‘But I think we’ll risk it,’ he said finally, returning to the table and tousling Emma’s hair. ‘What do you think, princess?’
Her mouth full of cereal, she nodded.
The toast popped up, startling Diane who had briefly shut her eyes. Carefully, keeping her face locked in neutral, she put it in the toast rack and brought it to the table. ‘The coffee’s fresh,’ she said, sitting. ‘Sorry, I missed what you said.’
‘I was just saying that I think we’ll risk it,’ he repeated, pouring them both some coffee and reaching for the milk. He looked at the toast. ‘Are you not having any?’
She shook her head. ‘I had breakfast earlier.’
Accepting what she said without question, he continued with his breakfast, chatting to Emma about the park and the fun they were sure to have.
It was another hour before they went.
‘You heading off to the supermarket?’ he asked finally, grabbing his car keys.
She made a big deal of checking the time. ‘I might leave it a bit,’ she said, ‘mid- morning is often the busiest time to go.’ Afraid he’d suggest she go with them, she hurriedly added, ‘I think I’ll make a start on the ironing.’
He nodded. ‘Oh good, I noticed I’ve only a couple of shirts left.’
Since Diane couldn’t remember the last time she’d done any ironing, she wasn’t surprised. A thought crossed her mind. The washing she’d done a few days before was still in the machine. ‘I’ll catch up with everything today. Have a nice morning.’’
‘Bye, Mummy!’ Emma waved.
She bent down, picked her up and gave her a noisy kiss on her neck, making her squeal with laughter.
‘Let’s go,’ Paul said, suddenly impatient.
Diane dropped a kiss on her head and put her down. ‘Have a good time,’ she said, watching them go, Emma’s hand clasped tightly in his.
She listened as the car doors opened and closed, the engine started and, finally, to the swish of tyres as the car pulled out onto the road. And then she waited five minutes. There was always the chance he’d have forgotten something and would return. But he didn’t, and she headed up the stairs.
With the key in her hand, she looked out her bedroom window for a final check, and then headed to the office. Inside, the briefcase was sitting on the chair, waiting for her. Picking it up, she sat and put it on the desk in front of her.
She was lucky. The catch was a simple one, with no fancy combination coded lock; one flick of a finger opened it and she pushed the flap backward. Inside, there were the sheaves of company-branded documents she expected. She took them out, carefully placing them on the desk. There wasn’t much else in the main body of the briefcase, just a few pens and some lose paperclips rattling around the bottom.
Along the back there was a zipped compartment. She opened it slowly, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, and then she slipped her hand inside. When her fingers located a small cold object, a smile of triumph lit her face, a feeling of relief rushing through her. It was real, she wasn’t imagining it. ‘I have you, Paul,’ she said, pulling it out.
Then, with a grunt of annoyance, she shoved the calculator back inside the compartment and pulled the zip closed.
Locking the door, she returned the key to the drawer in her bedroom and sat on the bed. Unless he’d been very clever and hidden it somewhere she couldn’t find, she had to face the truth; there was no sound module. The cries of a wailing child were all in her head.
Weary and frustrated, she headed downstairs. She needed to get the shopping done. Grabbing her purse and car keys, she opened the front door. She’d only taken a few steps before she looked up, startled to see the woman across the road, staring at her. Without thinking, she turned and hurried back into the house. Slamming the door, she leaned back against it and closed her eyes.
Why now?
Her eyes opened. She’d wanted to confront her, hadn’t she? Well, why not now when, for a change, Emma wasn’t with her. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know anything about her. She’d go over and demand to be told what was going on. She could do it.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. This was it. She stepped out, ready to do battle.
There was nobody there. She ran to the gate and looked up and down the street. Nobody.
Sudden nausea made her stomach heave, her hand covering her mouth as she dashed back inside. Making it as far as the kitchen sink, she vomited bile into the basin.
She waited a minute before she turned the taps on to wash her shame away. Staggering to the sofa before her legs gave way, she collapsed in a heap. The cries, the stalker; all her imagination. There was no way the woman could have vanished from sight that quickly.
Still feeling shaky, she sat up and swung her feet to the ground. A few minutes later, she stood, using the arm of the sofa for support. She had to go to the supermarket, there was no way she could face Paul’s inquisition if he came home and found her like this. Her heart dropped as she realised that everything she did just gave him more ammunition. And what did she have to show for it, nothing but a calculator.
Grabbing her keys, she dragged herself upstairs for one final check from her bedroom window before she left.
There was no one there.
Of course, there was no one there.
Thirty-Four
She felt weak and her head spun, but she made it to the car, started the engine and reversed out onto the road. At the intersection, she glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Paul’s car turning into the house. He wouldn’t have seen her; his focus would have been on indicating and crossing the opposite lane to enter their driveway.
The shopping centre where she did her weekly shop was a ten-minute drive. It took her fifteen as she ignored flashing lights from irate drivers who objected to her twenty-mile speed in a thirty-limit area. Going faster wasn’t an option for her, struggling as she was with the speed her world was spinning around her.
Somehow, she got the shopping done, loading everything she usually bought into her trolley, losing focus now and then and adding whatever happened to be in front of her. The trolley was full by the time she got to the last aisle and she headed to the checkout, desperate now to get out of the shop. Then she saw her again, at the other side of the tills, looking her way.
She wasn’t really there. She knew that now but, despite that, she took a step backward and then another, pulling the heavy trolley.
‘Excuse me!’ an annoyed voice behind her, a man with a young boy in the child seat of his trolley. ‘Could you watch where you’re going?’
Diane looked at him but said nothing. She wrapped her arms around herself and stayed there, footsteps and voices swirling around her. A couple of customers shot her a curious glance but it was London and there were a lot of eccentric people about; nobody stopped to ask if she were okay.
Nor would she have thanked them if they had, lost as she was in her thoughts. She was imagining it all, wasn’t she? But there was something bothering her. She thought back to seeing the woman outside her home. She was standing where she usually did, in front of the Prescott’s garden wall.
Right next to their open gate.
If the woman wanted to hide, all she had to do was walk through the gate and stoop down a little. The Prescott’s wall had to be almost five foot high.
Maybe she had a car parked nearby, saw Diane leave and followed her to the centre. Her face hardened; of course, she didn’t have to. Paul would have told her where she did her weekly shop. Anger surged through her, giving her strength.
Back at home, she parked beside Paul’s car. She took one bag in with her, opened the front door with her free hand, dumped the bag on the floor and turned back to get the rest. A glance across the road showed her that the Prescott’s gate was still standing open. Leaving the car and the front door open, she crossed the road and, with a quick look around, stepped inside their garden. It was neat if unimaginative, a large grassed area surrounded on three sides by flower b
orders. Near the wall they’d chosen to plant low-growing bushes. Hydrangea and mahonia, neither of which she liked.
Her eyes scanned the ground, looking for footprints. Really, really wanting…no needing…to see them. And then she saw them. The distinct imprint of heels in the soft soil. It had to be her. She’d met Mrs Prescott and the elderly lady favoured flat lace-ups.
Pulling out her phone, she snapped the footprints, standing back to get the wall in the background. She was just about to move away when a quavering voice addressed her. ‘Can I help you, Mrs Andrews?’
Diane looked innocently at the elderly lady who’d come through the gate, a newspaper under one arm. She pointed toward the shrubs. ‘I was just admiring your garden,’ she said, ‘and these beautiful shrubs caught my eye. I took a photo so I can find out what they are.’
Mrs Prescott blushed, making Diane feel guilty for her deception. ‘I can give you their names, my dear,’ she said. Raising her hand, she pointed to the nearer shrub. ‘That one is hydrangea macrophylla, Blushing Bride. The next along is mahonia aquifolium, Apollo. Then there’s my favourite, hydrangea paniculate, Tardiva and, finally, mahonia media, Charity. The mahonia all have yellow blossoms, as you may already know, and the hydrangea I’ve chosen are all white.’
Diane struggled to keep the smile in place throughout, conscious of her open car and front door. ‘That’s so kind of you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can write them down for you, if you’d like to come inside.’
‘No, that’s fine. I have a very good memory,’ she said, hoping the woman wouldn’t ask her to repeat them to ensure she had them right.
‘Well, I wish you happy gardening,’ the elderly woman said and walked slowly up the driveway to her front door.
Diane hurried back across the road, took the remaining bags from the car and carried them inside. There wasn’t a sound. Checking her phone, she was horrified at the time. Emma was probably asleep. Paul, more than likely, in his office.
Closing the front door quietly, she left the shopping where it was for the moment and headed to the family room. The door was ajar, she pushed it open and moved inside, her eyes scanning the room. Expecting to see Emma asleep on the sofa, she was surprised to see Paul there too, his head resting on the back of the sofa, a soft snore coming with every exhale. Emma was curled up beside him like a dormouse.
Back in the hallway, she stepped over the bags and trudged up the stairs. Since they were both asleep, she’d lie down for a while, see if sleep would find her too.
It didn’t.
Thirty-Five
She couldn’t lie there any longer. She came down the stairs and, picking up the first of the bags, went back to the kitchen, dropping them on the floor and heading back to pick up the rest.
Paul still hadn’t stirred. She’d always envied him his ability to sleep through anything and, irritated, banged one cupboard door, and then another. Finally, in frustration, she slammed one shut, the contents of the cupboard rattling. Looking over, she saw she had succeeded in waking him.
‘Hi,’ he said, coming over. ‘I didn’t hear you come in, you should have given me a shout and I’d have helped.’
‘I’m not in long,’ the lie was automatic.
‘You were gone a long time,’ he said, ‘was the supermarket busy?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and I got chatting to a few people so that delayed me too.’ In case he saw the lie in her eyes, she looked across to where Emma still slept. ‘Did you have a nice day?’
He gave a slight shrug. ‘She enjoyed the park. It was busier than usual, she had to queue for the slide. One little tyke insisted on standing at the top of the ladder and refusing to move so that put everyone’s backs up, especially since his mother kept insisting, he’d come down when he wanted to and we shouldn’t be bullying him.’
Diane grinned in genuine amusement. She could just imagine the scene; irate parents, bored children and one rebel. ‘How long did he stay there?’
‘He’d probably still be there if one of the other parents hadn’t walked up to him and said, ‘Slide or get off!’
‘What happened?’
‘He wouldn’t do either, so the man lifted him off. His mother started shouting at the man, calling him a bully, threatening to sue him for assault. It was crazy. But at least the rest of the children got to go down the slide.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘You think he was right to do that?’
Paul’s brow creased. ‘We were letting a five year old hold us to ransom, so yes, I suppose he was right.’
Proving to the young boy that might always wins. A great lesson to teach him. ‘You could have told everyone to go play on the other things, the swings, seesaws etc. and left him with the slide all to himself. He’d have got bored of being King of Nothing after a while. He’d have learnt a very valuable lesson too,’ she added, meeting his eyes, her own hard, ‘he’d have learnt that sometimes you win the battle but lose the war. Now all he’s learnt is that the bigger man always wins.’
He laughed. ‘He was five, it was a slide. I think you’re seeing too much in this, Diane. Anyway,’ he added, ‘might is right.’
Still laughing, he went back to the sofa and switched on the television.
Unpacking the remaining groceries, weary from a day of mental cartwheels, she guessed he really believed that concept. The problem was, so did many others. And that’s where he hoped to win. If might was right, then its opposite, weakness, had to be wrong. If he could convince the world that she was weak, in mind as well as in body, wouldn’t it be wrong to give her even partial custody of Emma?
Of course, it would. So, she had to prove she wasn’t weak. So far, she wasn’t doing so well, wavering as she was between believing she was imagining everything, and that everything was real.
The photograph on her camera was the nearest she had to proof. Maybe it wouldn’t convince anyone else, but she could look at it and know her stalker, at least, was real, that alone made her stronger. She just needed to stay this way.
She had to start believing in herself. After all, in the last few weeks she’d discovered her husband – who was having an affair – was trying to drive her crazy to get custody of their child. She’d run from the police, had been accused of theft, was being stalked and was terrified of going into a room she used to consider her retreat. Strong? Mentally, she was the bloody Incredible Hulk.
Physically, she didn’t think she was doing so well. She’d never had a great appetite but these days, with all the stress, she didn’t feel like eating at all. That was going to stop. Today.
Paul switched off the TV and stood.
‘Are you coming back down?’ she asked, guessing he was heading to his office.
‘In a few minutes,’ he said, his hand on the door knob. ‘Did you want a hand with something?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, keeping her voice casual. As soon as he’d gone, she grabbed her phone to look at the photograph. She swore softly. A better camera, or a better photographer, might have picked up the footprint but not her with her damn stupid low-tech phone. She zoomed in as far as she could. She couldn’t see anything. Or there was nothing there.
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. He was winning, wasn’t he? Whatever way you looked at it.
* * *
After dinner, feeling guilty for how little time she’d spent with Emma that day, she spent longer getting her ready for bed, telling her stories of when she was young. ‘My mummy used to help me get ready for bed, just like I help you,’ she said. ‘And, every night, she would tell me the same as I tell you. That you are the most precious little girl in the world, and I love you.’
‘And did you tell her what I tell you, that I love you more?’ Emma asked, loving to hear these stories.
‘The very same words,’ Diane said, kissing her daughter’s soft cheek.
Opening the wide, deep drawer that held the child’s pyjamas, she waved her toward it. ‘Okay, madam,’
she said, ‘you get to choose which to wear.’
Emma took her time and eventually chose a yellow top covered in ducks and purple bottoms with a dinosaur motif.
Holding them up, Diane pursed her lips. ‘You’re sure the dinosaurs won’t eat the ducks?’
The little girl sent blond hair flying. ‘No, silly, they’re best friends.’
There was no answer to that. Anyway, did it really matter if the top didn’t match the bottom? She should be pleased her child was rebelling against convention instead of worrying that the three year old didn’t realise that the little guy frequently got eaten by the big guy.
They returned to the family room, hand in hand, and Emma joined Paul on the sofa, cuddling in to him, his arm automatically opening for her. Diane sighed, remembering a time when it was like that for her. It didn’t seem such a long time ago and yet so much had changed it felt like a lifetime.
He made no comment on the mismatched pyjamas. Concentrating on the programme he was watching, she doubted if he even noticed.
If she were imagining it all, she was wrong about Paul’s role. That he was having an affair was probably a given, those damn earrings testified to that, but the rest no. But if she weren’t imagining it, maybe she should expect it to get worse. She had to be ready for everything, anything. See-saw, see-saw, she was making herself dizzy, sick. See-saw, roller coasters, her life was off balance. She needed to take control. Today, she’d reacted. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t. She’d ignore the woman, the cries, the increasing terror of the lounge. She’d be strong.
Wouldn’t she?
She stared at Emma in her adorable mismatched pyjamas.
For her. She’d be strong for her.
Thirty-Six
She considered taking a sleeping pill but, once again, discounted it. She needed a clear head. Today had been tough, tomorrow, she guessed, would be even tougher.
The Housewife: A completely addictive and gripping psychological thriller Page 20