I was awoken by the sound of giggling coming from the living room. I had not expected to hear it, given what had happened the night before. That was the beauty of having a child: life went on no matter what. Despite this, my heart was so heavy I could barely slip my feet into my fluffy slippers as I trudged out of my bedroom in my dressing gown. I took a soothing breath before pushing open the door of the living room. I had this. I was still in control. I thought about the breakfast my husband would insist I eat. The last thing I wanted today was food. As I stood with my fingers on the door handle, my stomach churned with the burden of my recent confession. I could not believe that I had finally done it. I listened to my husband and child laughing on the other side of the door, and smiled in spite of myself. I struggled to remember the happy days in my childhood, but then I had been hard to get through to. I did not want that for my son. He needed to know that there were people around him who loved him. People who would never leave him or let him down. I would have to pull myself together. Alex was still here, despite everything I had told him.
As I opened the living-room door, the sight of my son instantly warmed my heart. Sundays were family time and Alex and Jamie had already begun. They were sitting at the coffee table, their heads side by side as they played the pie game. A timer buzzed as a plastic hand laden with squirty cream threatened to splat the loser and a loud clacking noise sounded as each frantically pressed the button to guide the hand towards the other. I watched Alex ease off pressing the button, putting himself in range. Jamie was almost in convulsions he was laughing so hard. As the cream hit Alex’s unshaven face, he looked so ridiculous I could not help but join in. Alex licked the cream and rubbed the remainder away with a tea towel. He caught my eye and a flicker of regret passed between us. It was still there, the horror of what I had done. But he was doing everything he could to make our son’s life as normal as possible and I loved him for it.
‘It’s your turn, Mummy,’ Jamie squeaked, and I knelt down to join him, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. By the time we had finished our game we had all experienced the joy of a cream pie. But I was the only one who had not tasted it. My memory of my encounter with the cream cake the night before made me feel sick. This time I kept my lips tightly closed as I wiped the offending substance away. It was all about maintaining self-control. Right now, that was something I needed more than ever.
Speaking in front of Jamie was not an option. Instead, we skirted around each other, ignoring the elephant in the room until our son went down for his afternoon nap. I had smothered him in kisses, absorbing his goodness to make up for the lack of my own.
Alex had his back to me when I returned to the living room. It warmed me to listen to my husband on the phone to his mother. We saw Louise for the usual holidays, as well as the anniversary of Alex’s father’s death. It would be nice to spend more time together when we moved to Leeds. I stood in the doorway, listening in to his call. There was no way my husband would reveal what I’d told him to his seventy-year-old mother on the telephone. The very thought was ridiculous. Just what would he say? Guess what, Mum, my wife murdered her stalker and now his body’s disappeared, but we’re all fine, we had a game of pie face this morning. No, if he were to confide in Louise it would be face-to-face. I felt my heart tighten. I had to convince him we needed to keep this to ourselves.
He hung up the phone and I came into the living room, trying to appear relaxed as I tidied up Jamie’s toys. But we both knew it was all an act. I watched him as he stood poking some life into our open fire.
‘Bollocks,’ he said, pushing the blackened poker back into its holder. ‘I’ve just remembered. I’m supposed to go to Leeds tomorrow to meet the team.’ He stared unblinkingly into the flames. ‘I can’t just leave you.’
I hated seeing him like this, unable to meet my gaze. I stood beside him. I wondered if he had forgotten his earlier invitation to join him in Leeds or if he wanted to go alone. His muscles tensed as I placed my hand on his back. ‘Of course you can,’ I said, my hand resting on his woollen jumper. ‘How else are we ever going to leave this place? Besides, it wouldn’t do to call off sick when you’re due to meet everyone.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, the flames reflected in his brooding eyes.
I rested my hand on his back, loath to take it away. I needed the contact. I needed a hug – but if he couldn’t meet my eye then genuine intimacy would be a long way off. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, softening my voice in an effort to show remorse. ‘Theresa’s meant to be coming over for a drink. I’ll persuade her to stay the night.’ But my words were hollow because I doubted she would. Theresa hated our house more than Alex did.
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Alex said, turning to face me.
‘All the stuff we discussed. It’s in the past. That’s where I want to keep it. Please. Let’s not go back there any more. Can we just move forward? Act like it never happened?’
Alex appeared uneasy in his skin, his tension mirrored by the hiss and crackle of the fire. It smelled of damp bark and moss, like the land in which I had buried Luke. ‘I want to drive up there,’ he said.
I frowned. ‘I thought you were going on the train?’
‘No, I mean to where it happened. I want to see it for myself.’
I swallowed, my mouth dry. The room seemed to darken around me as I spoke. ‘I’m not going back there. Just trust me. It’s not a good idea.’
He lowered his voice to a level that only I could hear. ‘What if the new owners dig it up? What if they find something?’
‘They won’t.’ My face paled as I recalled Luke’s half-opened eyes. The sweat trickling down my forehead as I shovelled dirt into his face. ‘There’s no trace. No shoes, not even a scrap of material. It’s as if he’d never been there at all.’
‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, but he could have crawled out. It happens. In the old days some people had bells in their coffins, so they wouldn’t be buried alive.’ He slid his vaporiser from his pocket and inhaled, a modern-day Sherlock Holmes. The smell of fake tobacco rose up to greet me. My stomach lurched, not from the fumes but from the idea that Luke could still be alive. I thought about the apparition in the mirror. The newspaper on my car window.
‘It’s possible. I didn’t take his pulse, and from what I remember, it was a very shallow grave. But he would have made himself known by now.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Alex said. ‘If someone tried to kill me I’d get as far away as possible.’
Above me, the ceiling timbers creaked as another gust of wind rattled its frame. I knew what he was thinking. How can you accidentally cave someone’s head in with a shovel?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EMMA
2017
Screeching on my windscreen, my car wipers grated on my senses. The inclement weather matched my mood: grey and overcast with a threat of worse to come. I checked my rear-view mirror for the hundredth time. Behind me was a view of the Strood. It was not uncommon to have traffic behind me as commuters made their way to work. But today was different. Today it felt as if the world was out to get me. After a restless night, I had come to one conclusion. Luke was alive. He had to be. That night I hadn’t imagined his reflection in the mirror. He was coming for me, and he was looking for revenge. I’d had four years of peace. Four years of believing I had nothing to fear. But was I afraid of him, or the secrets he held? I glanced at my son on the back seat, my precious cargo. Dressed in his dungarees, he waved his Buzz Lightyear toy in one hand and Woody in the other, deep in his imaginary world. His thick blond hair needed cutting, but I couldn’t bear to lose his curls.
I felt my resolve strengthen. Luke would not divide my family. My right eye twitched, a side effect of my frayed nerves.