by Andrea Mara
Michael stands up, watching. Sam opens his eyes too now, and both stare at the door. The handle turns down and she pushes, but it doesn’t open. She tries again. She puts her shoulder to it, but it doesn’t budge.
“Fuck’s sake, Sam,” she mutters under her breath as she walks away.
And he smiles as he sinks back in the bed. That’s my Kate, he thinks. Now go and don’t come back.
Chapter 70
Sam – Tuesday, August 23rd 2016
“Do you know where Stanbridge Brown is?” Michael asks, as he sets the morning tea down on the locker.
“It’s in the IFSC – why?”
“It’s where your one next door works. I saw the name on her swipe card when I was in there, but it didn’t have an address.”
Sam picks up his tea. “You were in her house?”
“Yeah, I saw it one of the nights last week – she’d left it on the counter.”
“But what were you doing in her house?”
Michael looks bemused. “Jesus, you’re always shocked about something – you’re like an old woman. I told you I had a key and I was going to pay a visit. Just keeping her on her toes with a few surprises when she comes down in the mornings.”
“You’ll get caught.” Hopefully. Sam keeps the last word to himself.
“No chance. I’ve been doing this for thirty years,” he says, on his way out to get the laptop.
Sam stretches his legs. The pain is dull and constant, but nothing like it was at first. He touches his left knee under the duvet and flinches as he does every morning when he feels bone where no bone should be. Shifting in the bed without thinking, he lets out a yell when new pain hits his lower back. Bloody bed sores, and Michael’s taken away the cream again – what does he think he’s going to do, eat the cream to kill himself?
Michael comes back with the laptop and a bowl of Weetabix. “I thought this might be better than toast,” he says. “For fibre – you know, to keep you regular.”
“You’re so thoughtful.”
“Listen, I’m only trying to help,” Michael says, passing over the cereal and taking out his phone. “I’ll google-map it. The IFSC, you said?”
“Yes, but why do you want to know?”
“I’m going to set up a little surprise for her there. Something at her desk maybe, or if I can’t get into the office, something in the car park.”
Sam takes a spoonful of Weetabix – actually it’s a pleasant change from all the toast. “Would you not leave the poor woman alone – what’s the point?”
Michael shrugs. “Why not? She thought it was fine to come over here, sticking her nose into our business. I’m going to show her it’s not. And if she doesn’t already think she’s going mad, she will now. I wonder what the husband thinks – did you ever meet him?”
“No, I told you – your man Noel from across the road was the only one around when we moved in.” More’s the pity, or someone might have spotted something’s up by now. Jesus, all these people going about their daily business with no idea what’s going on.
“Noel. Now he’s another one – always staring across at the house. What’s up with him?”
“I don’t know,” says Sam, through a mouthful of cereal. “He’s a bit neurotic, I’d say, likes things just so, and we got off on the wrong foot when I parked outside his house on the day we moved in.”
“So he’s met you before?”
Shit. Hadn’t he told Michael that already? He thinks quickly. “No, I mean he said it to Kate. I didn’t meet him.”
“Are you sure? So he doesn’t know what you look like?”
Sam nods. “I’ve never met him – I told you that at the start of the summer – I haven’t met anyone. The leafy burbs aren’t as friendly as I expected.”
“Because it might explain why he’s always looking over,” Michael says, tapping his fingers slowly on his cup of tea. “Sam, you better be telling me the truth – do I need to worry about our friend Noel?”
“There’s no need to worry. He’s just keeping an eye on the car, no doubt – making sure we park properly. Look, I’d better get to work – there were some shaky trades last night that I need to check up on.”
As Sam opens the laptop, the phone beeps.
Michael takes it out and shakes his head in annoyance. “It’s your one Nina again. Still asking if you’re okay. Jesus, she’s a nag. She must be mad about you, is she?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
“Have you any pics of her – anything in your camera roll?”
“No, of course not. I’d hardly take photos of her, would I, for Kate or the kids to see?”
“Relax, I was only asking. Right, what’ll I say this time? She’s starting to annoy me now.”
“Just say I’m still recovering and Kate’s still looking after me. That’ll keep her away.” Sam mentally crosses his fingers as he speaks.
It might keep her away, but you never knew with Nina.
Chapter 71
Sam – Sunday, August 28th
The duvet is too warm but pushing it off means seeing his shattered knees, so it stays put. He can see a glimpse of blue cloudless sky at the top of the window and it’s beautiful, but it’s harder when it’s like this, because he can’t pretend it’s a choice to be indoors. Back before, a sunny Sunday morning meant football on the green with Seth and Jamie, or a walk on the pier, or brunch outside their favourite coffee shop. When the sky is grey, it’s easier. He might just be indoors because he wants to be. But today it feels vexing and abnormal and more wrong than ever. These are the days that make him think the things he doesn’t want to think and wonder if he’ll ever see the boys again. It can’t go on indefinitely. When Michael’s had enough or when someone gets too close, he’ll cut him loose. Maybe it’ll be simple – a bigger dose in the syringe. Or something more dramatic, to satisfy the glint of past wrongs. He’s not afraid of dying – not any more. But the idea that he might never see Seth or Jamie or Kate again leaves him frozen. What will they hear in the end – what will they know? And how will it happen? Kate will want to meet him at some point – that’s for sure. And Michael will have to act. A body or a disappearance. And a legacy of what – a child buried somewhere in the garden? Or just an absence, with no trace of anything else at all. And children who think their dad walked away. Michael won’t care. He’ll do what suits him best, as long as he’s made enough money.
Maybe that’s it – Sam needs to slow down the investments. Even lose a bit. He can handle the temper if it buys him more time. Not time to sit here with broken knees and bedsores, but the chance of seeing the boys again. Michael has the laptop downstairs but he can start planning. He closes his eyes to block out the sky and work on a new strategy – little losses, and still some gains. It might not work – it probably won’t work – but he doesn’t have any other cards to play.
When Michael comes up, his footsteps on the stairs are fast and heavy. Sam keeps his eyes closed, and slows his breathing, but when his cousin bursts into the room, his eyes spring open.
“Fucking bitch!” Michael says, pulling over the chair. “Who does she think she is?” He spits the words through gritted teeth.
“Who?”
“That bitch next door. On her high horse – giving me grief about having an affair. Like it’s any of her business – how dare she? I can’t bear women like that – always into everyone else’s business, and thinking they’re better.”
“How does she know about it?”
“Fucking Kate. I thought you said they didn’t know each other?”
Sam sits up. If Kate’s met Sylvia, it could help. How exactly, he’s not sure, but his link with the outside world feels stronger. Michael is waiting for an answer. “They don’t know each other. Maybe they met since though – when Kate came up and wrote the note or when she came to pick stuff up last week?”
“Well, either way, she has a fucking cheek. ‘Cheating is cheating’ she said to me, as if it’s all my fault. She’s going to re
gret talking to me like I’m some kind of idiot.”
Sam stares at him. There’s real anger and indignation in his eyes. “But you didn’t have an affair, Michael. Why are you so worked up?”
Michael’s mouth opens slightly and his arms fall by his side.
“Remember, I’m the one who supposedly cheated,” says Sam. “So if anything, this just means your plan worked.”
“Still, she shouldn’t be sticking her nose in. It’s none of her business,” Michael says, but the white-hot rage is gone.
Sam watches him pull himself together – he can almost see the pieces clicking into place as Michael remembers which parts are true and which parts aren’t.
He is not Sam Ford. He has never been Sam Ford.
Chapter 72
Sam – Sunday, September 4th
Like an agitated whirlwind, Michael flies in the door, shattering any pretence of Sunday morning peace.
Sam sits up, pulled out of half-sleep.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
He watches as Michael fills the syringe. His hands are shaking.
“This is on her!” Michael says, spitting and fuming. “That stupid cow next door!”
“What though? Slow down!”
“No time. She’s outside the front talking to the Guards and pointing over here. Bloody stupid bitch!”
He finds a vein and sticks in the needle before Sam has a chance to reply, and even as the key turns in the lock sleep is taking over.
When he comes to, Michael’s face is hovering over his. He turns his head to throw up, catching Michael’s legs and shoes with the spray. Shaking and sweating, he only half notices as Michael jumps back and curses him.
“Too much,” he whispers. “You gave me too much again.”
“I was in a rush, sorry. I knew the Guards were going to come over and they did. It’s not about the kid though – they’re looking for your man Noel from across the road. He’s missing.” Michael is smiling as he says it.
“Did you . . . did you do something to him?”
“I’m saying nothing,” Michael says, still smirking.
“Because he knew you weren’t me?”
Michael shrugs. “He sounds like he was a tosspot anyway – I doubt anyone will miss him.”
“Well, clearly someone does if they’ve called the Guards. Are you actually serious – did you do something?”
“Like we used to say when we were kids, Sam, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Do you remember that? When you’d tell me some word in French and ask me to guess what it was? Like I was some big gobshite who knew nothing. Do you remember?”
Sam doesn’t, though it’s not impossible either. He decides to ignore it. “So there were Guards here – in the house?”
“Well, at the door, they didn’t come in.”
Shouting distance. If he’d been awake, he could have shouted, or thrown himself out of the bed onto the floor so they’d ask to search the house. So close. So bloody close. “Why did they call here? Or were they going to all the houses?” he asks eventually.
“They came here because your one told them that Noel called here on Friday night – that’s the last time anyone saw him.”
“He called here? What did you tell the Guards?”
“That I wasn’t here to answer the door – I was out working late at the office. I gave them the number of my PA so they could call to confirm.”
“Your PA?”
“Yeah – Jean Duggan’s number. She’s always had a soft spot for me, and she knows what to say if they call her.”
Sam searches his face. Could he really have done something to Noel? Whatever about a small child, surely a grown adult in broad daylight is a different story.
“I’m not worried about the cops,” Michael continues, “but your one next door is really pushing me now. She just doesn’t know when to back off. I’m going to have take things up a notch.”
“If you harm her, you’ll just have more police here,” Sam says with a sigh. Protecting everyone, including neighbours he’s never met, is exhausting.
“I won’t hurt her – not yet anyway. But I need to send a message, and I know how I’m going to do it.” He picks up the syringe. “Did you know this works really well on dogs too? Though if you get the dose wrong, it can be fatal. Now wouldn’t that be terrible, if poor Sylvia found her dog dead tomorrow morning?”
Sam shakes his head, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue for the dog’s life. Choose your battles, as Kate would say.
Michael gets up to go, and as he walks out Sam hears his phone beep. Maybe it’s Kate, telling him she’s realised there’s something odd about the tone of his texts and she’s calling the police. Or his boss, telling him they’re sending a doctor to assess him if he doesn’t come back to work. Or one of his friends, saying they’re worried about him. But of course they’re not worried about him – they’re just getting on with their own busy lives and busy kids and promising each other they’ll meet up soon and definitely before Christmas.
It’s not any of them: it’s Nina, and Michael comes back in to tell him he’s bored texting updates to her and he’s cutting her off.
“You’re breaking up,” he tells Sam. He calls out the text as he types, enjoying every second of it.
I’m sorry, Nina, but it’s over – I should never have cheated on Kate – she’s been so good to me since my accident. She doesn’t know about us, so it’s best if we stop now, and never contact each other again.
Michael asks if that will keep stop her. Sam nods slowly, and says yes, he thinks that will do the trick. Even Nina will get the message this time.
Chapter 73
Sam – Thursday, September 8th
These days when Sam wakes up from his drug-induced naps, the smell hits him before anything else – unwashed sheets and rarely washed clothes and badly healing skin. Michael won’t let him open the window, so the stench stays inside, worsening by the day. As the haze lifts, he lies still, savouring the peace. There’s no sound in the room, no Michael – not yet. These are what count as good times now – when he wakes to a silent room.
The calm doesn’t last long – the door bursts open as it always does, and Michael blows in.
“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty, how’re things?” he says, sitting down beside the bed. “You might be interested to know I’ve had visitors – Tom and Sylvia from next door. I’d have called you down to meet them, only you were still out cold from earlier.” He laughs at his joke. “So I invited them in for tea and everything and we’re great pals now. Me and Tom are thinking about going golfing sometime. I must get my clubs down from the attic.”
“My clubs,” Sam says quietly.
“Ah Sam, I don’t think you’re going to be needing them any time soon. Do you remember when you used to take me out to the driving range – showing the inner-city eejit how the other half live?”
Sam shakes his head. “It was never like that. You were interested in trying golf, so we went to a driving range. Don’t play the poor mouth – there was nothing else to it.” He pulls himself up into a sitting position. “Michael, how long do you think this can go on? You’re deluding yourself if you think you can make friends with the people next door and go golfing with them and just carry on living here. Sooner or later, someone who knows me is going to turn up.”
“Well, you better keep hoping they don’t, because that won’t end well for anyone. Now, will we have a game of cards?”
But Sam doesn’t want to play cards. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why not, Sam? Why should you get everything? It’s not my fault my ma was too stupid to spot that my da was trouble. Why should I pay for Bella’s mistakes?” Michael raises his hands as though this is a perfectly rational argument. “And you know, till the day she died, she always preferred you. She tried to hide it, but she did about as good a job at that as she did telling me my da was dead.”
“Is that what this is all about – Bella? Is it beca
use I was there when she died and didn’t stop her? I know it’s my fault she’s dead but this is too much. You’re insane.”
“Oh, I know it’s not your fault she died. I was there when she died.”
Sam frowns. The drug-fog is lingering at the corners of his brain and he can’t remember what he did yesterday or the day before, but he’s absolutely certain he knows that Michael wasn’t there when Bella died.
“What do you mean? It was me – I was there that night. And I know I should have kept a closer eye on her. Believe me, that guilt will never go.”
Michael shakes his head. “Nah, Bella wasn’t your doing. I told her to take those pills.”
“Yes, but they were prescribed for her – that’s not your fault either. She just took too many. You didn’t know she was going to do it.”