Authors: Samantha Hayes
Taking a breath, I stand up. I need to get back inside. It wouldn’t take much for someone to put two and two together. All things considered, it wouldn’t take much at all for someone to work out that it was me who killed my dad.
‘You found her,’ Mum says brightly.
I sit down, forcing my breathing to stay steady and my eyes not to turn to saucers.
‘Just in the nick of time,’ Tom says, managing to sound perfectly normal as he shuffles in his chair. Our starters are arriving. I stare at the plate of mushrooms before me. All that congealed cheese stuck on them. I swallow hard.
‘Sorry to have been so long,’ I say quietly. ‘I feel much better now, though. It’s a nice evening, but chilly. I think rain is forecast for tomorrow.’
Tom clatters his fork. He fumbles for it, but then it drops on to the floor. When he bends to retrieve it, his shoulder catches his plate, sending it chinking against his empty glass and knocking it over.
‘Sorry,’ he says, sitting up again. His face is red and he gives me a look. ‘Yes, I heard about the rain too.’
Mum and Susan watch us, then turn to each other, and I can’t help wondering what they’re thinking. In fact, that’s been my life since last autumn – second-guessing
who knows what, if someone suspects. Wondering if I have
murderer
written in blood across my forehead.
Tom’s foot touches mine under the table. I don’t know if it’s an accident or not, but I retract quickly, tucking my feet under my chair. I can’t afford to give him any signals, or anything that will lead him back to me.
Sitting staring at my starter, prodding my mushrooms with my fork, I have never felt so trapped, so desperate.
‘Can you believe that Tom studies engineering at the same university as you?’ Mum says to me, leaning really close so that I smell garlic and wine on her breath. I glance at the bottle. ‘Would you like some?’
I nod. If I drink enough, everything might go away. It’s Mum’s philosophy after all.
‘Are you finding your degree interesting, Hannah?’ Susan asks, even though we talked about this the other night. Her eyes dart between me and Tom. Perhaps it’s paranoia, but I reckon they both know something’s up. The pair of them are acting as weird as Tom and me.
‘Yeah, I’m really happy with my subject,’ I say, trying to keep things light. ‘How are you finding yours, Tom? I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around campus.’ I clear my throat.
He laughs confidently, as if he’s never set eyes on me before. No wonder we both got parts in the play. Before we came back inside, we agreed to pretend we don’t know each other. I convinced him it’s simpler that way.
‘I’m enjoying it too,’ he says, leaning forward, resting his chin in his hand.
I chop up my starter because it’s better than having to spout more lies. I feel close to my lifetime’s quota already.
Thankfully, Mum and Susan take over the conversation, going on about job prospects for graduates, but then Susan has to go and ask Mum something about Dad’s job, comparing it to her husband’s.
‘Phil would hate being cooped up at home like that.’ She blushes for a moment, but seems unfazed. I remember the time Tom told me about his parents arguing over his dad’s job. It doesn’t make sense.
Mum is about to reply but goes to pour more wine instead. She finds the bottle empty so Susan waves her hand in the air. The waitress soon brings another one.
‘That was insensitive of me,’ Susan says. ‘I’m sorry.’
The pounding in my head ramps up, and it takes all my strength not to reach across the table and punch her.
‘Has something happened, then?’ Tom asks, sounding far too caring for someone who isn’t meant to know me.
‘It’s nothing,’ I tell him, willing him to shut up, but also willing him to grab my hand and take me away from it all.
Hannah glares at me, bleary-eyed. She’s determined. My heart sinks in a pitiful flurry of disappointment.
‘Why?’ I drop back down on the bed. I’d hoped to leave to meet Steph before she woke up, but by the looks of her she’s not even been to sleep. For the first time in ages, I slept soundly. ‘I thought you were having a nice time.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she says in a voice that tells me she’s serious. The little wobbles are there, hidden beneath the words that don’t make any sense. ‘I just really want to go home.’
‘But we have a couple more days left yet. It won’t take me long to take the keys to Steph. When I get back, I thought we could check out Snowshill Manor. It’s meant to be well worth a visit, and there are—’
‘I still don’t feel well,’ Hannah says. She sounds blank, as if there’s no good reason behind her decision.
I walk over to the window. The chess pieces sit untouched, most in their home spaces, some strewn by
the side of the chequerboard. The sky is leaden, pressing down in a gunmetal layer, threatening rain.
If Rick were here, we’d be eating breakfast right now, planning a morning’s sightseeing followed by a light lunch. I can’t help the sob. And I can’t help whipping round to face my daughter. I take a big breath.
‘You know what, Hannah?’ She lifts her head, staring at me. Her eyes grow wide. ‘I’m pretty fed up of this now. Fed up of your attitude. I feel like shit too, you know, and I miss Dad more than is bearable most days. I brought you away on this trip because I thought it would do us both good. And quite frankly, you’ve done nothing but moan since we got here.
‘I know life’s not perfect any more, and it hasn’t been since we lost Jacob. But I can’t help that. I am simply trying to make the best of what we’re left with, because until Dad decides to come back, or we find out what happened to him, it’s just me and you, kiddo.’
I inhale another lungful of breath. Deep and rejuvenating.
‘I—’
‘Wait, I’m not done.’ I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my handbag. ‘It’s been four months now. Four months since Dad went. During that time, I have experienced some of the darkest days of my life. I could allow myself to carry on feeling this way indefinitely, but what good would that do? If Dad had just flipped out and needed some space, there’d have been a sighting by now, or even some kind of contact from him. Maybe even an apology.’
Hannah’s mouth opens and shuts.
‘It leaves me thinking that if he’s still alive, he doesn’t want to be found. And if he’s . . .’ I raise my shoulders, stopping myself. ‘And . . . and if it’s the alternative, then what can I do about it, Hannah? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That’s what.’
I snatch my keys from the side table.
‘Coming here has made me realise that outside of my protective bubble of home and work and scuttling back home again to drink and sleep, there is an entire world out there getting on with its life. I want to be part of it again. Do you understand? Don’t you want the same?’
She stares at me as if I have three heads. She hates me.
‘I think Dad might be dead,’ she says in a whisper so convincing it sends shivers up my spine.
Thankfully it’s a clear run to Kidlington. My mood wouldn’t have been helped by getting stuck in a jam. Part of me feels strangely relieved for saying what I did to Hannah, while the other part feels completely wretched. I’m just grateful that I convinced her to stay put at the hotel, at least until I get back. I suggested she take a swim or walk Cooper, but she didn’t seem keen on either.
‘But you’re virtually going back home anyway when you take the keys to Steph. I’ll get the bus the last part of the way if you like. In fact, I’ll get the bus from here. All I want is my own room and to be alone.’
‘Did something upset you last night?’ I asked.
It hadn’t been the most relaxing of evenings, I admit,
and certainly not the quality time I’d hoped for with Hannah. Tom had seemed a little awkward with her – acting more like a coy thirteen-year-old than a young man. And in turn, Hannah had been completely disinterested in him to the point of seeming rude. I was delusional to think she’d have boys on her mind right now.
But there had been something deeper, something bigger than just shyness sitting around the table last night, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I park a few doors down from 23 Evalina Street and lock my car. I scan the street for Steph’s little Fiat, but there’s no sign of her yet. My heart kicks up as I approach the front of the property. Four stone terraced houses sit up a slight incline and steps – all in good condition except number 23. I’ll be pleased to see it renovated and let out to tenants, giving me little reason to visit the place. I swore I’d never come again.
I decide to wait outside for Steph. It’s silly, I know, but I’ve had a couple of bad dreams since I saw that face at the window. The place gives me the creeps. There’s a bench opposite, next to a shiny red postbox, so I sit down to wait.
I tap out a text to Hannah, feeling suddenly guilty about my outburst earlier. It’s made me realise that I’m anything but ready to move on with my life. I’ve just been too afraid to admit it.
‘Gina,’ a man’s voice calls out. He’s crossing the road, striding towards me.
‘Adrian,’ I say, standing up quickly as if he’s caught me
doing something I shouldn’t. ‘What are you doing here?’ My heart sinks.
He looks me up and down. ‘Meeting you.’ Then the leer.
This isn’t what I was expecting. I have an overwhelming desire to flee as fast as possible back to Fox Court – to Hannah, to Cooper, even to Susan and everything that’s become oddly familiar in the last few days.
‘You’re not Steph.’ I sound inane.
‘The keys, Gina?’ Adrian says, holding out his hand.
‘Oh. Yes.’ Flustered, I rummage through my bag. I drop them into his palm.
Please don’t say anything. Please don’t . . .
‘Come inside,’ he orders. ‘I want to show you the plans for the property.’ He watches me for a moment, reading my reaction. ‘You need to know what the owner has in mind for the place. The builder’s coming soon.’
I glance at the time on my phone. ‘Technically I’m on holiday. And I’ve actually been in the house before.’
‘Did you hear me?’ He waits for a reaction, but I don’t give him one. I’ve discovered blanking him as far as possible works best. ‘I want you to come inside.’
The last few weeks he’s mainly left me alone, making me wonder if he actually has feelings and a sense of decency. Now I’m not so sure. It’s probably all part of his game.
‘You don’t usually argue,’ he says, touching my sleeve, pulling it, trying to get me closer.
‘Fine,’ I say, realising it’s easier to agree in this case. ‘But I need to be quick. Hannah is back at the hotel.’
‘Hotel?’
I mentally kick myself. ‘Rick booked us a break in the Cotswolds before he . . .’ I hate telling him anything, though at the same time I want him to know that Rick and I are OK, that we’re solid, that it’s not because of Adrian that this has happened. ‘It was a surprise for our anniversary. Hannah’s come with me to save wasting it.’ I give a little smile, willing myself to be quiet, not to fuel his fire.
‘That’s such a loving thing to do.’ Adrian’s face is mean and pinched. I can’t tell if he’s simply being nasty or he knows something. I try to put it to the back of my mind. ‘But are you certain he’d do something like that for you?’ He laughs, vile and hurtful.
We cross the quiet road and go up the front steps of the terraced property. He glances down at me as he unlocks the door. ‘Glad to see you’re finally moving on, Gina. I’ve been worried about you.’ He pauses, staring. ‘We all have.’
Adrian’s finger comes out to stroke my cheek, but I recoil before he touches me. We go inside, and he shuts the door behind us. The hallway is dark and smells musty. He’s standing too close.
‘No point pining for ever, is there?’ He tips his head sideways, trying to catch my eye, but I keep my gaze fixed on the dirty floor. There’s a pile of mail and flyers on the stair tread, as if someone’s been in recently.
‘We’ve not had much of a chance to talk, me and you, have we?’ His hands slide down my arms. I stifle a shudder.
‘Let’s look in this room first,’ I say, pulling my arms free. I go into the living room. ‘What are the owner’s plans for . . .’ But I trail off. ‘Oh dear,’ I say, hoping it will distract him. ‘Steph mentioned the neighbours had been concerned about squatters.’
Adrian follows me in, standing close again.
‘It’s par for the course,’ he says, kicking a few trays of old takeaway food left on the floor. The dusty bare boards are strewn with other stuff – a few cans, some beer bottles, a couple of burnt-down candles stuck inside cut-off water bottles. There’s an old mattress and ash in the grate.
‘We should get the locks changed,’ Adrian says, making a note in his phone.
‘You think they have a key?’ In my experience, squatters force entry.
Adrian gives me a look. I watch him stride off towards the back of the property, perhaps to check for broken windows, open doors.
If I hadn’t been weak, if I hadn’t succumbed to his undeniable charm, his lascivious ways, then I wouldn’t be feeling so intimidated. He was confident and charming, impeccably dressed and not at all afraid to show his feelings. To start with, I thought he was being friendly. By the time I realised he wasn’t, it was too late.
I forced myself to believe it was because I never got over Jacob, that I was broken and hurt and seeking a way to fix my inner pain . . . but the excuse isn’t even close to the shape of the disgusting way I chose to block it out.
There was no actual sex, thank God. Not even close
to it. Several rainy afternoons he tried to lure me into a cheap motel to crush the soul from me – and for a time I wondered if it would pound out the poison. Instead, I wept silently, realising that our loveless, opportunistic encounters simply injected more poison, binding me to his controlling ways further. It wasn’t about the act. It was all about the power.
I was in love with my husband. I adored him. I had never cheated on him before, and had never wanted to. Rick was my world; he was everything.
It was only when I tried to escape, ashamed and full of self-loathing, that the blackmail began. Adrian positioned me in a place filled with fear and consequences. A place where I hardly dared move or breathe for what he would do.