What Goes Around: A chilling psychological thriller (18 page)

‘Isn’t it natural that he wants to come to your home? That he wants to meet the people who are important to you?’

‘Yes, but he can’t be part of my life. He knows this, Maurice. We agreed on it.’

‘I understand.’ He nods. ‘I understand that as teenage brother and young adult sister you made a pact. But time has moved on and David wants to change the terms of that pact.’ He nods again. ‘And you are resisting him.’

‘Too bloody right I’m resisting him because what he has to realise is that I have more to lose than he has. I’ve been lying – I admit that – and I’d be found out.’

‘Found out by whom?’

‘By Alex. By Tom.’

‘Would it be so bad if they both knew about what had happened to you as a child and young adult?’

‘Of course!’ I let out some air; it sounds like a laugh but I have never felt less like laughing. ‘Because then David would win, wouldn’t he?’ I hear myself say this and I’m shocked. Is this about winning? Is this about power? I thought it was about love and protection.

‘David would win what?’ Maurice says.

‘Just stop this now, Maurice.’ I frown at him. ‘For fuck’s sake. Why are you making me talk about David? I don’t want to talk about David. I want to talk about Alex. I came here to talk about Alex.’

‘All right, Leila.’ Maurice sits back in his seat. ‘Tell me about Alex.’

I talk about my son, about how much he means to me and about the hopes and dreams I have for his future. I hear myself talk and I know I’m being truthful, I know it’s heartfelt. I also know it’s a distraction from what I should be saying, what I really want to be saying. ‘I can’t force him to have a good life. I can’t do that.’ I pause. ‘I don’t blame Alex. I don’t blame him at all. Blame is the language of children and politicians. Blame says – I’m unwilling to point the finger at myself so I’ll point it elsewhere, at him or him or her …’

‘Why would you blame him?’

I stare down at the bloody tissue in my hand. ‘I could blame Alex for complicating my life. Lots of mothers would. And I could do that but I don’t.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Fifty minutes.’

‘Do you want to stay longer?’

‘No.’ I stand up. ‘Thank you, Maurice. I should go now.’

‘Before you do, Leila.’ He gestures for me to sit down again. I don’t sit down. I hold my ground, bracing myself in case he decides to be honest with me, to show me exactly what I’m refusing to see. He doesn’t, of course. He rises slowly from his chair, leaning heavily on his stick until he finds his balance. ‘I wonder whether you might cancel your clients for the next week.’

‘Alison and Mark?’ I move towards the waste bin and throw the tissue into it.

‘Not just them. Perhaps you might give yourself a break from the needs of others and focus on your own needs.’

I feel my face redden. It’s something that rarely happens to me. I touch my cheeks and the heat burns my fingers. ‘I will.’ I walk ahead of Maurice to the front door.

‘I’m free at the same time tomorrow,’ he says, his stick making rhythmic taps on the wooden flooring as he rushes to keep up with me.

‘I should be fine, thank you.’ The door is stiff and I have to pull it hard before it yields.

‘Leila?’ His voice is raised.

I turn to look at him. I’m squinting because eye contact feels painful. This is the man who sees right through me, past the woman I project to the world, past the person I want to be, right to my core, to the woman I am – and folks, she’s not pretty. She is a fighter. She is selfish and cut-throat. She is out for her own survival, and if that involves lies and deceit she doesn’t care. She does it anyway.

‘Remember to breathe,’ he says. His expression tells me he knows me, he understands me. He doesn’t judge me. ‘And call me.’

I nod my agreement and then say, ‘I’m sorry for shouting and for swearing.’

‘Emotions are running high. See them for what they are.’

‘Fear?’

‘Fear,’ he affirms.

Maurice remains standing at the door. I start the engine and drive off. I look in my rearview mirror and see an old man, leaning on a stick. Appearances can be deceptive.

I spend the journey home visualising three – no four – roll-ups and an extra-large whisky. I burst through my own front door and tip the whisky into the first receptacle to hand – a mug that says ‘Happy Father’s Day’.

‘You have a good evening?’

I turn round and see Katarina behind me, her smile faltering as it meets my frown. Her cheek is still bruised and it gives her the look of the downtrodden: the battered girlfriend, the homeless runaway, the refugee.

‘You want a drink?’ I hold the bottle out towards her. ‘It’ll do you good. It’ll do us both good. We could bond – two women together.’ I laugh at the ridiculousness of my suggestion. When have I ever done bonding with women? With anyone for that matter? ‘What do you say?’

‘No, thank you. I am on the medicine.’ She takes a packet of painkillers out of her pocket. ‘It says—’

‘Suit yourself.’ I wave her aside and leave the kitchen, hugging the mug of whisky and the bottle into my chest. The evening air is cool and sharp. A dog is barking a couple of gardens away and two seagulls are squawking on a rooftop. I smoke and I drink and I stare up at the sky. For once there is an absence of clouds, and the stars remind me of my own insignificance. The universe is huge, magnificent, boundless. My problem is a microscopic speck of dust on the spine of infinity.

‘It’s all good,’ I say out loud. ‘It’s all well and good.’

A rustle in the bushes draws my attention away from the sky and my eyes take a moment to refocus. I see a rounded shape settling on the ground close to my feet. Next door’s cat – stupidly determined to roam where he’s unwelcome, forever in a garden other than his own. ‘And you,’ I say to him, nudging him with the tip of my shoe. ‘You’re on your last warning.’

Maybanks’ back-door key is still hidden in my sock drawer but I think about it almost constantly. The idea of sneaking into the house when no one is there and seeing how Tom and Leila live together – the contents of their fridge, the bathroom cabinet, the bedside drawer – is an idea that has me hooked. I want to see what’s changed and I want to see what’s the same. And deep down, I think I want to know why he chose her over me. The kitchen and the bedroom are where the choices are made by men like Tom, aren’t they? So what’s she got that I haven’t?

All that’s stopping me using the key is the question of what happens if I’m caught? What would Chloe and Ben think? How would I justify it to them? Well, I think I’d justify it in two ways: firstly, legally the house is still partly mine and secondly, I asked Tom on several occasions to give my jewellery box back to me but he never did, so it’s a case of taking matters into my own hands. And after the meeting at the solicitor’s this morning, I know how good it feels to outsmart him, to stand toe to toe, eyeball to eyeball, and force him to see that he isn’t the one holding all the cards.

I’m weighing up the pros and cons as I push my trolley up and down the aisles in the supermarket. My mobile rings. ‘Mary? It’s Leila.’

There’s noise all around me. I stop pushing the trolley and put a finger in my left ear, while pressing my mobile to my right.

‘I’m ringing to let you know that I need to cancel our appointment on Tuesday,’ she says. ‘I’m taking next week off.’

‘Oh? Oh, no. But why?’ I say. This doesn’t suit me at all. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just that I need to recharge my batteries.’

‘I …’ I was looking forward to our next session. We’re due to discuss the other woman and I can’t wait to prick her conscience, to play with her, to chip away at the dividing wall between the professional and the personal until the truth of our connection is revealed to her. ‘If possible, I’d really like to see you, Leila. I feel like I’m making progress. I don’t want to pressure you.’ I let my voice waver. ‘I’m sorry, I … I was just hoping … you’re helping me so much and—’

‘You know, Mary. You’re right.’ I hear a smile in her tone. ‘We are working well together so let’s keep on going. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll see you on Tuesday at 2 p.m. as usual.’

‘Thank you, Leila,’ I say. ‘I really appreciate that.’

I end the call and stare at the handset, wondering whether I’m imagining things. With so much background noise I can’t be sure but I think she sounded rattled. Has Tom told her about our meeting earlier today? Or is something else going on? Has she found out who I really am? I don’t want that. I want the control, the advantage, to be with me not her.

There is a way for me to find out what the problem might be. Chloe hasn’t been to visit Tom lately but Ben is back from his friend’s and is going to visit his dad this evening. While Chloe is more circumspect, Ben is always open about what’s happening in his dad’s life. I won’t even need to pry.

It’s late evening and I’ve just finished a round of checks when Ben comes bouncing into the living room, looking glad to be home. ‘You hungry, darling?’ I ask him.

‘No, I’m good, Mum, thanks.’ He pats his stomach. ‘Katarina made a meal this evening for the four of us. It was nicer than I thought it would be, beetroot soup with yoghurt and a stew type thing with beef and chilli.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘Okay if I grab a beer?’

‘Sure. Get one for me too.’ He comes across to the sofas with two beers. ‘So you said there were four of you?’

‘Leila, Dad, me and Katarina.’ He opens both bottles and hands one to me.

‘No Alex?’

‘He’s been sent to rehab.’

‘Has he?’ I start back in surprise. ‘You were right about him having a problem, then?’

‘Yeah, and Dad was like …’ He trails off, shaking his head. ‘He was being all supportive.’

‘Oh?’ I say, half casual. ‘What happened?’

‘Leila looked really tired and Dad was fussing over her. It was all a bit embarrassing.’ He’s pressing the button to turn on the TV but nothing happens because it isn’t plugged in. ‘Mum, what’s going on with the plugs?’ he says, bending down behind the TV to plug it back in again. ‘It’s the same whenever I go into my bedroom. My computer and my bedside light are unplugged.’

‘I’m just a bit worried about the electricity,’ I say. ‘The landlord will get round to fixing it eventually but in the meantime we’ve just got to keep everything unplugged when we’re not using it.’

‘So that’s what those numbers are on the sockets? He’s replacing them?’

‘Something like that.’ I rub at my face.

‘Fair enough.’ He turns on the TV and begins to surf the channels, talking at the same time. ‘Me and Angus bought our Interrail tickets this afternoon. We’re going to start in Paris and end up in Bucharest.’

He tells me about the route they’ll be taking and I listen to his plans. No more mention of his dad and Leila. He’s moved on. And I do too. I’m relieved that Leila hasn’t guessed who I am and so I don’t return to the topic even though I’d like to ask more questions; it isn’t fair to Ben and after all, I have the back-door key. I can find things out for myself.

I lie in bed and work through the logistics. According to her LinkedIn profile, Leila teaches a class at the university summer school, and when I check on the university website, I find out that the class takes place on Friday mornings. And on the first Friday of every month, come hell or high water, Tom plays golf with his cronies. Alex is in rehab so that only leaves Katarina. I don’t expect Leila does her own food shopping, so that must mean Katarina goes out at some point. And if not for food then she must surely have made friends. I can’t imagine she stays home all day.

Tomorrow is the first Friday of the month. If I’m going to do this then I need to strike fast.

I fall asleep, still in two minds and when I wake in the middle of the night I’ve been dreaming about Maybanks. It’s a sunny day and Molly is a baby. She’s crawling towards the hydrangea bushes because she’s spotted Mrs Patterson’s cat sunning himself. When she reaches him she grabs a handful of the fur on his back and he raises his lazy head to stare at her, good-natured as ever. Chloe laughs and calls her daughter’s name. She’s barefoot and smiling, a long skirt swinging just above her ankles as she lifts Molly high up into the sky. Molly’s legs kick and she gives loud, shocked giggles as Chloe throws her and then catches her, higher and higher, before finally pulling her close and kissing her pink cheeks.

Dreaming about my family and Maybanks is the nudge I need to make up my mind for me. I’m going back into my house today. I’m going to use the key and get the jewellery. I will get Maybanks back – I feel it in my bones – but in the meantime, I’m going to take back what’s unequivocally mine.

And so by nine o’clock, I’m two streets away from my old home. Ben told me Katarina drives a Mini that was bought for Alex, but he’s yet to pass his driving test. Tom still drives his Audi and I know that Leila has a BMW. All I have to do is keep my head down until all three cars have driven off. Easier said than done. School holidays means more people are around than usual. I approach Maybanks four times and then retrace my steps, walk down to the shore, along towards Newhaven and back. Several times I recognise neighbours up ahead – twice it’s Mrs Patterson, who is wandering about in her slippers – and I do a U-turn before I’m seen.

I’m about fifty yards away when I see Tom leave the house. He throws his golf clubs into the boot, then drives off in the opposite direction to me. I walk around some more, down to the shore and back, and on my second pass I notice that Leila’s car is gone. Two down and one to go. That’s always assuming that Katarina will go out and that, if she does go out, she’ll take the Mini.

Another hour goes by and I bump into one of my neighbours about a hundred yards from Maybanks. ‘Ellen! Long time no see!’ she says. ‘I love your new hairstyle.’

‘Thanks. I felt it was time for a change.’

‘We keep hoping you’d move back into the street. It isn’t the same without you.’ We talk children and work and life in general and then she goes off to catch the bus. ‘Let’s meet for coffee soon!’ she shouts back to me over her shoulder.

I wave in reply and continue along the street towards Maybanks. I’m worrying that I’ve missed my chance to get into the house when I spy Katarina coming out of the front door. She doesn’t climb into the car; she walks off in the direction of town, a shopping bag over her arm.