Victoria’s face reddened until it was almost puce. Her fists clenched, she grabbed me by my shirt, giving me a violent shake. She pressed her face against mine. ‘What. The fuck. Have you done. To my dress?’ she snarled.
I closed my eyes to the spittle landing on my face, my teeth rattling as this larger-than-life woman took hold. Throwing the gown to the floor, Theresa came between us, releasing Victoria’s grasp. I left her to deal with the mess and, with my arms swinging by my sides, strode into the back room with as much dignity as I could muster. Slamming the door behind me, I slid to the floor, giving in to the tears that had built up in uncontrollable waves. It had happened again. My tormentor had returned to haunt me, breaking down each segment of my life until I had nothing left to give. Theresa’s voice carried from the other room, saying that she did not know who could have done this. But I did. And he wasn’t going to stop there.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
EMMA
2017
I don’t know how long I was sitting on the floor before Theresa came to find me. Curled up in a ball, I had wrapped my arms around my knees, feeling like a child once more. Tentatively she approached me, her face clouded in concern.
‘Sweetheart, are you OK?’ She gently touched my shoulder, helping me rise to my feet.
Pins and needles spiked my legs, and I leaned on the kitchen counter for support. I felt dazed, as if I had been in a car crash and lost all sense of time. But the only car crash here was my life. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth, and I swallowed, my words croaky as I spoke. ‘I . . . I don’t feel very well.’ I clung tighter to the counter as the memory returned. ‘The dress,’ I said, recalling Victoria’s angry face, her thick fingers digging into my shirt. ‘Is she . . .’ I stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘Is she gone?’
‘Here, let me get you a drink,’ Theresa said, pushing a glass beneath the tap and guiding me to sit at the table. ‘When’s the last time you’ve eaten? How about a sandwich, eh? You need some food inside you.’
I sipped the lukewarm water, closing my eyes as it slipped down my throat. A wave of dizziness overcame me, and the glass trembled as I set it back on the table. I rubbed my eyes with the butts of my palms, trying to clear my field of vision. ‘Victoria?’ I said. ‘I take it she’s gone?’
‘It’s OK, I’ve sorted it out. Silly cow threatened to sue, but her second choice still fits her, and she’s a bit happier now she’s hiring it for free.’
A rustling noise ensued as Theresa poked her head in the fridge. ‘Here,’ she said, taking a tuna sandwich from its wrapper and laying it before me. ‘Eat.’
I narrowed my eyes as I came to my senses. ‘You know who did this, don’t you? Luke. He’s the one responsible.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Theresa said, shaking her head. ‘We lock up every night. I’ve checked. There’s no sign of a break-in.’ She shoved the sandwich towards me. ‘I checked the dress when it came back from the seamstress yesterday. It was perfect.’
I frowned. The look on Theresa’s face made me wonder. ‘You don’t think it was me, do you?’ I forced myself to take a bite of the sandwich, knowing she wouldn’t respond until I ate.
‘No,’ she said, a smile rising to her lips as she watched me eat. ‘At least . . . not knowingly. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I’m just scared that it’s getting to you.’ She touched my hand. ‘This thing with Luke. I’m on your side.’
I paused mid-chew. ‘What’s me being stressed got to do with the dress being slashed?’ My eyes flitted towards the door. ‘And why are you here with me when there’s nobody in the shop?’
‘I’ve closed for lunch. Look . . .’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘I’m just saying . . . you don’t have to prove anything to me.’
I swallowed, feeling my strength return. I stared at my sister as I got to grips with her words. ‘You think I damaged the dress then blamed it on Luke so you’d believe me? Why would I do that? You know what a big mouth Victoria has. This is going to ruin our reputation.’
Theresa snorted. ‘Nobody pays any attention to her. Besides, I sorted it.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t try to placate me. It’s awful what happened. If it was me getting married and my dress was in shreds, I’d go mad.’
‘No, honestly, I sorted it. I told her I have CCTV of her assaulting you. She’s lucky I didn’t call the police. I think that’s enough to make it go away.’
‘But we haven’t got CCTV,’ I said, for once wishing that we had. ‘That camera in the corner is fake.’
Theresa gave me a wry smile. ‘I know that and you know that, but she doesn’t know that, and that’s the way it going to stay. Trust me, we can sweep this all under the carpet. Thank God the backup dress fitted her. Bridezilla will have her perfect day after all.’
‘Even though I sabotaged the dress to begin with? You don’t really believe that, do you?’
Theresa nodded towards the sandwich, and I took another bite. This was the way it had always been. Trading off information for food. She had encouraged me to eat in whatever way she could.
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. It was a silly thing to say. But what is worrying me is your inability to cope with it. You’ve had far worse things than this come your way. You should have fought back, pushed the silly woman away.’ She toyed with her silver necklace, a sure sign she was uncomfortable with what she was about to say. ‘I just think that you should consider getting counselling. Alex . . . he spoke to me this morning. He knows you’re not eating. He’s worried about you. We both are.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but Theresa raised her hand.
‘We weren’t going behind your back. Please. Don’t tell him I told you. I’m just trying to help the pair of you.’
I took a sip of water, dismissing the judgemental voices swirling around my head. There was no point in airing my suspicions about Luke. It was safer to tell her what she wanted to hear. ‘Maybe he’s right,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I feel like the whole world is against me.’
Theresa gave me a gentle smile. ‘Don’t be daft, it’ll all be OK. Now, how about I make us both a nice cup of tea? I’ve got some chocolate biscuits hidden in the cupboard.’
Food was the last thing I needed, but I found myself nodding just the same.
CHAPTER FIFTY
ALEX
2017
I stared at the envelope, bile rising in my throat. The feeling of helplessness washed over me. It was the same alien emotion I’d encountered when the doctors had told me my chances of fathering a child were slim to none. Just like my infertility, this situation was out of my control. I had given my work address to the company who carried out the DNA results as there was no way I could risk Emma finding out what I had done. Having excused myself from the office, I stood outside in the dying sunlight, turning the envelope over in my fingers. The car park was reasonably quiet and, although this was not how I had pictured finding out, I could not wait until I went home.
I thought of Jamie’s birth, the fierce pride that had burned in my chest at the sight of my son. Now I was reduced to this, holding on to a secret too awful to share. It was I who’d told Emma to sleep while I took over the night feeds. I who had comforted Jamie during teething when his red swollen gums caused him pain. I who taught him how to feed himself, raised out my hands beside Emma as he took his first step. Dada was the first word he had spoken. I tightened my jaw, determined to remain in control. If it came to it, I thought I would be able to get over the fact that I was not blood related, but Emma’s deception would cut a much deeper groove into my soul. I turned the envelope over as I tried to gather enough courage to read the results inside. Wouldn’t it be easier to tear the damn thing up and forget that it ever came? We could move to Leeds, start again and carry on believing that Jamie was mine. Did I need to know if Emma had lied to me about her relationship with Luke? It was all in the past . . . wasn’t it? I leaned against the cold concrete wall, wondering if that was the case. Ho
w could it be in the past as long as Luke was living in York? Regardless of what he’d said, I could be placing Emma in danger. That’s if she was telling the truth. I wanted to believe her but, every day, evidence was mounting against her, leaving me in fear of what she might do next. After all that had happened, was she capable of looking after our son? Our son. My grip on the envelope tightened as the wind threatened to whisk it away.
Fumbling with the flap, I finally ripped it open, my body rigid as I shook the letter free. I closed my eyes, taking what could be my last breath as Jamie’s father, praying for a satisfactory conclusion. But my prayers went unanswered as I glared at the cold and impersonal string of words.
The alleged father is excluded as the biological father of the tested child. The alleged father lacks the genetic markers that must be contributed to the child by the biological father. The probability of paternity is 0%.
‘No,’ I moaned, feeling like someone had ripped out my heart and crushed it in front of me. ‘It can’t be.’ In the distance, a car door slammed and I quickly shoved the letter back into the envelope before pushing it deep into my jacket pocket. All these years Emma had lied to me. My own wife. I felt a wave of nausea as reality hit hard. I closed my eyes, seeing the text on the back of my eyelids. The probability of paternity is 0%. What a mug I had been. No wonder she was scared of Luke coming back. He was not the monster she portrayed, he was the father of her son. I had spoken to him myself. As for Theresa, of course she had told me the truth – she was Emma’s sister. And now if I was in any doubt . . . the DNA result spoke for itself.
The question was, what did I do next? Where did that leave me with Jamie? Would Emma turn on me just as she had with Luke? I may be listed as the father on his birth certificate but, if it went to court, what legal rights did I actually have? Then again, would Emma really cause trouble when it emerged that I knew what she had done? Ugly thoughts raised their heads as I tried to assemble a plan. Dipping my hand into my pocket, I pulled out my vaporiser, closing my eyes as I inhaled. The artificial tang of tobacco and aniseed hit my throat, and I exhaled a cloud of white smoke. There were no clues, no evidence of Emma’s attempt to murder Luke on our land. I was not afraid to play dirty. I would do whatever it took to protect my son.
I swallowed, the unpleasant taste of my betrayal making itself known. I could not believe I was thinking of Emma in this way. Her face flashed in my memory. I loved my wife. What had happened to always standing by her? She had problems, I’d known that from the day we met. But nothing like this. What good was a marriage without trust? How could she love me if all she did was lie? Opposing thoughts bounced around in my head as I paced the path, trying to work out my options. I had to get back inside. People would be wondering where I was. But how on earth could I carry on as if nothing had happened? Unless . . . I could say I’d received a phone call and there was a family emergency at home. If I did not speak to somebody soon I would combust. I couldn’t tell my mother, the disappointment that she wasn’t blood related to her only grandson would be too much for her to bear.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I realised I had a missed call. As I checked my call log, the answer appeared before me. Theresa had helped me once already. God knows, people I could confide in were thin on the ground. I rubbed my chin as I mulled it over. Could I relay the full extent of Emma’s lies? I felt like I had to. I needed help. I could not do this on my own.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
EMMA
2003
Life had taken on a slate-grey hue in the months since Luke and I had split. What was the point? It was the end of the line. There was nothing more I could do. I slid my phone from my pocket, the late-spring sun casting a reflection on the screen. Sitting on my picnic blanket in the grounds of Colchester Castle, I was reminded of everything I had lost. How I had driven Luke away. Because he was right; it was my fault. He had been cruel just to push the point home. I looked through my texts one last time before I deleted them.
Emma: I miss you. Xxx
Emma: I’m sorry. Can we meet? Xxx
Emma: Please Luke, I still miss you. Please text me. Xxx
Emma: I don’t want to live without you. Xxx
Emma: If you don’t speak to me soon, I’m ending it. You’ll never see me again.
Emma: Don’t you care about me at all?
Luke: If you don’t stop harassing me then I’m calling the police.
Emma: What about our night in the beach hut? You said you loved me.
Luke: I’m sorry but it’s all in your head.
Emma: What??!! Why are you denying it? I meant what I said. I won’t tell a soul.
Emma: Luke?
Luke: It’s been six months. LEAVE ME ALONE. Final warning.
Emma: Fine. I’ll leave you for good. See how you like having my death on your conscience.
I pressed the delete button, my heart sinking like a stone. My constant calls, the presents I had sent, nothing seemed to warrant a response. This was the final test. I had to get home quickly to carry out my plans. Dad was at some award ceremony by the archaeological society. He had not thought to ask if I wanted to go, but these days it was an effort for him just to get dressed and leave the house. What would he say when he came home to a pile of ash? Because when I left this world, I was going out with a bang. I might have seemed quiet and introverted, but my demise would light the skyline today. I bit my bottom lip, ready to send one more text, feeling every bit as pathetic as Luke said I was. I just couldn’t leave it alone, and I prayed that this last gesture would bring him back to me.
Emma: I’ll be at home alone at 2pm. The house will go up in flames, with me inside it.
I waited for a response but none came. By 2.30 p.m. I was sitting in my bedroom, the smell of white spirit stinging my eyes. Luke was right. How many times would I let life kick me in the teeth before finally lying down? Mum, Theresa, Dad, Luke, they had all deserted me. My life had become one painful episode of loving people and watching them leave. My wounds were raw, my energy depleted. I wasn’t strong enough to face life on my own. My shoulders shook as I sobbed, and I blinked away the tears to focus on the box of matches in my hand. The match fizzled into life as I struck it against the coarse surface of the box. Emitting one last desperate sob, I threw it on to the saturated floor.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
EMMA
2017
As I strolled around the aisles of the supermarket, I thought how lucky I was to have my sister in my life. I knew that guilt still plagued her from not being there when I’d needed her the most and it had been hard, growing into a young woman with just Dad to guide me. Theresa did her best, popping back to see me when she could, but she was uneasy at home. She and Dad were not exactly close, and she always seemed to be counting the minutes until she could leave. She had more than made up for it since then, though, and Jamie’s birth had been the balm that had healed many wounds.
My eyes scanned the cake section as I searched for a sponge of the right consistency. Only food could silence my inner voice, the one that plagued me from morning to night. It was growing louder now; the incident with the slashed dress had frightened me. I had tried to distract myself by filling my thoughts with my family, my business, even my choice of clothes. But now as things began to fall apart, the voice of my subconscious became so loud and fierce I wondered if other people could hear it too. Theresa had insisted I finish early, leave reporting the vandalisation to her. But I knew she wasn’t going to call the police. She thought I had done it. I could see it in her eyes. Our seamstress would be able to replace the torn material, salvage the ripped dress. But my relationships with my loved ones were not so easily mended. I could have kicked myself for spying on Alex and Theresa that morning, especially since she had told me their meeting was born out of concern. But not enough was being done about the threat towards me. A cold feeling of déjà vu rose up inside me as I struggled to be believed. Surely the people closest to me must know that I was telling the truth? B
ut Alex seemed more concerned about whether or not I was eating, asking me to mirror him at the table and provide a good example for our son, though he could not watch me all the time.
When I was young, the dinner table was a battleground, my bad habits a small act of defiance. And now I was rebelling again, except the only person I was hurting was myself. I threw three tubs of ice cream into my trolley, kidding myself that they were for Jamie. I liked the different textures and sensations of sweet and sour so I threw in a twelve pack of salt and vinegar crisps as well. Sometimes they felt like jagged glass as I swallowed, barely chewing while my eyes roamed the table for more. The only semblance of self-control I held was against bingeing on alcohol. I had grown up around Mum’s drinking binges whenever Dad was away. I wouldn’t allow it. Not when I was looking after Jamie.
Blaming my mother was easier than taking responsibility myself. I held traces of her in my mind, her pretty scarves and long flowing dresses which hung beautifully on her thin frame. When I thought of my childhood, memories of her were scattered everywhere. Yet I struggled to reach the good ones that were buried deep inside: Mum attending the school play, coaxing the teachers into giving me the lead role; her eyes shining with tears as she sat beside Dad, watching me sing on stage. That had happened, hadn’t it? I hadn’t just made it up.
I scanned my items at the self-service checkout, vowing that this relapse would be a fleeting one. Something to take the pressure off while I got my life back on an even keel. I hummed as I scanned, anything to quieten the voice that would resurface later on.
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