The Stranger Within (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

When I wake the next morning, I immediately remember what I have done. I should feel sickened that I kissed Rhys – part of me does – but I also feel good. I can still feel his hands on my face, and I smile to think of it.

I turn over and there is James, still asleep, nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. A stronger wave of guilt floods through me but quickly subsides when I remember our marriage has already been violated. Perhaps the thought of James and Tabitha together shouldn’t hurt anymore, but it cuts as deeply as before. I could try to pretend the kiss was about revenge, but it wasn’t; it was about my desire for Rhys, my need for him. And that just makes things even more complicated.

              It is not yet six o’clock, but I get up and run a bath. As I lie soaking in the bubbles, I wonder if Rhys is awake. If so, what does he think now that morning is here? What if he regrets what happened? What if he tells Dillon? But then I remember the necklace, safely hidden in the pocket of a coat I never wear, and I know he doesn’t regret it.

              Every part of me knows it is wrong, but I also know I haven’t felt at peace like this for a long time. A kiss changes everything.

              James is already in the kitchen, gulping down coffee. “Got to get going,” he says, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “Harry’s mum is picking him and Luke up at about ten and taking them back to their house. Luke’s staying there tonight. And I don’t know what Dillon and Rhys are planning but they can sort themselves out.” As he walks off, I stare at his back and feel a rush of sadness that both of us are lying to each other.

              I hang around in the kitchen for a while, hoping to see Rhys. I know it is unlikely I will be able to catch him on his own but I just need to see him.

But by nine o’clock, when there is still no sign of any of the boys, I start to fear the worst. Did I somehow take advantage of Rhys? At this very moment is he reporting our encounter to Dillon? The more I think about it, the more possible it feels.

              At nine fifteen it is time to wake Luke and Harry. Harry’s mum will be here soon and I need to make sure they’re ready to go. And then I can leave too, escape from this mess I have created.

              There are no sounds from either of the boys’ bedrooms and I take this as a good sign. I tap on Luke’s door and wait for him to mumble. Eventually he calls out, “What?” When I tell him they need to get up and get ready for Harry’s mum, there is no further reply. But I’m not worried; Luke might detest me but he won’t want to get on the wrong side of Harry’s mother.

              As I go downstairs to sort out breakfast, I remember I need to speak to Mrs Simmons. In the aftermath of kissing Rhys, it has slipped my mind. Leaving the front door on the latch, I step over the flowerbed separating our front gardens, smiling at my rebelliousness, and ring her doorbell. I can hear it echoing inside her hallway, but there is no sound of feet shuffling along the tiled floor. I am about to turn away when she suddenly appears, staring through the glass.

              “Oh,” she says, as she opens the door, looking me up and down, the usual judgement she reserves only for me on her drawn face.

              “Hi, Mrs Simmons,” I begin. I will be polite to her today, despite her attitude towards me. “James sent me. He said you needed to talk to us?”

              Her face twists into a grimace. “No, it was James I wanted to speak to.”

              “Well, I can help you too,” I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Is something wrong?” I picture Rhys clambering into the cab in the middle of the night, but the image is quickly replaced by another one: his face moving closer to mine. I shake it off and try to focus on Mrs Simmons.

              “I’d rather speak to James.”

              “He’d be happy to talk to you, but he’s really busy at the moment. I hardly even see him myself these days. I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like running your own business.”

              She tuts at me, incapable of imagining anything of the sort.

              I soften my voice. “You can talk to me, Mrs Simmons, and I’ll do my best to help however I can. Whatever the problem is. I am James’ wife, after all.” The words lodge in my throat like swallowed chewing gum;
James’ wife
is the last thing I should be calling myself.

              Mrs Simmons takes a moment to consider what I’m saying and then nods. “Okay,” she says. And I prepare myself to be asked what the hell Rhys was doing leaving our house at midnight when everyone else was away. “I’m going into hospital on Saturday. For…well, never mind. Anyway, I’ll need James to keep an eye on the house for me. Water the plants, feed the fish. That kind of thing.”

              This is such a relief that I almost hug her. I don’t even care that she won’t tell me what she’s going in for. I have got myself worked up over nothing.
Paranoia.
“I can do that for you. It’s no problem.”

              “I’d prefer it if you could ask James to do it.” She won’t even entertain the idea of letting me in her house. “It’s just that I’ve known him for so many years. Since he was first with Lauren. So I trust him.” I am so relieved that she didn’t see Rhys that night, so ignore her unspoken accusation.

              I offer a compromise. “Because James is so busy, how about the boys do it? They could take it in turns. Or do it together. It will be good for them.”

              She seems pleased with this suggestion and agrees to the compromise. “But I’ll need to give James a spare set of keys. Today. Just in case I don’t see him before I go in.”

              “I can take them for you.”

But she shakes her head and we are back to square one.

              After several minutes of persuading her that her keys are safe with me, she finally agrees, shutting the door on me while she goes to find them. “Be sure to give them to James, won’t you?” she says, when she comes back, dropping them into my hand. “I don’t want them lost.”

              “Course. Anyway, I hope it’s nothing too serious,” I say, but she closes the door without another word.

              Harry’s mother arrives promptly at ten, but she doesn’t come to the door. Instead, she beeps her car horn and does a U-turn, waiting for Luke and her son to appear. I accompany them to the car, so she won’t think they’ve been left alone all morning. I have no doubt she knows about the accident and there is no telling what other stories Luke has been passing on about me.

              “Thanks for having him,” she says, smiling.

              “No problem. Thanks for letting Luke stay at yours tonight.”

              I say goodbye to Luke and Harry. With his head down, Luke forces out a response, while Harry at least looks at me to say his.

              Back in the house, there is still no movement or sound from Dillon’s room, and it worries me. Rhys must know James goes to work and I have to get up early, so why didn’t he try and sneak down to see me?

              The house seems claustrophobic now, even though I am the only one awake. I need to get out of here so I decide to visit Dad. Perhaps today will be a good day.

The park opposite Dad’s flat looks even more picturesque with the sun shining down on it. It’s quiet today, so if I brought Dad out here we would almost have the whole place to ourselves. There aren’t enough strangers around to freak him out. But I have only managed to get him out here a handful of times before, so I don’t hold out much hope for today.

              “Of course!” he says, when I suggest it. “It’s summer, we should make the most of it! I’ll even buy you an ice cream.”

              I don’t tell him it’s not quite summer, but hastily grab his jacket and usher him out. I need fresh air today; I can’t bear the thought of being cooped up in his tiny flat.

              Dad heads straight for the ice cream van and orders two vanilla cones with chocolate flakes. He fiddles around in his pocket to pay, but only pulls out a handkerchief and piece of scrunched-up paper. I have no idea what it is but it’s best not to question him.

              “Don’t worry, Dad,” I say, handing a five-pound note to the man.

              There is a huge circular lake in the middle of the park and we sit on one of the benches surrounding it to eat our ice cream. On the opposite side, a young man sails a remote-controlled boat in the lake and we both watch him, although I have no idea if Dad has actually noticed him, or if he is staring straight through him.

              “Lovely,” Dad says, wiping ice cream from around his mouth with his handkerchief. He stuffs it back in his pocket, oblivious to the melted ice cream that now covers it. I’m not sure whether he is talking about the ice cream or sitting here with me, but I hope it is both.

              We talk about my course for a few minutes and Dad seems more aware than usual of what I’m saying. Today must be a good day. I give Jenny credit for this; since I informed her about Dad’s medication she has been supervising him even more closely. I decide to take a chance and ask him what’s been on my mind since I got here.

“Dad, have you ever done anything you’re…I don’t know…ashamed of? Anything reckless?”

              He turns to me, scrutinising my face for so long that I begin to regret my question. Who knows what it will lead him to say? “It was reckless marrying your mother.” He turns back to the man with the boat. “I knew she didn’t love me. Not really. Not enough to stand by me when...”

              I reach for his hand. He has never told me this before. In fact, he rarely mentions Mum other than to rant about what an evil woman she was, abandoning her husband and child. So to hear him speak her name calmly is a first. I think of James, and wonder – not for the first time – if he would have the stamina to see things through if
I
got bad. But the truth is I have no idea. Even if our marriage was in a good state, would he be able to live with someone like Dad? Or even someone like the old me, the troubled person I was after my baby died? Max didn’t stand by me, so why should James? And now James has Tabitha. Unsullied Tabitha. There is nothing hanging over her, threatening to drag her down.

              And now I think of Rhys. Of course I couldn’t expect him to stand by me if the worst happened, especially given his age, but there is a warmth in his every word and action that James no longer shows for me.

              “She may have had other reasons for leaving, Dad. We don’t know, do we?”

              But he has switched off now, and is pulling at the hairs on his arm. I try to get him to put on his jacket because there is ice cream all over his shirt, but he brushes me away. “Stop fussing, Caroline.”

              My phone beeps and I pull it out, holding it so that Dad won’t be able to see the screen. When I see it is a text message from Rhys, my heart thuds. He says he can’t wait to see me again.

             
Tonight
, I text back. I need to see him tonight. I need to tell him this is wrong. And whatever we’re doing is over.

I sit on the bed, feeling out of place in Rhys’ bedroom. There are posters of rock bands plastered over the walls and more musical instruments than furniture. All that’s in here is a desk with a laptop and some school books open on it, a computer chair and, of course, the bed I am sitting on. I feel like a teenager again, as if I am in my first boyfriend’s room. Rhys is nothing like Sean, but there is an unmistakably similar scent lingering in the air. It is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but reminds me I don’t belong here.

              I could have ended this over the phone or even somewhere public, but I can’t risk being seen. Thankfully, Rhys’ parents are away and we have the place to ourselves.

              Sitting at his desk, Rhys watches me sip my coffee. “How is it?” he asks.

              “Gettting better,” I say with a grin. These days my sense of humour only seems to surface when I’m with him.

              “Good. Can I sit next to you?”

“Rhys, I think we should talk.”

“Okay, but let me sit with you.” He moves towards me and I don’t stop him. He looks beautiful today, his dark fringe flopping in his face, and I don’t know whether I’ve always thought this, or if kissing him has changed my perception. But I can’t do this. No part of it is right, despite how it feels.

              With Rhys sitting on the bed beside me, I yearn for him again, like a drug addict desperate for another fix. I was like this with James in the beginning, before life got in the way. But something is different with Rhys, like nothing I’ve felt before. Perhaps this is because it is so wrong?

              “Callie, I really like you. Last night was…”

              I want to agree, to tell him how good it felt to kiss him, but I have to remind myself why I am here.

              I take his hand and draw circles on his palm with my finger. “Nothing can happen, Rhys. It just can’t.”

              “Why?” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me.

              I pull back. “So many reasons. I’m married. You’re
seventeen
. You’re Dillon’s best friend. Do I need to carry on?”