Puberty happened to my body long before my mind caught up with it. I loved flicking through my mother’s magazines. I would stare at the images of emaciated models and ultra-thin pop stars worshipped by my peers. Each page, each image reinforced the answer that had been staring me in the face all along. I was not popular because I was not like them.
Diets were futile, leaving me with a growing sense of failure, making me despise myself even more. I just could not stick to them, preferring starchy foods and calorie-laden crisps and chocolate to fresh vegetables and fruit. That’s when I read an article about a celebrity who was a self-confessed bulimic. It stated that she kept her stick-like figure by throwing up after every meal. It felt like a revelation. I stared at the article in wonder, a smile touching my lips. I could eat whatever I wanted and would never put on a pound. Looking back, I can see how naive I was.
Shoving my fingers down my throat did not come naturally, but as I closed my eyes, I would imagine my favourite celebs doing the same thing. They must have found it difficult at first, I told myself while I purged. I learned how to mask the smells and always kept the bathroom spotlessly clean for when I gripped the porcelain bowl. I liked the feeling of emptiness, and it soon turned into an obsession. My reward was seeing the weight drop off my face, and hearing the approving voice of my mother in my mind.
At the beginning it was euphoric, watching my body change. For the first time in my life I had sculpted cheekbones, a smooth stomach, and I felt free. But my hair had lost its shine and the knuckles of my right hand were raw from grazing my throat. My menstrual cycle was erratic. I was cold and tired all the time, and I could not keep up with the demands I placed upon myself. I was a failure yet again and found comfort in food. I began to have cravings, telling myself that I deserved it, that I could rid myself of the calorific value later and flush it all away. If only it were as easy to flush away the emotional turmoil that went with it.
The guilt was soon forgotten when I was tucking into the forbidden food. Like an animal preparing for hibernation, I would pull out my secret stash. After the initial euphoria, all I was left with was loathing and self-hatred. The cycle would start all over again. It was a mental battle I could not win.
A shopping bag on each arm, I left the supermarket, thoughts of my husband filling my mind. His kind face, his soft smile. Talking to Alex had gone a long way to aiding my recovery. When we first met, he did not allow a day to pass without telling me how valued I was. He guided me into getting proper counselling, driving me there and picking me up. Slowly I began to recover and the strength of my self-destructive voices began to weaken. But now they were back, along with a man hell-bent on revenge. Something told me I was in for the fight of my life.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ALEX
2017
It was a twenty-minute walk from my office in Colchester High Street to Emma’s shop on the outskirts of town. I had spent the whole time looking out for her, despite her texting to say she had gone shopping and would be taking the bus home in her own time. I had swiftly replied, texting that I would pick up Jamie on the way home. I didn’t tell her that I was finishing early for fear that she might ask for a lift. I could not bear to talk to her. Not yet. As the bell jangled over my head, Theresa met me at the shop door, turning the sign to Closed. ‘I got your text. Sorry about the short reply, I’ve been busy.’
‘Emma said you had a problem.’ I took in the tight, worried expression on her face. ‘Everything all right?’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she said, kicking off her heels.
‘I’m a five-hour car journey from all right,’ I said solemnly, following her as she padded through to the staffroom. I emitted a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know where to start.’ The envelope containing the DNA results felt like it was going to burn a hole in my pocket. I knew I should be talking to Emma, but I was afraid of what I might say. My sadness had turned to anger and right now it felt like our confrontation could end up with me packing a bag and taking Jamie with me. I took a seat at the table in the kitchen room. ‘Sorry to bother you again so soon, I didn’t know who else to talk to.’
Standing on her toes, Theresa stretched above me to reach two glasses in the cupboard overhead. The smell of her perfume kissed my senses, a sweet and summery scent. I loosened my tie and opened the top button of my shirt. The room was sweltering, so different from our chilly bungalow.
‘You’re welcome here any time,’ Theresa said, pulling down a bottle of whisky from the shelf. She silenced my protests with a wave of her hand. ‘I know you’re driving, but one won’t do any harm.’ After topping up my whisky with water from the tap, she handed it to me.
‘I can’t,’ I said wearily, ‘but you go ahead.’
Ignoring my protests, she pushed the glass into my hand before taking a seat beside me. ‘Just one, you look like you need it. Best we don’t stay too long, eh? Emma’s not been herself today. We had an incident with a dress, and I found her talking to herself, virtually a puddle on the ground.’
I raised an eyebrow, trying to muster up some sympathy as Theresa recalled what had happened that day. Nothing surprised me any more. ‘Who do you think slashed it?’ I asked.
Theresa sighed, taking comfort in the contents of her glass. Given that she lived in a flat above the shop, she did not need to worry about driving home. ‘The thing is,’ she said, her lips narrowing, ‘the only person here this morning was Emma. Josh wasn’t working today. The scissors went missing this morning.’ She jerked her thumb back at the drawer behind her. ‘They’re kept in there. After Emma had left, I did a quick search of the shop, and I found them in her desk drawer on the shop floor.’ Silence fell as I absorbed her words.
‘You think whoever slashed the dress used the shop’s scissors to do it?’
Theresa nodded. ‘They hacked the material like they were in a hurry. I found some white satin fibres stuck between the scissor blades. We only really use them for removing tags. And what were they doing in her desk?’
‘You’ll have to ask her that, not me,’ I grunted, knocking back a mouthful of whisky. I was still numb from reading the DNA results; cut-up wedding dresses were the least of my worries.
‘Listen to me blabbering on. You said you needed to talk. What’s happened?’
My chin wobbled as I tried to speak and I was horrified to feel tears rising behind my eyes. I wished I could play the hard man, but the thought of my son not being mine produced pain like I’d never experienced. Soon I’d be picking him up, and I would be forced to confront the truth. My left hand dropped to my pocket, and I pulled the envelope out.
I felt a warm, comforting hand as Theresa rubbed my back. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘Read it for yourself,’ I said, relieved to be able to share my burden. I rubbed my eyes until I was satisfied they were dry. ‘God, I hadn’t realised just how stressful it’s been, keeping this all inside.’
Theresa’s eyes darted from left to right, her lips silently moving as she scanned the page.
‘Jesus!’ Theresa murmured. ‘You had a DNA test? I take it Emma doesn’t know?’
I shook my head. ‘And that’s the way it has to stay, at least until I figure out what to do. Luke is the father. He has to be.’
‘Are you sure? I remember she was looking into sperm donors around that time. How do you know it’s not someone else?’
‘There’s a lot more to it than that.’ I straightened in my chair as I regained my composure. ‘But you’ve got to promise me; you can’t let this go any further.’
She cupped my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It won’t. I’m here for both of you, and this is my sister we’re talking about. I only want what’s best for her.’
Sliding my vaporiser from my pocket, I began to suck on the plastic tip. Emma hated me using it in the shop, but I was desperate for a cigarette. Theresa rose from the table and walked to a dial on the wall. I knew she was hiding her shock, trying to stay strong to support me. I was
grateful to hear a little click as she turned the heat down. She returned, bringing a pack of cigarettes with her.
‘Here,’ she said, throwing me a lighter. ‘Just don’t dob me in.’
‘But the dresses,’ I said, despite taking a cigarette from the pack.
‘Sod it, nothing a bit of air freshener won’t cover up.’
I closed my eyes as I inhaled, enjoying the kick that only a real cigarette could bring. If Emma could see us both now, flicking cigarette ash into a saucer on the table. She’d be horrified. I glanced at my watch, conscious of the time, and, pulling myself together, explained how Emma had tried to send Luke into an early grave.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Theresa said, aghast. ‘Not Emma. She would have said something. She would have told me.’
‘She compartmentalised the whole incident; put it all behind her.’ I exhaled, feeling empty like I had nothing left to give. ‘I only found out because I insisted on selling the house. She was adamant that he was dead, but when she went back to dig the grave, there was nothing there.’ I rubbed my chin. ‘He can’t have just disappeared into thin air. Unless . . .’
‘Unless it never happened,’ Theresa said, her face solemn. ‘Maybe she’s made it up to take the blame for everything that’s going on.’
‘But you’re forgetting,’ I said, taking another drag of my cigarette. ‘Jamie’s been fathered by another man.’ I struggled to find the words. ‘This is going to sound crazy,’ I said. ‘But I met Luke in Leeds. He tracked me down somehow and asked to meet up. He lives there now and he wanted me to tell Emma to stay away.’
‘What?’ she said, slamming her tumbler on to the table after emptying its contents. Unscrewing the lid from the whisky bottle, she refilled her glass. ‘How is that possible?’
I shrugged. ‘None of this makes any sense. I haven’t told Emma yet. I need to know what I’m dealing with. The last thing I want is her having a full-on relapse.’ I clasped and unclasped my hands. There was no escaping it. Despite everything she had done, I still loved my wife. What a fool I was.
I ran through my meeting with Luke and our conversation in the bar. The confused expression on Theresa’s face would have been comical, had the subject matter not been so devastating.
‘We’ve got to find out if the man you spoke to is actually the real Luke Priestwood,’ Theresa said, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘He’s got an older brother, I remember him from school. I think he’s got a sister too.’ She clenched her hands, a frown crossing her face. ‘All this stuff that’s been happening, I thought it was Emma, but maybe they’re setting her up to make it look that way.’
‘But why now?’ I asked.
‘Why not? Think about it. Maybe Emma was telling the truth and she did kill Luke. What if they found the body, or are trying to draw her out because he’s still missing and they’re worried she’s responsible for his death?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. Luke’s brother could be posing as him, using his identity. He had a scar on the back of his head, said it was from when Emma hit him with the shovel.’ I felt a pang of guilt. I had been quick to point the finger in Emma’s direction. At least Theresa was trying to vindicate her sister. I checked my watch for a second time. ‘I’m sorry to put this burden on you and leave but I’ve got to pick up Jamie from nursery.’
‘She’s my sister. I’d be more upset if you didn’t tell me,’ Theresa said. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll put some feelers out for Luke, see what I can find out about him. But there’s something we need to do first.’
‘What’s that?’ I said, rising from the table and emptying the cigarette butts into the bin. I stood at the sink and rinsed the saucer. Theresa would clean up the rest, make it look like we had never met.
‘We need to dig up the land.’ She nodded in agreement with herself, her face set in determination. ‘Yes, that’s what we’ll do. Hire a digger and go deep. Because if there is a body buried in there and you sell the house, my sister’s going to jail.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ALEX
2017
I drove across the Strood to home, my thoughts battling against each other as I worked out where my loyalties lay. I glanced in my rear-view mirror. There was only one answer to that question, and he was asleep in the back seat. Clinging to his teddy, Jamie was dressed like Paddington Bear in his blue dungarees and red wellington boots. All he needed was a brown luggage label. Please look after this boy, thank you. My heart warmed at the sight of his cherubic face. He had truly been a precious bundle, a gift from God. I came to a decision. None of this was his fault. Regardless of the DNA results, he was my child, and he could rely on me. I would never let him down.
I returned my focus to the road, which was still wet from the afternoon tide. A flock of seagulls flew in the periphery, catching the glint of the sun on their backs. The nearer I came to home, the stronger the sense of timelessness became. Had I expected things to be different, just because my world had blown apart? I drove past the long green hedgerows, the tractors and cyclists, the people who had remained the same. My inner world had collapsed, yet life went on as usual. I wondered what had driven Emma’s father to settle in East Mersea, when the west side of the island was filled with community life.
I had been delayed as I picked up Jamie because the nursery worker had chatted to me as he gathered up his things. It meant I would not be able to come home early and check on Emma as I had planned. I knew why she had insisted on going shopping on her own. She needed time to stash the food she would gorge on when I was asleep. I had supported her when she attended counselling and celebrated the times she was well. But stress was a part of life, and a relapse was always just around the corner. I had searched for support and information online so many times, but the administrators of online help groups were painfully guarded, open only to the sufferers themselves. Where was my support? All I wanted to do was to understand. People focused on the victims but what about their other halves? I was not immune to her pain. I learned to turn a blind eye to the packages of food hidden at the back of our wardrobe, the clues that signalled a relapse. I knew that she was not taking a shower when she disappeared to the bathroom after a meal. I knew that it was hurting her inside. Theresa had been a lifeline when it came to helping me understand, explaining the twisted narrative that had brought Emma her own private hell. My stomach contracted miserably as I parked the car on our drive. What I would give to wave a magic wand and put an end to all our problems. We loved each other, I knew that. But would a move to Leeds be enough to drive our demons away?
Carrying in my precious sleeping bundle, I was met with the smell of cleaning fluid drifting from the bathroom. I gently placed Jamie on the sofa, unplugging him from his wellington boots and covering him with the woollen throw. I found Emma at our kitchen table, having cleaned away the evidence of her binge and now barely able to lift her gaze. Her hair had come loose from its clip and mascara was smeared down her face. She looked gaunt and dishevelled, far from the immaculate image she usually presented to the world. I frowned. She had cleaned up the kitchen but forgotten about herself. My eyes darted to the cooker to find she had not made anything for dinner. It wasn’t that I minded, but any deviation from her routine sparked new worries. She was getting worse. I needed to fix this as soon as I could.
‘Jamie’s asleep in the living room.’ I was still hurting from the results of the DNA test and spoke in clipped tones.
‘Is that the time?’ she said, gazing at the clock on the wall, and I wondered just how long she had been sitting there.
‘You sort Jamie out; I’ll make us spag bol. Have you eaten?’ I said, glancing in her direction.
‘I got something in town,’ she replied.
I shrugged a response. ‘Fine, suit yourself.’ I knew that I should comfort her, talk to her about her day. But my feet seemed glued to the floor, a part of me hanging on to the male pride which was telling me to walk away. My phone dinged with a text, and I slid it from my pocket. It w
as Theresa.
Hired a mini digger. Being delivered this evening. Keep Emma off the land until we sort this out. x T.
I stared at the phone, relief sweeping over me as the woman I trusted took control. I failed to see how there could be a body in our land, but at least I knew that I was not in this alone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
EMMA
2017
I sat on the lid of the toilet seat, absorbing the happy sounds filtering through our family bathroom. I had bribed Jamie into having his nightly bath by allowing him to use the colour-changing bubble bath Theresa had bought him last week. Clapping his hands together, he squealed with delight as orange and pink bubbles exploded between his fingers. ‘Look, Mummy,’ he said, taking a handful and blowing them in my direction.
‘Oh, you naughty little boy,’ I teased, exaggerating my movements as I pretended to shield myself from the invasion of bubbles. Skimming a handful from the bath, I plopped them on to his hair and watched as he gave himself a Mohican. But my thoughts tugged at my consciousness, and I picked up my phone to check my notifications, feeling a tingle of excitement as I realised I had received a response. I had not expected a reply this soon. Theresa was the wizz on social media whereas I barely looked at my Facebook account these days. My profile picture depicted a sunset, and my middle name was displayed instead of my first. On this occasion I was grateful for the anonymity, given who I was making contact with. I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed the towel that was warming on the rail. ‘Right, little man, time to get you into your onesie. Daddy’s cooking your favourite tonight, spaghetti bolognese.’
Scooping him out of the bath, I remembered the expression on Alex’s face when he came home. I had been lost in thought, weak from my exertions. The incident with the slashed dress had shaken me, and the disbelieving look on Theresa’s face had mirrored Alex’s as he stood at the kitchen door. Last night I had heard scratching at the window, but I had been too scared to get up and look. I had not forgotten Luke’s threats to break me apart. It wasn’t just my house that felt like it was being invaded. My relationships with the people closest to me were too.
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