by Lucy Dawson
‘Well, even that aside, what’s the point of my setting up an obscure password if you don’t ask people to use it – which you obviously didn’t when whoever it was called you back?’
‘But if we only gave account access to customers on the basis of correctly supplying a password, I wouldn’t be speaking to you now, because you don’t know what the current password is,’ he says, maddeningly yet correctly.
I grit my teeth. ‘So this person, they just passed security anyway, did they?’
‘All my colleague has written is “Confusion over new password, customer passed additional security.”’
‘What additional security?’
‘It would have been the same sorts of questions I’ve just asked you.’
‘You have no idea what happened to me as a result of that phone being reactivated.’
‘I can only apologize that losing your phone caused you so much inconvenience, Ms Gardener.’ He says it sincerely, he’s not trying to be sarcastic. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Yes.’ I hesitate. ‘This is going to sound a bit odd, but if the person who called yesterday and said they were me was in fact a child, do you think it’s possible one of your colleagues might have not realized and dealt with her? Say if she gave the password and then passed the phone to someone to speak on her behalf?’
‘Um,’ he says uncertainly, ‘you mean like a four-year-old or something?’
‘No! A girl of about—’
Alice appears back around the curtain, having returned from the loo.
‘Never mind!’ I stop hastily. ‘Thanks anyway. Goodbye.’ I hang up.
‘Sorry about that.’ Alice gives me a slightly delicate smile. ‘I’ve drunk waaay too much water this morning. It’s obviously not in your league, but my head has been banging. Your husband picked a good band.’ She flops down onto the end of the bed. ‘You were saying? You’re feeling better?’
‘Much.’ I swing my stiff legs carefully off the bed.
‘Good. I’m disappointed to see you’re not wearing your beaded number today.’ She nods at my shirt and jeans. ‘It must have caused a stir when you arrived last night.’
‘They didn’t bat an eyelid, actually, and I gave it all to Mum to take home. Where on earth is she parking? She’s been ages.’
‘She didn’t take the shoes then?’ Alice reaches under the bed and pulls out the art deco platforms. ‘Unless that’s the combo you’re planning to wear home?’
I give her a ‘Ha, ha’ look. ‘I hope I never have to wear them ever again.’
‘They are pretty monstrous. So, how’s your husband?’ she says. ‘In Paris yet? Nice that Claudine made him take the children back even though it’s only going to be for one sodding night. She’s such a bitch.’
My husband. She keeps saying that. I glance at her.
She waves a hand. ‘Don’t. We’re over it. I’m just happy that you’re OK. I literally can’t believe you spent the majority of yesterday with concussion. It’d almost be funny if it weren’t so bloody scary. I mean, you read about people not knowing they’re pregnant and then suddenly going to the bathroom and having a baby, but you had your hair washed and styled, for crying out loud. Didn’t you feel anything?’
‘I just mistook the headaches and being sick for me being stressed out.’
‘You actually were sick?’ She looks at me incredulously. ‘If you weren’t already in a hospital, I’d brain you just for that.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I mumble. ‘It’s all OK now anyway, so…’
‘So you were lucky,’ she says pointedly. ‘Hey…’
I look up.
‘Did Rich say anything to you yesterday in the end?’
‘No, not really.’ I rub my nose. He must have been totally confused too when, despite my dire warnings, nothing came to pass.
‘Why did you rush back to the hotel yesterday, Soph? I still don’t understand.’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘Well,’ she says, as I start to look around for something to put the stupid shoes in, ‘I want you to know, I respect your decision, whatever motivated it, and I’ll support you one hundred per cent.’
‘Morning, darling.’ Mum suddenly appears, to my relief, clutching a plastic bag. ‘Oh, you look much better today. Alice, get up off Sophie’s bed.’
‘She’s not even on it,’ Alice sighs, getting to her feet.
‘You know if everyone just stood correctly, the world would be so much slimmer.’ She looks pointedly at my sister, before reaching into the bag and pulling out a pair of socks. ‘I brought you these. And a flannel.’
Alice wrinkles her nose.
‘What?’ demands Mum. ‘She’ll want a little freshen-up before we get in the car. Let me take those shoes for you, Sophie.’ She reaches out and slides them into the bag. ‘Have they said you can go?’
‘Yes, I’m all signed off. I’ve got my painkillers.’ I hold up the small bottle. ‘We’re free to leave.’
In the car park, Mum opens the back door of an immaculate Jaguar so that I can climb in. I lower myself down gingerly until I’m sitting on the tartan rug that always covers the back seat of the car to keep it clean. In the driver’s seat, Derek folds up his copy of the Sunday Telegraph as Alice walks around to the front and climbs in.
Once Mum is in the back next to me, Derek says cheerfully, ‘All aboard?’ and eases away at a snail’s pace. He is sweetly determined not to bump or jolt me in any way at all while we are in transit, so the journey actually takes quite a lot longer than it needs to.
It’s a bright day and my head is splitting by the time we finally pull up onto the drive.
‘There we are,’ Derek says. ‘Home sweet home.’
I don’t look at the house. ‘Thank you very much for coming to get me. Do you want a cup of tea before you go?’
‘Go?’ Alice says. ‘What, you think we were just going to drop you off and leave you on your own? We’re staying until Marc gets home.’
‘Let’s get the kettle on,’ says Mum firmly, presumably expecting me to protest that I’ll be fine. But I’m relieved and put up no fight.
We all stand on the front step while Derek, who has taken the keys from me, fiddles about with them in the lock. ‘Sorry.’ He frowns. ‘I can’t seem to get it to work.’
Mum purses her lips and manages to wait for about point five of a second before exclaiming, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Derek – stand aside!’
He steps back as she grabs them firmly, and the front door swings open.
‘There,’ she says, and steps in, the rest of us following. ‘Right – tea,’ she calls over her shoulder as she bustles off to the kitchen. ‘Sophie, go and sit down and I’ll bring it through.’
I actually just want to go to bed, but do as I’m told, exclaiming aloud as I walk into the sitting room. It looks like a funeral parlour. There are white roses everywhere – what must be about twelve separate arrangements on every surface. Leading through into the dining room, I can see some wrapped gifts on the table and a few opened cards. I wander over and pick up a couple.
‘That doesn’t look much like sitting down to me,’ Mum says severely, reappearing with a mug. ‘Here. Careful, it’s hot. I do hope you’re not going to be a disagreeable patient. Now, I’m going to make you some soup, and then I think you need to go upstairs and have a lie down. Chicken or tomato?’
‘Chicken, please,’ I say bleakly, reading: Marc and Sophie – congratulations! What a wonderful journey to be starting out on together!
‘One slice of toast or two?’
‘One, please.’
Five minutes later, Mum brings it through on a neat little tray with a napkin in a napkin ring that I didn’t even know I had. I eat it dutifully, then she stands to accompany me up to bed.
‘See you in a bit,’ Alice says with a wave, flicking the TV on as I get up. Derek has resumed his position behind the Telegraph. It all feels reassuringly normal.
In the b
edroom, however, I discover that Mum has hung the dress on the front of the wardrobe door. ‘Do you mind if I just put it away?’ I reach up, but Mum gently takes it from me.
‘I’ll do it.’
I get under the covers just as I am. Mum frowns when she comes back in. ‘You don’t want a shower first or anything? Even just a clean pair of pyjamas?’
‘No, I’m too tired.’
I can see she wants to argue, but kindly doesn’t – just draws the curtains before tucking me up properly, like I’m about five again. ‘There we are,’ she soothes. ‘You snuggle down and have some rest. I’ll come up and check on you in a bit.’
‘Mum… yesterday, did you open the message with the pictures attached? I really do need to know.’
‘Sophie, I promised you I wouldn’t, and I keep my promises. In any case, no such message came through.’
‘You swear on my life?’
‘Shhh,’ she says. ‘Close your eyes. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’ She strokes my hair briefly and then disappears off.
I lie there and stare at the ceiling, before glancing at the empty chair where that man was sitting the last time I was in bed like this.
All last night I thought about the person who did this to me. Claudine tells me Marc is damaged and dangerous, that’s he tried everything to stop them from getting divorced. He says she is manipulative, devious and will stop at nothing to get him back.
Claudine knew I would be in the house alone on Friday night. Marc says she hates me. I saw the photos on Dad’s phone myself. Lou would have got them too if I hadn’t deleted them first. Did Claudine get halfway there in executing her plan? Was it my phoning her that made her realize it was in fact real, not a game – that she’d gone too far? Did she scare at the last moment and decide not to go through with it after all? Or is she right, and I am horribly naïve? Marc knew I was holding Dad’s phone when the pictures came in, that Dad wouldn’t actually see them. Mum says she never received a message. He knows Issy can’t read English, so she was at no real risk…
Ultimately, I waited for something that never happened, and we got married.
Was it him in the bedroom watching me and Rich? Has he known all along that I have cheated on him? Was he so frightened that I might be about to call off our engagement and wedding – as indeed I would have done, without the letter – that he did this?
Either way, I was violently threatened into attending a wedding I only knew about at the last moment, and wound up married when I shouldn’t have done. That much I am certain of.
But do I believe my now husband, or his ex-wife?
It’s surely a no-brainer. Marc would never physically hurt anyone and, in any case, if his motivation was to trick me into marriage by making me believe, right up until the last moment, that the wedding wasn’t going to happen, why send the pictures to Lou and jeopardize everything?
It wasn’t him. I’m sure it wasn’t him.
I try to concentrate on the low hum of the TV filtering up from below, the opening and closing of doors as my family move around beneath me. Exhausted, I fall asleep.
When I wake up, at first I have no idea where I am. It’s dark in the room and quiet. I think I hear the low whisper of voices downstairs and the click of the front door. I blink a few times and try to sit up. My face is itchy from the residue of Imogen’s make-up that I have only washed off rather than properly removed. Feeling a bit grubby, I push back the covers, shiver and just lie there for a moment, slightly dazed.
The bedroom door opens silently, just an inch, as if drifting in a draft, but when I look up, there’s the silhouette of a man in the doorway, watching me.
This time my instinct doesn’t let me down. I scream instantly. He fumbles for the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. ‘Soph! What’s wrong? It’s me!’
‘Oh, Jesus! Marc!’ I gasp. ‘I thought…’ I trail off, trying to get myself under control.
He steps smartly around the edge of the bed, sits down and draws me straight into his arms. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you! I was just trying to make sure you were all right without waking you up, that’s all.’
I pull away from him. ‘How come you’re back? What time is it?’
‘Half eight.’
What? I’ve been asleep that long? My tummy rumbles automatically, as if to prove that things are woefully out of sync.
‘Your mum has left us some supper downstairs,’ he says. ‘They’ve only just gone. They didn’t want to disturb you. Alice said they’ve been checking on you all afternoon and you’ve been sleeping like a baby. I’m so pleased.’
‘You got Isabelle and Olivier back then?’ I swallow, my heart still racing. I need a drink of water; my mouth has gone completely dry.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘They were really teary. It’s so bloody ludicrous that she made me take them home when she’s going to be turning around and bringing them straight back again on Monday afternoon. I said to her, “This is crazy! We fly on Tuesday!” but she wasn’t having any of it.’
I stand up unsteadily, aware suddenly that I must smell disgusting. ‘I’m just going to get my toothbrush.’
He follows me, still talking. ‘She just kept saying she wanted to make sure they were OK. I only took them to the hospital, for Christ’s sake. What was I supposed to do? Leave them at the hotel?’ Leaning on the bathroom doorframe, he watches me squeeze some paste onto the brush. ‘You look better for some sleep.’
I smile faintly and start to brush.
‘Do you mind about us having the week in Dubai with the kids first, Soph?’
‘No,’ I say truthfully.
‘It’s just Claudine wants them with her for the whole of their spring break, which starts the week after next, so I wouldn’t have seen them for ages otherwise. I know Dubai is a bit tacky but—’
‘It’s fine, Marc. Honestly.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I wanted us to go to South Africa on safari with them, but she went ballistic about malaria, and them not being old enough. Dubai was the safer bet. We’re going to the Atlantis Palace, which has got a huge water park and aquarium, so the kids will be happy, and the temperature won’t be crazy hot. You can just lie around and sunbathe and I’ll keep them entertained. In hindsight, it’ll be better for you anyway, rather than bouncing around in a jeep on rough terrain.’
I spit out the toothpaste and straighten up. ‘I’ve just thought – what about work?’
‘Oh, that’s all arranged. I booked the time off for you ages ago.’
‘What?’ I’m astonished. They said nothing to me at all – not even Nadia, and she can’t keep a secret to save her life.
He holds out a hand. ‘Let’s go and eat. I think I might open a bottle of wine. You probably shouldn’t have any, but do you mind if I do?’
I slept with Rich, and we shouldn’t have got married.
‘No, you go ahead,’ is what I actually say.
‘OK. See you down there.’
He heads off downstairs whistling, just like it’s any old ordinary Sunday night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘I’m just going to pop out for a bit.’ Marc appears in the sitting room the following morning as I’m eating some toast on the sofa.
‘OK. But hadn’t you better do some packing at some point?’ I say absently, not turning away from the TV. ‘You’ve got to get the children from the station later this afternoon, don’t forget.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ he says dismissively. ‘There’s just something I want to arrange. I’ve asked your mum to come and sit with you so you’re not on your own, in case that’s what you’re worried about. Just wait there a sec…’ He hurries over to the sideboard and reaches into the cupboard. ‘Do you think you could sign here?’ He places a covered piece of paper resting on a hardback book in front of me. Only a blank signature box is visible. He pulls a pen from his back pocket and holds it out.
I set down my plate and look up at him. ‘What is it?’
&nbs
p; ‘A surprise.’ He smiles.
‘Another one?’ I say slowly. ‘What sort of surprise?’
‘I can’t tell you or it’ll ruin it! Just sign your new signature and don’t let it touch the sides.’ He waits, but still I hesitate. ‘What’s wrong?’ He looks confused.
‘I don’t feel comfortable not knowing what it is.’
He blinks a couple of times. ‘Oh, I see,’ he says quietly. ‘No, you’re quite right. Call myself a lawyer!’ He pulls the sheet of paper back. ‘It’s a passport application form to amend it to your married name. I’m sure you don’t want to use Turner on everything like bank cards and your driving licence, but it’s useful for ID to have it on something, and your passport is quite a fun one to have.’ He looks completed deflated.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘No, no,’ he says quickly. ‘You’re absolutely right to have asked. I thought I’d put it through their one-day premium service.’
I look at him in astonishment. ‘But Marc, we fly tomorrow. And don’t you need photos of me – that sort of thing?’
‘There were some in your admin draw,’ he confesses.
‘From when I lost my driver’s licence?’
He shrugs. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Marc, it’s crazy to try and do this now! You’re going to go all the way into central London, only to turn around and go back in later to get the children?’
‘It’s only eight in the morning; I don’t have to get them until half four.’ He sighs and sits down again on the edge of the sofa opposite. ‘I want to keep my mind occupied, OK? I haven’t told you, but I had a row with Claudine yesterday. She went off on one about not being sure it’s such a good idea after all for the children to come with us. Some excuse about your head injury and you being unstable because of it. I’m not one hundred per cent sure they’ll even turn up this afternoon and it’s really stressing me out. Soph, what’s the matter? You looked weird when I just said that.’
‘No, I didn’t. I’m fine, Marc, honestly. I promise you, there’s nothing wrong.’
He frowns, unconvinced. ‘Look, I know this hasn’t been the best of starts, and I get why you’re disappointed. But marriage is about more than a wedding. And actually, even though we were only there for about ten minutes, it was everything I wanted it to be. I felt like we were the only two people in the room.’ He smiles suddenly. ‘Didn’t you?’