by R. P. Bolton
Tom and Tanya – both detectives – treating her like a tricky case. Convince everyone your girlfriend is having a breakdown, get her out of the picture and play happy ever together. Problem solved. Case closed.
She leaned forward and hugged her knees.
Tom emerged in his boxer shorts from the bathroom. Slicking his damp hair back with his fingers, he said, ‘Did you get any shampoo when you went to Boots?’
A floorboard creaked as he rifled through his T-shirt drawer, as though the house wanted a say in what was about to unfold.
‘We’re nearly out,’ he continued, shutting the drawer. ‘If not, I can pick some up on the way home tomorrow.’
Ellie’s lips had gone numb, like she’d just had a filling. It was hard to form the question. ‘Are you having an affair?’
‘Am I what, love?’ he said, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
‘Having. An. Affair,’ she repeated, enunciating each word clearly.
‘Er, no.’ He snorted. ‘Who with?’
‘Tanya.’
His head popped through the neck hole and he laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed.
‘It’s not funny.’ She banged her fist on the bedside table. Hot tears burned in the back of her throat, mangling her voice. ‘I’m not stupid; I know what you’re doing, both of you. Making that woman follow me. Messing with things in the house. Messing with my head. You’ve set me up so I think I’m going mad and I’ll get sectioned again and then you can play happy families and pretend I don’t exist.’ Her voice wavered and rose. ‘Pretend she’s Trinity’s mum and—’
She was crying too hard to finish. Angry, ugly sobs that shook her shoulders. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. She wiped her nose across the back of her hand, beyond caring.
Meanwhile, Tom stared, very much not laughing now. The mattress dipped as he sank down beside her and waited.
‘First,’ he said when the crying finally faded to gaspy, shuddering sobs, ‘the last thing I would ever do is cheat on you or Trinity. And I mean that literally. You are my whole world and always will be. Second, absolutely no way does anyone think you’re mad. Tired and stressed, yes. Mad, no.’ He gently cupped her chin, flicking away the tears that gathered there. ‘And finally, I am certainly not having an affair with anyone, including Tanya who is, by the way, very happily married.’
Ellie scoffed and jerked away. Adultery permeated every layer of the police force and she’d lost count of Tom’s moral qualms over colleagues who had ‘gone over the side’. As she held her hands up in a you-got-me-there gesture, she noticed they were shaking. Tom must have too because he clasped both in his.
‘You spend more time with her than you do with me,’ she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. ‘And even when you’re here, she’s ringing you or you’re sneaking off to talk to her.’
The reproach clearly stung. Tom’s mouth contorted in an unhappy grimace.
‘Tanya is happily married,’ he continued, ‘to a dentist called Kirsty. But even if she weren’t, I still wouldn’t be having an affair with her or anyone else because I love you.’ He jumped off the bed. ‘Here, let me show you something.’
He shook the jeans he’d been wearing earlier and with a soft thud, his phone landed on the floorboards.
With a couple of taps, the screen turned Facebook blue. A page belonging to the red-lipsticked Tanya Auguste appeared, the profile picture instantly recognisable as the woman Ellie had seen outside the station. The photo actually showed two loved-up women and the accompanying ‘happily married to Kirsty Louise Lambert’ status confirmed Tom’s statement.
‘See? And I know I’m working too much, but I just have to see this one job through to the end, you know? I wish I could, but I can’t kiss Trinity goodnight and then forget the other kids, the ones I see onscreen at work, who aren’t safe and loved and protected. But I promise, as soon as this operation is finished, I will apply for a transfer to another unit.’ He sighed softly, his breath warm against her scalp. ‘Is that what you got so stressed about at the shops today? Me and Tanya? Bloody hell.’
She slumped back onto the pillow, stunned, as he got under the covers beside her.
He wasn’t having an affair!
Her suspicions shrivelled like scraps of burning paper. She felt dizzy with remorse and relief. This man who had never let her down, who had stayed with her through the worst moments of her life. Of course he wouldn’t cheat.
‘I love you and Trinity more than anything on the planet,’ he continued, re-tucking the duvet around her shoulders. ‘You must know I would never do anything to hurt you.’
‘I know,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘I’m really sorry.’
She rolled onto her side and wriggled until her cheek was against his chest. He immediately put his arms around her, hugged her tight and his heart beat steadily against her ear.
Later, when he began to snore, Ellie carefully lifted his arm and extricated herself from his embrace. But he twisted, drawing her back into his arms.
‘Are you awake?’ he whispered into the darkness. She could just make out the gleam of his eyes.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘When we were talking about Tanya before,’ he continued groggily, ‘what did you mean about a woman following you?’
The woman in black flickered and vanished.
‘Nothing. Forget it,’ she said.
She turned her back and pretended to fall asleep.
52. Now
It was still dark outside when Tom turned the bedroom light on.
‘Big day today,’ he said. ‘I might not be contactable for a while, but you can always ring the station if there’s an emergency.’
Ellie blinked and rubbed her eyes. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone five. Try and sleep a bit more before the baby wakes up.’
She lay back, listening to the sound of the shower. Go back to sleep. That was a joke. After a night navigating the foggy tunnels of her subconscious, sleep and wakefulness blurred until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
By the time the sky had lightened to a uniform grey, Ellie had her hands clasped round her second cup of coffee and was observing the freshly scrubbed kitchen. She could hear the hum of the boiler, the occasional splash of water hitting the bottom of the sink and the noisy cawing of the birds circling over Mosswood.
One certainty shone through the brain fog: Tom wasn’t cheating. How could she have doubted him?
Her imagination had gathered snippets of information and weaved them into an entirely false narrative. All these … misunderstandings weren’t part of some elaborate set-up, they were the paranoid offspring of tiredness and imagination.
She rinsed the mug and set it, dripping, on the draining rack. To work, to work.
Where had the wallpaper scraper got to? If she closed her eyes, she could picture the flat blade glinting in the … lounge light? Kitchen light? She sifted through a pile of bits and bobs by the fruit bowl. Packets of screws, paint charts, bills, a new shower curtain still wrapped in plastic.
Her phone rang. Carol’s voice came out a little too fast and a lot too cheery. ‘Hi, love, sorry for calling so early, but I thought I’d catch you before you got too busy. You know, I woke up and I thought I’d give you a ring and see what you’re up to today and what—’
‘Have you spoken to Tom again?’ Ellie interrupted.
She pictured her mum pinching her lower lip into a pout, the way she always did when she had something on her mind.
‘Don’t give him a hard time,’ Carol said. ‘He only rang me because he’s worried and I’m glad he did. Anyway, I’m not just ringing about that. I’ve got some good news.’
‘Your leg is on the mend?’
‘Even better. I’ve booked my flight and I’m coming over at the end of next week.’
Her mum’s note of triumph switched to distress as Ellie collapsed into noisy sobs.
> ‘What’s wrong, love?’
‘Nothing. Hormones.’ She tore off a piece of kitchen roll and blew her nose. ‘I can’t wait to see you and Trinity is desperate to meet her nanny.’
‘Oh, love, you’ll set me off.’ Carol sniffed. ‘What Tom has told me has worried me sick. I remember how hard things were when you were ill before, and I need to be there with you.’
Ellie ran her tongue over her bottom teeth and gave herself a few seconds before she answered evenly. ‘I’m not ill, Mum. I was treated for PTSD and severe anxiety disorder ten years ago. Ten years down the line do you think every time you stub your toe you’ll blame it on your broken leg?’
Carol didn’t answer, but Ellie could hear her breathing.
‘I think a lot of it is just being in the house on my own,’ she said in a softer tone. ‘I’m not used to the quiet. And I’m so tired. The normal new mum stuff.’
‘I know, love,’ Carol said with a sigh. ‘In a few days, I’ll be able to help and you can get all the sleep you want. And we can plan things to get you out of the house. There’s always loads around Christmas. What about Tom?’
‘We had a long talk yesterday and sorted a lot of things out. He’s going to take some time off after this job.’
‘He told me a bit about that,’ Carol said. ‘Not the details, but it sounded awful. Did he say when it’ll be finished?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Ellie replied. ‘There’s a raid here and another somewhere abroad. He wouldn’t tell me much either, but it’s connected with children.’
‘That must be tough for him.’
‘Yeah,’ Ellie said with a pang of guilt. She glanced at the baby sleeping peacefully in the Moses basket. ‘It must.’
‘Listen, I’m ordering some Christmas pressies online today to be sent to yours,’ Carol said. ‘And I thought I’d get us both one of those calendars done where you put your own photos in. So, do you want to have a look through your pics and send me your favourites of Trinity?’
‘That’s a nice idea,’ Ellie said, already mentally flicking through her camera roll. ‘Will do.’
After they’d said goodbye, she sat for a moment holding the phone in her lap. Her mum’s words had struck a chord. While she’d been fixated on Tanya, Tom had been witnessing the worst of humanity then coming home with a smile to smooth the rough edges of Ellie’s day. All while earning the money they needed and doing the shopping and the garden. Why should he come home to accusations and suspicion? Uncomplaining, unbegrudging Tom multitasked like a true hero, day after day. Ellie, on the other hand, could barely monotask without sliding down a rabbit hole of paranoia.
She lay on the sofa and snuggled into the fleece throw. She’d get on with stripping the wallpaper and tackling the bottomless laundry basket soon. But first, the photos. Her mum might not be able to see her granddaughter in real life just now, but thanks to the billion photo requests, she could watch her grow in real time, like time-lapse footage of a flower blooming. Or, Ellie thought as she scrolled through the pictures, one of those flicker books that brought still drawings to life. There were hundreds.
As she’d already curated the best ones for social media, that seemed a good way to narrow them down. Her news feed showed Danny and Josie and their adorable children playing frisbee with their giant shaggy dog. Like. Roger pushing Mum down the Paseo Maritimo in a wheelchair. Like. And with a stab of remorse, Jess, lipsticked and big-haired for a hen-do. Love. Another person she had to apologise to. Today. She would text her today.
I Love Uppermoss appeared in her news feed and, spurred on by Carol’s attempts to kickstart her social life, she clicked the page. There were posts about lost dogs and found cats. Artisan markets. Houses for rent. Questions about catchment areas, electricians, the best way to get pollen off cashmere (Sellotape). Maybe when Mum arrived they could check out Baby Beats or Story Club at the library. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.
Stop.
Her stomach drew into a tight ball.
There on the page was the photo from the Stockfield Express. Their house, sinister behind police tape, uniformed officer at the gate.
Did you see the house on Moss Lane sold?!! Someone had written underneath.
Common sense sent frantic messages – Log out! Don’t read it! – that her hand and eyes refused to obey, and with horrified fascination she continued scrolling through the shocked emojis and comments.
Should have knocked it down.
You’d have to be desperate to sleep under that roof.
Can’t blame them with the house prices round here.
The past is the past. What does it matter?
She picked at her nail polish, scattering little grey flakes in her lap. What had Asha said about Diane after Norah’s article? Trial by social media. Her fingers were poised to respond when a message pinged like a warning.
Where are my photos?!! it read.
Ellie sat back and breathed slowly down her nose. People had a right to their opinions. Let it go.
OK, so striped-onesie Trinity with an enigmatic smile? Mid-yawn. Swipe. Star-fishing hands. Swipe. Examining pudgy toes. Swipe. Gazing adoringly at Mr Giraffe. With so many gorgeous pictures to choose from, it was hard to make the selection.
A wash of exhaustion rinsed the caffeine from her bloodstream and pushed her down on the sofa. With a yawn, she wedged the cushion under her head, wriggled deeper into the blanket’s soft embrace and let her eyelids close. Ten minutes while the baby napped, that’s all she needed. Then she’d send the pictures. She put her phone on the coffee table. Tiny black dots swarmed behind her lids. She’d send Mum’s photos in ten minutes.
Photos. They told the truth. Unlike eyes – shifty, deceptive things that fooled you into believing your boyfriend was being unfaithful. Or memories with their habit of editing events through a filter of emotion. Mirrors, too. Reflecting things that weren’t really there. People who weren’t there. No, photos were honest.
It was everything else you couldn’t trust.
53. Now
The TV standby light shone in the corner. Outside, grey clouds darkened and, deep within the gloom, Trinity snuffled.
Ellie sprang upright, pulse racing. How long had she been asleep?
She checked in the Moses basket. Trinity stirred with a high-pitched grunt, then settled back again with her tiny, perfect fists curled either side of her head. Thank God. Totally fine. Ellie yawned and stretched her arms and legs in front of her, wiggling her toes back to life. Somehow she had slept through a missed call from Tom and a single heart emoji from Jess. And an unexpected message startled her to full alert:
Hi, wondering if you’d be free for a coffee? I could pop round to your house. Tell me when suits you best. Norah
Honestly, even for a journalist, the woman was shameless.
‘Never,’ Ellie said, pressing delete. ‘Never suits me best.’
She switched the kettle on. Her phone dinged again.
Photos?! xx
Doing it now xx she tapped in quickly and, taking her tea, went back into the lounge.
Trinity had attained cuteness overload. Her perfect miniature fingers curled over the top of the blanket. Her lips curved in an almost smile that echoed Ellie’s own. Sometimes she couldn’t believe she had played any part in creating her. From the rosy whorls of her ears to the squidgy dimpled wrists and knees, every inch of this child was perfect.
‘Not long till Nanny comes,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s get one last picture.’
As she spoke, she pressed the camera app, then she clicked open the photo album she’d made for Mum for a final scroll-through.
What? Her finger hovered while her brain tried to make sense of what her eyes showed her.
She frantically swiped backwards. Trinity. Trinity. Trinity. There were twenty-five photos of her daughter. But the final photo wasn’t a calendar-worthy cute shot of a baby. The final photo showed an indistinct figure standing in the garden looking out at Mosswood. The image clearly showed the pile of dead
wood and tangled rose bushes. Even the lichen on the paving slabs stood out. But the figure itself was blurred and featureless. In theory, it could be a smudge. Or the shadow of a finger over the lens. From the angle, whoever took the photo – Ellie, because who else could it be? – must have leaned over the kitchen sink and held the phone to the window. The problem was she had no memory of taking that picture.
She dropped the phone as if it had scalded her.
Straight ahead, the mirror reflected the lounge’s ordinariness: sofa, table, lamp. Nothing seemed out of place except her own blanched face. Gingerly holding the phone like the plastic case would burn her, she inched towards the hallway. A cold draught raised goose bumps down her spine. Had Tom come in silently to prank her? Was he hiding, waiting to jump out?
The silver E glinted innocently in the front door. There was no way a stranger could have got in. She paused on the kitchen threshold. Her fingers groped for the switch, afraid of what might be waiting.
Click.
Dishes on the rack. Overflowing laundry basket. Diane’s cake tin rinsed to be returned. Back door firmly bolted top and bottom. There was no way anyone could have got in, not even Tom.
And the window?
No one stood by the rose beds.
Torn between confusion and fear, she opened the photos app again. Maybe she’d missed some clue. But the picture had vanished from the camera roll. Or the deleted items folder. She tapped furiously. Recently uploaded? No. In the library and on the cloud, there was nothing but cute photos of Trinity.
Everything knotted together in one big confusing mess. If only she could delve inside her skull and unravel the tangled thoughts. The photo wasn’t real. It certainly wasn’t Tom playing tricks on her. And she wasn’t even taking the same medication anymore.
She needed to grasp a single idea and follow the thread through to a logical conclusion.
There was only one logical conclusion.
‘It’s all in your head,’ she told the kitchen walls.
As soon as the words were out, the kitchen shifted slightly. From the drying dishes to the crumpled clothes, everything looked the same on the surface. But the shadows cast by the furniture darkened. Cold air fluttered the bills on the table. And she knew without checking, there would be smears of mud on the floor and the door.