jack. Jack was his only real power over me. If I’d died, he’d have been stuck with him. Wherever he went, wherever he was going, he knew he couldn’t take Jack. Jack was nothing more than another one of his tools.’ This is what I hate you most for.
‘But why did you stay with such a lunatic, Evie? Why didn’t you leave him before then?’ Here we go. It’s a reasonable question but it can’t possibly be answered in a reductionist manner.
‘Exactly, why? I ask myself the same every day. Because hindsight makes me ask it. But context always wins the day, always. I didn’t leave because I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.’ I can feel myself becoming defensive.
Bea’s not being judgmental; this must seem so very far-fetched. The strange thing is, it does to me too, or it did until a few weeks ago, before it was brought abruptly back into my life. A horrible thought hits me: I may know who the articles in the envelope were sent by, but not who put them into my briefcase? I assumed nobody had been in the house because the back door was locked when I checked but what if I’m wrong? If someone else has been in our home, have you too? Technically, you could have come through an unlocked back door, locked it, then left through the front door – it has a dead lock. I feel sick. Have you been in our home?
I feel them both silently eyeballing me. ‘Sorry, Bea, I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
‘It’s fine,’ she graces me. ‘I just feel awful. I didn’t know any of this.’ She leans forward and touches my hand.
‘You have nothing to feel bad about, please. How could you have possibly guessed?’ Bea is still looking at me with a mixture of shock and sadness. ‘You know, I sometimes wonder if he intended for Jack to die; for me to survive and for Jack to die. He knew it would be my ultimate punishment; the only actual means of destroying me.’
They look at me with horror etched across their faces. ‘It’s so hard for any normal person to compute the workings of the mind of a psychopath. I mean, why would anyone kill their son to punish their ex-wife, how sick? I, on the other hand, identify; I’ve learned all too well we are all merely pawns on a chessboard to men like him. Used and sacrificed as needed to achieve an end. It’s easier for me. Over the years I’ve needed to learn, to think and dissect in his terms. Kind of mechanical. To be honest, the fact I can do it so successfully frightens me.’ Does this mean I can never be normal again? Can I ever truly unlearn the rules of chess?
‘Jesus Christ.’ Bea sighs out.
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes. ‘Ruan, would you chuck a log on the fire, please? I’m feeling a little chilly.’
‘Sure.’ He jumps up to poke around with the fire. It must be a man thing; I only asked him to put a log on it.
‘Eve?’ Bea pauses, and something tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to ask. ‘Why did you get in the car that night, you and Jack? If you knew he was so horrible, why get into the car with him?’
I think about this for a while, not because I don’t know the answer, but because it’s difficult to answer without sounding like a complete idiot. Who willingly gets into a car with a psychopathic ex-husband looking for revenge on a dark stormy night? How could I have been so context blind? I witness these incidents on the news and think to myself, well, what did you expect? How did you not see it coming? What made you suddenly become so stupid? How do I answer without giving away anything I need to withhold? I trust them but, when the lives of Jack and me are the very things at stake, I can’t afford to trust anyone completely. Has this not always been the case with my story? It’s not what you see, it’s what you don’t see. It’s not what you know, it’s what you don’t know.
We think we know
the truth; what we saw, what we believed. But the truth is, our perceptions have been so contaminated by our past, can we trust our original observations and decisions? I was desperate. I wanted a way to end the living hell. So I watched and learned and gathered the evidence. But there are gaps in my evidence. Not to mention cracks in my moral conscience. It all seemed to make sense back then.
I hate hindsight.
‘I didn’t have any choice, Bea. I had to get in the car because he had Jack.’ He had Jack because he was using him as a bargaining tool for the flash-drive I could never let him have; our freedom depended on it. Or did it? I’m not so sure any more.
As I swill the blackberry liquid around my glass, I’m startled out of my skin by a loud thud at the front door. Spilling the juices down my front. Bea follows suit, choking on her mouthful, spraying my legs with the remnants. None of us move. The letter box opens as a large brown envelope falls to the floor. I wipe the wine from my face, trying to ignore the quickening of my heartbeat. I tentatively find my feet, Bea looking to me for reassurance.
‘I’ll get it,’ says a confident Ruan.
‘No, it’s fine.’ I’m already making my way to the front door, sick with the awareness of these familiar feelings. I used to dread the sound of the letter box, the sight of the poor postman, wondering what nasty letter would be dropping to my floor. I veer off towards the front window. I need to check if anyone’s there. But no one. I’m aware of Ruan moving towards me as I open the front door.
‘What are you doing?’ shrieks Bea. ‘Shut the door, for God’s sake.’
‘Shhh, Bea.’ With my heart in my mouth, I step out. It’s pitch black, the wind has died down and a silence surrounds me, other than the hum of the Atlantic behind. Our front gate has been left open. Was this to help someone make a quick getaway? I tread to the end of the small path, expecting someone to jump out, then gaze down towards the low wall bordering the road.
I can feel you breathing; you are watching me, aren’t you?
I could have missed you by a few steps but I’m certain you’re still here. I freeze. My words jar as my entire body quivers. Something hanging in the air; a familiar scent smothers my nostrils. ‘Eve?’ Ruan’s voice echoes around me. I cannot speak. ‘Eve?’
I turn to face him as he takes my arm. ‘He’s been here. I’m not imagining it, Ruan – he’s been here tonight. I know he has.’
He turns me around, ushering me towards the door. ‘Come on, you don’t know this, do you? Not for sure. Let’s go in, open the envelope; it’s freezing out here.’
I step back over the threshold to pick up what has been dropped through my letter box. Scanning the envelope for signs, who the envelope is addressed to, a giveaway postmark, hoping it’s simply an innocent redirecting of some wandering post. A neighbour has dropped it off.
Nothing.
I sniff the envelope.
It was hand-delivered. I can smell you.
‘Eve, what is it?’ Bea asks.
‘Shush, please!’ I glance at her worried expression. ‘Sorry, Bea, give me a moment.’
I pull out two A4 printed sheets with eyes half closed, my head wispy with the lack of oxygen. With trembling legs, I walk further into the light of the fire to make sense of what I’m holding. A copy of our marriage certificate, and a copy of Jack’s birth certificate. Then, I notice your additions; in black thick lettering scrawled diagonally across each of the sheets. On the birth certificate the word MINE, on the marriage certificate the words TILL DEATH DO US PART, glare back at me.
I instinctively turn back for the front door, throw it open, ignoring the cries of Bea and Ruan; I stagger towards the gate, now closed. It’s so dark, my eyes struggle to adjust but I manage to catch a glimpse of a disappearing dusky shadow, without a question of doubt – belonging to a man. He does not move at speed; to the contrary, he walks with a slow, sure confidence. I consider for one stupid moment running after him, but my feet refuse to budge. Then I’m grabbed from behind by Ruan.
‘He’s back, he was right here, within a couple of feet from me, a few moments ago, we were side by side pretty much.’
Ruan doesn’t respond as I fall against him. My body stiff with fear, then anger.
At least I now know for sure: you’ve found us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before
Anyone would have thought we were short of money. I stood at the till, counting out coppers. I only wanted some fruit for Jack. I’d made the stupid mistake of not including it on the online grocery shop, with only one chance to include all the items I needed. Once all the items in the basket were added for checkout, you would comb through, removing any frivolous non-essentials, as you saw them. Usually, this was anything personal for me, skin-care items, hair products or similar. Even though I was working part-time, my earnings were minimal compared to the monthly outgoings of mortgage, car payments et cetera. You considered I didn’t contribute sufficiently, insisted my salary was paid entirely into our marital joint account, all of which was allocated, other than the small amount you gave me each week to use for Jack. This, though, I’d stashed away, for future needs.
You were unaware of my intentions, so what on earth were you scared of? But then, it was never about fear; it was about control and power. Were you becoming scared of losing these, even before you did?
I reached into my pocket at the trill of my mobile.
‘Eve?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Out with Jack, why?’
‘Obviously, but what are you doing?’
‘I promised him I’d take him to the park, why?’
‘Right.’ I could hear your mind ticking. ‘Then, are you heading straight home?’
‘Yes… of course; why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Thought, maybe for a treat you could take Jack for a pizza. But if you’re going to be argumentative about it, I—’
‘No. Wait, don’t say this. How am I being argumentative?’
‘There you go again, can’t help yourself.’ You sighed heavily into the handset. ‘I can’t be dealing with you, if…’
What were you up to? Trying to cause an argument, so I’d become submissive, then you could get your own way. For whatever it was you’d really called me for. This transpired so many times; I knew how to play the game. You were definitely up to something, I needed to find out what.
‘I’m sorry, Gregg; I wasn’t meaning to argue with you.’
‘Well, you were.’
‘Okay, in that case, I apologise.’
‘Good.’ Your smugness seeped through my mind. I bit down hard on my teeth. ‘I was going to suggest you take Jack out for his tea, to the new ghastly American diner place, near Warwick. On the industrial estate, by Sainsbury’s.’
Oh, how joyous. How kind of you. ‘Mmm. That would have been lovely, but how can I? I don’t have my cards or any cash.’ You should know.
‘Not a problem. I’ll call the restaurant now, leave my card details. They’ll be happy with this.’
You really thought you were doing me a monumental favour. What were you planning so important to need to gift us a treat, to keep us away from the house? ‘Okay. Thank you. Great.’ My words were like razors at my throat. How dare you? How dare you call me to give permission to take my son for pizza, and expect gratitude? I felt my blood flood with adrenaline; all I really wanted to do was tell you where to stick pizza. It was becoming harder and harder.
‘Sorted, then. I’ll call them now, see to the bill. In fact, why not make a night of it? Don’t rush. No need. Jack can have one of those atrocious American sugary ice creams for afters too.’ You chortled into your handset like a father who cared.
‘Yes, he’d like that. Yes, okay. I’ll see you later, then.’
‘You may or may not; I’ll be back home shortly but heading out again for a late dinner meeting around eight. Like I said, take your time.’
I could tell from the echo you were still on the tra
in, on your way home from Birmingham. Clearly, with plans for the evening, but not just the meeting; you wanted me out of the house until you left. Did you actually believe I was so stupid? For someone so astute, you really hadn’t worked me out. Or had you? Was this a trap?
I squeezed Jack’s hand. ‘Jack, do you know anyone at all who would love to go for a special tea? Pizza or burger?’
‘Me-e-e, me-e-e. Jack does!’
‘Shall we go for a little treat? You and Mummy?’
‘Yes-s-s-s. Mummy and Jack go for a treat.’ He began jumping up and down, yanking on my arm. ‘What’s for treat, Mummy?’
As much as I wanted to dart straight home, I couldn’t deny Jack the opportunity of this rare treat. The last time the three of us visited a restaurant, all themed for his birthday, you eventually turned up, tanked-up, in a terrible mood and were as obnoxious as possible all evening. I quietly cried in the toilets; the whole experience was so far removed from your wishes for your child’s birthday. For some godforsaken reason, I’d hoped it would be different. What a fool. Other parents often took their children for tea, after our clubs. I was invited, but how could I go without money? I needed to go along with the meal; you would undoubtedly check on our arrival with the restaurant. I’d hurry it along so as to return to the house before you left for the evening.
The dark was drawing in by the time we turned down the lane towards the driveway. As expected, we had company. The same cars as before, except for one that was conspicuous. Unlike the other more sophisticated, valeted, this-year’s-model cars; a more tasteless, loud and old, white saloon-type car with blacked-out windows sat behind the others. I loitered at the bottom of the driveway behind the gates, which were closed. I glanced at Jack, who’d fallen asleep. Did I really want to take him into the house? I’d a bad feeling about it. But I also needed to find out what you were up to.
Her Greatest Mistake Page 21