The Stranger Within (12 page)

              “For the last few months,” I continue, “I had slowly been losing control of everything. The boys hated me and I felt nobody trusted me after the accident with Luke. And now I could feel James slipping away. The boys were getting what they wanted, driving a wedge between us with all the tension and lies.” I let out a sigh and think how strange it is to say things aloud when for months they have been trapped in my head, gnawing away at me. “At first I was afraid of losing James. I thought if I spoke out, that would be it. Our marriage would be over. But the text made me realise I could take some control back. I could determine when to bring it up and how to deal with it.”

              “I see,” DS Connolly says. “Do you think it was your illness clouding your judgement?”

              “Now I do,” I say, meeting his heavy gaze. I don’t add that this knowledge has come far too late. “But back then I just didn’t want to end up like Dad. I thought I had control. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Chapter Thirteen

How quickly things fall apart. Just over a week ago the boys were my biggest problem, but now I’ve got something even worse to contend with. Tabitha. And James. Tabitha and James. What does this mean for my marriage? I can’t end up like Dad.

              I sit on the information, fighting the temptation to hurl accusations at James. He tries his best to hide the tension between us from the boys, and I’m grateful to him for that. But nothing can defrost the atmosphere in the house.

              While James is on a shoot, I take the opportunity to visit his shop. I have no plan; all I know is I need to see Tabitha. I have been so distracted lately that I am getting behind in my coursework, but this is something I need to do. It is still early, so if I hurry I will have plenty of time to study later.

Walking seems the best option. Adrenalin floods through my body and I need to be moving; I don’t have the patience to sit still on the bus. I glance at Mrs Simmons’ house as I pass, but for once there is no twitch of the curtains.

Before I’ve made it to the end of our road, Bridgette calls. I have been expecting her to ring because I emailed her yesterday, breaking my vow to myself by telling her about the text. Now she will be convinced I’m about to have a breakdown. That this is the beginning of something. But I had to tell her because if I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have been able to hold back from telling James. And now where would I be?

“Callie? I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to call, I’ve been snowed under for days. Work stuff. Are you okay?”

I thought I was handling it well, but now the tears I’ve been holding back flood out. I wipe them away with my jacket sleeve and try to keep my voice steady. It won’t do any good to let Bridgette know I’m bawling my eyes out in the middle of the street. “I don’t know what to think. Or do. It’s a nightmare.”

“Right, let’s think rationally about this. What she wrote doesn’t necessarily mean something has happened –”

“What do you mean?” I can’t help but spit my words into the phone. “What other explanation is there?”

She sighs. “Callie, you need to calm down. Getting worked up isn’t going to help.”

I think of Dad when she says this. How I used to say exactly the same thing when he was in a state, before I realised I was patronising him. My ignorance of what I was doing was no defence. A man approaches, struggling with an unruly dog on a lead, and I turn away, staying silent until he’s passed.

“I’m on my way to the shop now to see Tabitha,” I tell Bridgette, ignoring her last comment.

She sighs into the phone. “Oh no, Callie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Is James there? You don’t even know for sure anything’s happened.”

I quote the text to her and she falls silent. She has probably realised, finally, that there is no innocent way to interpret Tabitha’s words.

She tries another approach. “Look, why don’t we meet up and talk about it first? It will have to be Friday, I’ve got a training course all week in Birmingham, but I really don’t think you should do anything rash. Your situation is tricky enough with the boys and you don’t want to make it any worse.”

Calmly, I remind her that it has already been eight days since I found the text so I am not behaving rashly at all. I add that I don’t even know if I’m going to say or do anything yet. She seems slightly appeased by this, but that may have more to do with the colleague I can hear calling to her in the background, telling her they’re wanted back in the training room.

“I’d better go, Callie. But please don’t speak to Tabitha…It’s James you should be confronting. Debbie and I had a chat the other day and –”

I say goodbye and hang up, not giving her a chance to finish her sentence. I am not a charity case. I am not my dad.

Feeling guilty, I switch off my phone. It would be just like Bridgette to text Debbie and ask her to give me a call, to see if she has more time to snap me out of this. I know they’re looking out for me, but they’re not here, living through this as I am. And I don’t want their pity.

But then it occurs to me that keeping my phone off is a bad idea. What if something happens to Dillon or Luke and the school tries to get hold of me? I can’t take that chance. So I switch it back on, doubting my true motivation for doing so. It is not just worry over the boys – that is becoming harder every day – but what would James say if the school couldn’t reach me? It would be a final nail in my coffin, forcing him closer to Tabitha.

It truly feels like May today, and I try to pretend I’m just out to enjoy the sun. But as soon as the shop is in view, my attempt at subterfuge fades. I am here to confront the woman who is sleeping with my husband.

From the pavement across the road, outside The Coffee Bean, I freeze, suddenly unsure of what I’m doing. It is one thing having a vague idea of what to say running through my mind, but in reality things are different. I can’t just barge in there and accuse her of sleeping with James, at least not without the text as evidence. I need to be calm and composed, like her.

There are chairs and tables set up outside the coffee shop today, inviting people to make the most of the mild weather. I decide to stop for a cappuccino. I need more time to plan what to say. And from here, I’ll also have a clear view of Tabitha.

Neither Carlo nor Anthony is around and I don’t recognise the young girl serving at the till. She smiles as she keys in my order, then struggles to work the machine. Frustrated, she looks around for help, but no other staff are within sight.

“You have to hold down that round button,” I say, and she frowns at me. “I used to work here.”

The smile returns to her face. “Oh, thanks. I keep forgetting that! Thanks! Do you want to take a seat and I’ll bring it over?”

I tell her I’ll be outside and head out into the warmth. Across the road, there is no sign of Tabitha, but I know she won’t be out of sight for long. James hates the reception area being unmanned.

The girl comes out with my cappuccino and places it on the table, some of it sloshing over the side as she does so. “I’m so sorry,” she says, but I brush it off. Spilt coffee is the least of my worries.

Once she has gone back inside, I glance again at the shop. Tabitha is visible now. Tall and elegant, even in flat shoes. And even from this distance I can tell that her make-up, as usual, is immaculate. I lift my spoon and study my reflection. Even without the distortion, I am a mess compared to her. I have barely touched my hair today and it hangs in dark, tangled waves. It has been weeks since I’ve bothered to tame it straight like Tabitha’s.

Sometimes men stray for a reason, and you have given James his. It’s bad enough that you can’t be a mother to his sons, but now you are letting yourself go. Just like Dad.
I can’t argue with myself about this because it is true. And it has to stop now.

Finishing my drink, I head past several more shops and stop outside John Carne. Inside, there are only two people having their hair done and an unoccupied stylist with bleached blonde hair hovers by the front desk, chatting to the receptionist. Within seconds I am seated before a mirror, pulling at my hair, explaining that I want it all chopped off.

The stylist stares at me as if I’ve just asked to be shaved bald. “What, you mean like a pixie crop?”

I nod. “Yes, short. But stylish. I just want it all off.” I am already excited at the thought, desperate to shed what is weighing me down. I know it will take more than a haircut but it’s a good place to start. And once it’s cut I can step into the shop and face Tabitha.

“But…are you sure? It’s nice and long and thick. Most people need extensions to get it looking like that.”

I try not to show my frustration. “I just really need a change.”

Afterwards, even I am surprised by how good my hair looks. The blonde stylist holds the mirror up to show me the back and from both angles, I don’t look like myself. I have never had my hair this short before, but, surprisingly, it suits me. I am now someone glamorous and confident. Someone in control.

Now I can stand tall in front of the woman who is sleeping with my husband.

I pay with my credit card then slip a twenty-pound note into the hairdresser’s hand. She stares at it and holds it out as if she’s about to tell me I’ve made a mistake, but I turn and head for the door.

Outside, I pat down my hair, take a deep breath and prepare myself for what is to come.

“Callie?” Tabitha looks up from her computer and stares at me. “You’ve changed your hair.” It is a statement not a compliment and she scrunches her nose but I don’t let it bother me. “James isn’t here. Didn’t he tell you he’s on a shoot this morning?”

Her smile is a smirk and I feel myself heating up. I have never considered myself easily riled, but within seconds of being in Tabitha’s presence I feel my insides boiling.

“What time will he be back?” I ask, a plan occurring to me.

She shakes her head and her mouth curls up at the corner. “Not for ages. Probably late afternoon.”

She is clearly pleased to deliver this news, but I won’t let her win. “That’s fine. I think I’ll just hang around and wait.” I shrug to convince her I am unruffled. “I suppose, in a way, it’s my shop too. Funny to think of it that way, isn’t it?”

Her smirk disappears and she makes a show of dusting something from her skirt, but I know there will be no fluff, crumbs or even a hair on any of her clothes. She is buying time so she can work out what to say. “Well, I…I’m really busy actually, so –”

“That’s fine,” I tell her, heading to the kitchen at the back of the shop. “I’ll make myself a cup of tea. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Once I am out of her view, I lean against the narrow worktop and breathe deeply. If I’ve succeeded so far in appearing calm and confident, it’s taken everything out of me. If I had eaten anything this morning I would have lost it by now. But Tabitha will never know this.

When I’ve got myself together, I root around in the cupboards. There’s plenty of coffee, even decaf, but all I can find are Earl Grey tea bags. Tabitha’s choice. But this will have to do as I’ve told her I’m making a drink now and I don’t feel like more coffee.

              I take my time in the kitchen because my legs don’t want to move. Despite my bravado a few minutes ago, I am dreading going back out there and facing that woman again. I still don’t know how I’m going to confront her. Perhaps it will just be enough to sit in reception and silently drink my tea. It is sure to unnerve her, despite her confidence. She will wonder if I know the truth about her and James.

              Back in reception, I sit opposite her, watching her through sips of tea. She pretends not to be perturbed by my presence, but I imagine her mind ticking away. I have never noticed before how long and thin she is; she must be almost James’ height. The sound of her manicured nails clicking on the keyboard starts to irritate me, and when she answers the phone, her voice deep and falsely soothing at the same time, it is almost the final straw. I imagine grabbing her and throwing her out of the door, just to see her clothes ruffled and her hair fly out of place. To shatter the perfection. But that picture is slowly replaced with one of her and James together, naked and sweating, laughing at my ignorance.

              Tabitha stops typing and looks up. “He won’t be back for ages,” she says, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Why don’t you come back later?”

              I offer her a smile. “No, I’ll wait. I’m fine sitting here.” Perhaps she thinks I am crazy. First the extreme haircut and now this. But she
should
wonder about me and what I am capable of. That is a small price to pay for what she has done.

              When she pulls her mobile from the desk drawer and starts pressing buttons, I know with certainty that she is texting James. I can almost see the words:
Get your crazy wife out of here
and I can no longer hold back.

              Leaving my cup on a side table, I stand up. Tabitha looks relieved but frowns when I don’t head towards the glass doors. I walk towards her and she slips her phone back in the drawer.

              I perch on the side of her desk and lean forwards. “I think you need to explain the text you sent James last Sunday afternoon.”

              She takes a moment to react – this is clearly not what she was expecting – and for the first time since I’ve known her, the smug façade slips away. She avoids my eye, staring at the computer screen, twisting her ridiculously large ring around her finger. It is green and vulgar and doesn’t match her clothes. When she remains speechless, I quote the text to her, word for word, letting it hang in the air between us and set in motion what it will. She will have to respond now; she has no way out.