by A J Waines
‘Hasn’t he been sleeping properly?’ she asked.
Rick shook his head, turning up his nose. ‘Dan said he gets up in the night. Cries. Misses you… you know.’
She sighed. Ben was suffering as much as anyone in this situation. It was so unfair.
Rick idly began dismantling pieces from a jigsaw on a nearby table. He dropped one abruptly.
‘Urgh… frickin’ sticky,’ he said, wiping his fingers on his jeans in disgust.
A patient who’d recently joined the unit launched to her feet and cried out, ‘If anyone dies on this bus, I’m getting off…’
Then, just as abruptly, sat down again.
‘What the f––’ Rick exclaimed. ‘This place is a total loony b––’ He cleared his throat. ‘A total nightmare.’
His outburst woke Ben, and startled by the unfamiliar surroundings, he began to cry. Annie called time on the visiting hour and reluctantly, Sophie handed her son over and watched them leave.
Chapter 29
Daniel was too restless to go to bed. He dragged the empty trunk out of the cellar and bumped it, stair by stair, up to the bedroom. As he unfastened it, a smell of musty hymn books engulfed him.
It made him think of funerals and he had to remind himself that Sophie wasn’t dead.
But something was dead.
They couldn’t go back in time. It was impossible for what had happened to be removed without trace. Even if Sophie came back declaring her love for him, full of remorse, how could he possibly sit in the kitchen with his back to her and not wonder what she held in her hand?
The trunk wasn’t quite empty; a single green ribbon lay forgotten in the corner. He was convinced it was the same one Sophie had worn with the backless dress, the first time they’d met under the chandeliers at the Lanesborough Hotel. It seemed a hundred years ago and it unsettled him. There was no room for nostalgia at a time like this.
His mission was to drag all Sophie’s clothes off the hangers in the wardrobes, clear all her drawers and cupboards and lay everything to rest out of sight. They could join the other items in the loft or the cellar.
He wound the ribbon around his fingers, then left it on the dressing table and shook his head. None of this should have happened. All based on incriminating items and photographs no one had seen, but her. All figments of her imagination. None of it real.
He shut the trunk and sat on it, unable to bring himself to disturb any of Sophie’s clothes. If he left them exactly as they were it would keep the dream alive. If he bundled them away, she might never be coming back.
He left the room in a daze and crept past Ben’s room to brush his teeth. Toothpaste in hand, a sudden chill swirled into the bathroom making him shiver uncontrollably. How could he ever trust her with Ben, again? His dazzling, tender-hearted, murderous wife.
He rubbed his bare arms. No, the air around him really was colder than a few moments ago. He looked up, but the window was closed. He must have left another one open.
Once on the landing, traffic from the road roared and a passing motorbike sounded like it was heading straight for the lounge, downstairs.
He couldn’t have left a window open down there – he hadn’t opened one. He hooked his neck over the banister and stared into the charcoal shadows beneath. Then snatched a breath.
The front door was open. At ten o’clock at night.
He scuttled down the stairs. With the lime-green cricket bat primed above his shoulder, he hurried outside along the short path in his slippers.
A male figure walked swiftly into the distance, one way. A woman hurried into the night, the other. No one else.
He shut the door and flipped on the light. There was no way he’d left the front door not only unlocked, but wide open. No way.
Ben!
He charged up the stairs, still holding the bat and flung his son’s door open. Ben was there, fast asleep. Daniel stared at his blanket, watching his little body rise and fall, just to be absolutely sure.
Going back down to the hall, he came to a halt on the threshold of the lounge, to listen. Not a sound. From anywhere. He ducked behind the sofa, jiggled the long curtains and moved on to the kitchen. Nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary.
As he approached the cellar door, he could see from the white line under the door that the light was still on. He’d switched it off, earlier. He was a hundred per cent certain, because he’d used his elbow to avoid letting go of the trunk.
Someone had definitely been in the house.
With his mobile in his hand primed to call 999, he gingerly drew open the cellar door. Again, he stopped to listen, but could hear only the hammering of his own heartbeat.
He crept down the steps for a closer look; tossed open the flaps of various large boxes, checked for any signs of disturbance. Nothing was out of place.
He approached the filing cabinet in the corner and checked the drawers. Firmly locked. As they should be, even though it was only stuffed with old bank statements, various personal papers belonging to Sophie and her old medication and toiletries – the ones he’d moved from upstairs. He didn’t know why he’d still hung onto them, just like he didn’t know why he’d kept most of the junk down there.
He stepped over a spare car battery, the vacuum cleaner, toolbox and all the usual bits and bobs he really should go through properly one of these days.
Still holding the phone, he returned to the front door. His fingers were trembling so much, it took him three goes to get the key in the lock. For one terrifying moment, he thought someone had fitted a new one while he’d been upstairs cleaning his teeth. They hadn’t, of course, but the idea of changing the locks was a mighty fine one.
There wasn’t enough to go on to alert the police. A sceptic might even insist that all the odd incidents were down to him losing the plot: the missing picture on the landing, Ben out of his cot apparently talking to someone. Then there was the grit under the loft hatch, the white spirit, the damp cloth, the open front door – they could all be put down to absent-mindedness.
There had been no signs of forced entry, so who had a key? His mother – who else? Edith, next door. She was showing signs of having a bit of a crush on him, but surely she’d have no reason to creep about the place in the early hours. Then there was Sophie’s own key – had she given it to someone?
He wondered if, over time, every item in his house was gradually going to open, move or disappear. Whoever it was, he’d had enough.
He was going to put a stop to these shenanigans once and for all.
Chapter 30
Annie was beyond the point of exhaustion. She had pins and needles in her legs and she was starting to feel nauseous with fatigue. She’d done a double shift and wanted to get home.
She took a sly look at her watch, then handed Sophie a glass of water as she waited for her to swallow her tablets.
Sophie pulled a face as they went down.
‘He cheated on me, you know. Daniel is so convincing and such a good liar.’
Annie nodded, but didn’t respond. It wasn’t her job to argue or make her see sense.
‘If he’d just admitted it – it would never have happened.’
‘That’s all over now,’ Annie said, hoping to close the matter so she could get off home without any histrionics.
‘Look – new pictures. They’re date-stamped last week.’
‘Where did you get these from?’
‘Melody on reception gave me them this morning. Someone left them here, but there was no note or anything. Just these polaroids.’
Annie was on the verge of whipping them out of her hand. ‘I don’t think you should have had these. Were they signed off by the psychiatrist?’
She’d have to up her game; too many double shifts were making her sloppy. These must have slipped through the net.
Sophie let her hold one of the square shots. A stunning woman was in the throes of holding a man’s face and kissing him. Very intimate. It certainly looked like the
husband who’d come in to visit her.
‘It’s a different woman from the last pictures. Can you believe it?’ whispered Sophie. ‘A redhead this time. He’s all over her.’
‘Do you recognise the place?’
‘No. It looks like a pub or a party somewhere.’
Thoroughly animated, Annie flicked to another picture. ‘Yeah, it’s a pub, see the bar in the background?’
‘Can you read what it says on the blackboard behind the barman?’ Sophie asked her.
‘Looks like… Thorndale… Thorndike Tavern.’
She shrugged, her face blank. ‘Can you look it up for me on your phone when you go off-duty? I just want to know where it is.’
‘I’ll have to check with the psychiatrist on duty, first. I don’t want this to upset you.’
Most women in the ward weren’t the sort she’d normally feel a scrap of admiration towards, but Sophie Duke was different. She had class and dignity. She was worth going that extra mile for.
Annie handed back the picture and was quiet for a moment. A batch of shots such as this looked, to her, like the work of a private detective. Perhaps Sophie had failed to tell her something.
‘Did you get someone to do this?’ she asked. ‘Did you pay someone to follow your husband?’
‘Me?’ Sophie laughed. ‘Absolutely not! I’d got all the evidence I needed weeks ago.’
Annie was curious and more than a little mystified. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble, not only to take these shots, but also to get them to Sophie. Annie knew it wasn’t her role to make judgements, but she couldn’t help feeling that perhaps Sophie hadn’t been so delusional after all.
‘Does your husband know you’ve got these?’ Annie asked.
‘No.’ Sophie dropped her head and let the photograph fall to the floor. ‘It’s all a bit late now, isn’t it?’ Annie saw the light go out of her eyes. It was replaced by a hopeless stare.
‘I want it all to be over…’ Sophie whispered. ‘I can’t do this…’
Annie put a hand on her arm, in the way she’d reassure a friend, not a patient. ‘Why not go to your room – have a lie down?’
‘My life’s a mess. I don’t want to be here any more…’
‘Come on.’ She bundled the photos back into the envelope then walked with Sophie to her room where she left her sitting on the bed, staring into space, the envelope on her knees.
Annie went straight to the office to stick a ‘yellow flag’ at the top of Sophie’s file. A ‘yellow flag’ was the code for suicide watch; it meant the staff would be monitoring her closely over the next few days.
Shame, thought Annie, as she pulled on her coat, ready to leave. Hope she doesn’t go and do anything stupid. Looks like Sophie Duke might just have a case for mitigating circumstances.
Chapter 31
Dear Daniel,
It’s taken me some time to see I did a terrible thing and for that, I am truly sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have attacked you. I still can’t explain what took hold of me, but it should never have happened.
Nevertheless, I am seriously looking at my options for the future.
I believed you before we married when you said your one-night stands were all in the past and that you’d be faithful to me. I was stupid to be taken in.
I’ve made a decision.
I want a divorce.
I understand it’s on hold until they decide I’m sufficiently ‘compos mentis’ to know what I’m doing. But, I know already this is what I want.
I’ve seen more photos of you getting up close and personal with someone else, this time! Who’s the woman with the red hair? One of the nurses here copied them for me and managed to trace the place where you met, on her phone, so I know the pictures were taken at the Thorndike Tavern, in Oxford Street.
Don’t bother to deny it. It’s plain to see you’re back to your old ways, after all your empty promises.
Once I’m out of here, Ben and I will be moving on.
I can’t bear to see you.
Sophie.
Daniel picked up the photocopied sheets she’d included that had floated to the floor as he read. Sitting on the bed, with Ben only feet away along the landing, he was thrown into utter panic.
Someone had taken pictures of him and Jody and sent them to Sophie. Only these really were genuine photos this time, but only up to a point. Their meeting was entirely innocent; the hugs and air-kisses just the hallmarks of the overblown greetings actors give each other all the time. There was nothing in it. Nevertheless, the shots had been taken at such strategic moments that it looked like he and Jody were all over each other. Damn!
He glanced at the letter again and this time the word ‘divorce’ flashed out at him. Her plans were not only to leave him, but to take Ben, too. It was all going to be over.
How the hell had it got this far?!
He hunched over, snatching shallow breaths. No, it wasn’t how things were going to be. She was obviously not yet in her right mind. Everything could still work out. Once she was moved to prison, he’d get her to see sense. He’d explain the photographs. He’d be able to do that. She’d have lots of time to think and realise how good the two of them were together, how brilliant they were as a family. Then, once her sentence was out of the way she’d be coming back home.
His breathing slowed down, but his lungs seemed to be full of something sour. He couldn’t get to the scene in his mind where she walked through the door and into his arms without feeling that sharp pain in his side.
The legacy of her actions he might be able to forgive, but he would never be able to forget.
He couldn’t imagine Sophie in prison. Two things that should never go together. Like wet fingers and plug sockets or children’s pockets and fireworks. For a moment a wash of compassion swirled around his chest. He couldn’t imagine a worse punishment for her. Not just losing her freedom, but her dignity and self-esteem crushed in one go.
But others were being punished too, not least Ben who was being robbed of a mother and having to adjust to an entirely different future. That was the worst outcome.
Before then, they had the trial and the sentence to cope with. One step at a time.
He kept hearing the words of an old OMD song in his head: The future is unfolding, but it’s not what you had planned. And the question kept eating away at him: do you still love her?
In many ways the answer was easy. The Sophie he’d married; the woman who’d seen beyond his good looks and reached into the very core of him with understanding and acceptance. Yes, absolutely. Just being in the same room with her used to make him feel taller, brighter, warmer, more alive.
But the other Sophie? The one she’d become in the last nine months? He didn’t want to answer that.
The pertinent question was which one was the real Sophie? And he didn’t want to answer that either.
He reached for the green ribbon he’d left on the dressing table and brought it to his lips. He searched for her perfume on it, but there was nothing of Sophie left. He stuffed it down the back of a drawer and slammed it shut.
Chapter 32
When Daniel got home from nursery a text came in from Jody. She wondered if he was free to meet that Friday after the show.
His first impulse was to accept. Then, the more he thought about it, the more it felt like a ‘date’ and it didn’t seem appropriate. What if someone took more pictures of them together? Of course, the damage had already been done, but he was going to have to be incredibly careful not to make matters worse.
He began chopping leeks for tea, but was running entirely on autopilot. He was still reeling after Sophie’s letter. Someone had done a magnificent job of planting seeds of destruction in her already wayward mind. Who was it? Who had taken photos and delivered a select few that were deliberately misleading to his wife?
The nurses said she had no access to a mobile phone or social media and the only visitors she’d had were Vincent, Rick and Greta. As far as he knew. Perhap
s someone else was going in?
He put down the knife, wiped his hands on the tea towel and picked up his phone. Seconds later he was being put through to a nurse on Sophie’s ward, but the call got him absolutely nowhere.
No, they couldn’t give him a list of everyone who had visited his wife.
No, they didn’t know who had left photographs for her.
And, finally. ‘Yes, you’re right, Mr Duke, anyone could have dropped by with an envelope.’
Sunday morning lie-ins weren’t what they used to be. Dragged from sleep at some ungodly hour, Daniel had been subjected to the clanging of a toy drum – kindly bought by people who clearly didn’t have children – for the past twenty minutes.
Even though the locks had been changed, he was too worried about someone emerging through the walls, like Harry Potter on platform 9¾, that he hadn’t allowed himself another sleeping tablet. As a result, he’d counted sheep – several hundred in fact – for hours, without dropping off.
At 4.05am precisely he’d made a decision. He couldn’t merely rely on new locks, he was going to get an alarm fitted.
When the doorbell rang between drumbeats and squeals, Daniel was relieved to find Rick standing there, waiting to take his son to the hospital for a second visit.
Daniel had subsequently flopped back into bed and had only just showered, when they returned. They went into the kitchen, where Daniel had started washing up. Rick sat at the table with Ben on his knee, holding his favourite new book.
‘He’s moved on from Good Night, Gorilla,’ said Rick. ‘He’s into Shark in the Park, now.’
Daniel nodded with a smile. ‘He’s been looking through the portholes – it’s a clever book.’
He turned round, wiping a glass.
‘Did Sophie mention any incriminating photos when you went to see her?’