‘Don’t move.’ Jade whispered, her heart thrumming manically against her ribcage. Fear, and an undeniable frisson of sexual pleasure, surged through her as she watched Mark walk towards the barn. ‘He can’t find me.’ Turning imploring eyes towards Dylan, whose face was now set in a hard scowl, she pressed a finger to her lips and stole a glance at Evie.
Hell! Why had she come looking for Dylan when she hadn’t found him at the cottage? She’d already been pushed for time. She should have just left.
Please don’t wake up, Angel. Seeing Evie twitch in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering, as if she might wake at any second, Jade prayed hard. He couldn’t find her here. He absolutely couldn’t. Panic mounted in her chest. She could lie through her teeth, but nothing would excuse exposing his baby to danger. He’d never forgive her. She couldn’t risk that. There was also the risk that he wouldn’t leave it there. That drippy Dylan might drop her in it, even though she’d coached him and coached him. And then what? Mark was a detective. He might take Dylan to the station, question him. How long would it be before Dylan spilled his guts and told him where the little girl— Jade closed her eyes with relief, gulping hard, as she noticed the farmhouse door opening. Glancing over his shoulder, Mark turned towards it, and then stopped to fish his phone from his pocket.
Evie stirred as he spoke, as she naturally would on hearing the rich, deep timbre of her daddy’s voice. Quickly, Jade turned to gather her from the stroller. ‘Hush, little baby, don't say a word,’ she recited silently, rocking her gently. Then, grabbing her pacifier from the stroller tray and feeding it to her, she turned back to the barn door, hardly daring to breathe as she listened.
‘Oh Christ… You’re joking.’ She heard Mark’s shocked tone. ‘But why the hell would she think that?’
Jade waited as Mark listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.
‘But you told her the texts were only ever work-related?’ Mark went on, running a hand agitatedly through his hair.
Jade felt a thrill of excitement spiking inside her. Melissa had obviously got the hints she’d been dropping about Lisa’s persistent texting. And it was about time. Jade had been wondering whether she was going to have to paint the woman a bloody picture.
‘Apart from the one I sent while you were there. Right.’ Mark sighed despondently and stared up into the sky. ‘Okay, thanks, Lisa. No, not your fault. I’d better get back.’
Jade watched as Mark ended the call, studied the phone for a second, as if debating making another, and then walked towards Dylan’s mother, standing in the farmhouse door. Poor Mark. She could almost feel his hurt. She so wished he didn’t have to suffer all this. It was just so cruel. But then, she had to be cruel to be kind. There was no other way. They were two souls destined to be together. She would soothe away his troubles with sweet, tender kisses, take his seed inside her, gladly give birth to his babies. He would thank her, eventually, for opening his eyes.
Twenty-Five
MELISSA
‘So, what do you think?’ Mel asked Poppy, turning from the front door after waving off Poppy’s little friend and her dad, who’d kindly delivered Poppy safely home. He’d clearly appreciated her new look. Mel might have been out of circulation for a while, but she could still read the signs. Poppy, however…
Peering over Baby Annabell, clutched to her chest, she looked up at Mel uncertainly. ‘You look like Jade,’ she whispered, her huge chocolate-brown eyes filled with awe.
‘Do I?’ Mel fluffed up her new blonde locks, courtesy of a mad dash to the supermarket. ‘Well, there’s a compliment.’
Smiling, she held out her hand and waited for Poppy to take hold of it. Poppy hesitated for a second, which was only natural, Mel supposed, on finding a different-looking mummy greeting her at the front door. She actually wasn’t trying to look like Jade. She’d been going more for the Lisa look, on the basis that Mark obviously preferred blondes. She’d stopped short of cropping her hair short, although she’d felt like it, closely followed by slicing into his shirts.
She toyed with the latter idea. But no. She was going to rise above it, she’d decided. She wasn’t even going to question him about it. She was going to be the epitome of calm. Sitting in the corner sobbing like a baby wasn’t an option. She had cried, bitter tears of hurt and soul-crushing humiliation. She felt too tired for this, too tired to fight it. And then she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror, looking pathetic, looking exhausted, and thought fuck him. And Lisa, her so-called friend. She wasn’t going to scream and shout, she didn’t want to hurl raging accusations in front of their children, she just wanted to get back to where she was a few short weeks ago. She wanted to feel well, to feel in control again. And to that end, she did need to fight. She’d stocked up on vitamins, throwing them in her shopping basket arbitrarily. Starting tomorrow, she would set her alarm and make sure to get up early. Eat sensibly, exercise, and then get back to work in earnest. She wasn’t going to go down the medication route. There was absolutely no way was she going there again, so far down the bottomless pit she’d had to claw her way out of it by her fingernails. Wouldn’t Mark love that, his wife comatose to the point of oblivion, enabling him to do what he liked, who he liked? But… She swallowed back a tight lump in her throat. He wouldn’t. Not the Mark she knew. He’d always been dependable, there for her, the one solid thing in her life when everything else seemed to be sliding away from her. Her rock.
But he was human, wasn’t he? Perhaps he was tired, too. Emotionally depleted. Perhaps he needed support, and she just hadn’t seen it. She wouldn’t fall apart, Mel promised herself. She wouldn’t accuse him or attack him. She would wait. She would watch. And she would see. Because, if her worst fears were true, if he no longer loved her, which was possible – love wasn’t forever, was it? – it would be there in his eyes.
Deep in her thoughts, Melissa hadn’t realised Poppy was tugging on her hand. ‘Mummeee,’ she said, scowling up at her, ‘why are you standing in the middle of the hall crying?’
‘I’m not,’ Mel said, blinking quickly.
‘Yes, you are. You’ve got wet cheeks,’ Poppy pointed out, her innocent eyes wide and now dark with worry.
‘I’m not crying, sweetheart,’ Mel assured her, quickly bending to pick her up. ‘I got shampoo in my eyes when I washed my hair, that’s all.’
Pressing her close, she gave her world-wise seven-year-old a firm hug, and tried to quiet her own rising panic. Poppy had looked at her as if she were mad. Was she? Or on her way to being? There had been a time when her grip on reality felt as elusive as sea slipping through sand. Simple, everyday tasks had been beyond her.
She couldn’t allow that to happen again, to be so emotionally dysfunctional she couldn’t care for herself, let alone her family. Her chest tight, she studied Poppy’s confused little face and steeled her determination. She would not to drift off to that faraway place and abandon her children.
Poppy leaned back, searching her face curiously in turn, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of her. ‘Where’s Jade?’ she asked.
Mel mustered up a smile. She couldn’t blame the child for that, she supposed, given her own odd behaviour lately. ‘On her way,’ she said. ‘She popped out to see a friend, but she’ll be back before Daddy and I go out. Let’s go and get your jim-jams on, shall we? And then you can help Mummy put some make-up on and make herself beautiful. What do you think?’
Poppy studied her for a second longer. ‘But you are beautiful, Mummy,’ she said, her expression concerned and earnest all at once.
Mel swallowed hard.
Twenty-Six
MARK