‘No,’ I moaned, feeling like someone had ripped out my heart and crushed it in front of me. ‘It can’t be.’ In the distance, a car door slammed and I quickly shoved the letter back into the envelope before pushing it deep into my jacket pocket. All these years Emma had lied to me. My own wife. I felt a wave of nausea as reality hit hard. I closed my eyes, seeing the text on the back of my eyelids. The probability of paternity is 0%. What a mug I had been. No wonder she was scared of Luke coming back. He was not the monster she portrayed, he was the father of her son. I had spoken to him myself. As for Theresa, of course she had told me the truth – she was Emma’s sister. And now if I was in any doubt . . . the DNA result spoke for itself.
The question was, what did I do next? Where did that leave me with Jamie? Would Emma turn on me just as she had with Luke? I may be listed as the father on his birth certificate but, if it went to court, what legal rights did I actually have? Then again, would Emma really cause trouble when it emerged that I knew what she had done? Ugly thoughts raised their heads as I tried to assemble a plan. Dipping my hand into my pocket, I pulled out my vaporiser, closing my eyes as I inhaled. The artificial tang of tobacco and aniseed hit my throat, and I exhaled a cloud of white smoke. There were no clues, no evidence of Emma’s attempt to murder Luke on our land. I was not afraid to play dirty. I would do whatever it took to protect my son.
I swallowed, the unpleasant taste of my betrayal making itself known. I could not believe I was thinking of Emma in this way. Her face flashed in my memory. I loved my wife. What had happened to always standing by her? She had problems, I’d known that from the day we met. But nothing like this. What good was a marriage without trust? How could she love me if all she did was lie? Opposing thoughts bounced around in my head as I paced the path, trying to work out my options. I had to get back inside. People would be wondering where I was. But how on earth could I carry on as if nothing had happened? Unless . . . I could say I’d received a phone call and there was a family emergency at home. If I did not speak to somebody soon I would combust. I couldn’t tell my mother, the disappointment that she wasn’t blood related to her only grandson would be too much for her to bear.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I realised I had a missed call. As I checked my call log, the answer appeared before me. Theresa had helped me once already. God knows, people I could confide in were thin on the ground. I rubbed my chin as I mulled it over. Could I relay the full extent of Emma’s lies? I felt like I had to. I needed help. I could not do this on my own.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
EMMA
2003
Life had taken on a slate-grey hue in the months since Luke and I had split. What was the point? It was the end of the line. There was nothing more I could do. I slid my phone from my pocket, the late-spring sun casting a reflection on the screen. Sitting on my picnic blanket in the grounds of Colchester Castle, I was reminded of everything I had lost. How I had driven Luke away. Because he was right; it was my fault. He had been cruel just to push the point home. I looked through my texts one last time before I deleted them.
Emma: I miss you. Xxx
Emma: I’m sorry. Can we meet? Xxx
Emma: Please Luke, I still miss you. Please text me. Xxx Emma: I don’t want to live without you. Xxx
Emma: If you don’t speak to me soon, I’m ending it. You’ll never see me again.
Emma: Don’t you care about me at all?
Luke: If you don’t stop harassing me then I’m calling the police.
Emma: What about our night in the beach hut? You said you loved me.
Luke: I’m sorry but it’s all in your head.
Emma: What??!! Why are you denying it? I meant what I said. I won’t tell a soul.
Emma: Luke?
Luke: It’s been six months. LEAVE ME ALONE. Final warning.
Emma: Fine. I’ll leave you for good. See how you like having my death on your conscience.
I pressed the delete button, my heart sinking like a stone. My constant calls, the presents I had sent, nothing seemed to warrant a response. This was the final test. I had to get home quickly to carry out my plans. Dad was at some award ceremony by the archaeological society. He had not thought to ask if I wanted to go, but these days it was an effort for him just to get dressed and leave the house. What would he say when he came home to a pile of ash? Because when I left this world, I was going out with a bang. I might have seemed quiet and introverted, but my demise would light the skyline today. I bit my bottom lip, ready to send one more text, feeling every bit as pathetic as Luke said I was. I just couldn’t leave it alone, and I prayed that this last gesture would bring him back to me.
Emma: I’ll be at home alone at 2pm. The house will go up in flames, with me inside it.
I waited for a response but none came. By 2.30 p.m. I was sitting in my bedroom, the smell of white spirit stinging my eyes. Luke was right. How many times would I let life kick me in the teeth before finally lying down? Mum, Theresa, Dad, Luke, they had all deserted me. My life had become one painful episode of loving people and watching them leave. My wounds were raw, my energy depleted. I wasn’t strong enough to face life on my own. My shoulders shook as I sobbed, and I blinked away the tears to focus on the box of matches in my hand. The match fizzled into life as I struck it against the coarse surface of the box. Emitting one last desperate sob, I threw it on to the saturated floor.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
EMMA
2017
As I strolled around the aisles of the supermarket, I thought how lucky I was to have my sister in my life. I knew that guilt still plagued her from not being there when I’d needed her the most and it had been hard, growing into a young woman with just Dad to guide me. Theresa did her best, popping back to see me when she could, but she was uneasy at home. She and Dad were not exactly close, and she always seemed to be counting the minutes until she could leave. She had more than made up for it since then, though, and Jamie’s birth had been the balm that had healed many wounds.
My eyes scanned the cake section as I searched for a sponge of the right consistency. Only food could silence my inner voice, the one that plagued me from morning to night. It was growing louder now; the incident with the slashed dress had frightened me. I had tried to distract myself by filling my thoughts with my family, my business, even my choice of clothes. But now as things began to fall apart, the voice of my subconscious became so loud and fierce I wondered if other people could hear it too. Theresa had insisted I finish early, leave reporting the vandalisation to her. But I knew she wasn’t going to call the police. She thought I had done it. I could see it in her eyes. Our seamstress would be able to replace the torn material, salvage the ripped dress. But my relationships with my loved ones were not so easily mended. I could have kicked myself for spying on Alex and Theresa that morning, especially since she had told me their meeting was born out of concern. But not enough was being done about the threat towards me. A cold feeling of déjà vu rose up inside me as I struggled to be believed. Surely the people closest to me must know that I was telling the truth? But Alex seemed more concerned about whether or not I was eating, asking me to mirror him at the table and provide a good example for our son, though he could not watch me all the time.