‘It’s not here, after all that.’ I hurl the piece of paper across the room like it’s a frisbee, hoping it will spin away, but after a few turns it lands on the floor. Amy picks it up and examines it.
‘Different address, though.’ She hands it back to me.
The address Mum’s given as her ‘usual address’ is in Dunstable, not Brighton where I was born.
‘That’s odd, isn’t it? I thought it would be a Brighton address.’
‘Not if they were about to move house when you were due.’ The certificate is dated almost a month after I was born.
‘I suppose so. But why move so far and why has Mum never mentioned we lived there?’
‘Why would she, it’s part of Bedfordshire? They might have moved around a few times.’
‘But I thought we’d been in this house since we left Brighton.’
‘It might be a clue.’
‘It’s something else Mum has kept from me.’
‘Or maybe…’ Amy stops and puts a finger to her lips, a thing she does when she’s on the brink of a smart idea.
‘What?’
‘Maybe she’s not told you because that’s when they split up?’ She winces.
‘Oh, yes.’ We sit on my bed and look over the certificate again.
‘See here, it’s like mine, it only has your mum’s signature as informant.’
I read the small text in Section 14 – I certify that the particulars entered above are true to the best of my knowledge and belief.
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean they’d split up already, though. He might not have been able to go with her to get you registered. It’s just that…’
‘What?’
‘I remember feeling jealous seeing my cousin’s birth certificate because her dad’s details and signature were on it. If your parents are together and pleased they’ve had a baby, they’d both go to register the birth, wouldn’t they?’
‘He might have been working.’
‘Yeah, but wouldn’t he have taken the morning off to do that? My aunt always says that it was their first proper trip out with my cousin. It was special.’
‘I don’t know. I doubt if it’s like that for everyone. Why don’t we drive to Dunstable in the morning, once my car’s had its MOT? See who lives at this address now. They might remember Mum, if she was with my dad when we lived there. And the neighbours could be the same ones. They might know something too.’
‘It’s worth a try.’
* * *
A breeze has picked up by the time we get back to the park after dinner. Amy waits for me behind the hedge, out of sight.
Cole is there, pacing up and down in the front of a park bench, hands deep in his jacket pockets, behind him the empty bandstand, a shadowy skeleton in the fading light.
I used to come here with Dad, I think, when I was about three years old. The Salvation Army brass band played every Sunday afternoon, and we’d sit with the crowd listening to crashing cymbals and rolling drums, my heart thudding louder and louder, faster and faster with each crescendo.
Like it is now, watching Cole agitated. I step towards him and when he sees me, his eyes go straight to my bare legs, up to my face and back down again. His hands grab mine and he rubs his thumbs in tiny circles on my palms. I inhale his Gio scent mixed with beer on his breath. I can’t tell if he’s happy or not because there’s a puzzled look on his face, worry stacked up behind his eyes.
‘How’ve you been?’ he asks, as though it’s been weeks instead of days since we last saw each other. He sits on the bench still holding my hands.
‘Sad.’ I kick up dust with my trainers.
We’re silent for a while and then he tells me he’s booked another week off. It’s a bit of a random statement. Is he saying he’s got time to see me after all? I don’t want to unless he’s leaving her. I’m not a home wrecker.
‘What are you reading at the moment?’
‘Gone Girl.’ Surprise is etched on his face.
I shove his foot with mine. He smiles and strokes his stubbly chin. We sit in silence again. He’s probably judging my choice.
‘I miss you.’ The words find their way out of my mouth all by themselves. Shit. I planned to be so cool.
‘I do too, you’re my special girl, but I had no choice, you know that, don’t you?’ He takes my hands again between his warm solid palms. ‘But you have to stop following me. If someone saw you, it might get back, you know.’
I pull away from him as though he’s cut me.
‘And that friend of yours, the creepy one, tell her to keep away from my wife.’ His voice is more accusing now. I frown and try to block the word wife from my head.
‘Don’t call Amy that.’ My mouth twists.
‘I mean it.’
‘Okay.’ I nod, as if I’m doing him a favour. Amy and I will have to be more discreet.
He pats my hand. I’m a problem dealt with. But he can’t tell me what to do any more.
‘So why didn’t you tell me she was expecting?’
He looks surprised that I have the front to ask.
‘Because I didn’t know myself. She went away all those months ago and didn’t tell me until she came back when it was pretty obvious. What was I supposed to do? Walk away from my own child?’
‘I don’t know. Did you have to go back to her?’
‘Oh come on, Scarlett. I’ve got to give it a go, haven’t I? For our child’s sake if nothing else. I don’t want to be one of those dads who’s not around for his kid.’
‘Like mine, you mean.’
‘Well, yeah, sorry. You know exactly how it feels. At least my kid will know that I tried.’ Sounds so half-hearted though, like he’s only bothered about being seen to do the right thing. Makes me wonder if my own dad tried but gave up.
‘You told me we were good together. That you two were over.’ I’m convinced I can persuade him.
‘And we were. You know how much I care about you.’ He threads his fingers through mine, and together we gently move them backwards and forwards, skin on skin until our hands close together as one.
‘Sometimes as a parent you have to make really hard decisions, put your own happiness second and just step up and do the right thing.’
I pull my hand away. I’m silent. I can’t answer that because my dad never took that leap and put me first.
‘I’m going to ask you something now, and I need an honest answer.’ He takes his phone out and scrolls, but I’m not listening.
All those times he took me to beautiful hotels, treated me like a princess. Was it to keep me away from his house, so I didn’t find out anything about his life? She could have been living there all this time for all I know. Why did I take his word for it? Has he been lying the whole time? He told me that as soon as he put a ring on her, she changed. Became demanding and petty. Withheld sex unless he did everything she’d asked him to do. How do I know if that’s true?
‘Are you listening?’ He holds up the screen to me. ‘Is this you?’
‘What is it?’
He flashes up a short email I’ve never seen before. ‘Did you send this?’ He practically pushes the screen in my face.
I know your game, dipshit, whatever avatar you’re hiding behind in those chatrooms. There’s a name for people like you and only one option available. I’m here to rid the world of you.
Experience points collected: 9,186
Countdown: Four lives remaining.
‘Of course it’s not from me. What’s it even about?’
‘Some weirdo threatening me, claiming to know some crap about me.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Websites I’ve been to, I guess, you know dodgy ones.’
‘Porn sites?’
‘Well, yeah. Show me a man who doesn’t.’
‘And you think I would send that?’
‘I know you wouldn’t, but I had to ask.’ He tucks his phone in his shorts pocket and rubs his hands over his face. His tan has dee
pened and gives an aged look to his skin.
‘Wait till I find the bastard behind this.’
‘So, what happens about us?’
‘My wife can’t know about us, Scarlett. You and your mate can’t follow us around any more, okay? I don’t want her getting suspicious and asking me all sorts of awkward bloody questions.’ His voice of authority again. He always goes back to it when he wants to reinforce that he’s in charge.
His sea-green eyes fix on me, but instead of his usual dreamy expression, a hint of menace is seeping in around the edges.
I wonder how much it would take for him to lose his temper.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monday 13 August 2018
Gemma
I rush round the house closing all the curtains, ending in our bedroom. The chattering crowd below are blocking our quiet respectable road. This is madness. I cringe at what the neighbours must be saying. None of them will want to talk to us after this. We’ll be forced to move away. I wish I had the nerve to open a window and shout at everyone to leave us alone.
A woman a few doors down is being interviewed on the pavement outside her house. I recognize her but can’t recall her name. What is she saying about us? About me? Is she telling the journalist about the time Nick lost his temper at the Neighbourhood Watch meeting? Or when he shouted at a boy delivering the free newspaper?
My eyes narrow at number eleven directly opposite. Did the curtain move? I blink. Perhaps I imagined it. Becca won’t say anything to the police or a reporter, will she? Only she knows why the ambulance came here last Christmas. Is she hiding behind her curtains watching everything? Or maybe she’s in the throng below, already spilling our secrets to one of the tabloids. No, stop it. I pull at my hair. She’s a friend. I can trust her. She said my secret was safe with her. Did she mean it, though? She might think Nick has something to do with Thomas’s disappearance and feel duty bound to tell the police all she knows. Everything.
If the press get wind of all these ‘incidents’ it could add up and shape the public’s opinion of us. Especially if they dredge up how we met. I shiver. And then what? Accusations? Tarred with the same brush, Dad would say. I couldn’t bear it being splashed all over the papers.
Maybe Becca’s not even home yet. I scroll through my phone and send her a text.
Have you heard – Thomas has gone missing!! It’s crazy outside, reporters everywhere. Could really do with a friend right now. Are you home yet?
I lie down on the bed. The room is stifling. But I can’t open a window. They might start shouting up at me.
I text Nick asking when he’s coming back. Where can he have gone? I pull up Mum and Dad’s number. Is it too late to tell them about Thomas or is our appeal on the news already? I search the BBC website for the headlines. The story was filed over an hour ago.
Newborn Taken From Bedford Shopping Centre: Parents Appeal For Thomas’s Safe Return.
Too late. Another thing they’ll hate me for. Perhaps it’s too late to build bridges. I press the number and immediately end the call. How do I even begin?
The photo under the headline is of the other girl Greg mentioned. They’re calling her Rosie’s accomplice. I zoom in but I don’t recognize her face.
I check my Instagram account. There are no new snide comments. That’s one good thing. I’m glad Nick insisted on my using a handle otherwise I’d have hundreds of nutters commenting by now. People are so jealous. A few nice photos of your house and they think they know you, that you must be living the perfect life. If only they knew the truth.
My eyes rest on our wedding photo on the chest of drawers. Nick in his tuxedo, standing tall, a satisfied smile across his lips. Mum’s voice pipes up in my head: the cat that got the cream, more like. His arm is securely through mine and I’m smiling as hard as I can because I didn’t want the tears to break through and spoil the picture. The love of my life had married me, I couldn’t believe my luck but there was a sour taste in the back of my mouth that wouldn’t shift. I didn’t understand exactly what it meant because I was so naïve, only eighteen years old.
The mobile rings in my lap making me jump. I expect it to be Nick but it’s not.
‘Gemma, is that you trying to call?’ It’s Dad’s voice. Tears fill my eyes. I can’t speak, trying to stop myself crying.
‘Gemma, darling, we saw the news. Are you okay?’
‘Dad. I’m so sorry.’ I press the phone closer to my face.
‘Darling, what are you sorry for?’
I take a breath. There are so many things, where do I begin?
‘I didn’t know she wouldn’t bring him back.’
‘Of course you didn’t, sweetheart. You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.’
‘But I trusted her.’
‘She’s the one at fault here, not you.’
‘I just want my baby back.’ Why is he being kind to me? It’s only making it worse. I wish I could tell him everything.
‘Of course you do.’
‘Is Mum there?’
He hesitates and I picture her sitting in her armchair by the television, across the room from his. He’s offering the phone to her and she’s shaking her head.
‘She’s… a bit upset, love. Maybe another time.’
‘I will bring Thomas to see you both, I promise. As soon as I get him back.’
‘I know, love. It’s okay, your mum will come round.’
He’s in the kitchen now because he’s talking over the kettle boiling, so Mum can’t hear what he’s saying. Why does he think I don’t know what he’s up to when I’ve heard him do it scores of times before?
‘Will she, though? Has she forgiven me?’
‘I’ve got to go now, love. There’s someone at the door.’
There is no one at the door. Another of his avoidance tactics. I know them all, Dad, I want to shout at him.
‘Speak soon, love.’
‘Bye, Dad.’
The line goes dead. I throw myself on the bed and cry.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Five Days Before
Gemma
The midwife lays my baby onto my bare chest, cord still attached and covered in blood. His scrunched-up eyes gaze into mine for the first time, and I think my heart will burst with joy.
‘Hello, Thomas, welcome to the world.’ I’ll keep you safe little one, I promise.
‘You were amazing.’ Nick kisses my head and neither of us can take our eyes off our beautiful baby boy. All that matters is us three here together right now. This is our world, our new family.
Once Thomas is cleaned up and checked, the midwife shows me how to latch him on to feed. Later when he’s sleeping and wrapped up in a blanket, Nick holds him, so I can go and have a shower.
The skin on my belly is an empty sack. Will I ever shrink back to a size ten? I have a healthy baby and he’s worth every single stretch mark. It’s just Nick who will mind. My body has changed so much. Will he find me attractive again? I dry myself and look in the mirror. I’m a different person now. A mummy. My left eye has a bright red broken blood vessel near the inner corner. I hope Nick doesn’t take any photos of me.
I wear my new nursing bra, comfortable knickers and a clean white nightdress. It’s still so warm outside but I don’t feel confident enough to wear shorts with this big sanitary pad. I towel dry my hair and put my slippers on.
Nick is still holding Thomas, looking down at him. The smile on his face is pure bliss. I really hope this is a new start for us, that he will be the good dad he never had and become a settled family man.
‘Do you know where my phone is?’ I ask. ‘I need to text my parents.’
‘Sssh.’ He holds a finger to his lips and points at the rucksack in my hand. I take my mobile out and shove it in my pocket. He didn’t object. Does that mean he wants me to tell them?
‘Oh, there he is,’ Becca whispers, appearing round the curtain in her nurse’s uniform. ‘He’s gorgeous. And how are you guys doing?�
��
‘Good, thanks,’ Nick says.
‘I’m fine, a bit sore.’ I hug Becca, grateful she was around.
‘You did so well, I hope you’re proud of her, Nick.’
He smiles and nods still with that dreamy look on his face. I hope it doesn’t change.
‘Thomas looks a bit jaundiced,’ she says peering over Nick’s shoulder at him. ‘I’ll get someone to come and check, but he might need to go under the lamps for a day or so. Not in a rush to go home, are you?’
‘Thank you.’ We hug and she whispers “well done” in my ear. I’m happy to stay for another day. I’d rather make sure Thomas is completely well first.
Nick goes home to collect some more babygros and clothes for me. I feed Thomas again. Another nurse comes to check and agrees that Thomas’s skin is looking a bit orange so does a blood test. She says she’ll be back soon to put him under the lights.
While Thomas is sleeping, I take a moment to make myself a coffee in the kitchen next to the ward. The sun is blazing through the window. I’d almost forgotten that there’s a whole world going on out there. I pick a chocolate digestive from the plate by the kettle. Life could be so happy every day if Nick stayed in a good mood. Maybe I should suggest anger management classes to him. If I say he needs to do it for Thomas’s sake, maybe he will. I take my phone out and pull up my parents’ number. I stare at it for a few moments. What will I say? I’ll call them later. I open Instagram. I’m tagged in a series of sideways photos of a kitchen cupboard full of mugs. They look just like mine. But they can’t be. I check the profile of the person who’s posted it. @redgirl. The hashtags don’t make sense: #mug #wife #perfect #lies #random. I don’t understand. If this is in my house, who took these?
The Face At the Window Page 10