I wasn’t the only one who was different after the baby. Even when he made me put the cot in the corner, away from the mattress, we could still hear Teddy cry to be fed, so he stopped staying over all night, and when he did stay it was less often. I slept a lot in the day, like Teddy. That annoyed him too, when he’d find me dozing.
But it was more than that. Once, I’d just finished feeding the baby. He’d been sharp since he came in, annoyed that I hadn’t got up.
‘Do you have to hold him all the time?’ he said tightly. ‘You’re spoiling him.’
‘Spoiling him? But he’s just a little baby,’ I said, and snuggled Teddy to me.
The way he looked then – so calculating, like he’d just worked something out.
So I played it down, and I still do, when he’s around – how much I love the baby, his brown eyes smiling half moons above his pudgy cheeks. Now, he’s bigger, he’ll toddle over to me unsteadily, wrap his chubby little arms round my neck and give me a clumsy kiss. I have to ignore it, if he’s here with us. Watching.
It’s ridiculous, really. I could almost laugh. Except I don’t.
In fact, if I think about it, it’s all I can do not to panic. Especially when he changes our routine.
It was this last winter, my second in here. Teddy and I would wake up to see ice on the inside of the window, and know the darkness would set in early. Teddy was so pale. I’ve done my best, making sure he plays in the light of the window, but it’s not enough. I knew he was more than a year old by then, but I didn’t know if he was as big as he should be.
So I tried to say it as gently as I could.
I’m worried, I told him. It’s not healthy for a little boy to be inside all the time. Your boy. Your son.
He’d seemed to want him so much, on the outside, but he never seemed to engage with him. Maybe it was more about what a baby represented, I thought. Or a way to get me in here, I thought later.
He’s been so careful since then that it couldn’t happen again.
But he did start paying more attention to Teddy after that, as he chattered and crawled.
Then one night, he started talking. ‘I’ve been thinking about Teddy.’
I was facing away from him, on the edge of the mattress. I think it must have been one of the very last times we were together. I can’t be sorry about that. The thought has crossed my mind: I might be getting too old for him, but that’s yet another thing I’ve tried not to think about. Not until I get out of here.
I stirred uneasily. ‘Oh?’
He shifted over to me and put a heavy arm over my waist. ‘He’s a big boy now, getting bigger.’
‘Yes,’ I said, too eager. ‘You’re so right, he’s growing, so he needs fresh air, sunshine—’
‘So that’s why,’ he interrupted, ‘I’ll be taking him with me, when I leave.’
I went stiff. ‘You’re – you’re taking him away from me?’
‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ He said it so lightly. ‘Fresh air for him, a break for you.’
And he did it, too, as I sat up under the duvet, my heart racing. He woke up Teddy, confused and sleepy, and carried him outside, in the dead of the night. They didn’t take long, that time, me pacing about the place until they came back in a gust of cold air, Teddy’s cheeks chilled.
He wouldn’t tell me much about what they’d done. ‘We were outside. He seemed to like the plants.’ And of course Teddy couldn’t say, though he seemed to be fine, even to enjoy his trips, after a while.
That’s how we made the call. He took Teddy out, handing him a bit of chocolate to keep him quiet. Within minutes he was back again, without him. He read my fear correctly.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll have him back,’ he said.
The words hung between us, unspoken. So long as you say what I told you.
But I can’t think about the past any more. Despite the heat, I can tell this summer’s nearing its end: it’s been getting darker earlier, the shadows lengthening across the floor. I don’t think I could bear another winter here, yet when he told me I wouldn’t have to, I didn’t feel anything but afraid.
‘We’ll be leaving soon.’ His back was to me so I couldn’t see his face. ‘Well,’ he said, turning round. ‘Aren’t you pleased? Isn’t this what you wanted?’
‘Of course.’ I got up, trying to inject my voice with excitement. ‘That’s wonderful. Can you tell me where?’
He shook his head then, surveying the room, like he was thinking about what to take. ‘You’ll like it.’ There’s this new air about him – it’s almost anticipation. He’s upbeat, nearly cheerful.
Now, he’s left me bin bags to get all my stuff together. There’s not much to pack, just some clothes and toiletries. I just need to stop and focus, to work out what I should do, but it’s all so rushed.
Something’s going right for me, at last. Or something’s going very wrong.
Because I try to tell myself it’s a positive thing, that we’re leaving at last. I’ve been so good, or at least he seems to think so. I just have to keep waiting, and watching, for my chance.
But then the thoughts come back again.
He’s had enough of you. He could get rid of you.
The hairs prickle on my arms.
No, don’t be silly, you’ll get through this.
I’ve got through it so far.
But I can’t stop thinking about what all this could mean. Him keeping Teddy away from me, getting the baby used to him. Making me end that tiny bit of contact with my family, the cover-up that he’d kept going. This sudden hurry to clear this place.
Because I can’t see how it can mean anything else.
That he’s going to do something. That no one is going to find me.
That this is the way it’s going to end, for me.
Part 3
42
KATE
Here she was. Here they were. And I’m too late.
I’ve lost her. I’ve failed her. And I’ve now lost her again, forever. The thoughts loop ceaselessly through my brain, as I wander back downstairs. Through the outside door, it’s raining properly now; the raindrops falling with the pent-up force of a summer storm. I stay in the hall, sheltered. The picture’s still in my hand, Sophie’s drawing, the child’s colouring in. My face is numb. Dimly, I wonder if I’m in shock. But I’ve got to keep going. I pull out my phone to call. Who? Dad. No, Charlotte. No, the police, I’ve got to … Evidence. I shouldn’t have touched this, should I? But then I see I’ve got a text.
Hello! Have you got it? Tell me what you think. What a find! Vicky x
It takes me a second, and then I place her. Vicky, the librarian’s sister. What’s she talking about? On autopilot, I pull open my email and scroll down; I don’t see it. So I check my junk folder, wait for it to load – and there it is: an email sent last night.
Hiya Kate
You’ll never guess. After we spoke, you got me thinking: maybe I still have it. So I went round to Mum’s and, guess what, I found it. It was to mark the centenary, they got all of us out on the playing field. Back row, right on the end – next to Nancy. Told you he was a bit of a hunk! Vx
Jay. It feels like an age ago: she was going to try to find his surname somehow. I feel like I’m a swimmer, coming up from the bottom of a pool – rising back to reality. But a part of me’s still in that room. It was so small. Just that tiny skylight, set into the roof.
I click on the attachment. My phone freezes, the digital egg-timer telling me it’s slow to load: blurry black and white shapes. Vicky must have taken a picture of this on her phone – it’s loading sideways, I think – rows hinting at … what? I turn my phone around to understand what I’m looking at.
Yes, it goes this way, the detail now appearing. It’s part of a school photo. She hasn’t bothered to try to get the whole thing in, she’s just got the end of the student body; three dozen or so little figures, stacked in four rows, a green stretch of lawn behind them.
The faces are tiny, just smudges above the blue of their uniforms. I pull at the photo to zoom in on the back row. I misjudge it and go too far – a face fills the screen.
Nancy. Smiling, her shoulders back.