I could talk to Tizzy, isn’t that what sisters were for? But I hardly saw her these days. Besides, she wouldn’t understand. No, she wouldn’t approve. My frown burrowed deep as I tried to make sense of it all. I’d gotten myself into a right state. A something and nothing, my mother would call it, but it felt very real to me. I wanted my friendship with Mr Priestwood to continue, but I saw how he’d looked at me, felt a tingle when he brushed his fingers against my cheek. He didn’t treat any of the other girls that way, and they were all desperate for his undivided attention. And now the phone . . . I didn’t know what to make of it. What did he want me to text? Sometimes he could be so forward, but other times he was distant and aloof. As for meeting him in Colchester, what was that all about? I had come to rely on his friendship, but did he really want something more?
A muffled cheer erupted from the football game on the television as my father’s favourite team scored a goal. Dad thought Mr Priestwood had been a positive influence. If only he knew. I closed my eyes, allowing my teacher’s image to seize my thoughts. A soft sigh escaped my lips. He was only seven or eight years older than me. It was no biggy. People fell in love every single day. It wasn’t as if he was going to pounce on me, make me do anything I didn’t want to. I slid my phone from under my pillow, the one he had given me in class. Giddy with nervous excitement, I began to type a text.
Thanks for lessons today, really enjoyed them. See you soon.
My finger hovered over the ‘X’ as I deliberated whether or not to send a kiss. A mischievous smile crept on to my face. He was my teacher. Would I dare? Then I thought how his eyes had sought out mine, and how his hand had rested on my back. Biting my bottom lip, I added ‘X’ to the text and pressed Send. I pushed my face into my pillow, squealing a giggle of disbelief. I had done it. I had texted my teacher, and even added a cheeky kiss! Another giggle erupted in my chest, silenced by my pillow as it found escape. I stared at the phone as I awaited a reply, feeling out of my depth. As fun as it was to flirt, I knew that when it came to Mr Priestwood, I wasn’t really ready for anything more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ALEX
2017
‘You’re frightening me,’ I said, feeling a rising sense of dread. With shaky legs, Emma joined me in the living room, her eyes darting from left to right. I had confronted her about her bulimia in the past, but I had never seen her as tightly wound as this. ‘I’m not angry with you, sweetheart, just worried. We can sort this out.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew.’ Her words were jittery as she spoke. I laid my hands on her shoulders, stiffening as she flinched. I should have been paying closer attention. I frowned as I accepted my portion of the blame. ‘Is it because we’re selling the house? Because, well’ – I sighed, trying to form the right words – ‘we don’t have to if it’s upsetting you. How about we come to a compromise? We could get a bigger mortgage, hang on to this place too.’
‘I don’t want to keep the house,’ she said, tear-stained and weary. ‘I want to get as far away from here as possible.’
Her eyes left mine, and my head ached from trying to decipher her thoughts. ‘Here, you’re freezing.’ Pulling a throw from our leather sofa, I wrapped it around her. I eyed my vaporiser on the coffee table. My nicotine habit was proving difficult to kick, now more than ever. Emma curled up beside me on the sofa, but she was still unable to meet my eyes. The house creaked around us from the force of the wind. The place felt cursed, and I could not wait to leave it. I wanted to challenge Emma about her eating disorder but at the same time I did not want to make her any more upset than she already was. ‘What were you shouting about in the toilet? Have you had a scare? Is it your health? I know you’re keeping something from me.’
‘It’s not my health. It’s something I’ve done.’ Taking a deep breath, her eyes met mine. ‘If I tell you, our family can’t go back to what it was before. In fact, it’s better if you don’t know. We can carry on with what we’re doing, sell the house, and start a new life. I’ll pull myself together in time.’
My heart pounded with ferocity. I was the head of the household. There was no question of turning my back on my family. ‘Just tell me. I want to know.’
‘Please.’ Her eyes were soft and imploring. ‘You don’t need the burden of it.’
I took her hands in mine. They felt cold and unyielding, her fingers clenched as if she were holding her secret tightly in the palms of her hands. Slowly I opened her fingers, lacing them between mine. ‘We took vows on our wedding day, remember? For better or for worse. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.’ I gave a soft chuckle of reassurance. ‘No one died.’
Her eyes widened as she drew back her hands.
Her horrified expression made my mouth drop open of its own accord. ‘Fucking hell, Emma, will you just tell me what it is?’
Composing herself, she glanced around the room. With Jamie fast asleep in his bedroom, there was only us there.
‘All right, calm down. I’ll tell you, but I can only do it once. I’ll answer your questions at the end, so no interruptions either. Can you do that?’
I nodded dumbly.
‘The thing is,’ she went on, ‘someone did die, and I’m the one responsible.’
I could barely take it in. Emma was no murderer . . . was she?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALEX
2017
‘I was fifteen when it started,’ Emma said, her eyes downcast as she revealed the truth. ‘Mum had been gone two years and Dad had completely withdrawn into himself. Theresa . . . you know Dad used to call her Tizzy, because she was all over the place. She’d start a job and then a week later she’d quit. She’d go sofa surfing and we wouldn’t see her for days. But after Mum left, everything changed. Dad gave her the deposit for a flat in Colchester. She got a job in the estate agent’s and held it down. It was good for her, standing on her own two feet. But that’s not how I saw it at the time. I really looked up to my big sister, I used to follow her everywhere she went. When she cut off all ties . . . I felt abandoned by everyone, adrift and unloved.’
I tried to imagine Emma at fifteen. I’d seen family photos of a sullen young girl, but Emma tended to keep them hidden away. It was as if she didn’t want her past to taint our family. But it was too late for that now. I squeezed her hand, not wanting to interrupt her flow.
‘I met Luke when he took over from the old art teacher.’ She kept her eyes fixed on the woollen throw, unable to meet my gaze. ‘In time, we got talking. He told me he’d had a difficult childhood. I felt he was the only one who understood. All the girls fancied him, but he didn’t seem interested in anyone else but me.’ Emma picked at the throw, dislodging loose fibres as she recalled the memory. ‘We grew close. I felt special, having a proper grown-up man pay attention to me.’ Briefly she met my gaze. ‘He gave me a mobile phone so we could text each other in private. Then we started meeting up in Castle Park. It was nice, having a friend. He was nothing like the boys my age, all they wanted was a quick grope at the back of the bike shed. Luke valued my opinion, listened to what I had to say.’
‘But things got heavy?’ I said, feeling guilty for making her recall what was obviously a painful memory.
Emma responded with two sharp nods of the head. ‘He was so intense. He said he was risking everything for me. In my mind it was romantic. What I didn’t realise was that he was grooming me all along.’
Emma clenched the throw in her hands, wrapping it tightly around her. I opened my mouth to speak. As she took a breath to continue, I swallowed back my words, allowing her to carry on.
‘He became really controlling after that, emotionally manipulating me into complying with his needs. He gave me the school camera and asked me to take some pictures that he could develop in his darkroom. I took photos of outdoor scenes for my art project. It’s only now that I realise what the camera was for. I was so naive.’
‘Bastard,’ I said, my frustration growing. At least now I could und
erstand why she had been so guarded when she’d met me. People had let her down for most of her life.
Her eyes glazed, Emma continued as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘Our relationship progressed and he pressured me for more. Well . . . I . . . I was just a mixed-up kid. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t ready for it, but I would have done anything for him. It was only a matter of time before people found out.’
Her eyes flicked to mine and back to her hands as she struggled to find the words. It pained me to think of her being with someone else. ‘So you ended it?’ I said, trying to help her out.
‘Yes,’ Emma nodded. ‘It was for the best. But as time went on, I’d see him wherever I went. Flowers came to the house, but there was never any card. I switched off the mobile phone and the house phone would ring all hours of the night and day. He began to scare me. It was like he was two different people. In the daytime, he’d refuse to acknowledge what he had done.’ Still pulling at the threads, she sighed. ‘I avoided him as much as I could. Weird things started happening, and it felt like someone had been in my room. Eventually I told the police, but Luke blamed me, saying that I wouldn’t leave him alone. I tried talking to his sister, Noelle, but she wouldn’t listen. Then he texted, saying he’d kill himself if I ever left him. I told him to leave me alone, that I didn’t want to see him any more.’
I looked at my wife and it was as if I barely knew her. So much of her past had been a mystery to me, but I was beginning to understand. Her eating disorder had descended because she knew no other way of dealing with the chaos that enveloped her. She must have felt very much alone. ‘Why was he so obsessed? You didn’t sleep together . . . did you?’
A flush rose to her cheeks. ‘We were never intimate, even though he tried. Things died down the following school year, but he was always in the background. When I was accepted into university I left home. I told my dad not to give my forwarding address to anybody.’
‘And that was the end of it?’ I asked, hoping she had meant a metaphorical killing earlier on, instead of a physical one.
‘It was . . . until Dad’s funeral. Do you remember how upset I was to get that bunch of sunflowers?’
I frowned as I recalled that day. I remembered commenting on the odd choice of funeral flower when Emma had burst into tears.
‘He must have read the announcement in the paper,’ she said. ‘I knew it was him because they had significance. I used to draw them all the time. It was my favourite flower. I say was. I’ve come to hate them now.’
‘It could have been your mum,’ I said, but was immediately silenced by a darkened glare.
‘It wasn’t her.’
A gust of cool air blasted from the nearby window, and I shuddered as it ran down my back. Sitting in my T-shirt and boxers, I felt every inch of the cold, but I didn’t want to move until Emma had finished telling me the truth. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I interrupted her again.
‘You had to cope with so much when you took me on: my bulimia, Dad dying, and you were so upset when it looked like we’d never have a baby. I couldn’t put you through any more.’
‘But Emma . . .’ I said, placing my hand on hers.
Slowly she withdrew, curling her hands beneath the throw, disappearing into herself. ‘Please. Just let me finish.’
I met her gaze, sending her a nod to tell her it was OK.
‘I blamed myself after things soured with Luke. Going to university was a form of escape. You made me believe in myself. Even after a year of me knocking you back, you still stuck by me.’
‘I was crazy about you,’ I said, the embers of old memories stirring inside. ‘I still am.’
‘I don’t deserve you. I never have.’ She sat with her shoulders hunched, her eyes wet with tears. It was as if the memory was bringing her back to the old days, to the person she once was.
‘Dad’s funeral was reported in the papers. It must have played on his mind, seeing a photo of me at his grave. A few weeks after that, he turned up here.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Here? In our home?’
Emma slowly nodded. ‘I was out by the oak tree – I’d decided to do some digging, make a start on the vegetable patch I’d been talking about. He must have followed me there from the house. We argued. He said that I had messed up his head, that it had been terrible for him after I left. The next thing I knew he was lunging at me, grabbing me by the throat. I couldn’t breathe. It was muddy and he . . . he slipped. I thought he was going to kill me . . . I had no choice.’ The whites of Emma’s eyes flashed in the darkness, filling me with dread. She took a breath, panting now. ‘I hit him with my shovel. I only wanted to keep him down long enough for me to get away. He fell backwards, into the ditch. That’s when everything went quiet.’ Emma’s voice shuddered. ‘At first I thought he was playing a trick. Then I saw the blood seeping from his head. I . . . I didn’t mean to kill him. It wasn’t my fault.’ Her words were cut short as a sob caught in her throat. Her chin trembling, she took another faltering breath. ‘I covered him up, told myself I’d go back the next day and sort things out. But after a couple of days I’d buried it so deep in my mind it was as if it had never happened at all.’
I shook my head. I had so many questions. Had she checked for a pulse? Was she sure he was dead? Did anyone else know? But she carried on talking, her voice barely a whisper.
‘I wanted to tell you. But not long after, I found out I was pregnant. How could I have a baby in prison? We’d been so desperate for a child. I couldn’t do that to you or our baby. So I put the past behind me and tried to forget about him.’
‘Until now,’ I said. All the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.
She nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. ‘I wanted to leave. But I was scared that the new owners would dig up the land and it would all come out. What good would come of that? He’s dead. I hate myself for it but there’s nothing I can do.’
As she drew her eyes away, I couldn’t help but wonder if I really knew my wife at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMMA
2017
I finally drew the courage to look my husband in the eye. At least he was still here. I had half expected him to turn on his heels and walk away. He had paled in the aftermath of my confession. He was not the only one. I felt as if I had aged ten years. I stared at my lap, feeling empty inside, just as I had done after Jamie was born. But this time it was not a baby that had been expelled from my womb. It was a piece of myself that I had given away. Alex made no attempt to take my hands as he had done earlier. It was why I had withdrawn them when I began to speak. I could not bear to feel him pull away from me, as I knew he would. Alex was a good man with a strong moral code. He would struggle with what I’d done. But there was more than just me to take into consideration. My gaze fell on our family portrait above me on the wall. To the left, another framed picture, taken hours after Jamie was born. Our little king was now asleep in his bed, oblivious of our torment. I took a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in my body. I had thought it would make me feel better to offload the secret that I had carried for so long. It was as close as I could come to telling the truth. Judging by the look of disbelief on Alex’s face, it was just as well I’d been circumspect. I don’t think he could have taken any more. I sat in silence as he rubbed his face, washing away the ugliness of what I had shared. I looked at my watch. It was only half past one, but it felt as if a lifetime had passed before he spoke again.
He mumbled something about it all making sense, citing my reluctance to sell. As we talked it through, I was forced to recall how I felt after what I had done. He was searching in the darkness for a hint of regret, a flicker of empathy for the man I had killed. I had to provide him with the answers he wanted to hear.
‘I was devastated by Luke’s death. I blamed myself for everything. But it was a burden I didn’t feel equipped to handle. When I came home, I forced the memory aside. That night I showered and scrubbed my body until it glowed pink. I
remember you asking me if I’d been allergic to my moisturiser because my skin looked so sore.’
‘I don’t remember,’ Alex said, with a slow shake of the head.
‘Don’t you see? That’s what happens. Your mind casts away memories of no value.’
But my words were unconvincing. Being forgetful was one thing. Rewriting history was another. I was a murderer and I had learned to live with it. But I could not lose my family. I needed my husband to stay strong to keep me on the right path. As Alex stared into space unblinkingly, I wondered if it was too late.
I reached across the void and touched his hand. I had not realised I was crying until my tears tapped the throw which was wrapped around me. ‘What do we do now?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I need to go there.’ His voice was cold and robotic. ‘I need to see it for myself.’
Thoughts of returning to that place with my husband were too much to bear. ‘See this,’ I whispered. Opening the palm of my right hand I exposed the blisters on my skin. ‘I didn’t fall off the quad. I went back there, to the grave. I dug it up. He’s . . .’ I took a deep breath to calm my beating heart. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Really?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘That can’t be right,’ he said, firmer this time. ‘We have to figure out what the hell is going on. It can’t have just disappeared.’
‘He is gone,’ I said, my fingers gripping my husband’s wrist and making him wince. Fingers that had been down my throat less than an hour before. Had he realised what I had been doing? I relaxed my grip, grateful he wanted to help me out of this horrific mess. ‘There’s not a single sign that he was there. No clothes, no shoes, it’s like it never happened.’
My words seemed to trigger a reaction as Alex opened his mouth to speak. He paused.
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