‘How sweet of you,’ Alice says. She takes the mug from my hand, and moves over for me to sit beside her on the bench. But I’m puzzled by the look of guilt in her eyes.
‘I’d like to sort out the garden for you,’ she says. ‘It would be a perfect project for me to work on while I’m setting up my urban gardening business. I’ve had a look in the shed, there’s some equipment there I can use.’
‘God knows how old the stuff in there is. It must be full of cobwebs. My bike’s in there, but I can’t remember the last time I rode it. I’m not confident on the roads, and…’ Chris didn’t like me cycling on the crazy London streets, but that’s irrelevant now. I’m getting used to the stab of pain I feel every time a snippet of memory enters my head.
‘So you don’t mind?’
‘No, not at all, you’d be doing me a favour. Chris wouldn’t let me touch the garden. He said he’d hire someone but he never did.’
A blackbird hops onto the lawn, distracting me from my thoughts.
‘Typical man, probably thought you weren’t capable. I’d love to help out. And it would be great for my portfolio. I’ve got some design ideas – shall I sketch them out and we can talk it through?’ Alice smiles when I nod. ‘I’m excited to have something creative to do.’
‘I can’t help feeling guilty at making plans for the house without Chris. We should be doing this together.’
‘It’s bound to hurt,’ Alice says and she glances at the blackbird. ‘Are you sure you want to stay living here?’
‘I won’t leave.’ My voice is loud and the bird shoots up into the clouded-over sky. ‘You could never understand what it’s like. You’ve got your parents, a family. Making a home was a luxury I never expected to have. If I can find out who this other woman is, I’ll talk to her, make her understand. I think Chris is in trouble.’
I want Alice to like and respect me, yet my feelings seem to spill out when I’m with her. All I seem to do is burden her with my problems, but I’m so badly in need of a friend.
‘I’ve misled you, haven’t I?’ I rub my hands over my face, sweep my hair back. A strand falls directly over my eye and she reaches over and pushes it away. The gesture is unexpected and it makes me want to cry. Not again. ‘I should never have asked you to move in. Chris leaving, it’s put me under incredible stress and it’s not fair on you. I’m too needy.’
‘Stop this now,’ Alice replies. ‘You’re in a horrible situation. I’ve never been married, but I know what a messy break-up is like and I’ve had my heart broken too. Once. I’d never let it happen again.’ She smiles ruefully to herself, rubs at a speck on her knee. ‘I’ve broken a couple of hearts myself, if I’m honest. You told me about your situation when I moved in. I knew what to expect, I had a choice, I wanted to live here. I’ve chosen to cook for you, eat meals together, spend time chatting with you. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t enjoy your company.’
‘And the house,’ I add. ‘I’ve always felt it’s a special place.’
‘Wait until I’ve fixed the garden. Then it really will be special.’
* * *
Alice is home this evening and we watch a DVD together, a Spanish film with subtitles. After the movie Alice goes upstairs and it occurs to me that several hours have passed and I haven’t thought about Chris once. Baby steps.
Alice’s voice breaks into my thoughts; she’s calling me from upstairs.
I haven’t been in her room again since that first time. A lamp casts light on the woman in the photograph.
‘Who’s this?’ I point to the photograph.
Alice looks over from where she’s standing, ‘My cousin. Look,’ she climbs onto the bed and points at the corner where the wall meets the ceiling. A mushroom-shaped cloud covers the area, and I can’t believe I’ve not noticed it before. She splays her palm on it and turns towards me. ‘It’s damp, it’s spread all round the corner here.’
A sinking feeling swamps me. More expense. Another thing for me to deal with.
‘I’m sorry, I honestly hadn’t seen it.’
‘Don’t look so miserable, it’s not that big a deal. You’ll get it treated, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I say, feeling queasy. Still, it’ll give me a reason to call Chris; maybe he’ll be missing me. Encouraged by the flash of hope I head back downstairs and call him immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. Why does this have to happen now? It feels as if the house is taunting me, testing me, seeing how far I’ll go to preserve it. Alice stays in her room but I can’t relax. I go online to look up repair services. Mr Whiteley may be able to oblige; he did a good job on our kitchen in the summer. I leave him a message.
Unable to stop myself, I check Tanya’s social media account. Instagram shows me she’s in a bar with friends, all female, women wearing sashes round their bodies, one with a crown. Clearly a hen party. How I would love to be in a group of friends like that. When Chris asked why I wasn’t having a hen party I made out it wasn’t my style, too embarrassed to tell him I’d got nobody to invite. The couple of friends I’d managed to make got left behind when I was swept up by my feelings for Chris. My love for him consumed me.
I’m watching the news when Jamie calls me.
‘It worked like a dream,’ he says. ‘I told her exactly what you said, that I was from Gorgeous Gifts on Cleveland Road, that her boyfriend was our one thousandth customer in the shop and his reward was for us to send a gift to a loved one on his behalf.’
‘And?’ I pace back and forth in front of the unlit fire.
‘Well, it definitely isn’t her.’
‘How do you know?’
‘From the way you’ve described him he doesn’t sound like her type. She’s way too high-maintenance – you should see those eyebrows close up.’
‘Jamie—’
‘Alright… I’m sure because when I mentioned her boyfriend she squealed “Ben, really?”’
‘Ben?’
‘Yes, Ben. She’s a talkative type. Told me they haven’t been going out for long, blah blah. She’s pretty smitten, so I’d say it’s unlikely she’s having an affair.’
‘Thanks, Jamie. You’re a star.’
‘Any time.’
So it’s not Tanya. He’s with her, this unknown vamp who pouts and poses in my head and makes me want to scream.
Trouble is, if it’s not Tanya then who could it be?
Believing that Chris was with Tanya, however horrible, made me feel closer to getting to the bottom of what was going on. I felt like I was in control. Now I’ve taken a step backwards; not only is Chris having an affair, he’s missed mortgage payments, stopped going to the swimming club he loves, owes Geoff money… Maybe something bigger is going on. Could there be hope for us? If only I still had Nancy to talk to.
* * *
Up in my room I give in to a wave of sadness, struck by a memory. I was on my laptop one evening, exhausted from settling Nancy after a chemo session but needing to complete an order. Chris had come up behind me and hugged me close. ‘I love you,’ he’d said, ‘for everything you’re doing for Mum, and for just being you.’ I’d relaxed against his warm torso, luxuriating in his arms. I’d waited my whole life for someone to love me. Protected, that’s how he made me feel. How can it all have gone wrong? There’s a tap at the bedroom door and Alice appears in the doorway.
‘You OK?’ she asks.
I let out a long sigh. ‘The usual, just driving myself mad, wondering where Chris is, who he’s with, what he’s doing.’
‘This other woman will be just as insecure, remember that.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You’re still hoping you’ll get back together, aren’t you?’
I bite into my cheek to stop myself from crying.
‘You’ve got to stop doing that, babe. Never let a man take you over. It isn’t going to bring him back. The best thing you can do is show him what he’s missing, make it look like you don’t care. You know, play hard to get. As soon as he thinks you�
�re not bothered he’ll come running back, trust me. Not that I want that, mind, I’ll be out of a home.’ She gives a rueful smile. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
I think how different the house would be without company. Silent, empty, lonely.
I nod. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Alice.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.’
Diary
10 APRIL 1996
Kit went to the pub with his father tonight. Edward gave him no choice, said he was a man now. Kit hesitated at the door, looked back at me as if he wanted to apologise. It warmed me to see a fleeting glimpse of my little boy. He’s all too familiar with the state his father is in when he staggers home after closing time, and I warrant he’ll not be looking forward to that. I hope he’s sensible and doesn’t inherit his father’s fondness for ale.
I went up to Melissa’s room, glad of the opportunity to speak to her while the men were out. Men! How can my son be a man already? She was listening to music with her headphones in and jumped when I entered the room; she hadn’t heard me knock. I perched on the blue-painted wooden chair she’d had since she was a girl, told her we needed to talk. I told her that her dad’s been asking where she goes of an evening. It isn’t safe for a young girl to wander these dark, tree-lined streets with the pond and the wilds of Hampstead Heath behind. I don’t need to remind her of what happened to young Jodie Lawson last year; I shudder just thinking about it. For once I agree with Edward. Melissa tried to argue but she knows she can’t disobey her father and I promised we wouldn’t stop her going to youth club on Fridays, as long as Kit could pick her up. She scowled, but nodded in the end before sticking her headphones back in and shutting me out. I can’t help thinking about Sylvia next door. Doris’s daughter is a good girl, never any problem. But I wouldn’t change my Melissa for the world. Her father, now that’s a different story.
* * *
LATER
Kit arrived home before Edward, steady on his feet, my sensible boy. I was in bed already, but listening out, unable to sleep until I knew he was safely home. Edward says Kit is an adult now, but he will never stop being a child to me. There’s no point waiting up for Edward. I hope he’ll crash out on the sofa, as he often does. He’s always up early, says only fools have hangovers. But the results are starting to show on his face: red, broken skin, hollow bags under his eyes and a scar on his cheek from falling and cutting it.
* * *
11 APRIL 1996
Edward left for work in the early hours; only Kit and I were up for breakfast, slices of hot toast and orange juice for him and a cup of weak tea for me. I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast. Kit ate quickly, grunting at my attempts to make conversation, shrugging my hand away when I picked a crumb from his hair.
As he left the kitchen he hesitated at the door, throwing words at me like weapons: ‘Best avoid Dad tonight. I’ve told him Melissa’s secret. He’s not best pleased.’
The word secret buzzed inside me. I knew it. I didn’t even stop to clear the breakfast things before rushing upstairs to question Melissa. I knew she’d been keeping something from me. Silly girl, doesn’t she realise women have to stick together? She blanked her face, feigned not knowing what I was talking about, until I said her father had found out and she might want to have me on her side. She ran from the room when I told her that, her face porcelain white, and I heard retching sounds coming from the bathroom. Her father is making her ill. Just like he’s made me ill for twenty years and counting. I retched after dinner last night too, but unlike Melissa I voluntarily expelled the food from my body.
I waited for her outside the bathroom, folding my arms around my protruding ribs, counting them with my fingers.
I made sure I was tucked up in bed before Edward and Kit returned. It was so late but I find it impossible to sleep until both my children are home. I heard Edward stumbling through the front door, the low rumble of Kit’s voice, footsteps ascending the stairs. Before I fell asleep I said a prayer for my son, asking God to protect him from becoming like his father. But I fear I am too late.
Fifteen
ALICE
Staying in the mother-in-law’s room was tougher than I expected. When I found out that she had died in there I must admit that made me stop and think. Did I really want to go through with this? But I had no choice.
I’d been having coffee with Ella at the gym when she got the call that brought her world tumbling down. Nancy was ill with pneumonia at the time, and it was her husband Chris calling from the hospital when he should have been at work. I thought of the mother-in-law as Saint Nancy, the way Ella talked about her, but I understood her attachment to her.
When the call ended Ella’s hands were shaking and I caught her by the arm as she swayed on her feet. I forced her to drink some cold water, called a cab for her and insisted she called me later. She didn’t ring until the next day, when she spoke in a hoarse whisper, telling me her mother-in-law had been discharged, only to die at home the next day. She took my silence as licence to carry on talking and told me the whole story of how her mother-in-law had encouraged her to get in touch with her birth mother, but when she’d tracked her down her mother had told her never to contact her again. Losing Saint Nancy had brought the whole sorry story up again. I said all the right things, played along.
Not good on her own, Ella, that’s why she needed me. But she didn’t know that yet.
My room contains a bed, some shelves and a wardrobe. At first I just hung up my clothes and placed Olivia’s photograph by the bed. But I quickly changed my mind and put it away. Unsure, I got it out again. I sat for a long while and looked at her deep brown eyes and cried at what I’d done. ‘Running away’, she’d called it and she was right. But this time it was for all the right reasons, only I couldn’t tell her that.
The first night was tough. Once I’d closed the door the room seemed to come alive. It was a windy night and the garden was a swaying mass down below, taunting me. I stood for ages looking out at the overgrown garden wondering how long it had been like that. It was going to make everything so much harder. I closed the blind, but that didn’t stop the relentless swishing sound.
Ella had gone to bed, I made sure of that. But I still couldn’t settle, images played out in my mind: Nancy lying in bed, frail and dying. Dead. Ella had only mentioned it in passing; of course she wasn’t about to dwell on the fact that a woman had died in the room I was about to move into. She said she’d understand if I wasn’t comfortable with it and gave me the choice of the box room, a tiny square room which was used for dumping stuff in, but that was out of the question. Just thinking about it made me feel claustrophobic. Besides, it was no good to me as it didn’t look over the garden. No, this was a challenge. One I was not sure I’d get through on that first night.
The wind intensified outside and the eerie whooshing sound from the garden grew louder and the window rattled in its frame. I plugged in the electric heater; the high-ceilinged room was freezing. Despite my thickest pyjamas I couldn’t get warm. Ella had mentioned there was some spare bedding in the wardrobe so I felt around on the top shelf, pulling out what seemed to be a jumper. It was larger than expected and as I yanked it down, I saw it was a blanket. It was identical to one I’d had as a child.
I looked around the room with its freshly painted walls and sparse furniture. A room was not going to get the better of me. I picked up the blanket and pulled it around myself, inhaling the fusty smell, a hint of a fragrance. I closed my eyes, stood very still. Nothing bad happened. I got into bed. The window continued to rattle and pipes clanked around the house; the walls sighed and I wondered what they were trying to tell me. Eventually, I slept.
* * *
On waking I looked into Olivia’s eyes in the photo I couldn’t bear to part with. But all they did was reprimand me for running away. Unlike Ella, I’m not one to dig my heels in. Get out at the first sign of trouble, that’s me, as Olivia so astutely told me. She should know. She was probably still
wondering where I’d gone.
The second night, the room was less daunting. I unpacked my books and put a painting on the wall to make it more my own. I had a purpose and each day I intended to get that little bit closer. I’d made progress that day, the seed had been sown. I dropped it in casually, just a suggestion, questioning whether Ella really wanted to live here with all those memories. She didn’t know what she wanted and that’s what I was there for: to help Ella see what was good for her. And to sort out the garden, of course.
Sixteen
ELLA
Today time trickles by with few customers to speed it up. I’m relieved to see that Jamie has moved the chair from the window. I’m idly watching the street opposite when a man with a grim expression strides towards my shop. As he gets closer I sit up with a jolt. It’s Chris, and the package in his hand takes on a more familiar form. It’s the gift I delivered to Tanya from her supposed lover and my heart knocks against my chest. He pushes the door hard, crossing the shop in two deft paces. Sweat glistens in his hair and his jaw is clenched tight.
‘What is this, Ella?’ He slams the package down in front of me and the handwritten card flutters to the floor. I pick it up, hands trembling. How dare he leave me for someone else? How does he have the audacity to do this to me, his wife? These thoughts give me strength and I’m able to meet his gaze, keep my expression calm and neutral.
The Woman at 46 Heath Street: A twisty and absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 9