Your Guilty Lies (ARC)

by Ruth Heald

  I cover my ears as the sounds get louder. I hold my sister’s hand tightly, and she squeezes mine.

  The sounds change. Dad’s voice has gone silent and Mum’s is a desperate squeak. There’s a dull thud. Like a person falling against the wall. Then the screams come. If they weren’t coming from my own home, from downstairs, I’d think they were from a dying animal.

  I turn to my sister in bed, my eyes wide, mirroring hers. ‘What should we do?’ I whisper.

  ‘Do?’

  ‘We need to help her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She…’

  ‘She doesn’t help us, does she?’

  ‘No, but—’

  My sister strokes my hair. ‘Why don’t we read a story together?’

  I stare at her, trapped in the moment, every part of me knowing I should try and help Mum, but not wanting to move from under the covers, not wanting to confront Dad.

  But I have to help. I slip out of bed, go to the doorway.

  ‘Are you stupid?’ my sister asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, hesitating with my hand on the door handle.

  ‘He’ll kill you.’

  Silent tears fall down my cheeks. Mum’s screams have stopped altogether now. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and pray that means she’s feeling better and not something much, much worse.

  Five

  I blink awake, confused and disorientated, drenched in sweat. I shift my cumbersome pregnant body on the mattress and gag at the smell that rises from it.

  The cavernous room expands around me and threatens to submerge me in its darkness. I’m used to waking up early to the bright daylight seeping through the gaps in my thin curtains and the sound of the shower and the thumping of boots down the stairs as Mike leaves for his early shift on the London Underground.

  But here it’s pitch-black. The thick curtains block the light out entirely and the room is completely still. I have no idea what time it is.

  I hear creaking. Slow, careful footsteps on the stairs.

  Every muscle in my body tenses. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. In the house that Ian bought. On a mattress on the floor. Alone.

  But now there’s someone else in the house with me.

  My mind turns to the remains of the fire on the driveway. Has someone been living here?

  I tell myself they won’t come into this room. I could hide in here until they’ve gone. Message someone, and wait for them to come and get me. I know Amy would come if I needed her. I start to write a text.

  The footsteps get closer and my heart beats fast.

  I sit up awkwardly on the mattress, the stale smell rising from its core as its springs moan under my weight. I stop still. What if they heard me?

  Then I look down in horror.

  The mattress. Why was the mattress in here?

  I jump up. No other room had a mattress. If someone’s been living here, they’ve been living in this room. Are they coming back now? Are they coming in here?

  My eyes scan the room for some sort of weapon to defend myself.

  More footsteps. I’m running out of time.

  I reach out for the torch but I instead of getting a grip on it, I only manage to swipe it and I hear it rolling across the floorboards until it hits the wall with a clunk.

  They must have heard that. They’ll know I’m in here.

  I desperately run my hands over the bare wooden floorboards, searching for my phone.

  My hand skims across dust and dirt until it eventually clenches around the phone and I almost cry with relief.

  I start to dial.

  9–9–

  Then I hear the doorknob turning.

  The light changes as the door opens and I scream.

  * * *

  In the dim glow of my phone, the figure in the doorway is only a shadow, a dark shape against the grey hallway. I jump to my feet, forgetting about the twins for a moment. The weight of my belly almost unbalances me.

  Then there’s a light shining right in my face. I blink rapidly, trying to see beyond the glare.

  ‘Katie – are you alright?’

  Ian. It’s his voice that gives him away. I can’t make out his features in the dark. For a moment my relief that he’s not a squatter makes me forget my anger, but then it rises up inside me, full pressure.

  He tries to wrap his arms around me and I push him away, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  ‘You frightened me,’ I said.

  ‘I came as soon as I got your messages.’

  ‘I called you last night,’ I say angrily. ‘Over and over. I had to sleep here on my own.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Katie. I was busy with work. I don’t always check my phone.’

  ‘How could you let me move in here when it’s like this?’

  ‘I had no idea it was like this. I—’

  ‘Didn’t you even look round before I moved in? Or are you too much of a big-shot property developer to even check the house your girlfriend and babies are going to move into?’

  Ian runs his hand through his hair, a sign that, for once, he’s flustered. ‘Of course I was going to look round. But when you decided to move in earlier than planned, I didn’t have time. I only got the keys from the office the day I gave them to you.’

  I glare at him, furious. ‘Surely you saw it when you bought it?’

  Ian shakes his head. ‘One of the other guys from the office looked at it. He never said anything about the state it’s in. There’ll be hell to pay when I see him. I never thought it would be like this.’

  ‘I can’t stay here.’

  ‘I know. You absolutely can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for a hotel.’

  My anger is subsiding, and I feel like I might burst into tears.

  ‘But for how long, Ian?’ I indicate my belly. It’s not long until there’ll be four of us to accommodate.

  ‘As long as it takes to make the house suitable for you. I’ll give the office a ring now and get them on it immediately. I need to look round to see everything that needs doing, but I’d hope we could be back in time for your baby shower.’

  ‘You know, we don’t have to live in a huge house like this. Don’t you have any other properties we could move into instead?’

  ‘All our other properties are being rented out, or are undergoing renovations.’ He puts his arms round me. ‘Let me put you up in a hotel. I owe you that to say sorry. You could come to my place, but my mother’s still there and you don’t need the hassle of moving in and then moving out again in a couple of weeks. I’ll find a hotel close to your work and you can have an easy life for a while. Let yourself have your bed made and your breakfast cooked.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. I feel uncertain, grateful for his offer, but anxious about delaying moving into the house. But I don’t have much choice. The house isn’t ready. And Ian’s right; living in a hotel will enable me to get some rest. I’ve started to feel exhausted working all day in the heat while heavily pregnant.

  I feel like we’re putting everything on pause: the house, our relationship and the start of our life together with the babies. I want to feel secure. I want to know that me and the girls will be safe. I need to know Ian loves me as much as I love him. I need to know I can trust him.

  * * *

  I’m relieved to leave the house and start my journey to work. It’s a ninety-minute commute, but luckily I’m on a late shift today, so I have time. Despite a generous application of deodorant, I feel dirty and embarrassed as I wait for the Tube. I slept in all my clothes, terrified that the rats I’d seen yesterday might scurry over my bare skin in the middle of the night. This morning I couldn’t bring myself to shower in the rotting bathroom, so I’ve brought a towel and some shower gel so I can use the cold shower at work.

  On the train people crush together in one communal pool of sweat, the carriage dense with the smell. It’s so oppressive that I don’t know where I end and the person next to me begins. I fight through the crowd inside, pushing my pregnant belly i
n front of the people in the priority seats until I’m offered the chance to sit down.

  This summer is a killer. As the heat has risen, so has the death toll across Europe. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand working in the coffee shop with my cumbersome belly and my twin babies acting as mini hot-water bottles inside me.

  I’m relieved to leave the Underground tunnels and climb up outside into the fresh air. I pass the park, the yellow grass dead and dry from the unrelenting sunshine. I walk on the shady side of the street, grateful to the tall office blocks that loom over me, blocking the sun. I envy the people working in the buildings above me, air con units fanning cold air generously around their offices.

  I’m in position behind the counter at the café just in time, after a quick cold shower in the back room. I feel refreshed as I serve the first coffees and listen to the complaints about the heat. In the first flush of summer customers came in glowing, talking of sunbathing in the garden and staycations. Now they complain they can’t sleep at night and their plants have died. At least it’s midday and I didn’t have to work the morning rush today. Lunchtimes and afternoons are quieter, despite our offers of iced coffee to help weary office workers cool down.

  ‘Must be difficult for you in this weather,’ a customer says, looking at my bump. I nod. I’ve heard it so many times before.

  I used to love my job, chatting to customers and watching the ebb and flow of the world around me. But lately I’ve been struggling. As I work, my pregnant belly pushes down on my pelvis, my hips ache and sweat pools uncomfortably between my breasts and my bump. I’ve begun to look forward to finishing, although I know I’ll miss it when I do. I won’t be able to come back to work after maternity leave. My salary wouldn’t cover childcare for one baby, let alone two. And besides, it’s far too long a commute from my new home.

  ‘Cheer up,’ says Martin, my twenty-year-old manager. ‘A smile costs nothing.’

  I respond with a tight smile, and Mick, the maintenance guy, catches my eye and winks. He’s in his sixties and has been like a father to me, giving me advice on life and relationships like I imagine my own father would have done if he was still alive. We’ve been working here longer than everyone else and have built up a whole host of in-jokes.

  Martin sees Mick’s wink and looks as if he regrets what he’s said. Since I announced my pregnancy, he constantly consults the employee handbook to check he’s not breaking the myriad of rules for taking care of pregnant staff.

  ‘Are you too hot?’ he asks. ‘Do you want to do the tables?’

  I nod and grab the cloth from the side. It’s cooler on the café floor, and Martin intends for it to be an easier task for me. But when I lean over to clean the tables, my bump gets in the way and the buttons of my long-sleeved uniform strain uncomfortably over my breasts. These days, even wiping down tables requires a level of exertion that makes me red-faced and sweaty.

  I’ve only managed to clear a few tables before Martin calls me back over. I frown at him. There’s only one customer in the queue, her back to me, her straight dark hair falling nearly over her shoulders. Surely he can serve her himself.

  ‘Just a sec,’ I say, squeezing through the entrance to the area behind the counter.

  The woman turns towards me and my mouth drops open. It’s my sister. We haven’t seen each other for months.

  ‘Melissa!’

  ‘How are you, Katie? You’re looking so much bigger.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ I say a bit too brightly, aware of the beads of sweat forming on my brow.

  Melissa looks so well put together in her neatly ironed designer dress, but her eyes are watery. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ she says. ‘Work’s been crazy.’

  Melissa’s law firm is just a few streets away from the coffee shop, but she rarely sees daylight, bent over her computer late into the night most evenings.

  Two businessmen come in the door and form a queue behind her. I’ll need to serve her so I can get to the next customers. We have a target for customer waiting times.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ I ask her.

  ‘I don’t drink coffee.’

  ‘Of course – I’m sorry.’ I kick myself for being so insensitive. For the last ten years Melissa’s cut out everything that she thinks might affect her chances of conceiving.

  ‘I didn’t come for a drink. I came to talk to you.’ I hope she’s about to tell me she’s finally pregnant, but I can tell from her eyes that she hasn’t come with happy news.

  I glance at Martin, who’s hovering behind us, listening to our conversation. He nods. ‘Why don’t you take your break now?’ he suggests, moving forward to serve the men behind my sister.

  Melissa leads me to a table in a corner, one I haven’t cleaned yet, and I grab the cloth from the side to give it a quick wipe.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ she says softly, staring at my pregnant belly, more visible now I’ve moved from behind the counter.

  ‘You too,’ I reply, placing my hand over my stomach, once again feeling guilty that it’s me who’s pregnant, not Melissa.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t reply to the pictures you sent me of the scan.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I understand.’ I’d been hurt at the time, but I know how hard it is for her.

  ‘The pictures sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I was just coming to terms with you having one baby. But when I found out you were having two… It’s like you were getting a ready-made family. The one I’d always wanted, the one I’d worked so hard for.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t think about how you’d feel.’ But a part of me had known she’d be angry. She’d cut off her best friend completely when she’d had a baby. I’d hoped it would be different with me. That she could be happy for her own sister. I’d wanted everyone to see the photos. I didn’t want to hide my twins away to avoid upsetting her.

  ‘It’s not your fault. I just need to accept that I’m destined to be an auntie, not a mother.’ She starts to cry and I reach out and grip her hand.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I remember when we were little. She was the one who always comforted me.

  ‘Mum said I should come and see you,’ she says quietly. ‘She didn’t want us to fall out over this.’

  I can’t imagine Mum as a peacekeeper. I think of last night when she wouldn’t let me stay at her house and frown.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.

  ‘I asked Mum if I could stay with her and she said no.’

  ‘But why did you need somewhere to stay?’ Melissa looks confused. ‘I thought Ian had bought you a house.’

  ‘It needs doing up.’

  ‘Surely you can live there while it’s being done up?’

  ‘It’s really run-down.’

  She looks at me doubtfully. ‘God, can’t you just be grateful? You know you’re living in a far bigger house than me or Mum could ever afford. And you’ve never even saved a penny towards it.’

  ‘I’ve worked hard,’ I say, defensively. But she’s right. I’ve never made enough money to save any. I always imagined I’d rent forever. ‘Look, I needed somewhere to stay and Mum wouldn’t have me. Don’t you think that’s a bit mean of her?’ I remember how scared I was sleeping in the house. How Paula helped me.

  Melissa laughs. ‘You can’t expect Mum to bail you out. You’re thirty-six, Katie. Not twelve.’

  I sigh. Melissa never gets it. She always defends Mum. But then she’s always been her favourite.

  ‘So where are you going to stay then?’

  ‘In a hotel.’

  ‘A hotel? Seriously? Then you didn’t need her help, did you?’

  ‘I did last night. I had nowhere—’

  ‘Last night? You called her last night?’

  ‘Yeah. I would never have called her unless I really needed her help.’

  ‘You know she was in hospital yesterday?’

  I’m taken aback. ‘In hospital?’ I scratch at the scar on my arm, afraid
of what I’m about to hear.

  ‘She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘No,’ I say, alarmed. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Melissa sighs. ‘She’s always trying to protect you. It’s like you’re still her baby.’

  ‘Protect me?’ I feel a rising panic. ‘Melissa – what’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about. She just had a scan. Her headaches have been getting worse.’

  Mum’s had headaches for as long as I can remember. When we were children she sometimes had to go to bed in the day for hours at a time. But she’s never really mentioned them since I left home. I’d assumed they had stopped.

  ‘What do you mean, they’ve been getting worse? Do they think there’s something wrong with her?’ My eyes widen as my mind rushes through a series of devastating reasons for the headaches getting worse.

  ‘They don’t know. She’s had them for so long, it’s unlikely to be anything serious, but they’re worried enough to make her have a scan at the hospital.’

  Why didn’t they tell me? I feel faint, and I grip the edge of the table to calm myself. I don’t always get on with Mum, but since my father died there’s only been the three of us. I couldn’t bear it if something awful happened to her too.

  Six

  Later in the afternoon, I receive a message from Ian to say that the rest of my things have arrived in the van and that work has already started on the house. He’s booked me into a hotel in the city centre, just round the corner from the coffee shop.

  I walk to the hotel, the weight of my belly slowing me down. The huge glass offices that line the street reflect the sun’s rays around me, trapping the heat. I long to sink into a cool bath and wash the grime and sweat of the day off me. I hope the weather cools soon. It’s so hot and humid that I’ve begun to wish for rain, a huge storm to clear the air.

  All through my shift I’ve been thinking about what Melissa said. I can’t believe no one told me Mum was in hospital. What if the headaches are a sign of something serious? I’m desperate to speak to her to check she’s OK. I wanted to call her from work, but we were run off our feet and I couldn’t take another break.