The Stranger Within (14 page)

I look at my watch and am surprised to see it’s nearly three p.m. Although I don’t have to rush back, I still want to go for a drive and I need to eat. But Rhys’ eyes silently plead with me, weakening me. “Okay. Just quickly, though. I really have to go soon.”

In the living room, he slots his iPod into his parents’ stereo system. Within seconds, an upbeat guitar riff fills the room and I am once again impressed by the enormity of his talent.

“Rhys, this is great. I –”

He lifts a finger to his lips. “Shhhh, just listen.”

Put in my place, I sit on one of the huge leather sofas and let Rhys’ talent blow me away.

“So what do you think?” he asks, once the song ends. “Be honest.” He sits on the sofa opposite me, his leg twitching. I bet he doesn’t even notice this nervous tic.

“Rhys, it’s great. I mean, I don’t know much about rock music but, well…wow.”

Nodding, his eyes flick to the floor. “Thanks, Callie. Really, thank you.” He looks up at me again. “You know, I get compliments all the time from kids at school. Yeah, you’re great, Rhys, yeah, you’re wonderful. But it doesn’t mean as much coming from them. Only words. But when you say it –”

“Well, I mean it,” I say, before he can finish his sentence.

While I wonder what to say next, Rhys’ mobile rings and he raises his eyebrows. “Mum. Checking up on me. Won’t be a sec.”

I watch him while he offers one- and two-word grunts to his mother. Silently waiting for him to finish, I begin to feel uncomfortable. But I am doing nothing wrong, so why do I feel like a naughty teenager who has been smuggled into someone’s house?

As soon as he hangs up, I stand up and tell him I have to go. He doesn’t protest this time and shows me to the door, promising he won’t forget to talk to Dillon. As I step through the door, he grabs my hand.

Unprepared for the feeling that surges through me, I pull away and almost stumble backwards. I look to my right, expecting to see Mrs Simmons’s curtains move, but then I remember where I am.

“Sorry, are you okay?” Rhys takes a step back, as if he has hurt me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Got to run. See you.”

I hurry to the car, racing across the road without checking for traffic. And even without looking back, I know Rhys is still standing in his doorway, watching me go and wondering what just happened.

I drive to Wimbledon Common, too shaken up to go any further. I need a walk, some fresh air to clear my head. Everything is a muddle and it’s some time before I can force myself to address what just occurred.

By the time I’ve circled the common once, barely aware of people out for afternoon strolls, I have managed to convince myself it was the shock of Rhys grabbing my hand so suddenly that confused me, and sent strange signals to my brain. I am
not
attracted to him. There is no way. Even if I didn’t love James, even if things were even worse than they are, Rhys is a
boy
.

Back in the car, I turn up the radio until it is far too loud; anything to stop myself thinking. The rush hour traffic has begun early today and by the time I pull up outside the house it is past four.

Mrs Simmons appears at her door and calls me over. “It’s not right,” she says, shaking her head. “Lauren’s heart would break if she could see what’s going on.”

I cross my arms – a subconscious reaction – and ask what she’s talking about.

“I’m talking about Dillon. Alone in there with a girl.” She jabs her finger at the house. “Does his dad know? I’m sure he wouldn’t allow it. Who knows what they’re getting up to in there?” She shakes her head again.

“Sorry, Mrs Simmons, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Dillon is meant to be at a friend’s house.”

Something passes across her face and for a moment she is silent. “I think I’ll need to talk to James about
his
sons,” she says at last. Then she shuffles back inside, the slam of her front door echoing around me.

Once inside, the anger hits me. Dillon has given Mrs Simmons yet another opportunity to judge me. I’m ready to scream at him. He has done this on purpose. He knows James would never let him be alone in the house with a girl. He knows that I will have to address this.

The living room door is shut but I hear voices. I take a deep breath and open the door. They are sitting together on the sofa, not close enough to touch, and it doesn’t look as if they’ve been doing anything wrong, but I am so furious I don’t even bother to say hello.

“Dillon, a word. In the kitchen.”

“This is Esme,” he says, but I have already walked off.

It takes him a few minutes to follow me, but eventually he strolls in, his hands in his pockets. “What?” he says. “What have I done now?”

I try to speak calmly. I can’t let this get out of hand. “Dillon, you know you’re not supposed to have girls over when nobody’s home. You know that.”

He ignores me. “Why did you have to be so rude to her? You’re out of order. We weren’t doing anything.”

I try to tell him this isn’t the point, but he doesn’t listen. Instead he hurls accusations at me. I’m trying to ruin his life. He’s going to tell his dad. He hates me.
Hates me.

It’s something we’ve both known for some time, but he’s never said the words before. At least not directly to me. If this is all a show, part of Dillon’s attempt to discredit me even further, he is doing a good job of acting hurt. And when he storms out of the room, I wonder if I have handled this all wrong. Have I dug an even deeper hole for myself?

Seconds later, the front door slams, and when I rush to the window I see Dillon and Esme heading towards the bus stop. Dillon is already on his mobile phone and I know who he’s calling.

Chapter Fifteen

Things have got worse. How is it that when you’ve sunk as low as you think it’s possible to go, there is always more room to fall? I gave Dillon exactly what he wanted when I confronted him five days ago. He clearly planned the whole thing, to provide James with yet more evidence that our arrangement is not working.

              It is Saturday, but I have slept in longer than I wanted. I don’t feel like I’ve slept at all, but I drag myself out of bed. James is not beside me and I wonder if he’s left without saying a word.

A few nights ago, he told me he is taking the boys to Center Parcs for a few days. “It will be half-term and they need a break. Dillon’s been doing so much revision lately and I don’t want him to burn out before he sits his GCSEs,” he said. I wonder if he would be so quick to reward Dillon if he knew about the Esme incident.

When I told him I couldn’t go with them because I had an exam, he asked if I’d mind if they went anyway. “Perhaps we could all do with a break from each other,” he said. He has never spoken this way before. Things couldn’t be much worse.

I put on my dressing gown and head downstairs, hearing voices as I descend. So they haven’t left yet.

The three of them are sitting at the table and when I appear James says good morning, while the boys mumble something incoherent. “We’ll be leaving in about half an hour,” he says. “After we eat.”

Somehow I manage a smile. “Okay. I hope you all have a good time.”

I make myself a cup of tea and watch James slicing into his fried eggs on toast. I still haven’t decided what to say or do about Tabitha’s text, but even if I had, there’s been no opportunity to bring it up. And I am scared. Once it’s out there, then what happens to us? There is already enough tension in this house so if I mentioned the text now, he will ask me to leave, tell me our marriage is not worth saving. I suspect Tabitha has told him I confronted her, but I’m both perplexed and relieved that he hasn’t mentioned it. If he does know, what does his silence say about our marriage?

I don’t feel hungry and can’t bear the thought of sitting here to drink my tea, suffocating in this atmosphere. “I’d better go and have a shower,” I tell James.

He stands and clears his plate away. “Okay. Well, we’ll probably be gone by the time you’re finished so I’ll say goodbye now.” He leans towards me and pulls me into a hug, and even though I can’t see his face, I know he is watching the boys the whole time. Is this all for show? Have we both become actors?

By the time I’ve had my shower and dressed I can tell they’ve gone. Houses have a different feel when you are alone in them. Silent and cold, no matter what time of the day or month it is.

After breakfast I am about to sit in the garden when a horrible suspicion hits me.

You don’t believe James is taking the boys away. You think he’s asked Emma to do it so he can be alone with Tabitha. They’ve got a freelancer in to cover the shop.

I don’t want to believe this. I try not to. But the thought won’t go away. And the more I think about it, the more convinced I am of its truth.

My mobile phone sits on the kitchen table, and slowly I pick it up, still trying to give myself time to change my mind. But then I am dialling, as if my hands are beyond the control of my head.

“Good morning, Vision Photography, how can I help?”

The deep female voice is unmistakably Tabitha’s so I hang up, my breaths coming hard and fast. I’m relieved to be wrong, but I still don’t feel better.
This is how it starts. Standing on the edge of something, peering over, about to cross over. How much longer can you keep ignoring it?

Outside in the garden, I study for my exam until two o’clock and then make myself chicken salad for lunch. The chicken is dry and I drench the salad in too much French dressing, but I eat it anyway. Bad food is the least of my worries.

As evening draws in I begin to feel cloaked in loneliness. I can’t face any more studying and there is nothing on TV to distract me. I try to call Bridgette but get her voicemail; she is probably busy with Aaron.

Debbie answers her mobile but sounds rushed. She tells me she moved in with Mark today and seems surprised that I don’t know this.

“I did mention it,” she says, and I sense she is concerned that I haven’t listened. We don’t talk long as she’s still in the middle of unpacking and Mark is calling out in the background. “Moving’s a bloody nightmare,” she adds. “What were you saying?”

I tell her it’s nothing important and I’ll call her in a few days when she’s settled in. Hanging up, it occurs to me how different her moving day must be from mine. She will have a real home with Mark. The day I moved in, James’ excitement was diminished by the boys’ cold sulking. I had met them several times before, and although they had never been thrilled about our relationship, they were tolerant. But something changed when I married their dad and moved in. “It won’t last,” James told me. “Soon they’ll love you as much as I do.”

I should not think of these things now. I should use this time of peace to recharge, to prepare myself to finally confront James. There is no doubt in my mind now that is what I need to do.

But this is easier said than done, and it’s not long before I am picturing James with Tabitha, his hands exploring every inch of her body. Does he do the same things to her that he does to me? Does he enjoy seeing her messy and sweaty afterwards?

There is only one thing I can do to dispel these thoughts.

In the kitchen cupboard, I find a bottle of red wine and pour myself a glass. It’s not my favourite, too strong and dry, but it does the trick and by the time I’m on my second glass I have come to quite like it. But what I like more is that I’m starting to forget what a mess my life is.

I try several more times to call Bridgette, but there is still no answer. I leave a message – hoping I don’t sound too tipsy – and ask her to call me when she can. When my mobile beeps in my pocket a few minutes later, I assume it’s her and pull it out, hoping she’s telling me she’s free to talk. A small piece of paper falls to the floor, but I ignore it and hurriedly scroll to my message. But it’s not Bridgette. It’s my mobile phone provider reminding me they’ll be taking my monthly payment soon.

The fallen piece of paper catches my eye and I scoop it up and unfold it. Rhys’ phone number. I had forgotten about it; I’ve been trying my best not to think about Rhys at all, which has been easy over the last few days, considering what’s going on. But now I wonder if he meant what he said about talking to Dillon.

Before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I am sitting on the rug, my half-empty glass of wine in front of me and my mobile pressed to my ear.

“Hello?” Rhys’ voice sounds even deeper on the phone, more adult, and at first I think I’ve dialled the wrong number. “Hello?” he says again, this time sounding more like himself.

“Rhys? Hi, it’s Mrs…It’s Callie. How are you?”

I hear the intake of his breath. “Callie! Are you okay? Has something happened?”

His concern softens me and once again I am comforted by him. “I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to speak to Dillon yet? Remember you said you would?” Picking up my glass, I take a long sip of wine.

“Course I remember. I did try after the gig last night but he was too angry about the Esme thing to listen. He’s away now, isn’t he? When he gets back I’ll try again.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I try not to slur my words, and wonder if he can tell I’ve been drinking.