‘We’re leaving first thing in the morning, okay?’ Nick grabs my wrist. ‘So, sort it out tonight because I’m not going to be late because of a bloody cat.’
‘All right I will, I promise.’ I lean in to kiss him, but he moves away before I can.
* * *
Later, after everyone’s gone home, I change my clothes in the cloakroom and catch sight of the bruise in the mirror. It’s so sore, especially when I touch it. If Becca knew she’d make me go straight to A&E. Nick was mortified when he saw it this morning. But he still wouldn’t tell me where he’d been or why he was in such a bad mood last night. I think he’s seeing someone. I sit on the bench and tears fill my eyes. If he is, then this is over for good and I’ll have to bring Thomas up by myself.
There’s a knock on the front door. Did I forget to put the ‘Closed’ sign up? Rosie is standing on the other side of the glass, miming something about her phone. I unbolt it and let her in.
‘Thank God you’re still here. I think I left my phone in the cloakroom.’
‘Come in and have a look.’ I wipe my eyes.
‘Are you okay?’ She looks at me surprised.
‘I’ll be fine, thanks, just the hormones kicking in, I expect.’
I follow her in, aware I’m walking awkwardly but the paracetamol has worn off. I carry on changing, pulling my top up to cover my head while she rummages in her apron. I turn away so she doesn’t see the bruise on my side.
‘How did you do that?’ she asks, pointing right at it, wincing. I pull the top off. It crackles with static electricity.
‘I walked into the corner of our kitchen table. Honestly, I’m clumsier than ever now I’m so big.’
‘It looks really painful.’
‘It’s very sore, but not as bad as it was this morning.’
‘If there’s anything I can do that you need help with, just say, okay,’ she says and pushes her phone into her back pocket.
‘There is one thing I meant to ask you earlier. Our neighbour can’t feed Missy while we’re away. She promised she could, but she’s been called away to look after her dad. I can’t bear to go to London if we don’t have someone going in to feed her and I was just wondering if perhaps you might be able to?’ Rosie doesn’t look convinced so I carry on. ‘Especially as you love cats as much as I do and you’re always so massively helpful around here. I’d pay you, of course. Do you think there’s a chance you could do that for me?’
‘Yeah, I can, but you don’t need to pay me.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ I can’t believe she’s agreed. I thought I wouldn’t find anyone. It’s such a relief.
‘It’s not a problem.’
‘Oh my goodness, Rosie, you’re a lifesaver.’ I wipe my eyes.
‘Honestly, I’m happy to help out.’
‘I’ll give you our address and spare key now, if that’s okay? It’s just that we leave first thing in the morning, so I won’t have time to show you around, but I’ll leave Missy’s tins and bowl out. It’ll be really straightforward, I promise. She’s got a cat flap so if she doesn’t turn up just leave her food down and she’ll come and find it. Morning and evening if possible, whatever time is best for you.’
‘What’s your address?’ She takes her notebook and pencil out of her apron and scribbles it down.
Chapter Twenty-Four
23 July 2018
Scarlett
On Monday, I hang around outside Cole’s house and follow him to the One-Stop shop at lunchtime then hide behind the bus stop. He’s wearing knee-length denim shorts, a white T-shirt, and Vans. A few minutes later he comes out with a bottle of milk in a carrier bag and a single can of beer. Sitting on the bench further up the pavement, he cracks open the can and glugs it down. There’s no mistaking how rough he looks. He might have been crying. I get a warm glow inside knowing how much he’s missing me. It would be so easy to go and sit next to him, ask how it’s going, but I need to make him suffer so that when he takes me back, he’s grateful as hell.
After he’s drained the very last drop of beer – and boy does he make sure he has – tipping it right upside down, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and chucks the can in the bin outside the library. Then he takes a tube of mints from the bag and pops one in his mouth. I wonder if he’s got a large spliff lined up at home, or hasn’t he told his wife about that either?
I keep out of sight and note everything down on my phone and discreetly take a photo of him.
It’s late afternoon by the time Amy and I meet up at the park after her shift. I buy us both a 99 from Mr Softie and we take a swing each. The place is full of screaming kids and their ragged mums, already fed up with the school holidays. One mother who’s tattooed up to her neck shoots us dirty looks but honestly, there’s a load of other swings her kid can use.
‘Come on then, what happened?’ I bite half my Flake along with a mouthful of ice cream.
‘His wife leaves the house at 5.55 a.m. drives into town and parks at the Harper Centre car park.’
‘Where does she work?’
‘I followed her to the restaurant on the corner of the high street and Embankment, by The Swan Hotel. She opened up, so maybe she’s the manager.’
‘Or head chef?’
‘Could be. I hung around for a bit and more staff arrived.’
Amy shows me her notes and a couple of photos she took, then she pings them over to my phone. She takes her detective work very seriously. I tell her what I saw and noted and show her the photo of Cole on the bench.
‘So what does he actually do all day? Doesn’t he have a job?’
‘He works for the council. Taken a few days off to decorate the nursery, apparently.’
‘And getting drunk?’ She seems shocked.
‘I honestly think it’s because he misses me.’
We crunch our way through a family size bag of chilli-flavoured crisps while I search on Google for Papa’s Pizza but the website is under construction. I scroll through Instagram for updates from the latest Love Island celebs and leave a couple of comments. Then I switch to my other account and have a few things to say to @HappyWife.
‘My guy wants to meet up,’ Amy says, eyes fixed forward as she watches the kids in front of us kicking a ball.
‘Are you going to?’
‘Dunno.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty-six.’ She ties a knot in the crisp packet.
‘What if he’s fifty-six?’
‘I’ve seen a picture of him.’
‘You know that might be fake, right?’
She swivels in her swing, creaking the chain, so she’s facing me and in a deadpan voice, she says, ‘You sound like your mum.’
Her face cracks and we both laugh until we’re hooting and snorting.
‘Seriously, though,’ I say at last, holding my stomach and sides, ‘you should check him out first.’ It wasn’t so long ago that Amy would never have had the confidence to talk to a boy in a romantic sense. That time I found her on the school playing field surrounded by Chantelle and all her nasty little gang. Amy was being pinned to the ground by five girls. Chantelle, kneeling at her feet, had tipped out the contents of her bag and was going through her stuff, holding everything up one by one, including her sanitary towels. By the time I got there, Amy was in floods of tears and a whole crowd of kids had gathered in a circle. One of the younger ones had tipped off a teacher and, fortunately, I’d heard and sprinted over, pushing my way through the crowd, then shoving Chantelle in the back so hard her face hit the ground.
‘Oh sorry, Chantelle, I didn’t see you there,’ I’d said. All her mates quickly let go of Amy and I’d helped her sit up by the time Miss Stevens had puffed her way over to us.
My phone buzzes.
I need to see you.
It’s Cole. I show the screen to Amy.
When?
I text back.
Today, 10 p.m. in the park. Come alone.
‘Don’t go,’ Amy
pleads, serious now.
I tip my head and pull a face that says, this is what I want.
‘I don’t trust him. You’re making it too easy for him.’
‘Are you calling me easy?’ I give her a gentle nudge on her arm.
She shakes her head and grins. She knows me so well.
See you there
I text back.
With any luck he’s realized he’s made a big mistake going back to his wife. A baby is not going to fix their relationship.
When we get home, Mum hands me a brown envelope. ‘This came for you.’ She crosses her arms. ‘Must be something important.’
I take it and slide a look at Amy. Her eyes widen. I flick a look at the ceiling then back at her again.
‘Maybe to do with my tax or National Insurance now I’m not working.’ I’m tempted to tug the envelope open as I run up the stairs. I could burn it, then I’d never know, and I wouldn’t be betraying Mum. Not really. But is she betraying me? It feels like I’m holding my golden ticket. I need to see this and I’m sorry if it hurts Mum but I’ve been waiting all my life to know my dad’s name, who he is. It’s time to find out why Mum’s been keeping it from me.
I push my thumb under the flap and tear it open.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Monday 13 August 2018
Gemma
After Greg has gone, Nick grips the sides of his head and groans. ‘Can’t rely on any of these bloody pigs.’
I focus on a crack in the coffee table. A memory of the pain shoots through my side. Greg said he’ll be back as soon as he can and to not go out because there are already reporters outside.
‘I’m going to look for Thomas myself.’ Nick grabs his keys and phone not looking at me when he speaks, and for both, I’m glad. There’s no point in me trying to stop him. Greg will be furious.
The moment the front door thuds shut, relief floods through me. But the feeling is short-lived. Thomas should be here, curled in my arms, making little sucking sounds as he feeds or crying because he needs changing. My arms ache with emptiness and the cruel silence wraps around me so tightly I want to scream.
My mind fast forwards to days, weeks, months ahead from now, and he’s still not been found. I stare into space at the void called the future. There’ll be no first tooth, no first steps, no first day at nursery. There’s so much I will miss out on. How will my life ever continue without my darling boy? I’d be left here alone with Nick and he’ll probably want another baby straight away even though I’ll say no, I’m not ready yet – I wasn’t ready the first time. Could that be why something bad has happened to Thomas – because I didn’t want to be a mum yet? But I am a mum now. It’s still so hard to take in. My sore body, the milk in my breasts confirms it. I’ve been Thomas’s mummy for almost a week. A title I’m proud of, so why couldn’t I take better care of him? Is this really how it ends?
If we were a normal couple, I’d have offered to go with Nick because I’m desperate to search for Thomas too. I could go out in my own car, look in the park, around dustbins, in people’s front lawns and behind bushes. I’d knock on their doors, rifle through sheds and rooms, but Greg would say that someone has to stay here by the house phone, just in case that call comes because Rosie knows where we live. She’d call my mobile, though, wouldn’t she? Will she bring him back? Perhaps her face will be full of remorse. She’ll explain how she was protecting Thomas, preventing him from ending up battered and bruised like me. But Nick would never hurt a baby, would he?
I take the walkabout phone, go upstairs to the nursery and sit in the rocking chair by the window. The draw of milk from the breast pump is uncomfortable but it gives me some relief from the swelling milk and at least I feel like I’m doing something. Thomas’s babygro is still on the footstall where I changed him out of it this morning. I press the white cotton to my nose and inhale his powdery newness still lingering in the fabric. I was in such a hurry to get him changed and fed and out of the door. Why didn’t I take the time to just hold him, feel his warm little body close to mine?
The phone rings and I grab it, fumbling with the buttons to answer it.
‘Hello, is that Gemma? My name is Lorna Bolton and I’m calling from Bedford Today, I’d like to ask you about…’
I jab the keypad, ending the call.
The sound of a car’s squealing brakes alerts me to the window. I stand briefly and watch a car pull up across the road, then another outside our house.
The doorbell rings. I ease the breast pump off my skin, fasten the flap of my bra and pull my top down. There’s a grey shape of a person I don’t recognize in the ripple of glass around the front door. I walk slowly down the stairs. It doesn’t look like Nick or Greg. Not tall enough to be either. Who else could it be? Is it a plainclothes officer to tell me that Thomas has been found? My limbs become clumsy and wooden as I try to walk down the rest of the stairs. I’m desperate for news but what if it’s to tell me they’ve found a body? A tiny cry escapes my lips.
When I open the door, a shower of flashing lights bombards me. Reporters surge towards me holding microphones, shouting my name, shouting a jumble of questions. I try to push the door shut but there’s a pointed navy court shoe wedged over the threshold.
‘Judith Smith from the Bedford Echo – how are you coping without your baby? Is it true Rosie works for you? Who do you think she really is?’ I push the door, but her foot won’t budge. It bounces open again just missing my face. A male reporter’s hand is on it. Judith Smith carries on talking. ‘Two minutes of your time, Gemma, that’s all I ask, I really want to hear your side of the story.’
I frown at her. My side? Have I been accused of something?
Standing on tiptoes, I pretend to wave to someone behind her. It’s enough to make them both half turn and step back. I slam the door shut and bolt it at the top and bottom. I’m strangely elated at my tiny victory. I stand with my back against the door, trying to steady my breathing. They knock and ring the bell. Judith Smith calls out for me to talk to her because she ‘just wants’ to ask me a few questions.
The truth is, I’m used to being trapped in my own home, just not like this.
I move away from the door. The letterbox swings open and a slither of the male reporter’s face appears. One brown eye, a shiny long ginger fringe and beard whiskers.
‘Does Rosie Symonds actually exist?’ he bellows. ‘Come on, tell us the truth. Have either you or your husband harmed your baby?’
I press my hands over my ears and step backwards, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eight Days Before
Gemma
All the way home on the packed train, Nick is eyeing up a girl sitting opposite us. The more I glare at her, the more she makes eyes at him. I’m absolutely fuming by the time she gets off at Luton. I feel like shouting at her that she’s a cheap tart in her ripped skinny jeans and low-cut top.
‘What was all that for?’ I ask him as soon as we get to Bedford station car park.
‘What are you talking about?’ Nick loads the car with our suitcase.
‘You know what, that girl with black hair. You were flirting with each other all the way from St Pancras.’
‘She was just mucking about, and I was going along with it.’
‘Like you used to with me? Am I too old for you now?’
‘Whoa? Is this your hormones talking?’ He laughs and opens the passenger door for me.
‘Of course not, but you’ve been eyeing up every female that walks under your radar all weekend.’
‘Don’t talk daft. I’ve only got eyes for you. Haven’t we had a good time?’ He leans over to kiss my cheek. I move so he can’t reach me.
‘I thought we had, but now you’ve spoilt it.’
‘You’re so bloody ungrateful, aren’t you? I mean, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?’ He starts the engine and pulls away.
‘I can’t believe you’re saying I look fat. I’m preg
nant, for God’s sake. You wanted this baby.’
‘I know I’m being selfish, but it’s only because I fancy you so much. I can’t wait until you get back into your size ten jeans. I love your shape, you know I do.’
‘And until then you like everyone else’s shape?’ I’m pushing him into dangerous territory, but I have to tell him how it makes me feel. He can’t treat me like I’m invisible. It was creepy how he was joking with that girl just like he used to with me, the same corny jokes that I found amusing once upon a time when I didn’t know any better.
‘You’re getting really paranoid, do you know that? It’s not even amusing any more.’
Tears sting my eyes. I so wanted him to think my pregnant body was beautiful and blooming. I feel ugly, unsightly and a turn-off.
Later I drive into work because I need to get away for a while, try and process what is going on with me and Nick.
‘Didn’t expect to see you tonight,’ Rosie says as soon as I get in the door. ‘Did you have a good time?’
‘It was lovely, thank you. Thought I’d pop in to see how you’re all getting on.’
‘Everything’s fine.’ Rosie shoots a look across at Bonnie who nods too.
‘Thanks so much for looking after Missy. Did she behave herself?’
‘She did, but do you know you have a stray cat that comes in sniffing around?’
‘I do and I don’t know how to get rid of her.’ I head straight out the back to the cloakroom and hang my bag on a hook and don’t let go. I squeeze my eyes shut. What if he is seeing someone? I don’t know what to do. This baby will be here any day now and it needs a mum and dad.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
23 July 2018
Scarlett
I shut my bedroom door and stand against it. Amy’s by the window, biting the side of her thumb. I stare at my birth certificate but can’t take in any of the words. I scan it slowly up and down, at my date and place of birth, my name, Mum’s name and address. Some boxes are empty. Finally, my eyes land on the headings down the middle of the page: BIRTH, CHILD, FATHER, MOTHER, INFORMANT. But where my father’s name, his place of birth and occupation should be, it’s blank.
The Face At the Window Page 9