I sit back on the bed. I need to think about this logically. Carl doesn’t have a key. No one but me has the keys. So, how could he, or anybody else, have got inside? I run downstairs and check the kitchen drawer. The spare key is still inside. No one has taken it.
I take a steadying breath.
Maybe Jo was right: the bloody house is haunted.
‘Mum?’ Finley is standing right in front of me, a bemused look on his face.
‘Yes, love?’
‘Why are you frozen?’
‘Sorry? What do you mean?’
‘You’re standing like a statue.’
‘Oh.’ I laugh. ‘I was deep in thought. Sorry, did you want me?’
‘Yes, there’s someone at the door. I haven’t opened it because you said not to if we didn’t know who it is first.’
‘Good boy, that’s right.’ I ruffle his hair and go to the front door, sliding the chain across before opening it a crack. Surprise steals my breath.
‘Hi, Amber. Could I have a word?’ Carl says.
Has he been watching the house for my return? I’m not ready to confront him. ‘Now’s not a good time, actually, Carl.’
‘Oh. Er … right.’ He shuffles his feet and looks around. He’s acting very shiftily. ‘I wanted to update you, that’s all. From the number of times you’ve called into the office, I’d have assumed you’d be dragging me in,’ he says, his laugh at the end of his sentence going right through me.
‘Feel free to call me later,’ I say, about to close the door on him.
‘Oh …’ His frown lines deepen. ‘Well, hang on a sec.’ He rummages in his coat pocket. ‘You wanted your key?’ He holds it up towards the gap in the door. ‘Sorry it’s later than I said …’
Pointless, now, in fact. But I take it from him, muttering my thanks.
I close the door without another word.
I couldn’t tell if he knew he’d been followed earlier. He may well have been here to give me an update and to return the key, but the timing is too coincidental for my liking. And I don’t want that man inside my house again. When he calls later – if he does – I’ll tell him I want to terminate the contract. I must also get his stupid diary back to him. I’d entirely forgotten about hiding it underneath my mattress. I don’t want him to have any reason to come back here.
I take my mobile and go into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. The boys have gone up to Finley’s room to play a game on the computer, so I should be able to talk without them overhearing. I call Davina to tell her Carl has just paid me a visit. And I tell her about the missing picture from my bedroom.
I don’t know whether to be relieved her thoughts echo mine, or afraid, but the first words she utters are:
‘Carl must’ve taken it. See, I was right to jump to that conclusion – I bet that’s where he’d hidden the camera.’
Chapter Fifty-Four
Amber
A noise wakes me. It was a thud and it sounded like it was coming from Leo’s room. My body refuses to move. I can’t even lift my head from the pillow. Perhaps I’m the one who’s dreaming. Sleep paralysis, maybe.
No. There it is again.
Not a dream.
The reason I can’t move is fear. Pure and simple.
If I move, if I walk into Leo’s room, I’m afraid I’m going to see a figure standing over his bed.
I hear the ticking of the clock on my bedside table. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. My heart beats in time with it. Steady, but fast.
Move, Amber. Move.
Protect your children.
I’m finally able to swing my legs out of bed and I take the knife from the drawer. I’ve been keeping it there just in case. I have to be armed with something more surreptitious than a baseball bat; it makes me feel slightly more confident. As I reach my bedroom door, I hear the bathroom door closing. I stand with my back against the wall just inside my bedroom, allowing myself to relax a little. It’s only Leo or Finley visiting the toilet. I’ll wait here to make sure they get back into bed okay. Seeing their mother with a knife wouldn’t be good.
They’re taking a long time. I glance back at the clock; the illuminated hands tell me it’s two-forty. I strain to hear any noises coming from the bathroom. Nothing. Had they been coming out of the bathroom when I heard the door close? I peep around the doorframe. There’s no glow of light leaking from beneath the door. But I can hear a scraping noise. I walk to Leo’s room, as it’s first, and open the door a crack. I hear gentle breathing. I push it fully open. No one is in there with Leo. I do the same with Finley’s room. Nothing.
Neither of them are making any noise. And both seem in a deep sleep.
So, who was in the bathroom?
I wish Richard was here – his calming presence would be really helpful in this moment. His strength, his gentle voice of reason would soothe and reassure me. And he’d be the one to check out these noises, then when he found nothing untoward, he’d hold me in his arms until we fell asleep again. But he’s not here. It’s all on me. So, with the knife now held in front of me, I edge towards the bathroom. I put my ear flat to the door and hold my breath again. Silence.
I open the door and pull the light cord.
White light blinds me for a moment, then my eyes adjust. The window is open an inch, the cold air seeping through. I shiver and reach forward to close it.
As I stretch, I look down into the sink. A face looks back at me.
‘Shit!’ I slap my free hand across my mouth to stifle a scream and instinctively back away, dropping the knife to the floor. All power drains from my body. Jo’s voice echoes in my head: It could be a poltergeist. But I don’t believe in that stuff, not really. I’m a rational person. I take some large, deep breaths and stand on tiptoes so I can peek inside the sink again.
Not a ghost.
But it is a face.
I recognise the big, round, blue eyes, the mop of blonde hair.
It’s the boy from the missing picture.
His face has been neatly cut around – the kitten no longer part of the picture. Now my heart rate has returned to a normal speed, I remove the face from the sink and pick up the knife. Whatever is going on here is not supernatural. This is being done for a reason, by a living person.
I go back to Finley’s room and open the door again. With all the focus on Leo lately, perhaps Finley feels left out. Ignored, somehow. Miss Emery asked how the breakdown of the marriage affected the boys and I’d been quick to say they were fine. That they had no issues. He stirs. Is he just pretending to be asleep? I look down at my hands, at the boy’s face, then back at Finley. He knows it’s the picture I always say reminds me of him.
Is Finley trying to tell me something?
Chapter Fifty-Five
Amber
‘Cornflakes or … Coco Pops?’ I say with a smile. Finley beams at me before shouting for Coco Pops and scrambling to sit at the table.
‘You do know I’ve had them once this week already, don’t you?’ He shoots me a quizzical look. ‘You’re not teasing me, Mum, are you?’
‘No, love. As if I would. Just a treat, that’s all. You’ve been really good lately and I really love you.’
‘You’re so soppy.’ He crinkles his nose.
‘Oh, really?’ I say, putting my hands on my hips. ‘Who says?’
‘Dad.’ He laughs. ‘He’s always saying that about you.’
‘That I’m soppy? I can’t think why.’
‘It’s because you cry at every film we watch, Mum.’
‘Ahh. Right. Yes, I do, you’re quite right. You don’t take after me, do you?’
‘Nah. I’m tough, like Dad.’
This is something I’ve not really thought about. Nick being a detective, telling the boys stories of his job, making himself sound brave in the process, might make them believe that’s the way you should be. Leo is more like me, sensitive and happy to show his emotions – but Finley does appear to be more of a closed book, not willing to open up as m
uch. Like Nick. And, like Nick, he internalises far more. Have we, as parents, been unintentionally reinforcing this trait? Maybe that’s why Finley doesn’t feel able to talk to me about his feelings. The things going on in the house might well be his way of acting out his emotions without having to speak about them.
I will need to do some research on this kind of behaviour when they’re at school. I hate to think I’ve let Finley down by not helping him acknowledge and work through his feelings about our separation and my new relationship. However, I don’t want to be in this house alone today. I feel the need to escape these four walls; be alone, somewhere peaceful. I want to be by the sea. I’ll drive to Teignmouth once I’ve dropped the kids to school. I could go to the library and use their computer, then sit on the seafront. Blow away the cobwebs. Clear my head and try to figure out how to progress from here.
‘I think you and me should have a proper chat after school today,’ I say, as nonchalant as possible.
‘Am I in trouble?’ he asks, Coco Pops spilling from his open mouth.
‘No. Of course not. We haven’t had a lot of time together, just the two of us – it’s about time we did, that’s all.’
‘What about Leo?’
‘I’m sure Jo and Keeley would be fine with him going over to theirs for a couple of hours. What do you think?’
He contemplates this for a little while – shovelling the last of his breakfast into his mouth before replying.
‘Sure,’ he says. Then, as he’s leaving the kitchen, he adds, ‘I’ve got something I want to tell you, anyway.’
My pulse skips. I wonder if it’s about what I suspect it is.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Amber
The tips of my fingers are numb. I cradle the takeaway cup of hot chocolate, but the heat has all but gone. I’ve been sitting on a bench on the seafront for the past hour, watching the boats, listening to the crashing waves, breathing in the chilly sea air. I lick my lips, the salty taste replacing the sweetness of the chocolate.
Richard has been quite quiet since his weekend visit. We’ve texted, but they’ve mostly been him saying how he’s stressed with his current workload, or me saying how I’m missing him. He’s not mentioned “Plan B” again and I didn’t like to either. Maybe he’s waiting for me to make a firm decision. He might be waiting a while. My hope of gaining a clear head being by the sea hasn’t exactly materialised. If anything, I feel even more uncertain. If Finley is suffering silently with Nick not living with us, how is he going to cope with us living over two hundred miles away? I’m hoping our chat later will provide some clarity. If I can get to the bottom of his feelings, I can at least reassure him and help him to navigate these new life changes.
The chill has reached my bones now. I’ll warm up in the library.
Ten minutes later, I’m wandering up and down the aisles, checking out the books on the shelves. I can’t even remember the last time I visited a library on my own. I regularly take the boys to the small one in Stockwood, but never use the opportunity to browse for myself. I head to the reference section and look for child psychology. The books are far too hefty and scanning the index doesn’t really help. I don’t know where to start. I find a spot in the computer area instead and begin searching the internet. Using keywords is far easier than blindly flipping through pages. How did we manage prior to good ole Google?
There are tons of articles and websites relating to child anxiety and behavioural issues arising from parents separating. It makes for depressing reading. The upshot appears to be that the child’s behaviour could range from mild acting out, to destructive. It mentions it’s important for both parents to monitor behaviour – keeping a diary of it – and, vitally, to communicate, have patience and seek help from a professional if the behavioural issues seem to point towards something more serious. The last part causes my skin to prickle. I really hope it doesn’t have to come to that. He’s not acting out at school, otherwise I’d have heard about it, and apart from my suspicions about him being behind some of the weird goings-on at home, he seems fine.
The diary is a good idea, though, I’ll buy one now.
Damn. That reminds me. I forgot to slip Carl’s diary back to the estate agent’s.
As soon as I walk through my front door, I rush upstairs to retrieve the diary from its hiding place. I run my hand underneath the edge of the mattress my side of the bed. I still sleep on the one side, despite being alone now. Old habits die hard. I dig further, but my fingers don’t find it. I huff, lifting the mattress as far up as I can manage – it’s so heavy.
It’s not there. The diary has gone.
I can’t imagine Finley taking it. He wouldn’t have known it was there.
Think, think, think.
I look towards the space where the boy and kitten picture used to hang. Right opposite the bed. If there had been a camera, if someone had been watching, they would’ve seen me pushing the diary underneath the mattress.
It really is Carl, then. It has to be.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Barb
It’s more awkward than I anticipate. It seems setting something alight in this complex raises some eyebrows. I’ve had a failed attempt just outside the back door of the bungalow – the warden shouted at me as though I was some delinquent arsonist. Now, I’m finally able to drag an old metal bin to the back of the garden, in what I believe is a secluded area of the complex. I cram in some newspaper, then, holding the match against the striker, swipe it up and away from me. I watch the dancing flame for a moment before dropping it in the bin, then wait for the paper to catch before placing the picture inside. I stare, mesmerised by the orange-red flames as they stretch out, licking the frame.
A voice behind me shocks me from my trance. I was careful to make sure no one was around. How did someone creep up on me so quickly?
‘Burning old memories?’ they ask.
I twist sharply to face the voice. I recognise the grey-haired, skinny man; I’ve seen him before. He must live on the complex too. ‘Something like that,’ I say. I turn back to the fire, and with the long stick, poke the wooden frame further to the bottom of the bin. The glass cracks loudly.
‘Need any assistance?’
‘No. I can manage. Thank you.’
I really don’t want to begin a conversation with this man. Not here. Not now. I wish he’d leave; mind his own business. The flames are about to reach the boy’s face now. I close my eyes. I can’t watch this part.
‘I’ve got some things I could do with getting rid of, too,’ says the man. ‘When you get to our age you don’t want to leave anything behind that might … well … upset those left; the ones who’ll find it.’
‘Isn’t that the truth,’ I mutter, but then catch myself. I spoke too loudly; I open my eyes to check where he is. He moves forwards, closer to me and the burning bin, so I step to the side to obscure his view of its content.
‘Can’t burn a guilty conscience, though. Some things can’t be destroyed by fire. We have to carry them to our graves. Unless, of course, we feel the need to unburden ourselves before meeting our maker.’
‘Sorry, have we met?’ I ask without turning to look at him again. I don’t want him to see what’s in my eyes. Who the hell is he? And why is he speaking this way?
‘Don’t you remember me, Barbara?’
My blood runs cold.
It suddenly hits me.
I realise now why he looks so familiar.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Amber
The question of what to do about my suspicion clouds my mind, making my head light and foggy. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I wait for Leo and Finley to emerge from the school. I can hear voices, conversations going on all around me, but it’s like I’ve got my ears filled with cotton wool and everything is muffled. A tap on my shoulder snaps me out of it.
‘You hear about Paula?’ Yolande widens her eyes at me, awaiting my answer even though it was clearly rhetorical.
What gossip has poor Miss Emery caused now?
‘No. But you’re obviously going to enlighten me.’
‘Gone,’ Yolande says with a dramatic wave of her hand.
‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘Literally gone. Vamoosh! Left without even telling the school.’
‘Really? How do you know?’
She puts her fingers to her mouth and pulls them across her lips in a zipping motion. I groan. ‘Well, how do we know she’s all right? Something could’ve happened to her – people do disappear. Has she been reported as missing?’
‘Oh, do calm down. You’re being rather dramatic, Amber.’ Yolande lifts her head and laughs. I have a strong urge to slap her. ‘She sent a text to her family saying she was taking some time out.’
‘That sounds very worrying. Aren’t her family concerned for her wellbeing?’
‘I assume not.’ Yolande shrugs. ‘Anyway, thought you should hear it from me, you know, after our discussion the other day. I’m sorry it’ll mean Leo having to get used to a new teacher.’
That seems like the least of my concerns right now. It doesn’t sit well with me that Miss Emery has “disappeared” right after her reaction to Carl being my estate agent. It’s all very odd. Perhaps she, too, found out theirs wasn’t his only affair. But to up and leave seems drastic. Although, perhaps Yolande is embellishing. Miss Emery could merely be taking emergency leave, or simply sick leave, to clear her head and enable her to come back refreshed. I should wait for the next school newsletter. If she really has “gone”, then it’ll be officially announced and circulated to the parents. I’m about to vocalise this to her, but she’s already flounced off to her usual group of yummy mummies.
‘Hey, my gorgeous boy,’ I say as Leo shuffles towards me, his bookbag dragging on the ground. ‘What’s up?’
‘Long day,’ he says with a sigh. ‘I’m so tired.’ My heart melts; he’s so funny.
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