‘Look at those dark rings under your eyes. When’s the last time you had a decent night’s sleep? You look terrible.’
‘Thanks,’ I laughed, temporarily forgetting my problems. ‘Whereas you look sickeningly well.’ And she did. I was all too conscious of her forthcoming divorce, but she seemed to be taking it in her stride. ‘We should have lunch together more often,’ she said with a grin. ‘It does wonders for my self-confidence. Now eat up. I can’t have my little sister being skinnier than me.’
I wondered if the cake were worth the sacrifice that I would have to make later. My throat was still raw from my last bout of vomiting. It was too soon for another purge. I glanced down at my clothes, remembering the days when I used to secrete food in my pockets. Somehow, I didn’t think my vintage winter dress-coat would stand up to hiding a cream bun.
But ten minutes of watching me pick at my food must have been too much for Theresa to bear. Having long since finished her bun, she leaned forward and took both my hands. ‘Sis, I know there’s more to this than you not eating. What is it? You’ve not been yourself all day.’
My eyes dropped to the table and I cursed my inability to hide my distress. Normally I was good at concealing things, but on top of my confession to Alex, the flowers and silent phone calls were proving too much. ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, unable to meet her gaze.
‘No judgement,’ she said, squeezing my hands. It was what she said to me in the early days, when she was helping me through my bulimia. Such expressions of love made me want to cry.
I shrugged, swallowing back the words on my tongue. My bulimia was one thing. How could I tell my sister what I had done?
‘I’ve relapsed . . . only once. I’m trying to keep it under control.’ Our oversized wall clock ticked away the seconds, and I took a deep breath, gathering the strength I needed to continue.
‘Right, what are we going to do about it?’ Theresa jumped straight in, interrupting my flow. ‘Do you want me to see if we can get you back in touch with your counsellor? Maybe see the doctor . . .’ Her thoughts switched. I could almost see the cogs in her brain. This was how Theresa solved problems, flitting from one thought to another until she came up with the appropriate response. ‘Is it the move? Alex’s new job? Is everything going too fast?’
I shook my head. ‘Hardly. It’s taken him years to persuade me to go.’ I met her eyes and I knew that she would not give up unless I gave her something to go on. ‘The problem’s not with Alex. It’s me. Sometimes it feels like I’m being watched. The phone calls, the flowers. I’m scared that Luke is back.’
Theresa’s lips thinned at the mention of Luke’s name. She was one of the few people immune to his charms. It made me value our relationship all the more. So why couldn’t I tell her what I had done? Because I knew it was wrong. What I did . . . what I thought I’d done, was commit murder. Even if Luke hadn’t died, it was what I had intended at the time.
‘Has he been in touch?’ she said, scrutinising my face for the answer.
I shrugged, knowing how vague I sounded. ‘No, not exactly. I was in the bathroom the other night and . . . I know this is going to sound crazy but I thought I saw him through the window. Then there are the silent phone calls and now the flowers . . . I’m feeling so panicky and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Oh, Sis. Have you told Alex?’
I nodded. ‘He wants us to concentrate on moving to Leeds.’
Theresa frowned, her protective streak clearly evident. ‘Alex is right. If you see Luke or feel afraid, just call me. I don’t want you speaking to him. It’s not safe.’
‘As long as you promise not to report it to the police.’ The very thought made me nervous. They were the last people I wanted involved. ‘Promise me, Theresa, no police. It’ll only aggravate things and I’ve got no proof.’
‘OK OK,’ she said, waving the palms of her hands in mock surrender. ‘But you’ve got to stay in control of your eating. The more you panic, the worse things get. You’ve too much to lose. Your health, your husband, little Jamie. He needs you. They both do. Please, Emma. Eat something. For their sakes.’
‘I’m fully aware of what I stand to lose,’ I snapped, her crestfallen expression making me regret my tone. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to have a go.’
‘Hey, it’s me you’re talking to,’ she said, giving me a kinder smile than I deserved. ‘Remember what I was like when I found out Charles was carrying on behind my back? I was in a right state, and you helped me through it. Working here in the shop, it’s given me something to focus on. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
I nodded. In the circumstances, it was the least I could have done. Thanks to the prenup, Charles had left her virtually destitute, yet he had been the one in the wrong. I pushed the cream bun in her direction. ‘You have this. If I start, I’ll never stop. I’ve got some leftover salad in the fridge, I’ll have that instead.’
‘I can stay with you, if you like, until Alex gets back?’ Theresa’s voice was muffled as she took another bite. I envied her ability to eat whatever she wanted without putting on a pound. Not that it would have made a difference to me. I was never happy no matter what size or shape I was.
‘I’m OK,’ I said, checking the time. ‘I just had a bad night. I’ve got rid of all the junk food in the house. Nothing for me to binge on there.’
But the expression on Theresa’s face told me she was not convinced. ‘And the face in the window? Aren’t you worried about that?’
I was, more than she could ever know. I didn’t know which was more frightening, the thought that Luke had been to my home, or the prospect that I was losing my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALEX
2017
In the former market man’s pub, the smell of Theakston’s ale carried me back to the days when I sat here with my father. He had brought me here on my eighteenth birthday to proudly buy me my first pint. I didn’t much like the taste of it back then, but now that I was a father myself, I had come to understand the importance of the ritual. I could almost feel his presence as I sat amongst the shiny copper fixtures. Situated in Leeds city centre, Whitelock’s location gave it an olde worlde feel and a unique charm. I could almost hear my father’s voice, telling me to drink up as he set the world to rights. A pang of grief touched my soul. I wished he were here to advise me. But I was the man of the house now and tonight I had to be strong. Perhaps that was why I had texted Luke Priestwood instead of ringing and asked him to meet me here, in a public place. A small part of me hoped my dad would be here in spirit, providing me with some much-needed moral support. Could the person I was meeting be the same man who had terrorised my wife? I had to know. But how on earth was I going to broach the subject? I raised my glass to my lips. Alcohol was a good tongue loosener and, after the week I’d had, I needed a drink or two. Thoughts of Emma floated into my mind and I found myself dialling her number.
‘Everything OK? I’m just ringing to say goodnight to Jamie.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, hun, he’s fast asleep,’ Emma said, her voice light and cheerful. ‘He didn’t have an afternoon nap so he went down early. I’ll tell him you called when he wakes up in the morning. How’s things?’
‘Great. You should see my new office. It’s three times bigger than my old one and has cracking views of the city. I can’t wait for you to get here.’ I smiled, pressing my hand against my ear to drown out the noise of my fellow drinkers.
‘I’ve started packing some stuff already. Are you out? Sounds like you’re in a pub.’