by Jill Childs
‘Close your eyes.’
I made him stand there, legs parted, hands on the tabletop while I slid open a kitchen drawer and took out belts and scarves and a small, stuffed envelope.
I fastened the scarf tightly round his head, binding his eyes. ‘Do you trust me?’
He nodded. I kissed him lightly on the lips, then lifted his hands behind his back and fastened them with the belt, knotting it as hard as I could.
He flexed his fingers. ‘That’s tight.’
I bit his ear lobe. ‘That’s how I want it.’
He said, less certain now, ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Oh yes.’ I pressed myself against him. ‘I want to surprise you. Let’s take this outside.’
It was time. I picked up my car keys and the thick envelope from the counter and slipped them into my bag, slung it on my shoulder, then walked him towards the door, keeping my body close to his.
He said, ‘Have you got a blanket? It might get cold.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it all planned.’
He smiled, snaked his tongue round his lips.
I opened the front door and led him out, then unlocked the hire car and opened the back seat. I helped him inside, head first, my hands guiding him.
He shuffled onto his back, lying awkwardly on his bound wrists, his legs dangling. ‘Like this?’
‘Perfect.’
I bent up his knees and knotted a final belt as tightly as I could around his ankles. He squirmed, trussed.
‘I’m not sure this is going to work, Helen.’ He wriggled, trying to sit up in the cramped space and failing. ‘Maybe if you undid my hands?’ He was starting to sound worried.
I withdrew from the car and stood up, looking round.
A man stepped out of the shadows, as silent as a cat.
Mike Ridge didn’t say a word. He just nodded at me, then took my place at the open back door, leaning in to Ralph. A sudden ripping noise, like a plaster being torn off a wound. Then another and another. Then all I could hear were muffled sounds of alarm.
Mike straightened up, shut the car door on Ralph and motioned me off to one side.
He put out his hand and I dug the envelope and the car keys out of my bag. He slit the top of the envelope with a neatly cut thumbnail and flicked over the cash there, mentally checking the amount. I added the car keys.
I whispered, ‘How will you do it?’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘You don’t want to know.’
I bit my lip. ‘But it’ll be quick? Painless?’
He shrugged, as if to say, if that’s how you want it.
‘Call the cops tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘Nine or ten o’clock, maybe. Not the emergency service, the local police station. They take longer. Report the car stolen overnight. You’ll need paperwork for the hire car company.’
I blinked. ‘What’ll you do with it?’
He said, ‘I’ll burn it out, afterwards. Don’t worry.’ He raised his hands, showing me his gloves. ‘Trust me. I know what I’m doing.’
He turned away. I grasped at his arm, pulling him back to face me again.
‘You’re sure about this? What if they find him?’
‘They won’t.’ He looked as if he were struggling to be patient with me. ‘Look, even if bits of him did surface someday, they’d have nothing to go on. So, it’s his DNA? Who’d be surprised?’ He sucked his lower lip, thoughtfully. ‘That’s the thing about dying. People only expect you to do it once.’
I hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t too late. I could say I’d changed my mind, call him off.
He said, ‘Okay?’
I thought about Laura Dixon and how close he’d come to murdering her. The way he’d failed to show the slightest remorse. I thought about Megan and his menacing messages. He’d wanted to keep pursuing her, to punish her for rejecting him. How could he take a risk like that, a risk that might put us both in prison, out of spite and wounded pride?
I thought about Anna. The grief and upheaval he’d forced on her, all because of his lies and selfishness. I shook my head.
Mike Ridge, watching me, seemed to read my thoughts.
‘I’ll tell you something for nothing, Mrs W. It might’ve been the other way round.’
I blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He phoned me about a week ago. Anonymous, of course, but I’m not stupid. He’d seen me around, I expect, outside the house. Offered me cash.’
I frowned. ‘For what?’
‘To rub you out. No questions asked.’ He pulled a face, as if to say, see what I’m saying? Is that any way to behave?
Then he opened the back door and motioned towards Ralph.
I leaned again into the car. Ralph was squirming on the back seat. His eyes were blinded by a thick strip of masking tape. Another covered his mouth. Tape was wound around his ankles and wrists too, sealing the work I’d begun with the belts.
I put my mouth close to his ear and, feeling my breath, he quietened to listen.
‘Why were we never enough for you, Ralph?’ I whispered. ‘Anna and I.’
He tossed back his head and struggled to sit up.
‘All those years. I put up with your lies, your affairs. I covered for you. I did everything you asked. I even lied to help you escape Laura Dixon and claim the insurance. I risked everything.’ I paused and caught my breath, trying not to cry. ‘Why didn’t you just leave Megan alone?’
He bucked and struggled on the back seat and tried to shout, his words swallowed by the tape.
I whispered, ‘And by the way, this Romeo and Juliet thing? You keep forgetting. Romeo? He ends up dead.’
I kissed him on the cheek, crying now. Kissed him goodbye.
Fifty-Five
Two months later
‘Ugh! I just touched something! It’s alive!’
‘What? Let me see.’ Anna shoved Clara out of the way to look. ‘Look, Mummy! A spider! It’s huge!’
They were standing side by side on kitchen chairs, sorting through freshly picked blackberries piled high in bowls. Their hair, brushed and tied back just hours ago, was already falling free, straggly and studded with fragments of leaf. Their sleeves were pushed back to the elbow, showing a patchwork of scratches from the bushes. Their fingers and mouths were stained purple with juice.
Anna, fearless, caught the spider in her hands. ‘Quick! Open the door!’
Clara followed, screeching and jumping, as Anna headed outside to release the spider back into the wild.
Clara was shouting, ‘Mummy! It’s Mummy!’
I wiped my hands on a towel and hurried outside to see. Bea’s car was bouncing down the track, lurching from side to side in the muddy ruts. Her brow was furrowed, her knuckles white where she gripped the steering wheel.
She skidded to a stop next to my new car, switched off the engine, then, finally, looked up, waved and beamed as the girls went careering over to her.
She jumped out and enveloped them both in hugs. ‘Had a good week?’
‘Brilliant!’
‘Fab!’
‘Wow!’ She raised her eyes to me. ‘And how about you?’
I smiled. ‘Splendiferous.’
We went for lunch at the pub at the bottom of the hill. Saturdays were usually busy and the outdoor tables were already taken. Bea and I found a patch of weak October sunshine in a corner of the garden and sat on a picnic rug, wrapped up in cardigans and coats.
The girls tore up and down the mound at the far end of the garden, making themselves dizzy with rolling races, then practising handstands and cartwheels, collapsing on each other in a heap of limbs.
‘She’s had a brilliant time.’ Bea smiled. ‘You are kind.’
I shrugged. ‘So has Anna. She’s really missed her.’
‘Likewise. You dug me out of such a hole. I’d got used to falling back on Megan at half-term.’
‘Where is she at the moment?’
‘Northern Cambodia.’
I nodded. ‘All going well?
’
‘She’s having a ball. You were right.’ She gave me a shrewd look. ‘She deserved a break. She worked herself into the ground last year.’
We clinked glasses. The white wine was crisp and cold. Bea tore open a packet of crisps, set it between us on the rug and munched on one. I felt my shoulders relax, as if I were setting down a heavy burden, one I’d been carrying for a long time.
Bea twisted sideways to look me over. ‘Anyway, how are you? How’s your year away?’
‘Is that what it is?’ I laughed. ‘Pretty good. Anna seems settled in school. It’s tiny. She’s got ten in her class. But it’s a great school.’ I hesitated, embarrassed. ‘I’m helping out there, actually.’
Bea looked surprised. ‘Teaching?’
‘No! Sorting out a library for them. They didn’t really have one. I’ve got plans for a fundraiser after Christmas so we can buy more stock.’
We sat quietly for a moment. The year was cooling, rolling towards winter, but here the sunshine fell warm on our faces.
Bea said, ‘How’s Anna doing, generally?’ She felt her way forward. ‘Does she talk about her dad much?’
‘She came home upset the other day because kids at school started asking where he was.’ She’d sobbed in my arms, curling into me. How could I comfort her? ‘The teacher said he was probably safe in Heaven. I don’t know if that helped or not.’
Bea said, thoughtfully, ‘She looks well. Stronger. More her own person.’
I nodded. ‘I think that’s right.’
‘You guys will come back eventually though, won’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ I sighed. ‘Maybe.’
Bea hesitated as if she were deciding whether to leave me alone or to pursue the subject.
‘Mrs Prior says you will.’ Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘She says you needed closure but once you have that…’
‘Oh, please.’ I shook my head. ‘Mrs Prior! That’s a reason never to come back, right there.’
‘I wouldn’t let that stop you.’ She leaned towards me and lowered her voice. ‘Word on the street is that she’s pregnant. And if she is, I bet she doesn’t come back again. So, you might be okay.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Who’s giving you all this gossip?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve got to make an effort, now you’ve gone. There’s no one else to tell me what’s going on.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I took a sip of wine. ‘Go on, then. What else do I need to know?’
She paused. ‘Not much.’ She watched the girls, who were back to rolling down the mound. ‘Well, there is one thing.’
I stiffened. I knew exactly what she was going to say. Something about Ralph. Some incriminating evidence had been found.
She drank a gulp of her wine, then said, ‘It’s about Miss Dixon.’
‘Miss Dixon?’ I blew out my cheeks. ‘What about her? Is she teaching again?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet. But she’s moved. Gone to live near her sister in Kent.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Jayne in the office.’
I nodded. She was a pretty reliable source. ‘Any idea how she’s doing?’
‘Better, I think. Her sister’s got kids and Miss Dixon is going to help out for a bit. Until she feels up to teaching again.’
I nodded. ‘I’m glad.’
A lad from the bar came out with a tray of sandwiches, shouting our number.
Bea waved him down, then ran across to the girls to get them to come and eat. Their trousers were stained with soil and grass and purple splashes from squashed bilberries. I watched Bea as she bent over them, brushing them down, one by one, half-scolding, half-teasing.
My mind was far away, on Laura Dixon. I wondered if she missed Ralph. If she thought she still loved him. I remembered the sad shadow she’d become.
I was glad she had a sister. A kind sister, by the sound of it. She’d paid enough now, for what she’d done. I hoped she’d heal.
We ate. Anna and Clara sat cross-legged on the grass, spilling crumbs, giggling together.
Bea said, ‘I’m glad you came here. Not Bristol.’ Then, to Clara, ‘Don’t just eat chips. Have some sandwich too.’
I shrugged, avoiding her eye. ‘I’m glad too. This place popped up at the last minute. Cheaper too.’
Bea gave me a narrow look. ‘I thought we’d lost you altogether, for a while. That reminds me – why did you change your mobile number?’
I bit into a chip. ‘Oh, I lost the old phone. I’ve just got a cheap pay-as-you-go now.’
Bea reached for another sandwich. ‘Well, anyway, it’s great to see you. Don’t ever run out on us again, will you?’
‘I won’t.’ I looked at the girls. Anna was feeding Clara a chip, pretending she was a dog. ‘I promise.’
That evening, Anna and I snuggled in her bed while I read to her. When I put the book down, she wrapped her arms around me.
I said, ‘It was fun seeing Clara and her mum, wasn’t it?’
Anna squeezed me. ‘Best. Day. Ever.’
I kissed her hair, breathed in her clean, soapy smell.
‘We do all right together, you and me. Don’t you think?’
She twisted round to kiss me, square on the lips.
‘Mummy,’ she said. ‘Pretend I’m a baby fox and you’ve just found me and I can talk?’
She scrunched into a ball, pretending to have a fox snout and paws. I tickled her for a bit behind her long foxy ears, stroked her imaginary fur, until she was ready to go to sleep.
‘I love you, little fox.’
‘I love you too, Mummy.’
Downstairs, I made myself a cup of tea and curled in an armchair, looking out at the lazy curve of the valley. The nights were drawing in. The leaves, already orange and gold, were dying. The bare branches wrote a stark scribble across the darkening sky.
I tried to imagine winter here. Teachers at school said the village was sometimes snowed in for days, even weeks. Classes had to stop. Shops closed. The only moving vehicles were tractors. Just the thought of it made me shiver.
I’d been grateful to see Bea. She reminded me who I was. I was not a pretend Mrs Mack. I was Mrs Wilson again and I really was a widow now. Once enough time had passed, I’d be able to start the process of applying through the courts for my missing husband to be declared dead. Eventually, I’d have a lot of money coming to me.
And, if we wanted it, Anna and I, our old life still waited for us, down in the south. A year away, Bea had called it. Maybe that’s what this was. A year out of time, to rest and recover and find ourselves again.
There were days I woke up, here in the barn, and, still half-asleep, time played tricks on me. I’d think that I was lying in our old bedroom, in the house we bought together. That if I stretched out my hand, Ralph would be there, sleeping quietly beside me. Later, I might potter downstairs and start to make breakfast, hearing the sudden explosion of Ralph’s shower in the bathroom, before he came down, battered school bag in hand, sweeping the mess of floppy hair from his eyes.
Then I’d hear the sharp, bright songs of the birds in the copse behind the barn and the distant lowing of cows and I’d blink and open my eyes and find myself here, without him. With Anna.
I finished my tea and sat quietly, looking through the picture windows at the darkness and seeing my own reflection imposed on it, a ghostly outline of myself floating in the glass. The silence pressed down on me. Intense and eerie. The valley was veiled in black.
A sudden noise. A stick cracked. I jumped.
Something was there. Blood roared in my ears as I strained to listen.
Another noise. A barely audible scraping against the wall. A fox, maybe, on the prowl? Or a person, creeping round the side of the barn towards the door.
I set down my mug, as stealthily as I could, and crept the length of the ground floor, every nerve taut. The only lights I had on inside were the bright ones illuminating the kitchen. I didn’t dim them, frightene
d of giving myself away.
A tap at the door. Just a branch, blown against it by the wind? Or a knuckle?
Was someone there?
I froze. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t call out. I just stood there, on my side of the door, my breath stopped in my mouth, and waited. My heart banged.
The silence buzzed. Nothing. Just the wind. I was being a fool, spooking myself over nothing.
I recovered enough to ease the handle of the front door and peer out.
Once I opened the door, light from behind me spilled out, drawing a fading cone across the ground. I shivered in the sudden chill. My eyes scanned the darkness, trying to read the moving patterns under the trees.
A night wind was blowing up, stirring the autumn leaves, setting them dancing in circles.
‘Hello?’ My voice sounded thin, vanishing on the breeze. ‘Is someone there?’
My heart raced. Was that a person, moving between the trees, or just the shifting shadow of a moving branch? I took several steps into the darkness, then paused, trembling.
I took a deep breath, steadied myself and carried on, further into the copse. Above my head, the branches, carrying the last dry leaves of the year, swished and rustled. Every time a twig cracked underfoot, I started.
Nothing. I shook my head, trying to reassure myself. I was being absurd, creeping around outside at night, terrifying myself. What was I thinking? I turned and began to head back.
The cone of light from the open door bled into the darkness. As I reached the blurred edge, I stopped abruptly and stared at the ground.
There was something there, in the mud. Marks. Something the girls had drawn, perhaps, playing in the earth with sticks. But why hadn’t I noticed them before?
I bent down to look, suddenly afraid. They weren’t random scratches. They looked too definite.
I ran my eye along the marks, following the lines through the gloom, tracing the shapes.
In the weak half-light, they seemed almost to form two words, words which the blowing dust and mulch were already starting to erase.
Miss me?
If you had your heart in your mouth while reading The Mistress, why not try Jill Childs' USA Today bestselling novel Gracie’s Secret – when five-year-old Gracie is involved in a terrible car crash, Jen learns that her daughter may have witnessed a long-buried secret in the moments before the accident.