I watch and wait, knowing that the Lord’s timing is divine. The rain reduces to a trickle, and the child’s bedroom light dims until it shines the colour of honey. I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, my faith unwavering. Finally, a light begins to flicker… once, twice… ‘Let there be light,’ I whisper. And there is light… light in abundance.
I adjust the binoculars, Louisa’s face slowly sharpening in the lens until I can make out the exact pattern of her freckles dotted across her cheeks and nose. Thin lines of black mascara are drying on her cheeks, reminding me of tyre marks in freshly fallen snow. I close my eyes and make the sign of the cross, wetting my finger on my waterproof jacket as I do. I don’t like to see poor Louisa upset, but I remind myself of who she really is and what she did back then… my senses recovering along with my vision.
She notices the wine I left her as she flicks on the kettle. The bottle isn’t in my line of vision, but I know she has seen it. Her eyes light up for just a moment; quick, fleeting, like the quick flash of a camera.
It takes her two minutes to discard the kettle in favour of the strong stuff, perhaps while inwardly assuring herself that ‘she’ll only have the one’. Of course she won’t… but I suppose she doesn’t know that, not consciously at least. Whereas I always knew tonight would end this way.
Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.
I allow the binoculars to fall back against my chest, confident I have seen all I need to see.
A moment later, I stand on the corner of the street and flick through the photos on Louisa’s mobile phone. It wasn’t difficult to lift it from her bag as she pushed her way through the crowd earlier today. She didn’t notice me standing behind her, my warm breath condensing on the nape of her neck. It was a risk getting so close to her, of course… but as the Lord says, ‘The eyes are useless when the mind is blind.’ The ginger homeless guy was a stroke of genius, wasn’t he? The best twenty pounds I ever did spend. Yes, my plan is starting to come together nicely. The cracks are starting to appear and it won’t be long before her outer shell shatters completely.
My eyes glisten as I zoom in on a photograph of my son. He is perfect, the ultimate embodiment of a living angel. Gabriel, his name is, meaning an angel of God almighty. I have been waiting such a long time for him, but finally I have him in my grasp.
Quickly, I swipe my finger across the phone’s icons until I locate what I am looking for. Tapping out a quick message, I press send, excitement fizzing in my veins.
I check my watch… another half hour and Louisa will no doubt pass out, the wine bottle empty by her feet. Then I’ll be ready for the final part of tonight’s mission.
The fumbling of a key in the front door lock rouses me. I swallow down the acrid taste of alcohol which has grown a layer of fur on my tongue. ‘Hello?’ I whisper into the darkness, my breath caught somewhere against my ribcage. ‘Who’s there?’
Memories swirl in and out of focus. Why in God’s name did I drink a full bottle of wine? Of course the answer is readily available but I push it to the back of my mind, not wanting to admit I’ve potentially put Cory in danger by lying comatose for God knows how long.
A cold draught sweeps through the house, heavy footsteps a few paces behind. ‘Who is it?’ I manage a little louder.
Nothing.
I pull myself up into a sitting position, my neck stiff and sore. I glance into the Moses basket to the side of me, let out a shaky breath of relief when I see Cory is still sleeping. I want to grab hold of him and flee from the house. But where would I go? There are only two possible exits and both of them are separated by the hallway.
The footsteps start up again, rising in volume until they’re virtually upon me.
I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut, a scream of terror trapped inside my throat.
‘Lou, what an earth are you doing?’ James’s voice is suddenly upon me.
‘Oh, thank God.’ I exhale a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. ‘Don’t do that to me.’
He doesn’t reply and I realise there is something strange about his demeanour, his face stony, his large bulk blocking my exit. The buttons on his shirt are done up unevenly, meaning the left side hangs down lower than the right. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask him, unnerved by the way he is glaring at me. He shakes his head, slowly, almost purposefully; black stubble speckled with silver clings to his chin. ‘James, what’s the matter?’
‘What in God’s name have you been doing?’
‘Pardon?’ I stare up at him, shocked at his tone.
‘I can’t even speak to you right now!’ He turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway towards the kitchen. I am gobsmacked. In all our years of marriage, he has never spoke to me like this before.
Pulling myself up, I follow him into the kitchen, the bright light causing me to squint. Sickness sits at the back of my throat as I look over at the empty wine bottle on the countertop. James is on his knees by the fridge-freezer, rooting around in the top compartment, a glass tumbler in his hand. ‘Do you mind telling me what I’ve done to warrant such abuse?’ I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice on an even keel.
‘Magda texted me!’
My stomach sinks. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay.’ Tears pool in my eyes as I consider the hurt James must be feeling. If Magda’s told him what I think she has, everything’s about to turn to shit. ‘I was going to tell you when I received the first card at the hospital but…’
‘Wait!’ James stands, ice in hand, and slams the freezer door shut. ‘What are you talking about?’
I frown, my drunken mind unable to piece everything together. ‘Wait… what did Magda say to you?’
‘That she called you. That you were acting strangely, that Cory was screaming.’ A flash of anger skims across his face. ‘She was worried about you, and so am I.’ He throws the ice into the glass and looks over at the empty wine bottle. ‘You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? You know how it reacts with your disorders.’ He bends down and retrieves a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. After unscrewing the top, he pours it over the ice where it crackles and spits.
‘I’m sorry. I was on the verge of a panic attack. I needed to take the edge off.’ I know my confession is going to lead to more questions but I can’t hold back the truth any longer… not when Cory’s safety is at stake.
James shakes his head and turns his eyes away from me, as if suddenly disgusted by my presence. He knocks the whiskey back in one, the irony seemingly lost on him. ‘You can’t be doing that with Cory in the house, it’s dangerous.’ After grabbing his cigarettes off the countertop, he makes his way into the back garden.
I watch him for a moment through the kitchen window, the red glow of his cigarette sending me into a trance. I have to tell him. He deserves to know the truth.
‘I see you’ve started smoking again!’ he says loudly, his voice thick with tar.
‘What are you talking about? Of course I haven’t started smoking.’ The frozen ground bites into my bare feet as I step outside, my muscles tensing up against the cold.
He laughs, his super-white teeth contrasting against the night sky.
I flick on the outside porch light which causes a dappled orange glow to illuminate my collection of gnomes in the rockery, their painted-on smiles twisting into sinister smirks.
‘What’s this then?’ he says, pointing down to three cigarette butts which litter the floor by the bench.
I shrug. ‘Obviously they’re yours. I don’t smoke.’
He sighs, almost as if dealing with a problematic child. ‘I don’t flick them on the floor.’
‘No, you flick them in the bush.’ I attempt a smile but it’s several sizes too small. ‘It wasn’t me, James,’ I try, more seriously this time. ‘I haven’t even been out here.’
‘So how do you explain this?’ He produces my mobile phone. ‘On the bench when I came out,’ he says by way of explanation.
I shake my head, my memory of the evening vague, not remembering much after the third glass of wine. But surely I didn’t come outside and smoke James’s cigarettes? And how has my phone got out here? I haven’t been in the garden for days. ‘James, I don’t understand. I promise I haven’t been out here’