I’m so confused.
By the time I arrive at my mum and dad’s, my paranoia has hit fever pitch, so that when I let myself in and discover the house empty, I panic. I send Mum a WhatsApp message, trying to keep it as calm as I can.
I’m back. Where are you? I need to get Tom home for his bath.
I wait to see the double ticks turn blue, but nothing happens. The message has been delivered but not seen. I message my dad:
Are you coming back soon? Where are you?
Once again, the ticks remain grey.
I tap my phone on the counter and try to calm my nerves. There’s no reason for me to be concerned or worried. It’s Sunday afternoon, my son is with his grandparents, and it’s a crisp autumn day. They’ve gone out for a long walk, that’s all. Probably borrowed next door’s Pomeranian and took him to the park.
After twenty-two minutes, the back door flies open, and my family pile into the kitchen.
‘Where have you been? I was worried sick!’
All three look at each other and then my mum throws her arms in the air.
‘Why on earth would you be worried?’ Mum fills the kettle and switches it on. ‘Pass me the cups, will you? We all need a hot drink after that walk. Tom, don’t forget to wash your hands!’
A walk. They’ve been on a walk. The sensible part of my brain was right. They just went out to blow the cobwebs away. I lean against the cabinet and try to catch my breath.
‘Charlotte! Cups please! What’s wrong with you this afternoon?’
My mum shakes her head, while Tom and my Dad take their raincoats off. I open the cupboard, take out four mugs and hand them to my mum. She smiles in approval.
‘How was your friend?’ my dad asks.
‘My friend? Oh, she was fine. We just had a quick coffee in the end because she had to get back to her husband.’
‘Get all your work done though?’
‘What?’
‘For tomorrow. You said you were doing work?’
I rattle my head. I need to get better at lying.
‘Yes, yes, all good.’ I turn to Tom. ‘Did you have a nice walk? It wasn’t too cold, was it?’ I stroke my son’s cheek. It is pink and freezing to the touch. I rub it with the back of my hand, but Tom flicks me away.
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ he says. ‘I’m not a baby.’
‘Tom met one of his teachers,’ Mum says, as she pours hot water into the cups. Tom puts his hands on his hips and tuts.
‘Grandma, it wasn’t my teacher. It was a man who came to school to talk about his job. His market job, remember?’
‘Oh yes. Silly Grandma.’
‘What do you mean, you saw the man who came to school?’
My heart beats so fast that I feel like I’m about to faint. My mum shrugs and stirs some hot chocolate into Tom’s cup.
‘Did you wash your hands? Wash them before I give you this.’
Tom turns on the tap, and a torrent of water cascades into the sink. He squirts far too much liquid soap into his hands, and proceeds to scrub as though he’s a surgeon, about to perform an operation.
‘Is anyone going to answer my question?’
‘He was just out with his dog,’ my mum says. ‘Having a nice Sunday afternoon walk by the looks of it. He seemed like a friendly man. Told us how nicely Tom sat during the assembly.’
My mum turns her attention back to my son, and I can hear them talk about being careful because the cup is hot, and exchanging questions about cookies or muffins, but I feel as though I can’t respond. Tom saw Simon? Close to my parents’ house? While I was having coffee with his wife? The same wife who wanted me to give her my baby ten years ago? My neck and shoulders feel as though they’re filled with ice, and as my mum tries to hand me a mug of tea, I dart out of the door.
‘Where you going?’
I can hear the voices of my three family members rattling down the path as I reach the gate, but I can’t stop. I have to run. I have to find Simon. I have to know what’s going on with him, with his wife, with everything!
I have to know!
I’m halfway down the lane when I realise, I didn’t even ask where they saw him. It could have been anywhere, and I could be running in the opposite direction, but I can’t slow down. My feet refuse to stop, and I can’t turn back to the house and ask where he was, so instead, I carry on.
Running.
Running.
Running.
I reach the river as it starts to rain, and the drops splash into the water and hit me in the face like wet bullets. I try to wipe them away, but it’s no good. The raindrops get heavier and heavier until my glasses are covered and I can’t see where I’m going or what I’m doing.
And then I trip and fall.
And my legs and hands are covered in puddle water, mud, grime and yellow, slimy leaves.
But there is no sign of Simon.
‘Charlotte! Charlotte!’ My dad’s voice echoes down the river path, as I am still slumped on my hands and knees. I look up, he waves and then helps me get back onto my feet.
‘Come on, silly.’ He speaks to me as though I were Tom’s age, and that’s fine with me. ‘What’s got into you today, eh? Have you had a bad dream or something?’
I shake my head, and flick the leaves from my jeans. They reveal wet, muddy prints, and I notice that one leg has a rip at the knee, and a trickle of blood seeps through the fabric.
‘I’m bleeding,’ I say, as though my dad hasn’t noticed.
‘Let’s get you home,’ he says. ‘We’ll get you all cleaned up.’
8
In the safety of my mum and dad’s kitchen, I sit on an old dining chair and spill out my heart. Tom has gone next door to play with their dog, after telling me that I’m even clumsier than him, and I should never go out for a run in the rain. God bless him, he’s so innocent and I hope he always stays that way.
My mum bathes my knee like she used to do when I’d fallen off my bike aged eight, while I tell them the entire story. Everything.
Every… Little… Thing…
And my world feels lighter by the end of it.
‘Do you think I’m being dramatic, by not wanting them to have access to Tom?’
My dad shakes his head.
‘No, I think you have good reason to believe they might be here to cause trouble, especially after hearing about the wife’s fake pregnancy. Nobody we know would ever do something like that, would they, Anne?’
My mum places the plaster on my knee and pats it.
‘Not that I know of,’ she says. ‘Right, there you go. All done.’
‘Thank you.’ I rub my leg and it stings under my touch.
‘Do you think badly of me for going out with a married man?’ I look down at the floor, as though I’m that same teenager who got herself ‘into trouble’ with the wrong guy. My mum shakes her head, while she washes her hands.
‘Charlotte, we’ve always known that Tom’s father was an older man, so to hear that he was married comes as no surprise. Besides, it sounds to me as though he used you. He knew what he was doing, but you were just a kid. It’s not your fault, but it’s not his wife’s fault either, so go easy on her if you ever see her again.’
I roll my eyes. Typical that even on hearing what I’ve just said about Monica, my mum is still concerned about her well-being. My dad had a brief flirtation with a work colleague before they were married, and my mum has never forgiven him for it. I imagine she still lies in bed, plotting the woman’s demise, but then again, I probably would as well if I was in that situation.
My dad gathers up all the medical supplies; throws the used ones in the bin and pops the rest into the box.
‘I think the best thing you can do is to ignore what she said about having access, and to try and stay away from that man, and his wife.’ He emphasises the word as a way of chastising me for meeting up with her today. ‘I’ve seen stories like this on the television, and the parental responsibilities soon get boring in the end and they back off. But if I
see Simon lurking around again, he won’t be able to see straight, once I’ve finished with him.’
My mum bursts out laughing, and even I can’t help but smile. Once again, my little dad thinks he can beat up anyone who upsets his daughter, and God love him for it.
‘Oh, shush, Bernard,’ Mum says.
‘I’m being serious!’
‘Well, I don’t have any bail money, I hope you know… So, you’ll just have to run fast so the police don’t catch up with you.’
My mum winks, and for a moment all is well with the world. But I’m not sure how long that will last.
Three hours later and I’m at home. Tom is in bed and Zach and I are slumped on the sofa, drinking tea. Zach grabs a cookie from the plate on the coffee table, and stuffs it into his mouth.
‘You know what I think you should do?’ he says through a mouthful of snacks.
‘No, what would you do?’ I roll my eyes, because whenever Zach has a great idea, it’s something outrageous that nobody in their right mind would ever attempt.
‘I know, I know, you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I think you should go and speak to Simon. Tell him that his wife has been lurking around, and it’s made you wonder about his motives as well. Tell him if he doesn’t leave you alone, you’ll go to the police.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Why?’
Crumbs fall onto Zach’s chest, and he brushes them off onto the floor.
‘Because I don’t want to get in the middle of his marriage problems. If I’d wanted to do that, I’d have done it ten years ago when I was sleeping with him.’
Zach licks his top lip, and sighs.
‘Got it.’
I tut, and pat his arm. Is that a hint of jealousy from my friend with benefits? Do I want it to be? I’m not sure.
‘Anyway… Perhaps I’m thinking too much into this. Simon hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? All he’s done is come into school for a career talk and then my parents saw him walking his dog near to their house. I have zero evidence that he knows anything about Tom, and if Monica does go ahead and tell him, then I’ll just have to deal with it – one way or the other.’
Zach takes out his phone.
‘Do you know where they live?’
‘No. As I told you, I thought they were in London, and I’ve no idea how long they’ve been back here. In fact, when I saw them in Waterstones, I just presumed – or hoped – that they were visiting Northampton. I had no idea that they’d come to Bromfield, but there you go!’
‘What was the number you had for him? Can you remember it?’
I reach into a nearby drawer and take out the crumpled bit of paper that holds Simon’s phone number. I hand it over and Zach stares at it.
‘Great. Having a phone number could make things easier.’
‘Easier for what?’ I ask the question but Zach doesn’t answer. Instead, he inputs the number into his phone, smiles and then hands it over.
‘Voila!’
I take the phone and stare at a listing for a Mr Simon Travis, 16 Donovan Grove, Bromfield-on-the-water.
‘How? How did you find this?’
Zach grabs another cookie, and sits back into the sofa.
‘Just call it journalistic skills… He must have advertised something in the small ads at some point. We keep the name, address and phone number of every person who advertises in the newspaper – for security reasons. We’re not supposed to pass the details along, though, so if anyone ever asks, you didn’t get the address from me.’
I stare at the page, and can’t believe Zach found the listing so quickly. It’s true what they say – there is no such thing as privacy anymore.
‘Shall we go and pay him a visit?’ Zach asks. ‘See what – if anything – he’s up to? We don’t have to mention Tom. After all, at this moment, he’s only seen you as a receptionist at the local school. We could ask a few discreet questions, and see what’s going on. What do you think? We could go over there tomorrow afternoon, after you’ve finished work.’
‘Why would I do that? I don’t want this man to be in my life. If I go round there, he’ll know he’s got to me.’
Zach leans forward, pops the cookie back onto the plate, and pushes up his sleeves.
‘Or he’ll know you’re onto him. If his wife has already told him about Tom, it’ll give you the upper hand, because he’ll know you’re not scared. You’ll have some kind of power.’
That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, especially as the first thing I want to do is run far, far away. My heart falls into my stomach, and my first reaction is to say no, but then I think of all the upset this week has caused, and I decide to do the right thing. Even if it just gives me a feel for what’s going on, it’ll be better than nothing.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s pay him a visit.’
Donovan Grove is one of those streets where every house is magnificent, individual and set back from the road. Built in the 1950s, I walked down here all the time during my teenage years, and once dreamt of owning number 12 – a white-bricked home with green shutters and roses around the door. Cliché perhaps, but that kind of thing excited me when I was fifteen years old. I once went out with a boy just because his cousin lived in that house. I was hoping I’d be asked to a party there or something, but one thing I learned during that time is that if you have a house as magnificent as number 12 Donovan Grove, the last thing you do is have a teenage party in it.
We amble past the once-coveted house, and I notice that the shutters are now brown, and the roses have long since been pulled out. The colourful flower beds have made way for pebbles, and even the beautiful green front door is now black and rather foreboding. It’s a shame what time can do to a place – or at least our memories of it.
Zach grabs my hand.
‘You okay?’
I’m not okay, but I don’t want to show it. If I admit to Zach that I want to go home; that I’m frightened and about to throw up, he’ll just stick me back in his car and take me away. As much as I’m scared and want to head home for a nice cup of tea, I also want to see what the deal is with Simon Travis. Seeing his crazy wife at Tom’s football match, and then hearing how she once coveted my child was terrifying. I need reassurances that they’re not here to cause trouble, and if that means speaking to Simon again, then it’s something I need to do.
We stop just as we reach the huge hedges that surround number 16. I can see the front door, and it looks intimidating and terrifying. I can’t go up there. What am I going to say? Zach swings around to face me.
‘Fuck, Charlotte! You’re as white as a sheet. Was this a bad idea? Do you want to go home?’
My breath catches in the back of my throat, and I cough.
‘I don’t want to go home, but at the same time, I’m not sure why I’m here. I’ve spent the past ten years hoping I would never see Simon again, and now I’m going to knock on his door? What the hell am I thinking?!’
Zach rubs my shoulders, and his touch soothes and comforts me.
‘Look, we’ve been over all this, but if you’ve changed your mind, just say the word and we’ll get out of here. We can always come back another day, if that’s what you decide. It’s no problem.’
He gives me that funny, wide-mouthed smile that he has, and I wonder in that moment why we’ve never made things serious between us. I shake my head. What a stupid thing to think about, when I’m about to walk up my married ex-lover’s driveway. I’m such a bloody idiot. All of this is idiotic. Every single bit of it.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Let’s go home.’
My friend nods, kisses me on the head and we both turn to go back to the car. Before we can get away from number 16, however, the door swings open, and there is Monica. She scowls at us with her arms crossed.
‘Charlotte? What are you doing here?’ Her voice echoes down the drive and lands with a painful thud in my already freezing ears. Zach and I stand cemented to the ground.
‘Is that he
r?’ he asks. ‘Is that his missus?’
I nod my head.
‘Yes, but let’s just go. This was a huge mistake.’
Zach breaks away from me and ambles up the driveway as though he’s on some kind of peacemaking mission. I can either run back to the car and look like an utter fool, or follow him and risk upsetting my life even more.
I follow him.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Zach, and this is my friend…’
‘I know who she is.’ Monica looks over Zach’s shoulder. ‘What can I help you with, Charlotte? Have you changed your mind about what we discussed in the restaurant?’
She smiles, but I shake my head.
‘No. No, I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘So why are you here? I don’t understand.’
Monica sucks in her bottom lip, and narrows her eyes as she stares at me. Although she wasn’t expecting us, she’s still as immaculate as she was in the restaurant. With her hair pulled back off her face, and wearing a simple green dress, she looks younger than her years. She’s not wearing any make-up that I can see, but her skin is perfect. It looks like peaches and cream, and she’s exactly the kind of person I would expect to live in Donovan Grove.
‘I’m really sorry to rush you,’ she says, ‘but I’m about to go to a yoga class. So, if there’s anything I can do for you, you better tell me now, because…’
She taps on her watch, and shrugs. Zach steps forward and I can see Monica staring at my friend’s multicoloured, tie-dye T-shirt, underneath his black leather jacket. He’s the one who looks like he’s on his way to an exercise class, and I’m sure his casual attire is not lost on the ever-perfect Monica.
‘Mrs Travis, my friend – who appears to be mute right now – just wants to know what the situation is with you and your husband.’
‘What do you mean?’
A stream of strength appears to me from nowhere, and now it’s my turn to jump in.
‘He means, are you in Bromfield so that you can create problems for me and my son?’
Monica sucks in her cheeks, and snorts.
Hell Hath No Fury Page 7