Her Greatest Mistake

by Sarah Simpson

  I watch Milly as we talk. She’s warmer today, not so wary of me, talking openly about her week. She’s listened to me, and has managed to abstain from harming herself, relaying how she’s used other distraction techniques, as we’d discussed. I’m praying this wasn’t the weed.

  ‘The thing is, Milly, it’s a lot tougher to struggle through this alone.’

  ‘I have you,’ she says.

  ‘You do. But, I mean, at home, it’s tough when you’re at home, to feel alone with things.’

  She regards her feet and shrugs.

  ‘It’s even more sad, Milly, because you’re not alone. You have mum.’

  ‘Used to,’ she says.

  ‘Has mum told you you’re not to go to her with your problems?’

  ‘No. Not as such.’

  ‘Has mum changed towards you in any way?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘So, why do you think you don’t have her any more, to talk to?’

  ‘Not sure, just don’t.’

  ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but… is it you who has changed maybe? What with everything you’ve been going through. Is it perhaps this bully in your head, the very same telling you to harm yourself to feel better – is it this, telling you not to go to mum?’

  She looks at me, eyes slightly bloodshot. ‘I don’t know,’ she says.

  ‘From what I understand, mum would prefer to know; whatever it is frightening you, upsetting you, she would want to know. This bully will be weaker against the two of you.’ I watch as her eyes glisten. A gentle knocking on the door prompts me. ‘It’s mum – she’s waiting outside now. Can we let her in, Milly?’

  Burdened eyes look back at me. She nods.

  *

  Ruan watches me as I run back into the clinic, dumping my briefcase, belting up my coat. ‘Hey, where you off to in such a hurry?’

  ‘I need to pop to the counselling place across the road. Do you want anything while I’m out? Sandwich? Pasty?’

  ‘Mmm, tough one. Go on, then, since you asked so nicely, pasty, please. Why the counselling place? Thinking of booking yourself in?’ He grins.

  Much truth said in jest, Ruan. You probably think I should. ‘Yes, actually, I am.’ His smile disappears as quickly as it arrived.

  ‘Oh, bum. Sorry, Eve, wasn’t thinking.’

  I smile at his awkwardness. ‘What do you think? Can you really see me, of all people, attending counselling? It would be an extremely quiet session – can you imagine?’

  ‘Ha, I did wonder. Thought you’d finally lost it.’ He genuinely looks relieved.

  ‘I won’t be long, just something I need to check on, for a client, that’s all.’ I reach out for the front door. ‘Ruan?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You didn’t put a hand-addressed envelope in my briefcase, did you?’ I find myself studying his face for a guilt-ridden reaction. I don’t want to; I can’t help it.

  ‘An envelope? Nope, no, not me. Why? Wait, do you mean the one from last night, when we were with you?’

  ‘No, a different one, not related.’ He genuinely appears perplexed. ‘No big deal; just found something in my briefcase, not sure how it got there. I wasn’t sure if you’d slipped it in for me.’

  ‘No, not guilty. Could it have been Bea? What was it?’

  I open the door. ‘Nothing, really, don’t worry about it. I won’t be long.’ Why don’t you tell him? He knows more or less what’s going on – why the secrecy now? Are you really beginning to mistrust those closest to you? Haven’t you just pulled Milly on this? Do I have any choice though?

  I bustle down Lemon Street on a mission, take a left turn through the quaint indoor market, breathing in deeply as the smell of sweet garlic engulfs me. A few moments later, I reach the pedestrianised street of terraced houses, standing in line like soldiers. Such a pretty cut-through. I rush up the steps and through the door of the counselling place.

  ‘Hi, Maggie, how are you?’ She looks up from her salad in a plastic bowl. ‘Sorry, I’m interrupting your lunch,’ I say to the receptionist.

  ‘No, lovely. Not at all. I’m well, how are you? Not used to seeing you in here.’ She looks a little muddled, worried she’s forgotten something pre-arranged.

  ‘Yes, all good,’ I lie. ‘Busy, you know how life is.’ She nods, taking another forkful. ‘I need a word with someone about a possible mutual client. Who’s in today, Maggie?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She stands and moves towards the clinic diary. ‘Yes, now, then, Dr Willow’s here. Steven, the acupuncturist, he’s in. Just a minute.’ She puts her glasses on and moves her finger down the list in front of her. ‘Lara Maidwell, Dr Burns and David, the physio, they’re in, oh, and sorry, Susie Hammond, she’s in too. That’s it until later, Eve.’

  ‘Okay.’ Who would he be likely to see? Maybe he’s here to see the acupuncturist or the physiotherapist and I’ve got this all wrong. ‘Hmm, it’s difficult because I need to talk to whoever it is seeing this mutual client, I’m just not sure who it would be.’

  ‘Oh, quite, yes, that is difficult. Can you give me a name?’ Can I? Is this ethical, confidentiality and all that? Yes, because there could be a conflict of interests here, and something is definitely odd about all this.

  ‘I can. It’s a William Adams.’

  Her forehead forms confused lines. ‘William Adams? William Adams.’ She looks back through the diary.

  ‘It was today, Maggie, if it helps. This morning, he was here this morning.’ She nods, still searching the page. ‘William Adams, William Adams. No, Eve love, can’t have been. We don’t have a William Adams.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘The name certainly doesn’t ring a bell with me either. I’ve been here all morning too.’

  I was not mistaken; it was definitely him.

  ‘That’s so strange. The thing is, I saw him this morning, walking into your reception. I know I did.’

  ‘Really? Yes, how strange.’ She looks back at her list, puzzled. ‘But I was the only one here this morning. I’d remember his name, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes, of course you would, you’re right. Look, don’t worry about it.’ I can’t push her any further; it’s as though I’m doubting her. Maybe I did get it wrong – wouldn’t be the first time. My stressed brain is beginning to bail on me.

  ‘What does he look like, love?’

  I picture him from this morning. ‘Six-footish, dark hair, quite distinguished, nicely spoken, quite well built. Oh, and he was wearing black jeans, tan trainer-like shoes and a navy bomber-style jacket?’

  Her face lights up. ‘Now then, that rings a bell; a nice man, pleasant he was, didn’t want to sit down though. Had a problem with his legs, I believe. Yes, I remember him. Yes, he’s been here before too.’

  Bingo. I move closer. ‘Thank goodness, thought I was seeing things.’ I laugh. ‘Who did he come to see, then? I could do with having a word with them, please.’

  ‘Yes, okay, love, but just a minute because his name wasn’t William Adams.’ She looks up as footsteps move down the stairs behind us. ‘Oh, Susie, good timing.’ Maggie looks from Susie to me. ‘It was Susie who saw this man. It’s her you need to talk to.’ Maggie nods towards Susie, who’s looking thrown. ‘You know the man you saw for your first appointment this morning? Eve needs a word about him.’ She taps her nose, making me smile.

  ‘My first appointment, yes, I know who you mean.’ She smiles at me. ‘Eve, lovely to see you. What is this? What do you need to talk to me about?’ She joins us in Reception.

  ‘Sorry about this. I was just asking Maggie about a mutual client we have, apparently. Do you have a moment?’

  ‘Sure, come through.’ We walk into a freezing cold side room; I can’t help but shiver.

  ‘So, it’s to do with the gentleman I saw this morning?’ I remember now how prim and proper she is, and feel a little bad for putting her on the spot.

  ‘Hmm.’ I run through the description again for Susie’s acknowledgment. ‘I don’t wish to know any specifics,
obviously, it’s just, he didn’t tell me he was seeing you, during our appointment. I mean, perhaps he was meeting several people, checking who he felt he could work with best. But it’s just mine was a very specific referral. Look, I’ve a gut feeling something is not right here, is what I’m trying to say.’

  ‘I see. Well, he didn’t mention to me he was seeing anyone for anything either. He certainly didn’t mention being referred. But perhaps he’s seeing us for different reasons?’

  ‘Yes, that’s possible, of course.’ After all, counselling alone may not satisfy his trauma-related issues. ‘But the odd thing is, when I mentioned his name to Maggie, she told me it wasn’t the name you had for him.’

  Susie raises her eyebrows. ‘Really? What name do you have, then?’

  ‘William Adams. This was the name on the referral too.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, that’s not right. No. Are we sure we’re talking about the same man?’

  I ignore her; my instincts tell me we definitely are. ‘So what name did he book under with you?’

  ‘In confidence, Eve?’

  ‘Of course.’ I nod, the suspense killing me.

  ‘Gregg. Gregg Austin.’

  Dear God. I was not expecting this. My legs wobble as adrenaline rips through my body. No, no, no. How can this be so? I’m sure Susie is speaking to me, but my ears can only hear humming.

  ‘Eve?’ I hear. ‘Eve. Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?’

  I can’t get the words out; I want to curl into a ball on the floor. Is this some kind of sick joke? Why does he call himself Gregg Austin? My mind is frantically running through the details. What have I missed?

  Susie gently takes my arm. ‘What is it, Eve? What’s wrong? I thought you knew him already?’

  ‘I do,’ I manage. ‘Well, clearly, I don’t. I don’t know anything about him.’ I take Susie’s arm. ‘What did he come to see you for?’ It’s worth a try.

  ‘Come on, you know I can’t divulge this!’

  ‘No. No, sorry, I know you can’t. I shouldn’t have asked.’ At least this means he can’t have told her he’s about to commit murder on behalf of the person he claims to be. She would have been ethically bound to tell me then.

  Moments later, I wander back through Truro, distracted by the cobbles I repeatedly wedge my heels between. Why do I wear such stupid shoes?

  So much information rattling through my mind, so many disjointed facts and uncertainties. I can’t figure it out. Only one thing is for sure: whatever his game is, this William Adams, or whoever he is, he’s telling lies and he knows you. But how well does he know you? Has he been sent by you? Is this, then, the shadow that has been following me? Is he the bearer of unwanted gifts too? Absent-mindedly, I accidentally bounce off someone lurking in the street. ‘Sorry,’ we both mutter. She looks at me, a face overwhelmed by gigantic sunglasses, despite the clouds. She turns quickly from me, in a knowing way. An ex-client maybe? She does look vaguely familiar. She totters off in a hurry, before turning to look back once more.

  My thoughts return to William Adams. The more I think about it, you never used to relish getting your hands dirty, did you? You thought you were above it, too clever, but it makes you a coward in my eyes. So have you sent me William? To follow me, frighten me and begin to break me down, before your grand finale? I wouldn’t put anything past you. I can’t afford to.

  Who are you, William Adams? And what do you know?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Before

  I awakened in the rigid chair to the slam of the front door, a cramp-like ache in my neck for company. I didn’t know the time, but it was still dark. Jack hadn’t stirred so I was guessing it was not much after 6 a.m. Why did you leave so early this morning? You could only have had a couple of hours’ sleep. Still, it suited me well. If you were gone, time for action. I crept past Jack’s bed. With no time to lose, I needed to shower, dress and get us out of here. My stomach fluttered at the thought; a mixture of nervousness but also a timid excitement – we were finally leaving.

  An hour later, Jack was dressed and sitting eating breakfast. It was then, I spotted the note.

  I will (reluctantly) order a replacement mobile today. Why do you always have to push me? Not home until very late, plenty of time to think about your behaviour!

  Perfect. I had time to gather our belongings together. Perhaps make a few phone calls before I left since my mobile was in hundreds of pieces. I would do the sinful act of putting Jack in front of his favourite TV programmes and use the unexpected time. I then booked us a room at a bed and breakfast near Chipping Campden, somewhere remote, difficult to find. Somewhere to breathe for a while following our escape.

  I sat with a coffee, pen and paper, time to go over all I’d packed for us, being not a lot. I hoped this was going to be a short-term solution, until we’d taken the next legal steps. What was I doing? Was it fair to be taking Jack from his home, all he knew, all his home comforts? Why, despite everything, did I still feel so guilty? Terrified too. It reminded me of the first time I’d abseiled, a team-building exercise; stepping blindly off the cliff edge, too scared to pay too much attention to where I’d end, should I fall. The first step off the so-called secure ground was always going to be the worst. I had no choice; we had to leave. For everything we had lived through, for all I’d witnessed; and for all my heart told me was to come.

  Jack’s red medical book; I shouldn’t leave without it. I ran up the stairs to the spare room, I kept it in the drawer of the old pine wardrobe. With book in hand, I turned back towards the door; a perfunctory scan of the room, just in case. I noticed the bottom drawer of the old chest; the locked one, except it wasn’t locked, it was ajar. You must have opened it the evening before, and, in your drunken state, forgotten to lock it again. I couldn’t resist, sure I’d find the wads of cash. Boy, could I have done with some cash to take with us. Wrong. Most likely illegal. But principles wouldn’t keep us safe.

  I slowly bumped the rickety drawer further out.

  My heart missed a beat. Oh my God. Nausea crept upwards. Jesus Christ. I wobbled from my crouched position onto precarious knees. Pressing my hands hard to my temples. Wads and wads of cash. Thousands and thousands of pounds, but it was what lay beneath that shocked me; petrified me. My mind raced back to the conversation I’d heard the evening of the golf-club event. I’d dismissed it – why? Because I didn’t want to believe it? I was too weak to confront it? A most convenient oversight? Then images of the previous night; the poor beaten lad tossed down the steps.

  A gun.

  Jesus Christ. A gun. In our home.

  Think, Eve, think. What to do?

  It took me a while to remove myself from the chest and room. I glanced at the hallway clock over the galleried landing. I was taking far too long; I needed to get out. Why was it taking me so long to leave? I’d planned to leave hours ago. Still, you said you wouldn’t be returning until very late. I ran down the stairs, gathering and hurling belongings into the boot of my car. Not wanting to transfer my panic, I decided I would offer Jack refreshments before the start of our journey. My heart jabbing at my T-shirt, I couldn’t stomach any food, despite being aware of my cortisol-filled light head.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart.’ I held out my hand for his. ‘Milk and a biscuit?’

  ‘No, Mummy, want it in here. Please. This, my favrit bit!’

  Normally, he wouldn’t be allowed to drink or especially eat crumbly biscuits in the sitting room. But this was time to mark new beginnings; new rules, or just fewer of them.

  ‘Why not, sweetheart? Why not? Mummy will bring it to you.’

  I made sandwiches to keep us going; selected some other nibbles and drinks. Checked my bag for one final time, whilst willing Jack to hurry; I was beginning to feel exceptionally jumpy. I needed to leave, but didn’t want to unnerve Jack any more than absolutely necessary. What was the panic? I’d plenty of time, I reassured myself. Everything was packed, ready, all I could need, just in cas
e. So one more mendacious act couldn’t possibly hurt.

  I placed our shoes and coats next to the front door. Then made my way to your study. I’m not sure why but a gut feeling whispered in my ear to take your flash-drive. It was still there. You usually kept it under lock and key, with your mobile. Jack would still be a few minutes. I decided to check – no point in taking something to anger you unnecessarily, if it held no use for me. Your laptop was password protected, so I fetched the family laptop from the kitchen, booted it up and inserted the flash-drive. Hopping from foot to foot, willing the process to speed up. Finally, the option to open several files appeared. The latest with the date of the previous evening. I clicked it. One minute later, I closed it down as my body temperature soared; I couldn’t bring myself to observe any longer. I needed to get out of the contaminated house. You were evil, and the flash-drive could prove useful. Protection. Proof of something I didn’t want to know about.

  ‘Mummy’s just going to the bathroom, Jack. Then I’m afraid we need to turn this off.’

  ‘Oww,’ a small voice came back.

  ‘I know, sweetheart, but we’re going on a surprise adventure. Remember; a kind of holiday. How about that for exciting?’

  ‘Yay. But Daddy’s not coming, is he, Mummy?’

  ‘No, Jack, Daddy can’t come.’ Please help me God.

  I was drying my hands upstairs when I heard it, the thump of the front door. No, please, no. You cannot be home, I silently prayed. I tentatively crept around the landing, then slowly moved down the stairs as my worst thoughts were confirmed. I could hear you, shuffling around in the study, muttering under your breath. What were you doing home?