‘Play your games, Adele. Play your games. I’m done. I don’t care any more. And I don’t want any fucking dinner.’
He calls out the last line as he disappears upstairs, and I wonder what’s happened to the person I fell in love with. How far hidden is he inside that shambling embarrassment of a man? I know he’s been to see her. To warn her. He really does love her, which of course pleases me in one way, but in another I want to take one of our Sabatier knives and go upstairs and cut out his ungrateful fucking heart. I squash that urge. I could never hurt David, and I know it. That’s the cross I have to bear.
And anyway, Louise heard his warning as a threat, because she belongs to me. She sees my truths. For now, at any rate. I haven’t answered her text yet, and I won’t. I need her to come here tomorrow. I need her to find me. Another thing she has to understand before she can put all the pieces of our tale of woe together. Show don’t tell, that’s what they say, isn’t it? And that’s what I’m doing. Tomorrow will be another breadcrumb in the trail I’m leaving for her. She’s my little wind-up doll, walking in whatever direction I point her.
God, I love Louise. I love her almost as much as I love David. And after I’ve shared my story with her, she’s going to hate him. I can’t help but think he deserves that.
42
LOUISE
It’s pouring with rain, proper sheets of it falling from the sky, and the grey is thick overhead as I drop Adam off at Day Play. The dry spell is over, and although it’s not cold, and there’s no autumn wind to drive the rain into me, it feels like the death knell of summer. Nearly September already. He kisses me goodbye and runs inside, my confident friendly boy, used to this routine. I haven’t told him I’m not going to work. Instead, I told him I’d taken a couple of days off to spend with him, and now we’re back to normal. It doesn’t really register with him. He’s six, the days are all a blur, but he’ll be seeing his dad soon and I’m not ready for the ‘Oh, Mummy hasn’t been to work’ fall-out.
I stop at Costa Coffee and stand at the window bench, staring out through the steamy glass at people hurrying along the Broadway in the downpour, heads down, umbrellas clashing like antelope horns. My mouth burns with the hot drink and I impatiently clock-watch until I think it’s probably safe to go. I have no idea if David is in work at his usual time. I tried to check his diary, but my log-in no longer works. The bastard must have cancelled it. I’m going to the house anyway. I need to see Adele, and she still hasn’t answered my text, and I’m worried about her. Screw him, if he’s at home. Maybe I’ll tell her what we did. Maybe that will prompt her to do what she needs to do. I’ll lose her too, but at least she’ll be free.
At ten, I gird my loins and head over. Her car’s there, so she’s not left for the gym yet, if she’s even still going, and with my heart in my mouth, I press on the doorbell. I hear it ring out on the other side, heavy and dependable. I stand and wait, peering through the glass for any shadow of movement, but the house is still. I press again, for longer this time. Still nothing. Where is she? She can’t be in the garden in this weather, and I know she can hear the bell from there anyway. I give it a third go, holding the button down for nearly ten seconds. At least I know David’s not home. He’d have been shouting at me on the doorstep by now if he was.
The door stays firmly shut in front of me. Maybe she’s popped down to the shops. But in this rain? She’d take the car and go to the big Sainsbury’s if she needed anything surely? I leave my umbrella at the door and come down the few steps to cross to the big bay window; I frame my eyes with my hands and peer in. It’s David’s study, so I’m not expecting to see anything, but Adele is sitting in a wing-backed chair in the corner by the bookshelves. One arm is hanging down and she’s slid sideways, only the jutting edges of the old-fashioned leather chair holding her in. I bang on the glass. ‘Adele! It’s me! Wake up!’
She doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. How can she not hear me? I bang harder and repeat her name, one eye out for nosy neighbours who might mention seeing me to ‘that lovely doctor next door’. Still nothing. He must have made her take those pills before he went to work; it’s all I can think. Maybe she’s taken too many. Maybe she’s had an adverse reaction. Shit, shit, shit.
I look back at the front door, my hair now slick against my face, and drips of water running cold under the collar of my jacket making me flinch and shiver. I see the big planters. The keys. I rummage in the damp dirt until I find them, inches down, flashes of silver. The bottom lock is off, so at least David hasn’t locked her in, which was my first thought, and I slide the Yale key in and twist. I’m in.