‘Don’t forget to drive past the speed cameras fast,’ she reminded Dylan. ‘But not too fast.’ She wanted him to clock up a speeding ticket or two in the suspect part of the city, not get stopped. If that happened, Jade would have to claim he stole the vehicle, or kill him.
‘I won’t.’ Dylan fastened his seatbelt and clutched the steering wheel, his expression now one of steely determination.
Man on a mission, Jade thought wearily, rolling her eyes as she walked around to the tailgate to collect the bag Mark would have assumed was for her London trip, but which, in fact, had contained her necessary change of clothes for her meeting tonight. The question was, what to do with him when he’d accomplished his mission and she had no further need of him? A fall from the barn roof, possibly? No. She’d have to climb up there with him, or drug him and haul him up, which would be nigh on impossible without winching equipment. Hauling him over a beam in the barn, however? Yes, that might be an option. He’d murdered his mother, after all. That he’d chosen to hang himself rather than live with his conscience would be the natural tragic conclusion.
Forty-Six
MARK
Dr Meadows wasn’t being majorly helpful. And with Evie in his arms, Mark was attracting attention he could do without. He moved away from a group of mothers, all of whom were smiling indulgently in his direction, no doubt thinking he looked lost, like a fish out of water. If only they knew how lost he was.
‘I’m not asking you to break patient confidentiality, Dr Meadows,’ he said into his hands-free as he walked. ‘I’m asking you to listen. She needs psychiatric evaluation. She needs it now. I’m concerned. Very.’
‘Is she a danger to herself, Mr Cain?’
‘Yes. No.’ Mark sighed heavily. ‘I… don’t know.’
‘Has she tried anything?’
‘No, but I think she might,’ Mark answered honestly.
‘Has she had any psychotic episodes?’
What the fuck defined psychotic episodes? With one eye on the school gates whilst trying to placate Evie, who was growing fractious, Mark tried to think. How to explain. Where to start. How the hell to get some urgency injected into this.
‘Hallucinations?’ Dr Meadows went on. ‘Delusions?’
‘Both of the above,’ Mark confirmed.
‘Do you think she might be a danger to her children, Mr Cain?’ Meadows asked pertinently, causing Mark to draw in a sharp breath. ‘I’m sorry to ask these questions,’ he went on when Mark hesitated, ‘it’s just that in order to make a proper evaluation…’
Mark glanced down at Evie, catching hold of one of her tiny hands as she flailed it, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. Mel’s hair. She was going to be just like Mel. Beautiful.
‘There was a cat,’ he said throatily, after a second. The words, the thought of what he was doing, almost choked him, but Mark knew he had to. He might be wrong, hoped to God he was, but the risk was one he just couldn’t afford to take. ‘In her workshop. Wrapped in polythene. Suffocated, I think.’ Mark didn’t dare imagine when she’d done it, or where she’d stored it, the episode with the freezer still stark in his mind. I was searching for hidden bottles. She’s… drinking – a lot – and I…’
Mark stopped. This sounded insane. It was insane.
Dammit. Seeing kids spilling out into the playground, Mark headed quickly back the way he’d come. ‘I have to go. I’m picking my daughter up from school,’ he said, determined not to leave Poppy waiting, or for her to overhear. She didn’t need to know any more than she already did, not yet.
‘Get your wife to make an urgent appointment, Mark,’ Dr Meadows said, sounding more understanding. ‘Or better still, make one for her and try to make sure she keeps it. I’ll text you some numbers. Psychiatric crisis intervention team, helplines, etc.’
Mark’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. What choices did he have, though? None, it seemed. If only Mel would talk to him. Let him in. If only she would be honest with him.
Forty-Seven
MELISSA
Realising the shrill cry piercing the silence wasn’t part of her nightmare, Mel snapped her eyes open. Her phone was on the bedside table, its persistent ring dragging her from sleep, sleep that was no escape from the insanity her life was becoming.
It stopped as she reached for it. Lethargic, her limbs too heavy, she couldn’t even manage to take a phone call. Close to tears, Mel summoned up what little energy she could and disentangled herself from the duvet, woozily sitting up and reaching for the phone as it started ringing again. She’d almost hit answer when she realised who was calling. Lisa.
Anger and humiliation welling up inside her, Mel let it ring. Staring at the phone as it went again to voicemail, she wiped a salty tear from the screen, swiped another determinedly from her face, and then steeled herself to listen. Both voicemails were from Lisa, along with several texts. The gist of it all was that whatever Mel was thinking, she was wrong. Mel swallowed back her heart, which seemed to be wedged painfully in her windpipe, seeing again the fury in Mark’s eyes, the coldness, the accusation. She hadn’t got that wrong. She hadn’t imagined the vodka bottle he’d tossed at her, the disgust on his face. She hadn’t imagined that, any more than she’d imagined she wasn’t drinking.
Sinks blocking up, kilns breaking down, the freezer… A hand going involuntarily to her breast, Mel drew in a long breath. The key. Poor Hercules.
She breathed out. Mark confiding in another woman, the excessive texting between them, the lies. She had not imagined any of it.
The only thing that was wrong was this house, which she’d once loved the very bricks and mortar of, and everything in it. Mark was wrong. What he was doing was wrong. He had two children, for God’s sake. Evie was so tiny, so vulnerable. Poppy worshipped the ground he walked on. Why would he do it? Why would he send the woman she’d once considered a friend to check up on her, and then blatantly text her while she was in the house? Why would Lisa go along with it? Were they colluding to drive her out of her mind, or to leave? Why? She had no money. Her inheritance was tied up in the house. Unless it was the house he wanted? She had nothing else, nothing worth…
The children?
Was that it? He knew she would never part with them. Ever. And he wanted – needed – to be part of a family. But if he didn’t want her, as a wife, as a mother to his children, what better way to eliminate her from that role than to label her an unfit mother? To label her insane? Have her sectioned? Take power of attorney over her affairs. Take everything. Mel’s stomach tightened, certainty running coldly through her like ice in her veins.
She had to get out.
Mel pulled herself to her feet, nausea immediately washing over her. She had to go. Reeling, she forced herself unsteadily on, another bout of dizziness assaulting her as she made it to the bathroom. She needed to shower, but there was no time. Jade would be back soon with Poppy. She needed to be ready.
She needed not to take the fucking tablets.
Leaning over the toilet, Mel tried to make herself regurgitate those she had taken, but only managed to retch painfully. Her stomach was empty and raw. As raw as her heart.
Evie. Turning to the sink, Mel ran the taps full force and splashed cold water over her face. Stumbling back to the bedroom, she tore off her shirt, Mark’s shirt, feeling as though her chest might tear in two as she did. She pulled on jeans and a clean T-shirt, and stuffed her feet into her flip-flops. She would come back for the rest. All that mattered now, though, all she wanted now, were her children.