by Alex Lake
He blinked. She could see he was fighting hard not to react.
‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘You threw my bike in the river?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I did.’
‘Right.’ He shook his head. ‘We need to talk.’
‘We certainly do,’ Sarah said. ‘Let me start. Are you sleeping with her? Or just betraying my secrets to her? Having some chit-chats about whether or not I’m crazy?’
‘Let’s get this part of the conversation out of the way,’ Ben said. ‘I went there for some fresh air and to read the paper. Rachel showed up and said hello and we got chatting. She asked after you, and I mentioned a few things and she asked some questions and – she’s very easy to talk to. And it’s been on my mind. It was nice to get it off my chest. I’m sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘But not too sorry.’
Sarah shook her head. She was finding it hard to believe he was so dismissive of the situation. ‘Not too sorry? You go behind my back—’
He lifted his hand. In it he was holding a piece of paper.
‘Don’t talk to me about going behind people’s backs,’ he said. There was a bitterness in his voice which she had never heard before.
‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘What’s does that say?’
He held it out. His expression was cold and distant.
‘Read it,’ he said.
39
She took the paper and looked down. It was a letter, handwritten.
Handwritten in her handwriting.
‘Ben,’ she said. ‘I don’t under—’
‘Read it,’ he said. ‘Before you say anything, read it.’
She started to read.
Dear Ben,
How are you my darling? Well, I hope, and I apologize in advance if this letter changes that, which, sadly, I think it will.
Ben, I love you. I have since I met you and I will, always. What I am about to tell you does not change or alter this in any way. Please keep this in mind as you read this.
I am not perfect, Ben. None of us are. We all make mistakes, and I want – need – to confess mine to you. It was a long time ago, three years, and I was hoping it could remain in the past, but sadly it cannot.
Sarah closed her eyes as she realized what this was. She lowered the paper to her side.
‘Finish it,’ Ben said. ‘Then we can talk.’
The reason – and I hope you can take this into account – is my conscience. I cannot live with the guilt. I have no doubt you would never find out about this – you haven’t so far – but I have to tell you for my peace of mind. At least, whatever other faults I have, I will be able to say I have been honest.
I had an affair, Ben. Brief, and meaningless, but an affair all the same. It was with Josh, my physical therapist. We had sex, but only once, and I regretted it immediately afterwards. During, in fact. And I never saw him again.
But now I need you to know. I’m sorry, more than you can understand. And I hope you can forgive me.
Your loving wife,
Sarah
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you regretted it while it was happening.’ He gave a false, high-pitched laugh. ‘It would be much worse if you said you’d enjoyed it!’
Sarah looked from Ben to the letter and back to Ben. She didn’t know where to start. She could deny sending the letter, but that wouldn’t help with what it contained. And, by denying it, she would be saying she had not been planning to come clean, which was the only saving grace in this mess.
But then by admitting it, she’d be admitting she had sent the book and all the rest of the stuff. She’d be admitting she was behind all of it.
And maybe she was. Because who else knew about the affair? No one.
Apart from Josh. But it couldn’t be him. He was living in Montana now, at least she thought he was. But maybe not. Maybe he was back, and he had a grudge against her, and he was the one doing all this.
She had no idea. But she would have to think about it later. For now, she had a bigger problem.
‘You know,’ Ben said. ‘Since I got home from Little Cat and found this in the mail, I kept asking myself whether this is some kind of a joke. Whether this is all part of the weird shit that’s been going on. But looking at your face I can see it’s not. This really happened, didn’t it?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It did. But – it’s complicated. And I didn’t send the letter, Ben.’
He closed his eyes. ‘This has to stop, Sarah. There’s no one else it could be. You need to admit it’s you, and, if you are doing it in some kind of fugue state, then you need to come to terms with it.’
‘It isn’t me,’ she said. ‘I’m not crazy.’
He stared at her. ‘Maybe not,’ he said. He gestured at the letter. ‘But either way. Why? Why did you do it?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ she said. ‘It’s not a great story, and it won’t make you feel better, but I’ll tell you, if you want me to.’
‘Tell me,’ he said.
40
‘This is not an excuse,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me when you hear it. But it is the explanation. It’s feeble and pathetic but it’s what happened.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was when I was having the panic attacks, when they were at their worst,’ she said. ‘Before we had Kim. I felt so hollow. It was as though there was a gray curtain between me and the world. I couldn’t engage with anything – you, Miles, work—’
‘I remember,’ he said. ‘It was awful.’
‘Then you’ll remember how desperate I was,’ she said. ‘I lived in constant terror of another panic attack – they could happen at any time. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t engage with anything – because I had to withdraw to protect myself. And I didn’t know how I could go on, how I could live the rest of my life in fear.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I thought about killing myself, Ben. And then I met Josh and for some reason it made me feel better. He was a way out, maybe because he was so totally outside the rest of my life.’
‘So he was a way out from your terrible, shitty life? Not me? Not your husband? I couldn’t make you feel better, but he could?’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t exactly helping, Sarah.’
‘I’m not trying to help. I’m just telling you the truth. And it didn’t last. We had sex, once. And as soon as we did, I snapped out of it. I realized he was not what I needed. What I needed was you and the kids and proper treatment. And then I ended it.’
‘You said you wouldn’t lie to me,’ he said. ‘The other day. I asked you if you would lie to me and you said you wouldn’t. Yet all along that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. How can I trust what you say now?’
‘Because I’m telling the truth. I have no reason not to.’
Ben rubbed his eyes with his forefingers. He looked wretched. Pale, eyes sunken, the muscles in his face slack. This was, she saw, devastating for him. Their family was all he had, and it was now at risk.
‘Is she mine?’ he said. ‘Kim?’
Sarah rubbed her temples. ‘Yes,’ she said, simply. ‘Yes, she is. It was one time, Ben. We used a condom. She’s your daughter. And if you need to take tests to have peace of mind, then you should go ahead.’
He nodded, slowly.
‘Ben,’ she said. ‘I love you. And we’ll get through this, I promise. We’re going to keep our family together. You know that, right?’
‘I don’t know anything,’ he said. ‘I don’t know whether I can trust you when you tell me about your affair, and I don’t know whether I can trust you when you tell me you didn’t send the letters and buy the books and all the rest of it. But it seems to me like you have a track record here, Sarah. You have the panic attacks and you have an affair. They start again, and all this happens. You can see why I might think it’s you who’s been doing it all?’
‘I can. And I would agree. I’d accept it might be me, acting in some dissociative state, but for the quadcopter. I didn’t do that, Ben. I saw it, and if I was having t
hese fugues then I wouldn’t have.’
‘Unless you didn’t see it.’
‘Are you suggesting I was – what? – hallucinating?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. It makes as much sense as anything.’
‘Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m not crazy.’
‘Aren’t you? Having affairs with younger men because you’re not in control of yourself is normal? Sending letters and books and emails to yourself is run-of-the-mill, bog-standard? I don’t think so.’
‘I didn’t do it, Ben.’
Ben gave a little snort, followed by a wry smile, as if saying, Right, of course you didn’t.
‘Either way,’ he said. ‘You had an affair, Sarah. What the hell do you expect me to do now?’
What he did was get drunk and sleep on the couch.
In the room above him, separated by a thin ceiling and a wall of resentment and doubt, Sarah lay in bed, curled up in a ball, eyes wide open but unseeing, heart thumping so hard it was physically painful, her chest tight, her breath shallow and labored.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was having a heart attack.
She would have preferred it. At least it would end in death or treatment, but this, this was a curse she could not shake, lurking in the shadows of her life, ready to strike whenever it wanted.
She forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly. When she could, she got to her feet and padded, hunched over, to the medicine cabinet. She took out a yellow pill container and shook one, then another, pill into her hand. She jammed them into her mouth and swallowed, then stumbled back to her bed.
This had to stop.
This, and the emails and books and the rest of the shit. It was spiraling out of control: she had lost her grip on the present, on the past, on the future. She needed to repair her relationship with Ben, to figure out with him how they could move forward. And they could, she was sure of it. But not when the rest of this was going on. Not when he was meeting with Rachel Little to discuss if she was crazy or not – which was what they were discussing, whatever Ben said.
She closed her eyes.
Maybe she was crazy. She’d resisted the thought, until now. Once or twice it had forced its way into her mind, but she had ignored it. But perhaps now she had to accept it might be true. After all, it was the most obvious explanation. Maybe she was making all this up. Maybe she was ill and she was doing all this and forgetting it.
It was possible; as a doctor, she knew that. A tumor on the brain, or a mini-stroke, or a psychiatric illness of some kind.
And it accounted for everything. All the facts. All the facts except one.
She knew it wasn’t her. She didn’t know how she knew and she wouldn’t have expected anyone else to believe her, but she knew.
There was another explanation. All she had to do was figure out what it was.
She was interrupted by her phone buzzing. She picked it up.
There was a text message from a number she did not recognize.
Girl, you really did it this time. Why are you doing this to yourself? To me, that is? You need to stop it, and come clean. It’s the only way. Admit you are powerless and surrender to a higher being. OK, babe? Sarah H xxx
She cried out and threw her phone on to the rug, but then she smiled. She hadn’t sent this text – she’d been sitting there, thinking. It was nothing to do with her.
So, whatever Ben or anyone else thought, she had proof she wasn’t crazy.
She woke early; Ben was already up, sipping a coffee on the couch he had slept on.
‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘I came to a decision last night.’
She startled and looked at him, her eyes wide.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What decision?’
She felt as though she didn’t need to ask. He was going to tell her their marriage was over.
‘It’s good news,’ he said. ‘I realized we need to get away.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We need to leave Barrow. Take a break, so we can sort all this out. Re-establish ourselves.’
She nodded. ‘What kind of a break?’
‘A long one. Far away.’
‘Like where?’
‘London. I thought we could go home for a couple of weeks. Maybe travel around a bit. We could stay with my parents. I spoke to Mum and she said it was OK.’
‘You spoke to your mom? About us?’
‘I didn’t give her any details. I told her we wanted to get away. That’s all.’
Sarah stared at him. He’d spoken to his mom and they were going to stay with her, because Barrow was no longer the right place for them.
And if Barrow was no longer the right place, then Diana Havenant would have her son and her grandchildren back where she wanted them. Where she’d always wanted them.
It was her behind all this. What was the Latin phrase Ben had used? Cui bono? Who benefits? Well, it was suddenly clear who benefited.
Diana Havenant. And her home was the last place Sarah wanted to be.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’
Ben looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘This is what we need to save our marriage,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying no.’
Sarah was about to tell him she didn’t care what he believed, she wasn’t going to stay with Diana, but she caught the words on her lips.
That was exactly what Diana would have wanted her to say, because it would push her and Ben further apart. It was a clever plan: if she said no, she made things even worse with her husband. If she said yes, then she gave her mother-in-law what she wanted.
Except Diana didn’t know that Sarah had figured out what she was up to. She made up her mind: she’d go there, and she’d deal with Diana when the time came.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’
PART TWO
Ten Years Earlier
No body, no crime.
That was what the cops were saying, although everyone knew they suspected the father.
They thought it was Jack. Older, from out of town. A quiet man – some would say taciturn – who had kept himself to himself since he showed up in Barrow, which was not the Barrow way, not the way of someone who was saying to the world I’ve got nothing to hide, come on over and stop by anytime you like.
And now his girlfriend – he hadn’t even married her, poor Karen, despite the two babies that had come along, which was another clue to his character – now his girlfriend and the mother of his children was gone.
Just like that.
So yes, they thought it was him. They brought him in for questioning. Laid out a scenario for him. Maybe she came home late and he accused her of … of the things younger folk might be accused of, and they got into an argument. Perhaps the argument got a little out of hand and he raised his fist to her and she fought back and the next thing you know – well, she could have slipped and hit her head.
It could have been an accident. Manslaughter, not murder. He’d be out in a few years; confess and tell them where the body was and this would all be over.
Unless it was more sinister. Unless he had meant to kill her.
But he should confess that, too, because they’d find out eventually, and when they did it would be much worse for his refusal to cooperate.
But he denied it. Said she’d never come home.
Which was impossible. Women didn’t simply disappear on their way home in Barrow.
But he refused to budge an inch.
Told them he knew his rights and to charge him or let him go the hell free.
Which made them wonder why he knew those rights so well. Maybe he’d been in this position before, they asked him.
He replied that he’d watched a lot of cop shows on the TV and now could he go, please?
And they let him. They had no choice.
No body, no crime.
And until the body showed up, there was nothing they could do. She might have simply chosen to leav
e, after all, although why she would do so was a mystery as big as any other.
And the longer it went on, the lower the chances of finding her – or her body.
And so Jack – who no one looked at anymore – remained a free man.
Which was, in the eyes of the people of Barrow, a disgrace. But there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.
1
It is laughable.
She thinks she can run away.
She thinks she can get away from this by a strategy as simple as moving. Thinks that because she is a long way away she is safe.
Which is exactly her problem. She does not understand what is going on. She thinks this is about some kind of threat ‘out there’. Some physical challenge to her world which she can get rid of by going far away from it.
How stupid she is. That is not what is happening at all.
It makes no difference. It is irritating, yes. Very fucking irritating. But it will make no difference to the outcome.
For this is not about distance.
This goes much deeper. This is fundamental to her life. It cannot be ignored or run away from. A mind much greater than hers has planned this in every detail, for months and years.
This is happening whether she likes it or not.
2
In the seat to her left, Miles slept, his head on Ben’s lap. Ben was sleeping too, his head wedged between his coat and an inflatable pillow, his knees pressed uncomfortably up against the seat back in front of him. Faye, to her right, had struggled through a movie, then closed her eyes and given in to tiredness.
Kim had shown more determination to resist. She had cried and screamed and fought to get out of her seat and run around the aisles. Before he went to sleep, Ben had tried creating a play space in the gap between their seats – they had the middle row of five – and the seats in front by blocking her exit with their bags, but she had clambered to freedom.
At first, Sarah got wry, sympathetic looks from the other passengers or comments about how cute she was, but after the meal had been served and people were trying to grab a few hours of rest, the looks turned to glares, especially from the people around them.