Hell Hath No Fury

by Michelle Morgan

  ‘I’m not upset about the newsletter,’ he says.

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘I was, but I’m not anymore.’

  I tuck Tom’s giraffe under the duvet, and he grabs and holds on to it.

  ‘So why are you upset?’

  ‘Will you be angry?’

  ‘No.’

  I hold my breath, and wonder what Tom is about to say. If he’d been in trouble at school, his teacher would have told me. Wouldn’t she? My son sits up and wipes his eyes.

  ‘It was the lady.’

  My heart leaps.

  ‘What lady?’

  ‘A lady came up to me when I was walking to Grandma’s the other day. And she said strange things.’

  My mind goes straight to Monica, and I feel the anger boiling in my solar plexus. She is everywhere. Everywhere! What the fuck is her problem? I try to keep the anger out of my voice because I don’t want Tom to think that I’m cross with him, but I cannot believe what he has just said. And I know that it can only get worse.

  ‘The lady told me that she knew who my daddy was, and that if I wanted to, I could meet him today.’

  My hand shoots up to my mouth. Oh God. No!

  ‘What did you… What did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do, and you always say I shouldn’t speak to strangers, so I just kept walking, but then today she was standing on the other side of the fence when we were in the playground. That’s why I went out of the Year One door, because I didn’t want her to see me! I told Charlie that I was mad at you, but I wasn’t really. Not anymore. I was just scared of the lady.’

  Tom bursts into tears, and I cuddle him tight to my chest. How dare Monica step in and tell my son about his father? Is it some kind of revenge?

  ‘You did the right thing,’ I say, ‘but I wish you had come straight over to tell me about it, instead of running away.’

  I wipe Tom’s forehead. His hair sticks to his skin.

  ‘I didn’t want the lady to see me, so I thought I’d wait at the post office until everyone had gone. But then when I came out, you weren’t there either, so that’s when I walked to the river. I was trying to get home; I promise I was.’

  ‘I know you were. I know. Shush now, it’s okay.’

  Tom’s little body shakes beneath my touch, and I know he is tired and in need of sleep, but there’s a few things I need to get straight first.

  ‘So, the lady followed you. And I know she helped you to get up after you fell, but you shouldn’t have gotten into her car. You should have asked her to phone Mummy… or something.’

  Tom takes his head from my chest and gawps at me.

  ‘I was wrong about the lady. I asked her why she said I could meet my dad and she said she didn’t. She said I must have misheard her, and that she would take me home, before I got into trouble.’

  I can’t believe this. Monica is gaslighting my son? What the hell is she doing?

  ‘Did she hurt you, Tom?’

  My son looks confused, wipes his eyes on his sleeve, and shakes his head.

  ‘No, she was nice, and she dried my eyes and let me pet her dog. It’s a little white dog. I know I shouldn’t have got into her car, but I was freezing. I promise not to do that again.’

  A dog barks outside, and we both jump.

  ‘It’s just Trevor,’ I say. ‘Silly, noisy Trevor.’

  We both relax.

  ‘Did the lady say anything else about your dad?’

  Tom shrugs, lies his head onto his pillow and sticks his thumb in his mouth like he used to do when he was little.

  ‘No, I told you. When I asked her, she said I hadn’t heard her properly. Maybe I’m deaf, like my friend, Jacob.’

  ‘No. No, you’re not deaf, but maybe you did hear her wrong. If there’s lots of traffic around, I sometimes feel as though I’ve heard something that I haven’t as well.’

  It’s a complete lie, but I don’t want to freak out my child. I want him to go to sleep and never think about Monica again. I gaze back at Tom, with the intention of asking him more questions, but my beautiful son is already falling asleep, his breathing deep and loud. I watch him for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall against my leg. I love this boy. I’ve always loved this boy, and now I have to protect him more than I ever have before.

  I bend down to kiss his head, and then I tiptoe out of the room.

  I lie in the bath and as the water warms my bones, I think about Monica. She was a mixture of caring and creepy on the doorstep this evening, but then again, I can’t blame her. I’d kill anyone who came near my husband, and I don’t even have one. But what kind of woman must she be, to stalk a child, tell him about his father and then ask if he’d like to meet him?

  I can’t get my head around it, and I’m thankful that after everything, she brought him home safe and sound. That said, did she put Tom in the car with the intention of taking him to her house? Was she planning to kidnap him and then changed her mind?

  Or have I been reading too many psychological thrillers?

  Nothing Monica has done makes sense, but what can I do about it? Report her to the police? Tell them that she rescued my son from falling into a river and brought him home? They’d never believe she was stalking him, and without any concrete proof, I only have Tom’s word that she asked if he’d like to meet Simon. None of that is a crime, and the police would laugh in my face.

  I pour the water over my hair and grab the shampoo.

  I don’t have any answers to what happened this evening, but I do know one thing…

  If Monica ever hurts my son, it will be the last thing she does.

  The school reception has been busy all morning, and every time I try to do any kind of research into Monica and Simon, the phone goes, or a random parent pops in to complain about cancelled gym classes or enquire about missed trip payments. When the whole school went into assembly, I thought I had a spare five minutes to investigate, but as soon as I took out my phone, Margaret came storming down the corridor with a Year Three boy in tow. She clocked my phone, and scowled.

  ‘If it’s not too much bother, please could you telephone Joshua’s parents, and ask if one of them could pick him up? He’s just thrown up all over the hall.’

  She pointed the little boy in my direction, and I nodded my head and threw the phone back into my bag. Sadly, in spite of the sick child in front of me, it was too late to stop another confrontation with Margaret.

  ‘If you could please confine your personal calls to home time, I’d be very grateful,’ she said, and marched back up the corridor before I could even reply.

  Now, it’s 11.30am, there is a lull in my work, and Margaret is showing some prospective parents around the school. With a little bit of luck, she won’t be back in reception for at least another twenty minutes. I swing my laptop around so that it’s not visible to anyone heading towards me, and then start tapping Monica’s name into Google.

  Nothing.

  What did I expect? Let’s face it, if Zach couldn’t find anything on her, what chance do I have? I sigh and start typing again, but as I do, my handbag vibrates against my leg. I look around to make sure that Margaret isn’t about to return at any moment, and answer the handset. There’s a long, drawn-out sigh on the other end.

  ‘I hear you saw Monica last night. What was that about?’

  Simon.

  There’s no hello, no how you doing, just straight to the point. It’s weird but after everything he did to me ten years ago, and all the rage I’ve stored up since then, it is this phone call that makes me want to tear his throat out.

  ‘Yes, I did see her, but I wish I hadn’t. Believe it or not, she’s not on my list of people I want in my life.’

  He breathes heavily.

  ‘Well, according to Monica, she ran into you last night beside the river. You just happened to be passing while she was walking the dog. I’m not being funny, Charlotte, but I hope you weren’t following her. I wouldn’t want any trouble.’

>   Ran into me beside the river? What is he talking about?

  ‘Fuck, Simon, you’ve got an ego on you! Why would I ever want to follow your wife?’

  ‘Well, if you didn’t, how come you ran into her then? Seems a bit too convenient to me.’

  I cross my legs, and dart my eyes around the room. What is this about? She followed my son, and is now accusing me of following her? This is bullshit.

  ‘I didn’t run into her at all. I saw her when she brought Tom home…’

  My words trail off, and I hear Simon swallow on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Who’s Tom?’

  My ribs feel as though they’re turning inwards. What did I just say? What did I just say?! A crippling cold sweat travels up my sides, and tingles over my shoulders. This can’t be happening. All these years of silence and secrets, and now I’ve just blurted out my son’s name? Just like that?

  ‘Charlotte?’

  I hang up.

  13

  The wind howls around my ears as I walk up the road towards school. I pray that my son has the good sense to come straight out this afternoon. The last thing I need is for him to do a tour of Bromfield like he did last night. I rub my ears and go over the conversation I had with Simon this morning. I can’t believe I said Tom’s name out loud. And then I hung up! What was he supposed to think after that? I should have told him it was my friend. Or a neighbour. Or even my dog!

  A little voice whispers in my head.

  You should have just told him it was his son. If you don’t, then Monica will, and that will make things even worse than they are already.

  I shake the thought from my head, and as I do, Amy wanders out of the school building, and unlocks the gate. Parents and grandparents flow through like sand in an egg timer, and I throw my hood over my head, and ready myself to join them.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look at it. It’s a message from Simon.

  Can we meet tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you.

  It wouldn’t take a genius to know what that is all about.

  ‘Tom, are you ready for school yet? We’re going to be late.’

  I hear my son stomping around upstairs, and strain to hear if his footsteps appear to be getting closer.

  They’re not.

  ‘Tom! Get a wriggle on. Turn off your music and come and get your shoes on.’

  At last, his door springs open, and my floppy-haired boy bounds out of the room and down the stairs.

  ‘Careful, or you’ll fall.’

  ‘Mum! You just said hurry up, so here I am – hurrying!’

  ‘Cheeky!’

  I hand him his shoes, and he plonks himself onto the bottom stair.

  ‘Tie them for me please?’

  I bend down to thread the laces together, while Tom fiddles with his gloves.

  ‘Will I still be doing this for you when you’re twenty?’

  ‘Yep!’

  The doorbell goes, and I look at my watch. Whoever this is, I hope I can get rid of them, otherwise we’ll both be late. Tom looks up and squints his eyes, trying to see through the fogged glass.

  ‘It looks like a man,’ he says, as he jumps up. I slide my feet into my shoes, grab my bag and then open the door. Simon stands on the doorstep, in the same spot as his wife did, just days ago. I stand rooted to the spot, and he smiles and looks behind me.

  ‘Hello, Market Man!’ Tom wanders into sight, clutching his PE bag and lunch box. ‘What are you here for?’

  Good old Tom, straight to the point as always.

  ‘Hello, Tom,’ Simon says. ‘Nice to see you again.’

  He reaches out his hand, and I can’t believe that he thinks a nearly ten-year-old boy would want to shake it. My son stares at it, and then holds up his bag and lunch box.

  ‘I can’t shake hands I’m afraid,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to carry my stuff, and I’m also getting low on hand gel!’

  He scuttles past, and reaches the car. I watch as he writes, ‘I love Minecraft’ in the early-morning condensation on the window.

  ‘Simon, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to get Tom and me to school.’

  ‘Later then,’ he says. ‘After work?’

  Every pore of my body wants to say no, but instead, I nod. Anything to get him to go away, far away from my son.

  From our son.

  ‘Great. See you then. Bye, Tom!’

  Tom watches as Simon saunters off down the drive. I open the car and we both slide inside.

  ‘I wonder what he wants to see you about,’ Tom says. ‘Maybe another school talk or something.’

  ‘Yeah maybe.’

  I sling the car into reverse and hope I hit Simon Fucking Travis on the way out.

  Five hours later and I walk out of work, and straight into my ex-lover. Fantastic.

  ‘Hi!’ He’s bright and breezy, as though he meets me from work every day.

  ‘Hey.’

  I carry on walking down the drive, and he trails behind, before catching up at the school gates.

  ‘Slow down,’ he says. ‘I’m an old man, remember!’

  He’s joking. Even if he was eighty years old, Simon would never consider himself to be old. Old is something that happens to someone else, not him. One of the kids from Year Six comes past and gives me a bright smile.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Miss Baker,’ she says. ‘I’ve been to the dentist.’ She pulls the side of her mouth open to let me see the dentist’s handiwork, and I smile and tell her to just sign in the late book when she goes into reception. She runs off down the road, and I watch to make sure she gets into school safely.

  ‘You take your job very seriously,’ Simon says, as I start walking again.

  ‘Don’t you ever have to work?’

  ‘I’m the boss. I can take time off whenever I want to.’

  The wind whistles down the road, and manages to find its way into the space between the buttons on my coat. I stuff my hands in my pockets and keep walking.

  ‘Must be fantastic,’ I sneer, but it goes right over Simon’s head.

  ‘Yeah, it’s not too bad. But I’ll have to work late to catch up with paperwork and stuff. I’m normally in the office until nine anyway.’

  I don’t care.

  We reach the car park. In an extraordinary stroke of bad luck, Simon’s BMW is parked right next to my little Corsa.

  ‘Is this why you wanted to see me? To tell me about your workload? Because if it was something more important, I suggest you get to it. My car is right here.’

  Simon leans on his door, and stares at me. His green eyes might have a few lines at the corners, but they still look the same. I used to think they were beautiful when we were involved, but now they make me feel uncomfortable. They’re too piercing, and I feel them burning right through me.

  ‘So, I’ve got a son then.’

  His words hit me in the stomach, but there’s no point in denying it. The secret – if it ever was a secret – is no more. I stare down at my feet, and bite one side of my mouth.

  ‘Yes. Yes, you do.’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Tom.’

  I squirm against my car door. After all the years of wondering if this conversation would ever come, and praying that it wouldn’t, here we are. When I thought about it over the years, I always imagined that if – and it was a big if – it ever happened, it would be a huge bombshell. An end-of-EastEnders moment. At no time did I expect it to be in a grotty old car park, next to the post office.

  ‘Nice name,’ Simon says. ‘I had an Uncle Thomas. He was a…’

  ‘His name isn’t Thomas. It’s Tom.’

  Simon nods.

  ‘I know. Sorry.’

  He shifts from one foot to another, and I’m shocked at how uncomfortable this conversation seems to be making him. Simon Travis is normally Mr Confident. The man who gets what he wants, when he wants, and always has something to say about whatever subject is being discussed. But right now, he’s kind of jittery. He’s trying to hold on to his
ego, but the situation is getting the better of him.

  ‘Am I on the birth certificate?’

  ‘You’re joking, I presume.’

  My ex-lover pinches the bridge of his nose, and then throws his hands up in surrender.

  ‘Okay, that was a bit naïve I suppose. I just thought maybe you had…’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  We stand in silence, and one of the school mums wanders past and waves.

  ‘See you at the gates later?’ she shouts.

  ‘Yeah, probably.’

  She gives me the thumbs up, glances at Simon, and then heads into the post office.

  ‘So, how did you find out about Tom?’

  ‘After the name slip yesterday, it didn’t take Poirot to figure out that something was going on. I asked Monica what the real story was behind her seeing you, and she told me that she’d brought Tom home after he’d fallen beside the river. She already knew we’d been involved ten years ago, so she kind of worked it all out.’

  I almost burst into laughter. So, his precious wife just happened to recognise me and work out that I gave birth to her husband’s child? Wow! No mention of the fact that she followed me to the clinic all those years ago, and is now stalking me and my son. I decide not to say anything. It isn’t any of my business, as Zach keeps telling me.

  ‘What a complicated life you lead.’

  Simon smiles with one side of his mouth, and raises his eyebrows. He’s amused by me, but I’m not altogether sure why. The wind rattles around the car park, and an old Coke can rolls over to my feet. I kick it, and it heads straight under my car.

  ‘She’s a good woman, you know. Has a big heart.’

  I throw my hand out, and almost hit him in the chest.

  ‘Spare me! I don’t need – or want – to know about your marriage. But hey, I hope you’re very happy together. Say hello to her for me.’

  Simon reaches forward to touch me, but I shrug him off before his tentacles can destroy me once again.

  ‘Goodbye, Simon.’