I brush my hair and put drops in my eyes to take away the redness. I don’t know why that’s important, but I refuse to crumble in front of Simon or show him any weakness.
He’s in the sitting room, standing at the window, looking through the curtains at the reporters outside. He’s dressed in a crumpled linen jacket and tight jeans, and his two-day growth is flecked with the first traces of gray, but he’s not self-conscious about it yet.
“What do you want?” I ask, not hiding the chill in my voice.
“I was worried about you.” He glances back to the window. “It’s a zoo out there.”
“Are you one of the animals?”
“Give me some credit, Megs.”
“So you’re not working?”
“No.” He runs his finger along the mantelpiece. “Where’s Jack?”
“Out.”
“You didn’t have to put him through this.”
“What?”
“Jack—he doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. Neither of us do.”
My look of puzzlement seems to confirm his suspicions.
“You’re very good, Meg. Quite the actress.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You could end this right now—the whole circus—simply tell the police what you did with the baby.”
I stare at him in disbelief, aware my mouth is open because my tongue has gone dry.
“I remember what you told me when we last spoke,” he says, picking up a framed photograph of Lucy and Lachlan. “You swore on your baby’s life that I would never see the child. Never hold him in my arms.”
“You think I did this?”
“Convince me you didn’t.”
I’m so angry my eyes are swimming. “You think I orchestrated the abduction of my own baby.”
“You could be arrested for wasting police time,” says Simon. “Children’s Services will take away Lucy and Lachlan. You’ll lose everything.”
“Simon, Simon, Simon,” I say, sighing and shaking my head. “Tell me how I managed to smuggle my own baby out of a hospital when I’d just had surgery?”
“Maybe you cooked it up with your sister. Grace came to see me, by the way. She threatened to expose me as a drug dealer.”
“That’s wrong—I’m sorry—but if you think I did this, you’re crazy.”
“Am I? Maybe you hired someone—you paid them to take the baby and keep it safe.”
“Really! Who did I pay?”
He shrugs his shoulders as though it doesn’t matter.
“You think I paid someone to dress up as a nurse and take Ben. How long are they supposed to look after him—a week, a month, a year? Don’t be an idiot.”
Simon’s resolve is wavering.
“You can’t wish me away, Meg, and you can’t hide your baby forever.”
“Get out!”
“You’re giving me no option. I’m going to take my concerns to the police.”
“They’ll laugh at you.”
“Jack won’t be laughing.”
I slap him hard across the face. That’s the second time. Clearly, Simon has a face that deserves to be slapped. I want to do it again. I want to claw at his eyes. I want to wipe the smug look off his face.
“Get out! Get out!”
Lisa-Jayne has come to the door, drawn by our raised voices.
“Is everything OK?”
“I want him out of my house!” I scream.
“I was just leaving,” says Simon, pushing past Lisa-Jayne. He’s in the hallway and out the door, which I lock behind him, latching the security chain. Afterwards, I sit at the kitchen bench. Lisa-Jayne fetches me a glass of water. My hands are shaking. Water spills. She’s waiting for an explanation.
“I want you to keep that man away from me . . . away from my family.”
“Why?”
“He . . . he . . . he’s trying to blackmail me.”
“What? How?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How is he trying to blackmail you?”
“Forget it. Just keep him away.”
AGATHA
* * *
Rory had a difficult night, crying and whimpering. He wasn’t hungry or wet or running a temperature, although I think he should be feeding more. I weighed him this morning using the bathroom scale. I know it won’t be very accurate but I’ll do it again tomorrow and the next day until I get some idea if he’s putting on weight.
I look a mess. I have bags under my eyes and my face is fat for no reason. I hate it when that happens. I hardly ate anything yesterday. I didn’t pig out on cakes or chocolate biscuits. On days like this I look in the mirror and see my true self, a monstrous creature who belongs in a freak show. Instead of smooth skin, I see scars, wounds, and runnels that are carved or bulging in my flesh.
Hayden also didn’t sleep, which puts him in a foul mood. He complains when I boil his eggs for too long and burn the toast. Later he criticizes how I iron his shirt. I knew the honeymoon couldn’t last. Already he’s growing tired of me. Once the novelty wears off, he’ll realize that he could have done better. We’ll begin fighting over little things and I will test the bonds of his love because I doubt their strength. I will demand more of him—daily proof—and this will drive him away.
Why do I do that? I am my own worst enemy. Every time I risk being happy, I find a way to fuck things up because, deep inside, the creature twists and slithers, gnawing away at my self-belief, reminding me of my past failures, my other babies, the bodies in the glade; deep inside, I know that I don’t deserve to be loved.
My phone is ringing. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Agatha?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Nicky.”
It takes me a moment to put the name and voice together. I haven’t talked to my ex-husband in three years. Every Christmas he sends me a group letter telling me his news, which is how I know that he married a divorcée from Newcastle and became stepdad to two boys.
“Nicky—what a surprise—how are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“The same.” An alarm is sounding in my head. Why is he calling me now?
We both pause and then start talking at the same time.
“You first,” I say.
“I’m down in London for a conference and yesterday I bumped into Sara Derry. You remember her—she worked at your temp agency.”
“Of course.”
Where is he going with this?
“We were chatting away and she suddenly dropped a bombshell. She said you’d had a baby. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“A little boy. I was amazed. I mean, I thought there must have been a mistake.”
“Mistake?”
He hesitates and changes direction. “It’s brilliant. You must be so happy.”
“Yes.”
Another long pause, even more uncomfortable this time.
“Can I take you to lunch?” he asks.
“I’m pretty busy right now.”
“Of course. How about a coffee? I can drop round. I’d love to see the baby.”
I don’t want him coming here. Hayden doesn’t know about Nicky. He doesn’t know that I’ve been married and divorced or spent years trying to have a family.
I hear a sound behind me. Hayden is standing in the kitchen doorway. He mouths the words “Who is it?”
“Nobody,” I whisper.
Nicky is still talking. “I want to hear how you managed to get pregnant after all those attempts. Remember that last fertility specialist—he said you couldn’t conceive.”
“He was wrong.”
“Obviously.”
He doesn’t believe me.
“I’m free now. I could come around. I have your address.”
“I’ve moved.”