by K. L. Slater
‘Who then… a teacher?’
She’s trying hard to cast doubt on my suspicions, but I’m not having it.
‘You know, I’m finding it unsettling to hear you speak about your son in such a casual way.’
‘Don’t you—’ She catches herself as her voice starts to rise. ‘Don’t you get all Miss High and Mighty with me, Alice. He’s my son, so you can keep your nose out.’
‘I’ve no intention of keeping my nose out. Especially when you pushed him hard enough so that he fell and hit his head last night. And he had his second nosebleed here, in front of my neighbour.’
‘It was an accident.’ She sits on a stool. ‘Darren and I, we had an argument and… It was just an accident.’
‘Then why did you tell him to keep it quiet from his teacher? And why hasn’t he been checked out at the doctor’s?’
She stares at me, but not in a challenging way. Her usually straight shoulders are sagging a little and she’s digging her nails into her palms.
When she speaks, her voice is calm, measured.
‘Alice, there are things you don’t know. Things happening you don’t want to know about, trust me.’
If only she knew that I’m more than aware of what’s been happening.
‘I have something to ask you. Something utterly enormous that I’ve hinted at, but now the time has come to say it outright.’
This knocks me off guard.
Is she going to ask me for help? To look after Archie for a while because she can’t cope?
‘What is it?’
‘It’s about this place.’
I’m struggling to believe that in the middle of discussing her son’s injuries, she chooses to even attempt to discuss money.
I was Mum’s carer for the two years she was virtually bedridden. Rightly or wrongly, we never discussed money, but I was aware that Mum had bought the flat outright when she sold our family home. Most of the surplus went on home care and medical bills.
When she died, as expected she left the flat equally to us both, but neither of us had expected the provision that, in acknowledgement of my care of her, it would only be sold as and when I wanted to move out. She’d also left me a modest sum to compensate for not working.
‘Don’t move out on our account,’ Louise said airily at the time. ‘We don’t need the money.’
I could tell she was miffed but I felt relieved she’d accepted Mum’s wishes.
‘The selling price of this hole has rocketed, although I can’t imagine why,’ she says now. ‘A two-bedroom went last month for two hundred grand, so this three-bed will get even more.’
‘But I’ve got to live somewhere,’ I say. ‘And I’m not ready to move for the foreseeable. I feel… safe here.’
‘We could find you somewhere else just as nice, better, in fact. I’d go with you to view. What do you say?’
‘Sorry.’ I find something to do at the sink. ‘It’s not an option right now.’
‘Arrrggh!’
She smashes her hands down on the worktop. Her face is bright red and her eyes wide.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ I rush over. ‘Calm down! You’re going to have a heart attack at this rate.’
‘I’m under so much pressure, you would not believe it.’ Her voice is low. Dangerous. ‘I need you to do this. If you knew what was happening behind the scenes, you’d agree to it like a shot.’
But I do know what is happening behind the scenes. Darren has discovered her fraudulent loan applications and she’s been caught out. And now, instead of taking accountability and being a fit wife and mother, she is pressuring me to get her out of a mess.
‘Know what I think? I think you’re a selfish, uncaring person who’s only interested in herself.’ She opens her mouth to defend herself, but I carry on. ‘I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, do you know that? But now I know. You’re not a fit mother to that boy.’
‘No! You’re wrong. Alice, please…’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ I say. ‘You can leave now, but I want you to know I’ll be going to see Archie’s teacher first thing in the morning to tell her what I know. I have no choice.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
LOUISE
She never stopped missing Martyn, but in the years that followed, she rekindled her interest in digging into his past, discovering undisputable evidence that he was a cheat, a crook and an outright liar.
She often looked at her son and wondered how she’d tell him one day. Thank goodness, that day was a long time in the future yet.
If only she’d listened to that voice in her head a little longer when they were together. If only she had delved a little deeper… It was all there for the finding in the search results she’d printed off and the subsequent pages online.
If only she’d listened to her mum and sister’s concerns, she’d never have lost all her dad’s inheritance to Martyn Hardy’s empty promises.
If only… if only… if only. It was the soundtrack to her life.
Five years earlier
The magazines and women’s fiction Louise read seemed solely concerned with how to meet the ideal man.
Despite her promise to herself that she was done with men, she was desperately lonely.
Online dating, shopping at the supermarket after work, trying new hobbies… the list of ways to meet a partner that the magazines recommended went on. Louise had heard it all and largely ignored it.
It wasn’t her idea of fun to go out actively hunting.
‘I’ll just have to resign myself to growing old alone and taking in stray cats or something,’ she’d giggled with the girls in the office, but when they’d gone back to their own desks, her smile had faded.
So when her fifteen-year-old Ford broke down on her way to a conference in the middle of Derbyshire, the last person she expected to meet was her future husband.
The car had spluttered to a stop on a country lane. There was a field with cows on one side and a dry-stone wall that formed a boundary on a sparse patch of woodland on the other.
‘Damn it!’ Louise cursed, banging the steering wheel with the heels of her hands.
The car had been exhibiting signs for the last week that all wasn’t well. The engine had been hiccuping and stalling from time to time, while the temperature gauge, although not sky high, had crept up above what it usually read.
She had ignored all this, mindful of the fact that she was still ten days away from payday and her credit card had been maxed out for months.
She turned the key in the ignition a few times, but it sounded hoarse, like Archie last month when he’d picked up a chest infection from nursery school.
She grabbed her phone and let out a groan when she looked at the screen. No service.
Opening the car door, she stepped out in her tight skirt and high heels and tottered to the front of the car. There was a lever under here somewhere to… She abandoned her search and jumped back when tendrils of steam began to seep from the edge of the bonnet.
She grabbed her handbag and moved away from the vehicle in case it exploded or something. As it began to spot with rain, she stood under the overhanging branches of a large oak tree and raked her fingers through her hair, clueless as to what to do.
A sudden movement up ahead had her running into the road, waving her arms above her head like someone possessed.
‘Hey! Please… stop!’
The black BMW slowed to a complete halt in front of her and the driver’s door opened.
A well-built man with a kind face and a willing smile emerged.
That was the first time she set eyes on Darren Thorne.
* * *
Fourteen months after that day, Louise stood by the lounge door and watched as Darren and Archie pieced together Lego.
Her husband and her son, forming a wonderful bond, the sort she’d feared Archie would never know.
The adoption papers had been completed, their family counselling interviews had been successful and the
solicitor said they could expect to hear that Darren was legally Archie’s father any day now.
The core of ice in Louise’s heart had melted some time ago. She felt a warmth and optimism she’d never felt in her life before. It had never been like this with Martyn, even though she’d truly believed she couldn’t live without him at the time.
Life had a funny way of knowing what was best, even if it took some time to get around to actually doing it.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ALICE
I don’t know how, but by some miracle, I sleep OK. When I wake up, I have a conviction about what I need to do. First things first.
I use James’s phone because I know, from buying credit online, it’s an unregistered pay-as-you-go contract. Nobody is aware that it belongs to him.
I dial non-emergency 101 to speak to Nottinghamshire Police. It feels like the right thing to do. I don’t feel comfortable doing nothing at all, because I have certain information that James might be in danger, and he has disappeared, after all.
‘I wanted to know if someone has reported a man missing,’ I begin, already worrying that what I’ve said sounds random.
‘Can I ask the name of the man?’ the operator asks and I imagine her rolling her eyes to a colleague to signify she’s got a crackpot on the line.
‘His name is James Wilson. He’s about six foot tall with brown hair and—’
‘Do you actually know this person?
‘Yes. Well, no, not really. I spoke to him once but he always came past my place on the tram and then one day he disappeared and…’
I stop talking. I nearly mentioned having the phone.
‘And… you were saying?’
‘And the girl upstairs said he used to be her boyfriend and I think her new boyfriend might have done something bad to him.’
Silence on the end of the phone.
‘Hello?’ I say.
‘Yes. Just looking at what we’ve got here and I’m afraid it’s not enough, it’s too vague. We’d need full contact details at least. Do you think you can get his phone number and an address?’
‘I’ll try,’ I say dully before ending the call. I can’t blame her for not taking me seriously. I’ve just made a complete and utter fool of myself.
* * *
I decide to call upstairs at Jenny’s, to try and find out a bit more about James.
It’s the last thing I can do, I think. If this doesn’t work, then I might just let it rest. I don’t really have any choice.
She opens the door and I immediately notice the dark shadows under her eyes and her dishevelled appearance.
‘Are you feeling OK?’ I ask her. ‘You look really tired.’
‘Didn’t sleep much. Come in.’
She offers me coffee and I accept a cup. She doesn’t use her new-fangled machine but just makes instant with boiling water.
We take our drinks through to the lounge and I walk over to the window, noticing the blind has been raised again now.
‘Seen anything else of your admirer lately?’ I look down at the tram stop, imagining myself sitting directly underneath smiling like an idiot at a man who hadn’t even noticed I was there.
‘No,’ she says curtly. ‘I told you, it’s been sorted.’
That chilling phrase again. She obviously isn’t at all keen on talking about it.
‘Did you just call for a chat, or did you want something?’ Her voice is flat and I immediately feel caught out.
‘Just a chat. I wanted to see how you were, how you were feeling after your news.’
I smile and glance at her stomach, but she doesn’t respond.
‘Have you had the chance to tell your boyfriend the good news yet?’
She slams her mug down and her eyes overspill at the same time.
‘He called me stupid, told me to get rid of it,’ she says. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘Oh no! I’m so sorry, Jenny.’
I feel so bad for her. Not least because I can remember how awful it was for poor Louise when Martyn told her virtually the same thing.
‘Yeah, I know. Apparently he does want us to have kids but only when the time’s right, and guess what? Now is not the right time.’
I shiver at the similarity of what was said to Louise. Are all men the same?
‘He might come round a bit, it’s probably been a shock.’ Why I’m defending a selfish, controlling thug I’ve never met, I don’t know. Although it’s got something to do with trying to make Jenny feel better.
‘Maybe,’ she mumbles.
‘But you know, this isn’t just his baby, is it? You have a choice in the matter, it’s your body. If you want to, you could bring the baby up alone. Plenty of people do.’
She looks at me, shocked at first, but then her eyes brighten a little. Whoever this man is, he’s done a sterling job of convincing her she needs him in order to survive.
‘They do, don’t they? I could do that, I don’t have to do something awful to my baby.’
She rubs her stomach.
‘Thanks, Alice.’
I reach over and squeeze her hand and for some reason choose this moment to ask my question.
‘Jenny, what’s the name of that guy on the tram? James…’
I just need to hear her say it. So I can be sure.
‘What the hell is wrong with you? Are you mental?’ she yells. ‘Why are you asking questions about someone you’ve never even set eyes on?’
She’s wild and unpredictable. I’ve got to try and calm her down before people hear the commotion.
‘I have… set eyes on him, I mean. I’ve seen him from my window too.’
‘What?’ She frowns, trying to understand what I’m saying.
‘I have breakfast by the window and I’d see him every morning, smiling and waving up.’
She stares at me, and my stupid burning cheeks give me away.
‘You thought… he was waving at you!’ Her hand flies to her mouth, but she isn’t shocked. She’s trying not to laugh.
I feel a sudden shiver of dislike for her.
‘No! Well, not exactly. It was more that I didn’t know he was waving at you.’
‘I can’t believe it! Although at a bit of a distance I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell where he was focusing,’ she concedes. ‘Now I understand why you’re so interested. The truth is, I don’t really know anything, but I hope he’s OK. I should have never have told Mark that he had found out where I lived. James was all right really, although a bit intense… obsessed, my mum called it. I tried to make it work for four years, but we just sort of grew apart. He was devastated when I left.’
My mouth is dry and I’m finding it difficult to focus, but Jenny is finally opening up a bit and I can’t waste that chance.
‘Look, Jenny, I hope you know you can trust me. I’m worried about your situation and yesterday I meant to give you my mobile number. Can I put it in your phone now so you’ve got it?’
‘I’ll be OK, honestly, but that’s kind of you, thanks.’ She tossed her phone over to me. ‘There’s no lock on it; Mark says we shouldn’t have any secrets from each other.’
‘Have you thought about visiting your doctor? He’ll get you in the system for scans and stuff.’
Her face brightens and she starts talking about all the things she’s been reading about early pregnancy. I nod and grunt in what I hope are the right places, keeping one eye on the call list I’ve just opened.
Her incoming call log is the same number repeated numerous times. I recognise it. It’s the one that filled the call log on James’s phone; the number of the man who left the death threat message on his answerphone.
The strange thing is that there’s no name, it’s just the number, as it is if someone who isn’t in your address book calls you. Still, I’m convinced enough that I know I need to tell Jenny everything for her own safety, as well as James’s.
‘And I think they do the second scan at—’
‘Jenny, I’m sorry, but th
ere’s something really important I need to tell you.’
She stops talking immediately, her eyes wide, and I tell her. I tell her everything.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
‘I don’t know what to say.’
She’s remained silent the whole time I’ve been speaking. All through telling her about the coffee shop, picking up James’s phone, the stuff that was on it and finally my call to the police this morning, she’s never said a word.
‘So let me get this straight. You didn’t want my phone because you were worried about me; you wanted to check my boyfriend’s number.’
She holds out her hand and I place her phone in it.
‘Sorry,’ I say, chastened. ‘But you’d never have willingly given it to me, would you? You’re too afraid of him.’
‘How dare you?’ she snaps. ‘You’re treating me like I’m a child who can’t make her own judgements, just like he does. You’re no better than him!’
‘At least I’m not the one hassling someone with phone calls and leaving threatening messages. You owe it to James to find out if Mark has done something terrible.’
I think about the note I received… Who sent it?
Her phone beeps and she glances at it.
‘You’d better go,’ she says, swallowing hard. ‘Mark will be coming over soon.’
I stand up and follow her to the door.
‘I’m just asking you to find out if James is OK, that’s all,’ I say. ‘Mark can’t just hurt people when the mood takes him. What kind of a father will he make?’
She opens the door and I step into the corridor.
‘Alice?’ I turn round. ‘I think it’s best if you don’t come up any more.’
And with that, she closes the door.
* * *
Once I’m back in the apartment, I take a stool and sit by the kitchen window with my phone. This is my chance to see the mystery man, Mark, and take some photos if I can.
Within a short time, my back and legs are throbbing, but I can’t take any more painkillers until tonight. It’s mind over matter, I tell myself.