The Stranger Within (23 page)

              “I don’t have a choice. Look, I’ll text you later to let you know how it goes. And we’ll meet up soon. Talk things through.”

              Jazzy strolls into the shed and I kneel down to stroke him. Somehow, the vibration of his purring calms me down. I make him a silent promise to let him sleep in the house.

              “Okay,” Rhys says. But when I disconnect the call, I know that things are far from okay.

Bowling would be fine if it hadn’t been for Dillon’s kick to my shin earlier. It didn’t hurt for long, but the memory will not fade so easily. So now we all take turns knocking over skittles, cheering whenever anyone gets a strike. Dillon puts on an Oscar-winning performance and while Luke is taking his go, asks me how my studying is going. Although I am not looking at him, I can sense James nodding his approval. I don’t know what he said to the boys at breakfast, but he’s only made things worse. Now they are putting on their phoniest act yet. I can forgive James for being laidback, for wanting to believe the best, but I know that’s unrealistic. My stepsons won’t give up until I am gone from their lives.

              Finally the game is over and we can leave. Dillon has won but when I congratulate him, while James collects his shoes, he ignores me and strides ahead, pulling Luke along with him.

              During the drive home, James delivers his lecture about us all sticking together, being the family we should be, and how he won’t tolerate any more coldness. “We’ve had a good day out today,” he says. “And this is how it should be all the time. I know nothing’s ever perfect but we need to accept and support each other, okay?”

A few moments of silence follow, and then Luke speaks up. “Sorry, Dad,” he says. “I’ll try harder. Sorry, Callie.”

“Dillon?’ James says.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Beside me, James smiles, apparently still feeling victorious. It doesn’t affect my love for him but does he really have no idea that he hasn’t helped at all? That he never has? And his idea for the four of us to air our grievances has come to nothing. But this is a relief, because like everything else, it would only be futile.

We pull up to the house and immediately I see Rhys sitting on the front step, in exactly the same position I found him in weeks ago. My whole body heats up. There is only one reason he is here. He could tell on the phone I want things to end and he wants everyone to know what we have been doing. I almost scream at James to keep driving, the excuse of having left my phone in the bowling alley on my lips, but then Dillon says, “There’s Rhys. He’s a bit early.”

              So Dillon has invited him over. I have almost forgotten that they are best friends, and perhaps in my mind I have written him off now that I have come to my senses. But here he is, waiting for Dillon, a painful reminder that he will never be gone from my life, his presence a constant threat.

              As we get out of the car, Rhys stands up to greet us, fixing his eyes on me. I daren’t look at the others to see if they notice. Dillon rushes over to him and slaps his arm, pulling his phone out to show him something, but the whole time I am the focus of Rhys’ attention.

“Nice to see you,” I say, when it is no longer possible to avoid him.

              He doesn’t answer for a moment but then says, “Hi, Mrs Harwell,” before turning to Dillon.

              For a moment I stay where I am, rooted to the spot by fear. I haven’t even broken if off yet but Rhys will always have power over me because he will still be my stepson’s friend. Even if he takes the breakup well, avoiding him will be impossible. And I will always wonder if the moment has come for me to face what I’ve done.

              We traipse inside and I watch the boys head upstairs. Before Rhys reaches the top he turns back to look at me, offering a quick smile before James appears beside me.

              “I was thinking,” James says, “I’ve just got a bit of work to do and then do you want to watch a DVD or something tonight? I might even stretch to some popcorn from the corner shop!”

              I’m about to agree but then remember I have to meet Max tonight. The only excuse I can give is that I am seeing Debbie or Bridgette. At least it is the weekend so it is more believable that they will be available. I open my mouth and the lie floods out; I have got far too good at deception. The lies need to stop, and I vow to myself that they will, as soon as I’ve sorted out this mess.

James looks disappointed but he pats my arm. “Don’t worry, you go out and have fun. You probably need a break anyway.”

When I hear loud voices upstairs, I almost change my mind and tell him I will stay home after all. What if, in my absence, Rhys decides to tell Dillon? Or goes directly to James? Both scenarios are unthinkable and will have only one consequence. There is nothing to stop him exposing us while I’m still here, but at least I might be able to control the situation. I can keep an eye on him.

But if I don’t meet Max then what will he do? Will he turn up here? He somehow found my mobile number, which I’ve only changed recently, so there is every chance he knows our address. I am trapped like a hunted animal. I have no choice but to meet him.

“Callie?”

James nudges me, snapping my thoughts away. “You look like you’re in a trance! Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was telling you that when you get home tonight I’ll run you a bath. You know, pamper you a bit. I know I’m not romantic, but I’ve seen it in loads of films!”

I turn away from him because I can’t bear him being so nice to me.
“

My deceit was far easier to deal with when we were barely speaking.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Max lives in Kingston now, in a three-bedroom flat overlooking the Thames. I don’t want to be here but the only other option was meeting somewhere public and I can’t risk being seen. It would just be one more thing I can’t explain.

This place is a far cry from the miniscule studio flat he rented years ago and let me move into. I still remember the rickety old furniture that the landlord refused to replace, even though most of it was falling to bits. But Max didn’t care then. He was a free spirit, refusing to be tied down by possessions, especially those that didn’t belong to him.

And now, being in his new flat – one that he owns – I can immediately tell he has changed. The furnishings are still sparse, but what he does have is tasteful and expensive-looking. He has done all right for himself.

I sit on his brown leather sofa and lean forwards, clutching my bag to my stomach because I can’t get comfortable here. And don’t want to try. I don’t know what Max wants from me but he hasn’t asked me here to make small talk.

              He sits in a chair opposite me, studying and scrutinising me. “I’m glad you came,” he says, lighting a cigarette. I’d forgotten that he smokes. He holds the box out to me but I shake my head. “You used to have the occasional one,” he says, reminding me that we share a past.

“Not often,” I say, determined not to let him win whatever this is.

He shrugs. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. It’s possible you could have got addicted.”

I ignore him and watch as he pours us each a glass of red wine. He has already laid everything out on the coffee table so clearly there was no doubt in his mind that I would show up. He hands me a glass, which I don’t want but accept anyway, and I stare at his plasma television screen, taking in the muted flickering images of a music video.

              I watch him inhale on his cigarette. It doesn’t feel as if we were ever together, as if he ever witnessed my pain. The six-year absence has made us strangers; we were barely more than kids when we broke up, so I know nothing about Max as a thirty-year-old man. It took me a long time, but eventually I learnt to leave him, and everything else, in my past. But now he is intruding into my future and I just need this evening to be over.

He finishes his cigarette and squashes it out on a silver ashtray that sits on his coffee table. When he stands up, I pray he won’t sit next to me on the sofa. But he does. Not so close that I can justify shifting over, but too close for my liking.

“So it’s been a long time, huh?” he says. “What are you doing these days?” He takes a sip of wine and swills it around his mouth before swallowing. “Aside from being
married
, that is.” He draws the word out but smiles innocently. I wonder what he thinks of the fact that I’m married. He was never one for settling down, despite how long we were together, despite the fact we were nearly parents. The idea goes against his nature. It was the cause of much conflict between us because I knew one day – far in the future, of course – that I would want marriage.

I have no patience for his question. “Look, what’s this all about? You’ve obviously got something to say so just spit it out.” My words fly from my mouth with more anger than I intend, but it is too late to take them back. And I won’t apologise.

He pulls another cigarette from the packet and sticks it in his mouth, but doesn’t light it. I wonder if he is nervous; he never used to chain-smoke. “Callie, I’m offended. I haven’t seen you for six years and within five minutes you’re jumping down my throat.” He places the cigarette back in the box, lifting his glass instead and staring at the dark wine inside. “I just wanted to catch up. Explain things. You know. What happened. With us.”

I have no wish to revisit the past. Whoever Max thinks I am, I am no longer that person. The one who made him feel trapped. Who he thought needed looking after. But perhaps he was right to believe those things. I was young. In some ways, I did inadvertently trap him.

He waits for me to say something and anything is preferable to talking about what I was doing with Rhys, so I give him what he wants. “What happened is you packed up my stuff, threw me out of your flat and disappeared.”

Max looks taken aback that I have said this so blatantly. “I know, I’m –”

“You didn’t even have the decency to talk to me or leave a note. Anything. So what’s the point of explaining now?”

He stares into his glass. “I was a jerk.”

I almost tell him that he still is, or he wouldn’t have forced me to come here tonight. He puts down his glass and rubs his chin. “I couldn’t handle it, Callie. Your grief. My grief. I tried to help you, but you wouldn’t let me. It was like we had nothing to say to each other anymore. But I never stopped caring about you. I didn’t want children – I never lied about that – but I accepted your decision to have her…” He trails off because there is no right choice of words.

“But you left years after we lost her, Max. No, what was too much was the thought that I’d end up like my dad. That’s why you did it.” Over the years I have accepted the truth: any tiny argument Max and I had, anything I did that he considered not normal, would have him picturing me like Dad. And he couldn’t deal with that.

“Callie, you’re wrong. I tried my best to help you, don’t you remember? But I just couldn’t, could I? I’m sorry for that.”

At least now he has the decency to look ashamed. Taking out the cigarette he has only just replaced, he wastes no time lighting it. “But it did freak me out. I was twenty-three, for Christ’s sake. Practically a kid. We both were. If I could change things, I would.”

I think of Rhys. Of how different he was with Dad, even as a boy of seventeen. He didn’t fear him, and he didn’t care what might or might not happen to me down the line. I feel a momentary stab of regret, but it passes quickly.

“I don’t care about all that now. I got over you, Max. I don’t want to talk or think about the past.”

Still holding his cigarette, he uses his other hand to lift his glass again, this time taking a long, slow sip. I haven’t yet touched mine.

We both watch each other, consumed with our own thoughts. Max is probably planning to make his demand, finding a way to phrase it, while I search for a way to get out of this mess.

“So how’s your husband? I hope he’s a good guy.” A smile appears on his face, which is not warm, or smug. Just blank.

I place my drink on the table. “Why did you ask me here? It wasn’t just to apologise, was it? Because you’re six years too late.”

He finishes the last of his wine and looks at me with the huge eyes I used to love. They are so dark his pupils are difficult to make out. “Who was that boy you were with in the park?”

I have been expecting this question, but my face starts to burn. I grab my glass and finally take a sip. A long one. Anything to draw out this moment because once I speak, nothing will be the same. “I told you. He’s my stepson. Dillon.” I put my glass back on the table with too much force, causing some of the wine to slosh over the rim. A red pool forms on the coffee table but Max doesn’t seem to notice.

He leans back in his chair, speaking slowly. He is in control and we both know it. “Cut it out, Callie. I know he’s not your stepson. Well, I know that now, and to be honest, I’m relieved.”

When I frown at him, he quickly explains. “I saw you both. In your car. That Golf. I was on my way to meet Simon and I saw you. I saw everything, Callie. Do you still want to claim he’s your stepson?”

So my instincts that night were correct. I feel as if I will suffocate if I don’t get out of here soon. There is a balcony outside and I eye it with longing before turning back to Max. “You’re sick. Watching like that.” Attacking him is the only defence I have.