by Lucy Dawson
I swing off the dual carriageway. He had pictures of my sisters; he stole my phone; followed me; delivered those horrible flowers… the text messages were all from her too. She would have watched me opening the letter at the wedding, rushing around madly… When I wrestled her mobile out of her hands, it was to stop her seeing pictures she’d sent herself.
I start to shake slightly as I pass an out-of-town shopping centre, then cross over the bridge where the roads become wider and leafier, terraced houses giving way to larger, discreet and comfortable properties tucked back from the road with more than one shiny car parked outside. She manoeuvred everything. That was why she was so heavily involved in helping Marc – she wanted me married and away from her husband – no matter what it took to make that happen.
All this time she’s let me believe it was Marc! I moan at the thought of him innocently opening the pictures she sent him at the airport, the children clinging to him, tiredly but excitedly waiting to start their holiday. He was telling the truth in the letter Claudine showed to me. That bit he had been unable to prevent creeping in among the legal speak – about not being able to trust anyone any more. What he saw in those pictures must have destroyed him.
I jerk to a stop outside Lou’s spacious semi, blocking the drive. Her estate is already back, neatly parked next to Rich’s work Lexus, and I can see Rich talking on his phone in the sitting room. I slam the car door shut and begin to crunch over the gravel towards the front door, heart thumping wildly. I have sold my house, I am moving to the other side of the world, Claudine hasn’t seen the children in over three months…
I see Rich look up, alarm spreading across his face at the sight of me, and he jumps to his feet.
For all of that double-meaning stuff she said back at the house about being hurt so cruelly by someone you love, doing anything to protect children, how I couldn’t possibly understand the depths one might go to when pushed… there was a moment where she wanted me to know what she’d done – that’s why she broke that glass. She couldn’t help herself.
I begin to hammer noisily on the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It swings open and I jump. I’m expecting a frantic Rich – only to discover Lou there instead, as if she’s been waiting for me behind it all along.
‘Sophie?’ she says coolly, with just the right amount of concerned surprise, as Rich appears in the hallway behind her, staring at me aghast. ‘Are you all right? What’s happened?’
‘Don’t,’ I say warningly, my voice trembling.
‘Have you been in an accident or something?’ Rich steps forward quickly, before I can say anything else. ‘You look like you’re in shock.’
I open my mouth, but from the top of the stairs a little voice says, ‘Hello, Auntie Sophie!’
I look past Rich and Sophie to see the two small figures of Sadie and Tilly in their pyjamas, twirling shyly on the top step. I falter and, voice cracking slightly, I manage a: ‘Hi, girls.’
‘Do you want to do our stories?’ Sadie offers kindly.
‘She can’t tonight,’ Lou says in a level, normal voice. And just for a wild moment, I wonder if this is all some hideous mistake that I’ve made – and I’m on the verge of destroying another innocent family. ‘Sophie’ll do it another time,’ she adds calmly, turning back to me. But as she finally meets my eye, I realize that I am not wrong, and there is not going to be another time.
She is silently furious.
We stare at each other, neither of us speaking, until Rich breaks in with a nervous, ‘Go and get back into bed, girls. I’ll be right up.’
‘Oh, but I wanted—’ begins Tilly.
‘You can go and put the Charlie and Lola DVD on, if you like, in Mummy and Daddy’s room,’ he says quickly. The girls’ eyes widen at this unexpected bonus, and they quickly scamper off before he can change his mind.
Rich turns back to us. ‘So, what can we do for you, Soph?’ he says desperately, like a drowning man who knows he is swimming against the tide. He puts an arm around Lou’s shoulders and she does nothing. Just stands there. They could be a John Lewis advert – both of them side by side in the house they have worked so hard to make perfect… Except they’ve not had sex in three years and she saw us fucking in my bed.
Tilly laughs distantly somewhere upstairs, and I realize I can’t do it. I can’t explode the last of what they have left by forcing them to confront the reality of what’s happened with each other. But neither am I able to just walk away.
‘There’s something I have to know.’ I turn to Lou, my voice trembling. ‘You said earlier that Marc acted in such an extreme – some might say deranged and dangerous – way to protect his kids, but how on earth do you think he can live with himself knowing the pain he’s caused Isabelle and Olivier? They were totally innocent in all of this!’
She doesn’t flinch. ‘I’m sure he did what he thought was best.’
‘Marc wouldn’t have done it at all if he hadn’t been pushed!’ I cry.
‘Maybe it would help to try and remember some of the things Claudine told you about Marc?’ Lou suggests. ‘He contested every part of their divorce. She had to place legal restrictions on him. You just never know what goes on in other people’s relationships – we’ve said it so many times over the years, haven’t we? He wasn’t the man you thought he was. I think he probably had some sort of breakdown – it happens to a lot of middle-aged men – but, ultimately, if forced to make a choice, I think they pretty much always choose their family first. He just didn’t love you.’
I gasp as Rich says uncomfortably, ‘Louisa!’
‘Shut up, Rich,’ she says softly. ‘You’ve got to move on now, Sophie. You’ve got your happy ending.’
‘I’ve got my what?’ I look at her incredulously. ‘How can you possibly think that?’
‘You’ve sold the house you’ve held on to for years like some sort of shrine, you’re going back to the job you love, you’re moving to the other side of the world…’ She speaks briskly. ‘I almost think Marc did you a favour.’
Tears spring to my eyes as I look at the girl I used to laugh myself silly with. I can see us now dancing uncontrollably to ‘Boys and Girls’ at the student’s union, Lou not caring what anyone thought of her.
‘Daddy!’ Tilly appears at the top of the stairs again. ‘The DVD’s stopped.’
‘In a minute, Til,’ says Rich, looking between us, frightened.
‘No, NOW!’ insists Tilly.
‘Go and sort her out, please,’ Lou instructs.
He turns obediently and legs it hurriedly up the stairs.
‘I know what you saw is unforgivable,’ I whisper eventually, once I’m sure we are finally alone, ‘but what you’ve done is terrifying. How do you even know that man who broke into my house?’
She stares at me stonily. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. He threatened my family. And when Marc received your pictures…’ I look at her despairingly. ‘Isabelle and Olivier are just little kids!’
Still she doesn’t react.
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘What happened to you, Lou? You used to want to be an artist, you wanted to travel, but now…’
At that, she flushes. ‘What happened? I grew up. You ought to try it.’ Then she takes a step forward and says, with a seething, quiet energy, ‘I’ll tell you about a friend of mine, shall I? We’ve known each other for twenty years. She’s always been beautiful, everyone likes her and I loved her. She had it all. Then she slept with my husband. I even thought for one moment he might have got her pregnant! Imagine! She’s leaving now, though, moving away – and it looks like I’ve managed to hold on to my family by the skin of my teeth. But I’ve got to spend the rest of my life wondering if, all along, it’s been her he’s loved, not me.’
‘No!’ I shake my head, properly crying now. ‘It happened just that once, and I’m so sorry. You know I’m not that person.’
‘Just go.’ She steps bac
k and puts her hand on the door.
‘Wait!’ I say desperately. ‘Why force me to get married if you were just going to destroy it once we were at the airport anyway?’
She hesitates. ‘I already told you. Because I wanted you to see what it felt like to have a husband and then have someone steal him away from you. And in answer to your earlier question – I’ll sleep just fine tonight, thanks. Whatever you think, I’m not responsible for Marc’s actions as far as his children are concerned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and put my children to bed, so I’m going to close the front of my apparently so offensive, neatly ordered dollshouse’ – her voice is full of sarcasm – ‘if that’s OK with you, and get on with my life.’
She slams the door in my face.
I turn and slowly walk back to the car, only pausing at the last moment before I switch on the engine to wipe more tears from my face. I look to my left and see Lou walk into the front bedroom, then draw the curtains across.
I watch the quiet house for a moment more, then start the car and pull away.
Now we’re done.
Lucy Dawson was a children’s magazine editor before she had her first bestselling book, His Other Lover, published in 2008. Since then she has published three other novels and her work has been translated into numerous languages. She lives in Exeter with her husband and children.
Also by Lucy Dawson
Little Sister
The One That Got Away
What My Best Friend Did
His Other Lover
Published in paperback in Great Britain in 2016 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Copyright © Lucy Dawson, 2016
The moral right of Lucy Dawson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN: 978 178239 622 2
Trade paperback ISBN: 978 1 78239 620 8
E-book ISBN: 978 1 78239 621 5
Printed in Great Britain.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My grateful thanks to Maddie West, Joanne Dickinson, Wanda Whiteley, Belinda Budge, Margaret Halton and Zoe Ross for their help and support, as well as all at United Agents and Atlantic for their hard work.
And to Sarah Ballard and Sara O’Keeffe – my first ever champions – thank you both, so very much.
Read on for the first chapter in Lucy Dawson’s new novel,
Everything You Told Me
CHAPTER ONE
‘Hey. Wake up, please! You have to wake up now.’
The man’s voice sounds curiously distant. I try to do as I’m told, but my eyes feel stuck together – as if I haven’t taken off last night’s clumpy mascara. Forcing them apart, and squinting, the blurry shape of a head is actually right in front of me, backlit by a small, bright, overhead light. I stare at it groggily and try to focus.
‘You have to get out of the car!’
I move, and immediately, a sharp pain grips at the base of my neck from being in one position too long. I’m uncomfortably sprawled across the back seat, with my head jammed against the left passenger door, and my chin on my chest. I attempt to sit up, but my hands only manage to grasp at the air, and I slip a little further, until I finally manage to grab the passenger seat in front with one hand, push down with the other, and haul myself up. My God – I’ve not had a hangover this bad in nearly twenty years, since I was a student. I moan, and rub my head, before looking down at myself in confusion. I’m wearing pyjamas, the wax jacket my husband refers to as my ‘mummy mac’, and an old pair of trainers.
‘Where am I?’ My speech is slurred. I can hear it, I can feel it, as if my tongue is a fat, useless slug.
‘We are here.’
Yes, but where is here? I look around me, completely confused. It’s dark outside. I turn back to the blurry head.
‘You have to pay me now.’
He has a foreign accent I can’t place.
‘Pay me now, please. Four hundred pounds.’
Did he just say four hundred pounds?
‘In your pocket.’ He points at me, impatiently.
I stare at him stupidly, my mouth still slightly open. He’s young – only in his mid-twenties – thin, a concave chest under a cheap, grubby jumper, with dark, greasy hair and darting eyes – waiting anxiously.
‘Come on!’ He rubs his thumb and finger together, and points at my coat again.
I reach slowly into one of the pockets, and to my surprise, withdraw a tight roll of notes that has an elastic band around the middle.
‘Ah!’ he exclaims with satisfaction.
Obediently, I hold it out and he snatches it from me, pulling the band off and quickly shuffling through the notes, counting under his breath.
‘Four hundred pounds exactly. Thank you.’ He reaches up and clicks the interior light off.
For a moment I’m blind; it’s only as my eyes begin to adjust I can see that it’s actually starting to turn light outside. The sky is an electric blue, blending down first into yellow and then orange hues almost too perfectly, as if it’s been airbrushed. My gaze drops to the dark horizon line slicing through the orange – and a wide expanse of indigo and silvery sea. I gasp as I realize we are on a cliff, overlooking a bay. The tide is in, rolling relentlessly onto a small, exposed stretch of beach on my right. On the opposite side of the hill sits a large hotel; the ground-floor windows all lit up, probably the staff starting to prepare for the day ahead while the guests are still asleep. I know this place, I’ve been here before, many times. This is our place.
‘We’re in Cornwall,’ I say in disbelief. ‘But, how…’ I spin around urgently and look out of the back window. ‘What the hell am I doing in Cornwall?’ I say, frightened.
The man shrugs. ‘You have to get out now.’
‘Get out?’ I say. ‘What do you mean? I have no idea what I’m doing here!’ I reach into my jacket pockets. They are completely empty. No phone, no keys, no purse. I look about me wildly, starting to panic. ‘How did I even get into your car? Where did you pick me up from?’
The man looks at me curiously, as if he’s not sure whether I’m joking or not.
‘I was at my house, in Kent, right?’ I question him frantically. ‘I was at home. I know I was. Theo and Chloe!’ I exclaim suddenly. ‘My children! Where are my children?’ I lean forward and grab the edge of his sleeve.
Unnerved, he shakes me off. ‘I don’t know anything. I just drove you here, like I was asked. Get out of the car!’
‘But—’
‘No!’ He refuses, leaning over and flinging open the back door. He gives me a shove. I half fall out, planting my feet down onto soft earth as the shock of the cold air sucks into my gut, and I vomit.
‘Not on the seats!’ he shouts, angrily.
I hang there for a moment, spit dangling from my lip as I try to catch my breath, but he pushes me again, harder this time, and I stumble to a stand. He quickly yanks the door shut behind me, turns, starts the engine and roars off. It’s obvious all he wants to do is get as far away as possible. I watch him helplessly, the wind whipping my hair across my face an
d making my eyes water as I stand on the exposed hilltop, next to the costal path, completely disorientated.
I don’t understand. I went to bed at my house last night, I know I did. How on earth am I now at the other end of the country?
I need help.
I try to walk, but my legs don’t seem to belong to me, and, stumbling a couple of steps in the direction of the hotel, I trip on the uneven ground, landing on my knees. The damp from the grass starts to seep through the flimsy fabric of my pyjamas, and as I drag myself up, my whole body feels weirdly disconnected. Standing is making me dizzy. I try another step, but in my confusion, somehow only stagger towards the edge of the cliff.
‘Shit!’ I gasp, terrified. I should just sit down again, this is too dangerous, I can’t—
‘Stop!’ An urgent voice carries over the air buffeting about my head, and I twist to look over my shoulder. A man is running fast towards me. There is a dog slightly ahead of him, ears flat to its head as it pelts in my direction. It’s a collie, and when it reaches me, it begins to leap around, barking madly, its paws scrabbling painfully on my legs. I shriek instinctively and take a step back.
‘No!’ shouts the man, and in three strides he’s there, grabbing my arms and knocking me bodily to the ground. I fall with such force, the back of my head smacks into the turf – and then there is silence.
‘Hello! Can you hear me? What’s your name?’
My eyes flicker open again. A woman, very close up, is staring down into my face in concern. ‘She’s conscious. What’s your name?’ She waits, and I realize she’s addressing me.
‘Sally.’ My mouth is horribly dry, and speaking aloud makes me cough. ‘Sally Hilman.’
Some man next to her, who I didn’t know was there, appears in my eye line, saying aloud, ‘We’ve got an ID.’
I try to sit up, and several hands reach out to stop me.
‘Try not to move, Sally,’ the woman says kindly. ‘We’re just checking you over, if that’s OK? Making sure you haven’t hurt yourself. Stay still just a moment longer for me, I’m nearly done. My name is Marie, and this is Paul. We’re paramedics.’