by Lucy Dawson
I half stand to get up and hug her, but she carries on talking, so I awkwardly sit back down.
‘I know I have only myself to blame. This is my fault. I keep asking myself over and over again, why did I trust him? After we formally separated, I placed legal restrictions on Marc and his access to the children. It was with Julien’s help. I don’t deny that, but it was because of my fears about what he might do. Marc was unstable at that point, and he was very, very angry with me. I didn’t want him taking the children out of France. Then he met you, and things seemed to begin to calm.’ She reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. ‘I was anxious when he first said he wanted the children to come to England, but I agreed on the condition that I brought them over, retained their passports and stayed in London while they visited you, and then I took them home again. Did you know that?’
‘No.’ I am incredulous. ‘I had no idea. He never once told me that you were staying nearby in a hotel all the time the children were with us. He’d be gone for hours after they left – I assumed bringing them back here to you.’
She doesn’t look surprised. ‘When he asked me if the children could come away with the two of you for the week, it was very, very hard for me, but you were getting married, so I didn’t feel I could say no. I wanted you and the children to bond – for their sake, of course. It seemed wrong to try and prevent it, but you know, when you rang on your wedding day…’ She shakes her head. ‘I had my doubts, I’m sorry but I did. Only he brought them back here safely, and it was all fine… I felt badly when he explained about your accident and Marc seemed only to want to make everything better. We actually talked properly for the first time in years about how best to go forward with ensuring the children’s future was happy, what with all the change that was going on. I relaxed and I let my guard down. And all along he was planning this.’
She gets up and walks over to an elegant writing desk in the corner of the sunny room, picking up a folded piece of paper and carrying it back, before handing it to me. ‘This is what I knew you’d want to see. It arrived via his legal team two days ago.’
To whom it may concern,
I wish to state for the record that my decision to keep my son and daughter in UAE was made solely on the basis of their making me aware of incidents of cruelty at the hands of Julien Calvel, the fiancé of my ex-wife Claudine Dubois; a situation that Claudine seems to have been either prepared to ignore or tolerate. It has been alleged that my actions were planned and premeditated. I refute this. I had travelled to the UAE with my son and daughter, and wife, Sophie Turner, for our honeymoon. Upon arrival I received shocking photographic evidence of my wife having been unfaithful to me, and while it has been made clear I can no longer trust anyone, my primary concern when we separated at the airport was that my children be prevented from witnessing an unnecessary and painful confrontation. My wife subsequently, I believe, returned to the UK. Our marriage is now in the process of being annulled.
‘He insists that’s true?’ I ask slowly.
‘Which bit?’ Claudine says sarcastically.
‘That someone sent him the pictures. That he hadn’t, in fact, had them for months.’ I hesitate. ‘That it wasn’t premeditated.’
‘He’s lying, trying to go for the sympathy vote,’ Claudine says in a flash. ‘But so what? Premeditated or not, abducting your children, whatever the circumstances, is illegal and what he did is wrong. You cannot argue that what he has done is acceptable. It isn’t! It can never be!’
‘I’m not condoning his actions,’ I assure her sincerely. ‘I promise you.’
‘And you cannot deny it is an inescapable fact that he left his job without telling anyone, you included, which is just bizarre. I found out last week that his parents have “relocated” to Dubai now too. Did you know that’s very common with male abductors?’ she demands, and I shake my head. ‘The parents go to help with the childcare. Ostensibly they’ve gone there to “help find him”, but they’ve bought a house – they are going to build a life there. They disgust me.’
I don’t know what to say to that.
‘And I have never, ever had any concerns regarding the children’s safety and Julien,’ she continues. ‘What “acts of cruelty” are these, exactly? It is all so clear to me now. You being a married couple allowed him to travel abroad with the children as a family without raising any suspicions. You told me yourself the lengths he went to in changing your passport so you were “Mrs Turner”. This, the same man that gave a hired thug keys to your house and wanted to hurt and punish you for what you did, like he wanted vengeance when I dared to fall in love with another man.’
‘You believe that’s what motivated him to send me that letter?’
‘Of course! He’s a sociopath,’ Claudine says, her voice suddenly flat. ‘I’ve told you. My whole married life he dominated everything. It was always about him. I was weak. I should have ended it long before I did, and when I finally had the courage, he made my life a misery. That’s another thing about Marc – he always wants what he can’t have.’
‘But—’ I nearly tell her about our excited plans, him talking about us having our own children, but thankfully catch myself first. How could he have lain there in bed with me and discussed us having a baby – messing with my head, when that was a part of my life I had made my peace with – unless even on the smallest of levels he believed it himself? The alternative is just too devastating and too cruel. ‘Could someone really be that devious?’
‘Yes, Marc can! It’s what he does. He is charming when he wants to be, but it lacks any kind of sincerity. He is vindictive and he feels no remorse.’ She reaches over, suddenly animated, and grabs the letter, waving it at me. ‘Do you know what this goes on to say? It informs me that he has engaged “armed executive protection” to prevent the children from being snatched back. It’s not an uncommon practice in the UAE to have guards, apparently, but I risk being fatally hurt should I travel to Dubai independently and attempt a vigilante mission. Only, it seems no one can help us legally, either – so what do I do, Sophie? What do I do?’
She looks at me urgently, but I have no answers. I wish with all my heart I did, but I don’t.
‘I just want to hold them again,’ she says desperately. ‘I cannot believe I ever let them go.’
Later, I walk back to the metro station. It’s still hot and I have to stop to take my cardigan off. Across the street a mother is remonstrating with her misbehaving toddler, getting down on his eye level and doing lots of fierce finger wagging. I want to go up to her and tell her that I know she’s probably at the end of her tether with good reason, but to give him a hug instead and tell him that she loves him, because she can.
I turn away and keep on walking. Please, God, let it be Marc is telling the truth about Julien, and the children are now at least safe, because otherwise, what have we all been left with?
No one wins.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Walking into the almost empty sitting room, my footsteps echo as I drop my bag and keys on one of the last packing boxes. It’s only in here that’s left to clear now, and Mum and Derek will be arriving any minute to collect the remainder of my things.
I sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall to wait. Getting out my phone, I scan the news pages. Then I click onto Facebook in case Isabelle has re-appeared on there and tried to contact me. Remote, I know, but any chance is exactly that – a chance.
But there is nothing.
I sigh tiredly and put my mobile down for a moment to rest my head on my folded arms. I’ve still got so much to sort out before I leave in three days’ time: lessons to plan… a new passport to collect… I also have to get the keys to the estate agent tomorrow for the new owners – a nice couple who I hope will be happy here. I know pretty much everyone thinks I should be renting out the house rather than selling, but I need to do this properly. No more missed opportunities.
There is a knock at the door and I get to my feet. That’ll be Mum. I swi
ng the door open – but to my surprise, Lou is standing there. She holds up a half bottle of champagne and two flutes. ‘A final farewell to all that?’ she suggests.
I gather myself and stand to one side to let her in. ‘You didn’t need to drive over for this, but I’m really touched that you have. Thank you.’
‘You’ve been here nearly twenty years. That’s a huge thing. When you texted that this was your last day, I couldn’t let that go unmarked.’ She walks in, looking around in disbelief. ‘Wow. This is so weird. It already doesn’t feel like your home.’
‘I know,’ I agree, jumping as she shoots the cork from the bottle and expertly begins to fill the glasses.
‘Drink!’ she commands, passing one over. ‘Here’s to fresh starts. You were always meant to be a teacher, Sophie, and in my opinion, the biggest tragedy of that whole Josh debacle was you ending up walking away from the job you were born to do. It’s fantastic that you’re going back to it.’
‘Well,’ I say quietly, ‘it felt right at the time. It was impossible to stand up there with all of those eyes on me. I wasn’t giving my best to the children and that wasn’t fair on them.’
She doesn’t say anything, just sips her champagne and, after a pause, asks, ‘How was Paris?’
‘Pretty much as you would expect.’
‘Was there a development after all, then? What was in the letter Claudine said Marc had sent?’ She perches on the edge of a packing box and waits.
‘He alleges Julien has been cruel towards the children, that Claudine knew about it and that’s why he’s kept them in Dubai – essentially for their own protection,’ I say carefully, and sit down on the floor again.
‘Well, as a parent, under those circumstances, I can’t say I wouldn’t have been tempted to do the same thing.’
I frown up at her in surprise. ‘Claudine says it’s absolutely not true.’
‘Well, I guess she would, wouldn’t she?’ Lou shrugs and plays with the stem of her glass. ‘Thing is, Soph, you don’t have kids so it’s probably hard for you to understand, but when something or someone threatens your children’s wellbeing and happiness – with total disregard – there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do. You’ll go to depths you couldn’t even begin to imagine, without so much as a second thought. Sometimes even an implied threat can be all it takes. You don’t have to actually hurt someone to force people into behaving in a certain way – just them thinking you might is sufficient. When you know someone really well, you know exactly how to push their buttons, don’t you?’ There’s a pause as she holds my eye contact unflinchingly.
‘But Lou,’ I say slowly, ‘taking the kids from their mother like that is just wrong. There are lots of bits of what Marc supposedly did that I can’t actually make sense of, even now, but as Claudine says, it’s irrefutable that he did abduct them, spur of the moment or not.’
‘Yeah, well, like I say – have kids, then come back to me on that one,’ she replies, then continues brightly, ‘so, that was all it said then? She couldn’t have just told you that on the phone?’
‘She knew I would want to read it for myself because he acknowledged leaving me at the airport’ – I clear my throat – ‘although he didn’t say why.’
‘One minute you had a husband, the next you didn’t.’ Again, I look at her in surprise; the statement hangs in the air as she takes a large mouthful of champagne. ‘You’ve got to wonder how someone could be so cruel as to do that to another. Especially one they supposedly love.’ She sighs heavily. ‘I feel I owe you an apology, Sophie. I haven’t been around for you as much as I would have wanted to be these last couple of months.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say quickly, still watching her.
‘No, no, it isn’t. There’s no excuse. You’ve had such a difficult time of it. I mean, before all of this happened, you couldn’t even enjoy the wedding day itself because, all along, you were trying to keep such a dreadful secret.’
Everything slows right down.
‘What do you mean?’ I whisper.
‘Your head injury, silly,’ she says patiently. ‘The whole day, everything it should have been – it just wasn’t. Outwardly, you had the crazily expensive dress, the diamonds, the fairytale… And yet only you knew it could be snatched away at any point. That’s so hideous. And now, here we are three months later, with you having to walk away from your entire life and cutting all ties.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m only sorry my judgement didn’t prove better.’
‘About Marc, you mean?’
‘I gave you all that crap about you just not having met any of the nice men, didn’t I? And now I suppose you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if any of it was ever real – if he ever meant any of what he said to you, won’t you?’
She drains her glass and gets to her feet. ‘Right, I must go. Flying visit – I have to get back to the kids. Rich is working from home today, so he’s doing tea, but bath time has got my name on it. Listen, while I remember, Rich isn’t going to be able to make your leaving drinks tomorrow night – he’s got a work do and although I’ve booked a babysitter, she’s not one of the most reliable. If she doesn’t show, I’ll be able to find someone from somewhere, but it may mean I get there so late you’ll probably have assumed I’m not coming.’ She looks at me. ‘Just to set your expectations. No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out. You take care, Soph. Goodbye.’
She sets down her empty flute on the box, but then appears to hesitate, and with a neatly manicured nail, she deliberately and violently flicks the stem. The glass leaps into the air. Surely that must have really hurt her, I find myself thinking, seconds before it impacts on the bare wooden boards and explodes bright crystals everywhere.
Lou calmly crunches out of the room as, stunned, I stare open-mouthed at the now glittering carpet of glass. The front door closes with a final click behind her, and the house becomes still once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘There – all done.’ Mum surveys the now empty room with satisfaction, only to immediately frown and peer critically at the floor. Wordlessly, she reaches into her pocket for a Kleenex, carefully unfolds it, steps smartly forward, bends and presses her finger onto a missed mini-dagger of glass.
‘I do think the very least Louisa could have done was help you pick it all up,’ she says archly, brushing it onto the tissue. ‘I know it was an accident, but nonetheless…’ She steps over to the open bin bag by the front door and drops it in.
Lou did it on purpose.
I watched her make a split-second decision, and she flicked the glass. She absolutely meant to do it.
One minute you had a husband, the next you didn’t…
She meant to do it.
She did it.
‘Sophie? I said that’s everything now, isn’t it? I knew it wouldn’t take longer than half an hour… SOPHIE! Honestly, you’ve barely said a word since I arrived. I know it’s hard, darling. You’ve lived here such a long time, but there we are. I did say I wasn’t sure selling up was the best idea.’ Mum looks around her, sighs and then unexpectedly asks, ‘Do you want me to go and wait in the car so you can have one last walk around on your own?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I just want to go.’ I pick up the bin bag and don’t even look back behind me as I walk past her, out into the street. Only pausing briefly to double-lock the front door, once Mum has closed it, I follow her down to Derek’s full-up Jag. As he sees us approach he folds his newspaper away, sits up straighter in the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
‘So you’re following straight on behind us back to the house now?’ Mum says, gesturing at my equally loaded car.
‘No. I’ve got a couple of things to do first.’
‘But tea will be—’
‘I’ll see you back at the house,’ I insist. ‘I’ll be about an hour or so.’
For once she just lets it go. ‘Well, I’ll save you something.’ She climbs in, Derek waves and they pull carefully away, disappearing off left at th
e end of the road.
Once I’m in my own car, I sit still in the silence for a moment, before glancing up briefly at the front of what is no longer my house.
Only you knew it could all be snatched away at any point…
She knew EXACTLY what she was doing.
Snatched away.
I see the children running towards us at the station, arms open in delight, and anger finally surges up within me, mixing with the shock still swirling in my head at everything I now realize to be true. How can she have done this? The letter, the photos… But most of all, to Isabelle and Olivier
I pull away determinedly, pausing only at the stop sign before turning right and ramming my foot down.
The traffic becomes rush-hour heavy as I struggle out of the town and onto the bigger main roads, but I barely notice it. I simply stare out of the windscreen, employing auto-pilot reactions: putting the wipers on when it begins to rain heavily; turning up the fan as the windows begin to fog. Eventually I hit the dual carriageway and the traffic eases a little.
I rerun her pointed, parting comment over in my mind – that I might mistakenly assume she wouldn’t make it, but she’d be there… I start to breathe a little faster. So, that night at the bar with Rich, she arrived late, but she was there – that’s what she meant? But nothing happened until we got back to mine! She followed us back to the house? I picture the open front door we discovered the following morning and swallow.
But how does she even know anyone like that man who appeared in my bedroom? She told him – paid him – to break in when she knew I was alone?