Once he’s gone, I quickly make Freya fish fingers and sweet potato wedges. It’s one of her favourite meals – the least I can do after giving her such a scare. Will and I can eat something later, once she’s in bed.
I try to focus, to listen to every word Freya is saying in between mouthfuls of food, but I can’t stop thinking about Alison Cummings. About Zach. I need to know who she is, and what possible reason she could have had to tell me something like that and then retract it so quickly. And the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that she did say those things. I am not falling apart, having some sort of crisis, that’s just not me. Somehow I held it together when Zach died – yes, for Freya’s sake, but having her gave me strength I never knew I had. So I’m not going to doubt myself now.
She said those words.
Your husband didn’t kill himself.
And I need to know why. What does she think she knows? And why did she take it back?
While Freya’s having a bath, I load up my laptop and wait for Google to appear. I don’t know how much time I have before Will gets back, so I need to be quick. I can do more once we’re all in bed, but even that amount of time feels too long to wait.
I type Alison’s name into the search box and hits immediately appear. Most of them are Facebook profiles, though there are a few websites with her name highlighted. If it’s even her real name, that is. But when I check them, one by one, none of them are the same woman I met today.
I don’t have Facebook any more. After Zach died I deleted it, sick of the abuse I was getting for what he supposedly did, despairing of the vitriolic messages from strangers who had nothing to do with our lives. I will never put myself on social media again, never put myself in the firing line.
Maybe it’s easier to look for people if you have an account? I know Will is on there, so I will have to think of a reason to get him logged in so I can check the profiles, but it won’t be easy unless I tell him the truth.
For now, though, I check the profiles I can see, but after ten minutes I still haven’t found the woman I’m looking for.
‘Mummy, can you help me wash my hair?’ Freya shouts from the bathroom.
I close the laptop, but keep it nearby for later – there won’t be much sleep for me tonight.
‘Is Will here yet?’ Freya asks, when I join her in the bathroom. I stare at her countless bath toys and wonder when she’ll no longer ask for them. Time passes too quickly in some ways, and much too slowly in others.
‘Any minute now,’ I say. ‘When we’re finished in here you can get your pyjamas on then we’ll go down and pick a film out.’
She beams from beneath a crown of shampoo. ‘Can I have a hot chocolate? Please, Mummy.’
‘Okay, but I’m sure you had one yesterday too. And you’ve already had ice cream today. Probably a huge one, I’m guessing?’ She smiles her cheeky grin, the one that’s identical to her father’s, and I begin to melt. ‘Okay, but let’s not make a habit of it.’
‘I promise I won’t keep asking.’
That’s just one of the wonderful things about my daughter – I know she’ll keep to her word.
Less than half an hour later we all sit huddled together on the sofa, Freya cushioned between Will and me, her head resting on my arm. This would be bliss, a perfect moment where I might actually believe things are going to be all right, but the heavy weight of Alison Cummings bears down on me.
Although I’m facing the television – Freya has chosen Frozen for about the twentieth time – I cannot take in anything the characters are saying or doing. It’s lucky I’ve seen it all those times before, because I know she’ll want to discuss it afterwards, as always. I just sit here, numb, counting the minutes until it’s over and I can get back on the laptop.
* * *
After the film, once Freya is in bed, Will suggests we have a glass of wine. Although the idea of it is appealing – something to take the edge off this day – I am desperate to get back to my laptop.
‘I really don’t think I should after what happened earlier. I don’t want to risk having alcohol,’ I say.
Will agrees. ‘I didn’t think about that,’ he says. ‘You don’t mind if I have one, though, do you? I could get you something else?’
I tell him how tired I am, that it’s been a long day and I need to get some sleep. I still want to ask him about his Facebook page, but can’t think of a legitimate reason for needing to see it. He will think I don’t trust him, and I’ve spent our whole two-year relationship trying to prove that I’m not paranoid about what he does when I’m not with him, despite Zach.
‘How about I join you for a bit?’ His smile spreads across his face, making it even harder for me to disappoint him. Usually, once Freya is in bed, this is our time together, and even though he sleeps in the spare room when he stays over, for the first part of the night he is always in my bed.
‘Will, I’m so sorry, but I think I just need to sleep tonight. Is that okay? I promise I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Okay,’ he says. He tries to stay upbeat but I know he must be disappointed. ‘I’ll just pop to the shop and get some wine in. I noticed you didn’t have any. Do you need anything?’
I tell him I don’t and he stands up and plants a kiss on my forehead. He does this often and I like this way he has of reassuring me that everything’s okay.
‘My keys are on the phone table,’ I say, and as he heads out of the door I add, again, that I’m sorry.
Once Will’s gone, I stand up to get a glass of water from the kitchen and notice his iPhone tucked between the cushions of the sofa. I shouldn’t do it. It’s a complete abuse of his privacy and he is the last person who deserves that, but I lean forward, compelled to pick it up. I already know his passcode – he’s told me before it’s the day and month we met, that’s how much he trusts me – and before I know it, it’s in my hands. I type in 0-8-1-0 – his home screen greets me.
I’m doing this for you, Zach, because I need answers. I thought I had come to terms with it, that I’d accepted what you did and made my peace with it, but now this woman comes along and detonates a bomb right beside me. It’s ticking – and I don’t have much time.
I make a silent promise to Will that I will not snoop, I will only search for Alison Cummings and Dominic Bradford and nothing more.
The shop is only a five-minute walk away so Will won’t be long; I need to be quick. But once again my search is futile. Although there are plenty of people named Alison Cummings and Dominic Bradford, nobody matches the people I’m looking for. There are some profiles without pictures, but nobody living in London who could match either of them.
But I won’t give up. And I have an address – most likely fake – I can use as a starting point: Hawthorn Gardens. Although it’s here in Ealing, I don’t know the road, but my navigation app on my phone will help me with that. Keeping my silent promise to Will, I delete my search and put his phone back where I found it, but guilt wraps around me, squeezing me tighter.
Seconds later, Will is standing in the doorway, clutching a bottle of wine, his head turned slightly to the side.
‘Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.’ How long has he been standing there? Long enough to see me on his phone? I panic and prepare to explain what I was doing. To tell him about Alison Cummings and risk his uncertainty about my sanity, because that’s better than letting him think I don’t trust him.
‘I was extra quiet,’ he says. ‘Didn’t want to wake Freya.’ No mention of his phone or what I’ve been doing with it.
‘You left your phone here,’ I say, reaching across the sofa for it.
He takes it from me and slips it into his pocket. ‘Thanks. Didn’t even realise.’
I search his face for any clue that he might have seen me, any sign that this is some sort of test and he’s waiting for me to admit what I’ve done, but his face is unreadable.