She looks at me as if she’s hearing me for the first time. “You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”
I nod. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, but please, I’m begging you, don’t put your children through it as well. They’ve been through enough already.”
She pulls herself up. “You’re right, I couldn’t possibly leave them with him. Look what happens when he’s in charge.”
“You’ve all been through the worst trauma imaginable,” I say softly. “But there’s nothing to gain from blaming each other. It’ll destroy you.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek, deep in thought.
“Where are the children?” I ask.
“The children?” she questions, looking at me blankly, sending a sudden rush of panic through me.
“Yes, where are they?”
“Oh, they’re with my parents for the night,” she says. “I thought it would be easier that way…”
I daren’t ask her to elaborate.
“OK, so why don’t we go and pick them up and go back to mine? It’ll give you some breathing space to think about your next move.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No, they’re happy where they are.”
“OK, so why don’t you come back then? We can talk and see how you feel in the morning.”
“And Leon will be OK with that, will he?”
Shit, Leon.
“Of course,” I lie, though I can’t help but think Anna might be the distraction we both need right now. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“D’you know what?” she says, pulling her cardigan tighter around her as she looks out to sea. “I’m going to go home and talk to Nick.”
My brow furrows. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Today of all days?”
She turns to look at me. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t keep running away from what happened. I’m tired of living in the shadows.”
“I understand that, but I really don’t think you should go and see Nick right now, not when you’re feeling like you are…”
“But perhaps I need to tell him how I’m feeling,” she moots. “Because bottling everything up is clearly not doing either of us any favors. He’s lashing out and I’m walking around like a zombie. Both of us have lost the ability to communicate.”
“I really don’t think I should let you go off on your own.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, putting a hand over mine. “I’m sorry I scared you, but as ever, you really have helped me see things a little clearer.”
“Anna, I—”
“I’m OK,” she says, locking eyes with me. “I promise.”
I only hope she’s telling the truth.
19
“Naomi! Naomi!” my sister screams from somewhere far away. I run to where the sound is coming from, but just as I see her standing at the end of a long corridor, dressed in her white nightie and holding her pink bunny rabbit, a door slams shut in my face.
My eyes snap open, desperately searching the darkness for proof that that didn’t really just happen. I force my breath under control and roll onto my back, waiting for the ornate ceiling rose above our bed to emerge from the shadows.
There’s a noise, much like the slamming door in my dream, but further away and fainter. My ears prick up like a dog’s on guard, waiting to hear it again. I’m trying to still the thump thump thump of my heart, as it competes with the underwater noise that is rushing around in my ears.
I need to separate reality from the nightmare, but my thoughts and terrors are all metamorphosing into the same thing.
It’s the tiniest of sounds, but one I know so well; the slow, unavoidable creak of the third stair from the bottom, as it bows under the weight of even the lightest foot.
I throw a hand over to Leon’s side of the mattress, hoping to find his sleeping body, rising and falling with his silent breath. But the bed is empty and the sheets are cold. I sit up, trying to force my brain to track back to last night. Had I dreamed that Jacob had gone missing? Had Anna really threatened to kill herself? Had Leon and I resolved our row? A heap of thoughts crowd my brain and I tick them off one by one. No, yes, no.
Leon had been asleep when I came home—at least he’d pretended to be—so as I come to, the knowledge that we’ve still got to iron out our problems instantly gnaws away at me.
Knowing I won’t be able to go back to sleep until he’s in bed beside me, I pull on his T-shirt, which is balled up on his pillow. If I’d thought about how strange that was—Leon always sleeps in his T-shirt—I would have perhaps known that all was not well. But the benefit of hindsight is a wonderful thing.
There’s a noise again.
I tiptoe to the bedroom door and stare out into the darkness of the landing, listening for a clue as to where he is and what he’s doing. There’s nothing but silence.
I peer over the banister to the hall below, hoping to see a glow of a light creeping up from the kitchen where he must be making a cup of tea, but the house is cloaked in shadows.
An unfathomable sense of unease wraps itself around me as I gingerly put a foot onto the landing. Feeling like I’m walking through a minefield, I stand and wait before doing it again.
I’m three steps down and on the mezzanine when I hear faint voices coming from downstairs. Now I’m here, I can see a white glow trickling through the crack in the kitchen door, and my insides uncoil as I realize that Leon must be watching late-night television.
I take the rest of the stairs more confidently, relying on the creak from the third tread from the bottom to alert him to my presence.
“Hey,” I croak, as I push the door open, my voice rusty from sleep.
I fully expect him to be standing there, munching on cereal in the light of the TV, but the room is empty.
“Leon?” I call out, walking around the island and into the open-plan dining room.
It’s there that I see it. My laptop open on the table, playing a scene from an X-rated film. I can’t help but wince at the sound effects, but moreover I cringe with embarrassment at having caught Leon in the throes of whatever it was he was doing.
Yet as I get closer, the blurry faces of the “porn stars” come into focus and I double over as the sucker punch winds me. The moans become clearer, the voices become more distinguishable, the act too unbearable to watch.
It can’t be—it just can’t be.
“Leon!” I scream, my angst echoing in the stillness of the house.
I slam the top down, shutting the noise off but sending the room into complete darkness.
“Fuck!” I yell, stubbing my toe as I fumble for the light switch. “Leon!”
I rush through the ground floor of the house, turning every light on as I go. I take the stairs two at a time and flounder for my phone on the bedside table. I check the spare rooms and the bathroom, but Leon’s nowhere to be seen.
“Pick up your fucking phone,” I shout, as I call his number and it rings to voicemail. I immediately try again and he answers.
“Where are you?” I yell, as I almost lose my footing coming back down the stairs.
“I’m not going to do this now,” he says.
“You’re what?” I say, my voice high-pitched, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
“I’m not going to do this now,” he repeats.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on-site,” he says, bluntly.
“But it’s the middle of the night.”
“I can’t stay with you,” he says.
My brain is so discombobulated that I can’t even begin to process what he’s saying.
“Have you seen it?” I ask.
There’s silence at the other end of the line.
“Have you seen it?” I cry, my throat closing in around the words.
“Yes,” he says, calmly. “Were you hoping I hadn’t?”
“I’m hoping you can tell me why the hell you thought it was OK to film us having sex and then post it to my computer.”
“What?” he exclaims, making a good attempt to sound surprised.
I fall heavily onto the dining chair, knowing that that mortifying video is lurking on the underside of my laptop, waiting to be played again.