I think of that day with Pete in Dulwich Park, and of my dark suspicions when Esther told me she’d seen him with a woman and a baby. I had just assumed that if Pete was lying to me about his domestic situation, he could be lying to me about something else too. If only I had known that I was looking for Nathan Drinkwater in entirely the wrong place.
‘I thought that whoever had set up the Facebook page must have known the truth about what I had done,’ Sam goes on, the words coming thick and fast now, as if he’s been waiting for a chance to confess. ‘I needed to find out who it was. I figured that if they cared enough about Maria to set up this whole Facebook charade, then the name Nathan Drinkwater would make them sit up and take notice. Matt Lewis’s cousin had told us all about Nathan and I’d never forgotten his name. And I was right, of course; she couldn’t resist a message from Nathan. I just didn’t know until tonight that it was Bridget. When “Nathan” told her that he knew something about the night of the leavers’ party, and that he had something to show her, she couldn’t agree fast enough to meet him. I didn’t tell her what it was, this proof. I wanted to wait and see who I was up against before I showed anyone the necklace. It was her suggestion to meet at the reunion, around the side of the school. So I waited, but no one showed up. When I realised no one was coming, I went back inside. Dropping the necklace in the woods was a mistake. I still don’t know how it happened. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the… scuffle. It was only later that I realised it was gone, and it was too risky to go back and look for it.’
I know why Bridget didn’t show. She bumped into her son, who assumed she was there to make trouble or to torture herself even further by looking at the class of 1989 who made it to adulthood, and he persuaded her to leave. Thank God he did. I wonder with a shiver what Sam was planning to do to whoever showed up, if they had. In his version, what he did to Sophie and Maria were desperate acts, a pair of terrible mistakes borne out of sheer panic in the heat of the moment. This is who he is, the man I married, the father of my child. Up until now it has been that which has horrified me, that the man I loved could do the things he has done. But he arranged to meet Bridget in cold blood. That was no mistake, no temporary moment of madness. I can see him now, standing in the full glare of the truth, outlined against it in stark relief. And I am afraid, not just of who he is and what he has done. I am afraid of what he is going to do next.
Chapter 40
2016
My whole body is tensed, like a bow drawn, ready to fire. Every fibre of my being is on alert, not only trying to work out my next move but also listening for Henry, terrified that he’s going to wake and come into a scene he’ll never be able to leave behind him. I daren’t even think about the other possibility, the one where he never gets a chance to remember. With Henry asleep in his room, Sam has me trapped here as effectively as if he had tied me to the chair with iron chains.
Sam untangles his fingers from my hair and I struggle not to flinch as he runs his hand briefly down the side of my face.
‘I remember when we first got together,’ he says. ‘I used to wake in the night sometimes to find you staring at me like you were trying to imprint my face permanently in your brain. It was so easy, being with you, especially after the years before. I’d never been looked after the way you looked after me, cared for me. I was the centre of your world. And we were happy, weren’t we? But when Henry came along, I can’t pretend it didn’t change things. I got shifted out from the centre, replaced. I was left hovering somewhere around the edges, peering in. I loved Henry, of course I did, but I didn’t love what he did to you, to us.’
Tears start in my eyes for the first time tonight. I knew things had changed after Henry was born. Once the obligatory six weeks were up, Sam had expected things in the bedroom to return to normal. Except what he wanted to do wasn’t normal, even for us. It was as if someone had flicked a switch in his brain, and the games we had played before were no longer enough for him. It was as if the illusion of hurting me no longer satisfied him. He wanted to see real fear in my eyes.
‘Don’t blame Henry,’ I whisper.
‘I don’t,’ he says simply. ‘I blame you.’
I can’t stop shaking. I sit on my hands, unable to predict what they will do otherwise. I can’t scream because I might wake Henry, and even if I did, what would happen? Would anyone hear? What about silent Marnie upstairs? Would she call the police? Or simply pick up the remote control and turn up the TV?
Sam pushes back his chair and the chair leg screeches against the floor. I wince, listening desperately for any sound from Henry’s room. But there is nothing, only silence, as Sam gazes out of the French windows into the darkness.
‘Oh God, oh God.’ He beats his forehead gently against the glass. ‘Why did I have to mention Nathan?’
I am struck by a memory of another time: a time when Sam went too far. He had really hurt me and he knew it. He was standing just where he is now; penitent, begging me to forgive him. Of course I did. I didn’t know then who I would be without him; if I would even be anyone at all.
‘Just pretend you didn’t,’ I blurt. ‘I won’t say anything. Just go, please. I’ll never tell anyone, I swear. Please Sam. What about Henry?’
He turns to me with tears in his eyes.
‘I’ll look after Henry. I love him as much as you do. You don’t think I’d hurt him, do you?’ I don’t want to think so, but I don’t know; I don’t know anything now.
‘Henry needs me, Sam.’ I slide my shaking hands out from under me and grip the edge of the table. ‘Children need their mothers.’
‘He’ll be OK, like I was,’ he says, but there’s no feeling in his voice now. His eyes look out into the darkness where he can see nothing, and I know he is miles and years away, in that grotty little house with cigarette burns on the Formica kitchen table.
I think of how Henry wakes me up every morning by putting his face so close to mine that when I come to, all I can see are his eyes, blurred and out of focus, his eyelashes tickling mine and his hot breath on my face. Of how he gets into bed with me, pressing his small, warm body into mine, curling into me as if he would like to get back where he came from, inside my body. Me and Henry, we used to be one, I want to say to Sam. We may look like two, but really, we are one.