The First Wife: An unputdownable page turner with a twist

by Jill Childs

  She shrugged. ‘She sent back enough cash each month to put four kids through school. She couldn’t have done that as a teacher.’

  I tried to square Caroline the entrepreneur with the Caroline I used to know, whose long emails were all about her social life. She’d rarely mentioned the office apart from describing it as a backdrop for ex-pat parties. The silence stretched.

  ‘And you might have your first client?’

  ‘Dom has been talking!’ She looked excited again. ‘I’m just pitching to them. Burrells. Have you heard of them? They run luxury hotels. Half a dozen properties in the South. They’re looking for someone to supply quality nannies for guests and events. Well-presented girls. Educated, you know?’ She grinned. ‘I’m meeting the corporate team on Tuesday.’

  I swallowed some more macaroon. ‘That sounds amazing.’

  She looked me over, thoughtful. ‘So, what about you? I’m so sorry, by the way. About your father and everything. It must have been awful.’

  I didn’t answer for a moment. It was the first time she’d mentioned my father and I expected her to come up with some anecdote about him. Her own father was always travelling when we were girls, doing deals. It was mine who turned up in his thick overcoat, woolly scarf round his neck, and drove us both home, calm and uncomplaining, from birthday parties. On Saturdays, he’d run up and down the touchline when we played hockey, one of the few parents to come along to cheer. He knew what it meant to me, when I finally scraped into the second team and played real matches. He was always there. Not urbane and charming like Dominic. Just there. A quiet, steady presence. He used to say: eighty per cent of life is showing up. And he always did.

  ‘Dominic’s lost both parents too,’ she said. ‘Poor Lucy’s only got one grandparent. My mother. And she’s never even seen her.’

  That was it. She knitted her forehead as if my father and mother’s deaths were just too awkward to discuss any further and focussed on the trees outside.

  ‘Thanks for letting me stay.’ I hesitated. ‘I’m a bit betwixt and between at the moment. I’ve cleared mum and dad’s house but I can’t sell it until, you know, they’ve finished all the paperwork.’

  I thought of the empty rooms, the echo in the hall when I slammed the front door for the last time.

  She said, ‘Will it take long?’

  ‘I hope not. The solicitor seems on the ball. They let me use some of dad’s savings to cover, you know...’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the word funeral. Not yet. ‘It’s just been non-stop. His heart attack. Then losing him.’ I took a deep breath. It was all too raw. ‘And then dismantling the house, you know. It’s amazing how much stuff you accumulate over the years, as a family.’

  She nodded. ‘I can imagine.’

  I doubted she could. Her family had been constantly on the move, from one country to another, one property to another. She didn’t seem the sort to hoard old furniture, passed on from grandparents and great aunts and uncles, to fill the attic with everything from rolls of musty old carpet (‘you never know when it might come in handy’) to broken, out-of-date electricals. She and Dominic probably used a removal company to sort and box and send everything back to the UK.

  She said, ‘Once it’s all sorted out though, you’ll be able to buy your own place, won’t you? Have your own home.’

  ‘I suppose so. A flat, maybe. Somewhere.’ I couldn’t really imagine it. It didn’t seem real. ‘Anyway, I’m really grateful to be here. But I don’t want to overstay my welcome. You must say—'

  She was just opening her mouth to answer when the door flew open and Lucy came running in and stopped abruptly, as if she hadn’t expected to find anyone here.

  Caroline opened her arms. ‘Hello, gorgeous. Having fun?’

  Lucy didn’t respond. She stood, unblinking, and stared at me.

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled, suddenly self-conscious as she scrutinised me. ‘I’m Sophie.’

  Caroline interrupted: ‘What on earth have you been doing?’

  Lucy gazed dolefully down at her clothes as if she were seeing them for the first time. Her pink trousers were streaked with mud. Her long straight hair was tangled and knotted and pocked by fragments of dead leaves, as if she’d been rolling in them. I thought about the way we used to roll down the mound in the playground at primary school on crisp, autumn days, then jump in and out of piles of leaves and hurl handfuls of mulch at each other until the teachers caught us.

  ‘Tanya!’

  A figure, hanging back in the doorway, stepped reluctantly forward into the room and laid a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, taking possession of her. She was a thin-faced young woman in tight jeans and a dark blue sweater, an unzipped anorak on top. Her hair was short and spiky and her expression, as she stood there taking orders, was sullen.

  ‘Get all that in the wash, please.’ Caroline’s tone was polite but brittle. ‘And put her in a hot bath. I’ll be up later, after tea.’

  Lucy’s face clouded as Tanya turned her round and marched her away without reply.

  Caroline tutted and leaned forward to me once they’d left. ‘See what I mean? I spent months looking for a decent nanny and that’s the best I could find. None of them want to be stuck out here. They all want London so they can party every night.’

  She poured more hot water into the pot and stirred.

  I watched her quick, confident movements and wondered about Lucy. I wasn’t used to being around children, but there was something about Lucy’s silence that bothered me. The frown on her thin face as she turned away.

  ‘Anyway,’ Caroline picked up, pouring me a fresh cup of tea. ‘You’re welcome to stay here for a bit, if that helps. If you don’t mind being stuck in the middle of nowhere.’

  A moment later, she changed the subject. She was going out to see a friend for dinner this evening, she told me, to talk through her business plan, and she had a meeting with the bank in town the next day. She put her head to one side, a coy gesture I remembered from when we were girls.

  She hoped I wouldn’t mind too much if she left me to my own devices. There was plenty to eat in the kitchen and Tanya could always help me out. She gave an expansive, sweeping gesture with her arm, taking in everything around her. Help yourself, it said. My kingdom is your kingdom.

  * * *

  That evening I put together a cold supper from the food in the fridge, a plate of ham and salad. I felt conscious of everything I took and made a point of washing the dishes by hand and putting everything back with care. The house was silent. Tanya must be upstairs somewhere and Lucy asleep in her room, but I had no idea whereabouts.

  As I walked across the hall, to and from the kitchen and the small dining room next to it, the house felt ominous with shadows. The only sounds were the creaking floorboards under my feet, the high whistle of the wind round the edges of the building and the distant rumble of stones, shaken together by receding waves on the beach below.

  I held my breath and hurried up the staircase to my bedroom and left the landing light on when I shut the door. I told myself that it was out of consideration for Caroline when she came home later but the real reason was because I felt suddenly anxious and very alone.

  Before I drew the curtains, I stood at the windows for a moment, looking out over the sea. The water, a shifting mass of black, was barely visible in the darkness. When I tipped my head and stared straight down, I had to strain to make out trails of foam glistening on rock as waves pressed up the shore, then sank away to nothing.

  In bed, I curled into a ball under the covers, arms wrapped round my body, and rocked myself. It was a mistake, coming here, I thought miserably as I fell backwards into sleep. Her invitation had seemed so earnest all those months ago. Almost desperate. I’d read it all wrong. I should never have come. I didn’t belong here. The trouble was, I didn’t really belong anywhere.

  * * *

  Screaming.

  I snapped my eyes open and lay very still, my heart pounding. The darkness was intense. Silence p
ressed down on me. I moved a foot, trying to feel, to understand why the bed wasn’t my own.

  Waves pulsed steadily on loose stones, the eternal heartbeat of the sea. Caroline’s home. Caroline and Dominic. The events of the previous day came flooding back to me.

  The scream came again, distant but real. High-pitched and terrified.

  I threw back the covers and groped for the bedside light, knocking a book off the table. My phone read twenty to twelve. I reached for a sweater and headed for the door.

  Outside, the landing light was still on. I stood there, trembling, straining to hear, uncertain whether to go downstairs or up the second staircase, further into the body of the house.

  The next scream decided me. A child’s cry, I heard it more clearly now, coming from above. Lucy, of course.

  I activated the weak torch on my phone and followed the beam of light up the stairs. It led to a broader landing which was directly over the hall. Two doors to my left were both closed. Tanya might be asleep in one of them. Maybe Lucy in the other. The third door, ahead to the right, stood open and I crept forward and peered inside.

  It was an imposing master bedroom with an empty king-sized bed set back along one side. Large floor to ceiling wardrobes dominated the opposite wall. The room mirrored the shape and scale of the sitting room directly below it, with the same generous alcove, framed on three sides with windows, on the far side.

  The curtains stood open. Shafts of silver light reached in through the windows, colouring the shadows. A pair of upright, wing-back chairs were draped with discarded clothing. Gold buttons shone. The red woollen jacket Caroline had worn when she came to collect me. Wherever she’d gone this evening, she wasn’t yet home.

  The cry came again, heart-rending. I turned to follow it. It hadn’t come from one of these rooms at all but higher, up another staircase, a steeper one this time, that led to a closed door. I hurried up, my hand steadying myself on the bannister, my legs shaking. Standing still made me more afraid than moving. The door at the top of the stairs was heavy and I had to put my shoulder to the wood to open it.

  The floorboards beyond were uncarpeted. These were converted attic rooms, designed long ago for Victorian maids who now lay forgotten in the cold ground. I tripped up the last few steps, the soles of my bare feet on rough grained wood.

  The final door stood open and shone with a peculiar orange glow. Inside, a tiny figure in a gleaming white nightdress sat up in bed, her back rigid. I stared. A ghost. A phantom from the world of the dead. She twisted to face me and she screamed again, loud and close. The shriek echoed round the room. I groped along the wall for a light switch and clicked it on. We took stock of each other for a second, half-blinded, light-stunned.

  Her hair was tousled and wild, her face swollen with crying. Her large brown eyes – Dominic’s eyes – were streaming, tears running down her cheeks. Her mouth hung open as she struggled to breathe.

  ‘Lucy! Lucy! What happened?’

  I reached for her, sat on the small bed beside her and wrapped my arms around her thin shoulders, brought her head to my chest, rocking her against me. She shook and tried to pull away from me but I held her firmly, raised a hand to her back and rubbed it in soft circular strokes.

  ‘Lucy, sweetheart, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?’

  She gulped, sobbing now as her shoulders started finally to soften against me. I stroked her hair, kept her close. We stayed like that for some time, rocking gently back and forth, my arms tight round her thin body. Slowly, as she clung to me, the jagged breathing became smoother and her crying began to subside.

  She reached behind her, groping for something, then brought an old-fashioned teddy into the space between us and held it close.

  I looked round the room. It unsettled me. It was a large, dark room, a nursery and child’s bedroom rolled into one. The ceiling slanted with the contours of the roof overhead. The weak overhead light made monsters out of the shadows. The room’s position, perched right at the top of the house, amplified the howling of the wind.

  I held her tightly as I looked. I would never put a child to bed up here, all alone. She seemed shut off from the main body of the house. Exiled from its warmth, its people.

  ‘Shush, Lucy. Shush now.’ I started to talk to her in a low, even tone, trying to calm her. ‘Do you remember me? I’m Sophie. I was at school with your mummy long, long ago. Did she tell you? You saw me having tea with her in the sitting room. Remember?’

  She snuffled and cuddled into my arms.

  ‘Your mummy is out at the moment, but she’ll be back very soon. Where’s Tanya?’

  She shivered. It was cool up here. The wind, seeping in through the long expanse of windows, stirred the curtains.

  ‘Come on now. You’re cold. Let’s get you warm and cosy.’ I tried to settle her back under the covers, soothing down the sheet beneath her. It was cold and wet. I lifted the covers higher to see and the ammonia smell hit me.

  ‘Oh dear.’ I paused, thinking, trying not to upset her any more. ‘Did you have an accident?’

  She didn’t answer but hung her head. I sensed her misery.

  ‘That’s ok, Lucy. It’s not your fault.’

  I felt the back of her nightie. Soaking, clinging to her thighs. Poor kid. She must be freezing.

  ‘Let’s get these wet things off and get you warm again, shall we?’

  I stripped off the wet nightie and looked round, wondering where to find clean sheets and something dry for her to wear. I rummaged through a small white chest of drawers and pulled out a vest and t-shirt and a pair of pants and helped her into them. No sign of spare bedding. She sat there on the end of the bed, shivering and miserable. I hesitated, feeling awkward. But I couldn’t leave her up here on her own. It was too draughty. Too lonely...

  ‘Do you want to come down to my room? I’ve got a huge bed. You can lie on the other side if you like.’

  Her eyes widened and she nodded. I scooped her up and she threaded her arms round my neck and tucked her nose under my chin. She was no weight at all.

  Back in my own bedroom, I tucked her in on the far side of the bed and settled beside her to sleep. She twisted round and stretched out her icy feet, warming them against my leg.

  She was soon breathing heavily, all bony corners, arms and legs flung in sleep across the empty space, leaving me lying along the very edge of the mattress.

  I lay there, listening to the rhythm of the sea and wondering why no one else had heard her screaming, whether it often happened to this small girl, that she screamed and screamed in the darkness and no one came.

  * * *

  ‘Where were you? Answer me!’

  Caroline was in the hall, berating Tanya. Lucy and I sat together over bowls of cereal in the kitchen. Even in a booster seat, she looked dwarfed by the table, her elbow barely high enough to spoon food into her mouth. Her hair hung in plaits on either side of her head. Her eyes were cast down on the tabletop.

  ‘How could Sophie hear her, all that way away in the guest room, and you couldn’t?’

  If Tanya defended herself, it was softly. Her voice was nothing more than a murmur. I didn’t know either. Maybe she was a heavy sleeper. Maybe she had headphones on, plugged into music. She was young.

  ‘You’re on warning. Understood? I’m paying you good money to look after her. It’s not that hard. One more mess up like this and I’ll have to let you go.’

  Lucy’s expression didn’t change. I moved my head and tried to catch her eye across the table to smile or wink at her. She didn’t respond.

  Later, Caroline drove off to town for her meetings and Tanya stacked the breakfast crockery in the dishwasher, her face sullen, then disappeared down the hall towards the back porch to start getting Lucy ready to go outside to play. Her voice reached me, scolding and bossy, as I went upstairs to get a sweater and coat. By the sound of it, Lucy was in for a difficult morning.

  I stood for a while at the bedroom window, looking out over the grounds a
nd the sea below. The sky was lighter this morning, with patches of blue just visible here and there through the clouds. I emptied out a canvas bag and slung it over my shoulder, pulled on my coat and headed outside, turning round the side of the house towards the coast to follow the narrow path to the gate and out onto the cliff top.

  The breeze blowing in from the water snatched me as soon as I rounded the corner and left the shelter of the building. I put my hood up and thrust my hands into my pockets, then quickened my pace. The gate was latched and I struck out across the grass, following the outlines of the path which was sometimes muddy, sometimes swallowed up by coarse grass.

  My hood blew off almost at once and I left it down, feeling the wind lift my hair as I walked. The air chilled my cheeks, but it felt fresh and I filled my lungs, enjoying the physical challenge. I was soon short of breath. Blood surged in my ears. I stood for a moment close to the edge of the cliff and peered down.

  The waves hurtled across the stony beach and rattled back in a flurry of foam. It was the same grinding I’d heard in my bedroom, louder now and more raw. Below me, partway down the cliff, a gull wheeled, then rose and headed further along the coast.

  I scanned the scenery as I walked, trying to get my bearings. Now I was leaving behind the house, I saw just how isolated it was.

  I paused at the next headland and looked back. The house perched on the cliff edge, squat and sprawling, the dark, weathered stones of the walls contrasting with the red tiled roof. The paintwork, white once, was grey and peeling.

  I turned to look inland – nothing but scrubland broken up here and there by clumps of trees, spare and gnarled conifers mostly, beaten and bowed by the wind.

  I thought about home. I was glad to be away from it all. The solicitors had been vague about how long it would take to finalise the paperwork. Once the property was really mine, an estate agent could begin work on finding a buyer. Who knew how long that would take? Even then, once I’d sold it, there were bills to settle.