‘As I said, I really have no idea. I’m really not interested in the lives of others… Gregg. Only me and Jack, right now. And we’re absolutely fine.’
‘Eve, come on.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You don’t need to be brave with me.’ She regarded her bling watch. ‘I’ve just time for coffee with you. You should know more than anyone, it’s much better to talk, not keep it all in. A problem shared…’ She tapped her nose. ‘You’ll end up with that thingy disorder if you don’t, you know, PSSD.’
I so wished I were PSSD.
‘You mean PTSD,’ I said. ‘But, really, I’m good. Nothing to report, nothing to be talked over. We’ve moved on fine, me and Jack. There’s really no point in going back over things…’ A frown struggled from her Botox brow before she bowed down in defeat. ‘If you don’t mind, I really ought to get on.’ She threw her head backwards as if I’d headbutted her, widening precision-black-lined eyes.
I returned to my seat, alone. A kind of strong Americano nestled in shaky hands. My mind attempted to go back over you, and whatever you’d done so bad to lose all you’d worked for. I pushed it away. Not being able to bear thinking about you. My first Christmas without Jack. He was with you. I could have coped, if I’d believed Jack was having a lovely time. But I knew he was somewhere feeling alone too, worse still, afraid. Being told untruths about Santa not being real, that Christmas was about the biggest, most expensive presents. Left to his own devices to build his memories of Christmas. Memories capable of haunting him for life. The family court, advised by Cafcass, insisted on alternate Christmases from here on. Despite the evidence finally submitted by my ruddy-faced solicitor, photographs of my bruising, written statements of life with you, despite Jack’s obvious fear of his father.
The courts left us exposed, in a position where Jack was so vulnerable. The only reason you kept your grip on Jack was to spite me. Your only remaining control; the last piece of the tattered and crumbled jigsaw. Last week, Jack asked Santa to please let him stay at home for Christmas with his mummy. Santa eyed me, over his head. We both knew, this year he’d stop believing no matter what. If only I could have bridged the gap. The gap between childhood and reality. But I couldn’t. It was beyond me. I failed.
I too struggled to believe.
I opened the files in front of me. I’d allowed everything to slip, already only a few months back at the hospital. Small globules splashed, smudging the words into irregular shapes, as silent oblivious tears rolled, long overdue. I discreetly swiped them away, lowering my head until the threat of more subsided.
‘It’s no big deal. You simply have your Christmas Day on another day. It’s only one day, after all!’ the opposing, hard-faced barrister had informed me. My appeal on Jack’s behalf had been futile. You and her, smug at the thought of another case won, another injustice served on a child with a huge fee tag. Hearts replaced by pound signs and ego. Since when had Christmas ever been about one day, to a child?
The image of Jack sitting on my knee as I’d explained to him he had to leave for Christmas swamped my mind. He hadn’t said a word, only nodded in acceptance. You would think this would have made it easier, but it didn’t; it made it all the harder. His silence was not normal; it hurt. I wrapped my arms around him, and we didn’t speak for some time.
How had I allowed this to be? Powerless as a mother.
Jack, would you ever be able to forgive me?
Because I was certain, I never would.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cornwall 2016
I half walk, half scamper back towards my car. Is it me, or have I become invisible? I’m like the ball in an old-fashioned pinball machine. Why is everyone bouncing off me? I steal a look over my shoulder. Am I being followed? I feel eyes on me. I subconsciously tuck my hair behind my ears, and increase my pace. Is it you I feel? You breathing down my neck? I quicken my step, as far as I can, without running. An overwhelming urge to get hold of Jack, keep him close, swamps me. But he’s safe at school. I hope. With a sense of foreboding chasing me, I weave myself between oncoming people. If I run, you’ll just run faster. Nothing to be gained.
You have nothing to lose, Billy said.
But I have everything to lose.
Entering the car park, I spot my car at the far end. Hearing the click of each step across the concrete, I scramble to locate my car keys in the depth of my bag, my brow becoming damp. I daren’t look back; it’s too soon. But I know you’re there. Coward. I feel you. You’ve timed your footsteps to match mine; you don’t fool me. My heart rate has alerted me to your proximity.
Pressing the button to release the centrally locked doors, I keep my finger on it for too long, and all four windows lower in perfect harmony. Jesus Christ, not now. Not now. Go back up, you bastards. You’re getting closer, but I’m not looking.
Fear then fury, terror then sheer resolve to protect engulf and seize me. Jack’s face plugs the wide gap.
I throw my mobile onto the passenger seat, with my chest hammering like an irritated woodpecker. I turn the ignition. I’m waiting for the passenger door to open. I see it opening in my mind’s eye as you nonchalantly slide in next to me. I raise the windows, before grinding the car into gear; accelerating towards the exit. My hands clammy on the steering wheel. I still don’t look, but out of the corner of my eye I see you. I see your obscure shadow calmly walking towards me. A smirk worn on a resolute face.
You didn’t want to get hold of me though, did you? If you did, you would have. It’s too soon for you too, isn’t it? You’re not ready to move yet; you need to close off any possible escape routes first, break me down as much as you can first, a fly vomiting on its sustenance, before you move in for checkmate. But have you considered, what if? What if I take you first? Have you thought of this? Maybe I wasn’t running from you but pulling you in closer. Maybe I’ve a plan; perhaps you’re playing my game now. Both of us profess to be experts of the mind. But whose game is it now, Gregg? Who was it who finally divulged to you where to find me? Once I suspected you were on my tracks, you left me no choice but to turn and face my fears. Have you stopped to consider where the control truly lies?
What if the vengeful psychopath has finally met his match? And I’ve waited so long to be the one to teach you the final lesson. Maybe, sometimes, you do get it wrong; possibly, you’re not as clever as you think you are. I’m not the dupe you took me for. Am I watching you, or are you watching me? Years and years of meticulous planning have prepared me for this.
If you’ve nothing to lose and I’ve it all to lose, which one of us is the most powerful? Which one of us is the most dangerous? Or have we reached a deadlock?
I didn’t think I’d be able to hit the send button, for the text, but then, when I finally had your number, I knew I had to take the opportunity. My hands were shaking violently; I knew there would be no going back. But then, the moment I married you, the route for return evaporated.