It’s all getting very loud inside my head.
‘I told you not to tell Claire about the diaries and I told you not to read them.’
‘I didn’t read them, not really. Just one line about you two being peas in a pod. I quoted it back at her, thought it was funny, but she didn’t seem to think so.’
Two peas in a pod.
‘She’ll kill you.’
He laughs. He doesn’t understand that I’m not joking. She won’t let anyone take me away from her, she never has. She’s done terrible things to people over the years – friends, colleagues, lovers, none of them good enough for me in her estimation. She thought I needed saving from every single one. I thought once the twins were born, once she had a family of her own, things might change, but they didn’t, she held on more tightly than ever before. I think she was even a little bit pleased when I couldn’t get pregnant, worried that my love for a child would somehow diminish my love for her. It was different with Paul, the celebrity author. She decided he was good for me and she was delighted when he was happy to live less than a mile away. It was like a test – he passed because he didn’t try to take me away from her. But now he’s failed.
I feel sick. I know what she’s capable of. I walk out of the room, find my phone and dial Claire’s number.
Nothing.
I try again but it still goes straight to voicemail.
‘He hasn’t read them. Don’t do it, you don’t have to,’ I say as quietly as I can.
‘Have you all lost your minds?’ says Paul, appearing in the hallway behind me. ‘We’re talking about a kid’s diaries. Maybe I should have read them,’ he says.
‘If she calls you or turns up here, tell her I already burned them. Don’t open the door and don’t let her in. Where are your car keys?’
‘What are you talking about?’
I run over to the sideboard, opening up the drawers crammed full of odds and ends.
‘Whatever happens you are not to trust her, do you understand?’ I find the spare set of keys, grab my handbag, without even checking what’s inside, and run to the front door.
‘Amber, wait . . .’ He’s too late, I’m already down the path, trying to make out the buttons on the car key through the dark and rain. I’m not wearing a coat and I’m already soaking wet. Paul follows me outside, still in his new Christmas slippers. He holds his phone up to his ear.
‘It’s me. . . your sister is really upset. I think it’s got something to do with you. Can you call me so we can try to sort this—’ I spin around and knock the phone out of his hand. It smashes on the driveway.
He stares at it, his mouth open, then looks up at me. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Stay away from Claire!’
‘Can you hear yourself? You’re acting fucking crazy! You can’t drive. You must be over the limit . . .’
‘I’m fine!’
A light comes on next door and I see our neighbour has come outside. I hadn’t realised we were shouting. I turn to get in the car, and drop the key. My hands are shaking as I bend down to find it, feeling around in the dark. When my fingers find their prize, Paul tries to stop me getting in the driver’s seat. I push him back, get inside and slam the door, trapping his hand in the metal. He screams in agony, yanks it back and I slam the door again. I put the key in the ignition and drive away.
Now
Tuesday, 3rd January, 2017
‘I’m going to go home for a bit, check David hasn’t killed the twins or vice versa,’ says Claire.
‘Sure,’ Paul replies.
‘Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to even mention the twins, let alone . . .’
‘It’s fine.’
‘You sure I can’t give you a lift?’
‘No. I’m not leaving her again. Not this time.’
I hear the door open.
‘Claire?’
‘Yes?’
‘This isn’t your fault.’
He’s being kind to her, but he’s wrong. This is Claire’s fault. Everything that is wrong with my life is Claire’s fault. I hear her leave and I’m glad.
Paul’s hand holds mine, it feels strong and warm and safe.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I just keep letting you down. I should have been here.’
I imagine Paul watching what Edward did to me in this room. I picture him sitting at home, so far away and seeing a stranger slip his hand beneath my sheet. I’ve been imprisoned inside a nightmare but Paul has been trapped outside, forced to watch me live it. He has been wanting to get in just as much as I wanted to get out.
‘I love you so much,’ he says and kisses me on the forehead.
He’s been through his own personal hell while I’ve been sleeping in my own. I wish that I could tell him how sorry I am for putting him through all of this and that I love him too. I say the words over and over in my head until they sound fat and real.
‘I love you.’
‘Oh, my God,’ says Paul and lets go of my hand. I instinctively want to see what the matter is so I try to open my eyes. The bright light overwhelms me at first and the pain of it shoots through to the back of my skull.
‘Paul.’ I hear a voice and realise it is my own.
‘I’m right here,’ he says and I can see him. He’s crying and now I’m crying. He’s kissing me and I can see him. This is real. My eyes really are open. I’m awake.
Then
Christmas Day 2016 – Evening
I pull into Claire’s driveway and can see her standing in the porch. She’s been expecting me. I get out and march through the rain towards her, without even closing the car door. My dress is soaking wet and clings to my legs. It’s as though the material is trying to hold me back, trying to stop me from going in there.
‘Hello, Amber,’ she says. Arms folded. Features relaxed. Body perfectly still.
‘We need to talk.’
‘I think you need to calm down.’
‘He hasn’t seen anything; he doesn’t know anything.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘If you hurt him, if anything happens to him . . .’
She steps forward. ‘What? What will you do?’
I want to hit her. I want to hurt her so badly but I can’t. I still love her more than I hate her. We can’t have this conversation out here. You never know who might be listening.
‘Can I come in, please?’
She stares at me for a while, as though assessing the risk. Her arms unfold themselves before her eyes decide. She nods and steps inside the hall, leaving just enough room for me to follow.
‘You’re wet, take your shoes off.’
I quietly close the door behind us and do as I’m told. I stand barefoot on her new cream carpet and worry about what happens next. We’re somewhere we’ve never been before. I wonder where David is, whether he can hear us.
‘David is upstairs. He passed out not long after you and your husband left,’ she says, reading my mind. My husband, not Paul any more. She’s already disassociating herself from the person she has identified as a problem. Her eyes are dark, cold. I can see that she’s already gone to that place inside herself that scares me so much.
‘I want them back,’ she says. I don’t need to ask what.
‘I’ve burned them.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘He didn’t read them.’
‘Why do you even have them?’
‘They were here. In the attic. I found them after Mum and Dad died. They’d kept everything of yours. There was nothing of mine.’
‘So you stole them?’
‘No. I just wanted something. They left you everything. It was as though I didn’t even exist any more.’
‘You shouldn’t have taken them and you shouldn’t have let Paul read them. Or did you want something to happen to him?’
‘No! He didn’t read them. Stay away from him!’
‘You need to calm down.’
‘You need to back the fuck off.’ I push her. I didn’t mean to. She stumbles backwards, that flash of something I remember in her eyes. She steps forward again, her face in mine. I feel her breath.
‘He read them and now the situation needs to be dealt with,’ she says calmly.
‘He doesn’t know.’
‘He read them.’