‘I didn’t know for sure. I just hoped he would be. If he wasn’t, I was going to wait until he got back. I just didn’t want his parents to be there as well. I realised pretty much straight away how stupid it was though, how he’d twist it to everyone else that I’d gone to the house, and I pulled over when I began to panic about how close I’d come to making such a huge mistake.’
‘OK.’ I moved us on quickly before she asked me again if I believed her and began to disappear down another rabbit hole of doubt. ‘Seeing as you’re dressed, why don’t you come downstairs? I’ll light the fire and put on a movie for you. You still haven’t eaten anything and you really do need to.’
She rested her head lightly on me again. ‘Thank you.’
I kissed her hair. ‘I need to pop out in a minute to the shops before I get the girls. Will you be all right? You won’t jump in the car straight away, go off and do something completely mental?’
She snorted sadly. ‘No, I won’t. I promise.’
* * *
I climbed in the car and thought hard, for about thirty seconds, made my decision – and set off.
I’d worked out easily – from one of the many, many Instagram shots of his that I’d looked at over the previous two weeks – which school he went to from the tie he was wearing in one of the pictures. It was a pretty smart private one – surprisingly, given how Alex had described his parents to me – but then perhaps they wanted opportunities for their son they hadn’t had themselves.
I parked on the road outside and walked in through the wide gates into the car park and up to the ‘gatehouse reception’. A friendly looking, middle-aged woman came to the door when I rang the bell and looked at me enquiringly.
‘Hello, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’ve come to collect Jonathan Day’s car for him? He phoned to let us know it had broken down and needed recovery from this address, but I can’t reach him on his mobile now? It seems to be turned off.’
‘Hmmm,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘That’ll be because he ought to be in class. Hang on a moment, and I’ll find out where he is.’ She looked me briefly up and down. ‘Which garage did you say you were from?’
‘Kemptons,’ I said, out of absolutely nowhere, then added, ‘I’m just doing this to help out his dad, Gary. He’s a mate.’
‘I see. Would you like to take a seat?’
‘Actually, I’ll wait outside if that’s OK, I’ve got a few calls to make.’ I held up my phone, as if that made me the very epitome of a busy garage manager and not, in fact, a marketing account manager, very probably going to lose his job for pretending to work at home when he blatantly wasn’t.
I made my way back out into the overcast afternoon, checking the time on my phone. I genuinely did need to get something for tea before picking up the girls.
I waited for another five minutes, leaning against the gate pillar, and was just starting to panic that, in fact, they’d called the police, who were on their way, and I was about to be arrested, when the main door opened and out he came.
I was momentarily transfixed to see him in real life, striding across the car park towards me, white shirt untucked and billowing, the sleeves rolled-up despite it being chilly, presumably to show off the tattoo on his arm I could just see the bottom of. He was pretty tall but not as good-looking as he looked in the papers, with rather boyish features. He was obviously just extraordinarily photogenic. I straightened up as he approached me, frowning.
‘Wotcha mate,’ I said smiling. Wotcha? And ‘mate’? I wasn’t in an episode of Grange Hill, for God’s sake. I tried to calm down as he stopped about two feet away in front of me, and gave me a bland, but wary social smile.
‘Hey. Mrs Hornsby said Dad has sent you to pick up my car?’ He scratched his head. ‘I’ve just tried him but, as usual, he isn’t picking up. Sorry, but I don’t know anything about this. What’s wrong with it, and who are you?’
The last question managed to be both slightly dismissive and condescending. It was quite hard to remember he was only eighteen.
I held my hands wide in generous mock surrender. ‘You’ve got me. I haven’t come to get your car, and I don’t know your dad.’
‘I thought as much, seeing as I got a lift in with my girlfriend this morning, and my car’s on the drive at home.’ He put his hands in his pockets and chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘So, go on then. Who are you really?’
He’d waited to catch me out? The arrogant little toad.
‘I’m from the Daily Mail. I wondered if you might—’
He laughed, spun round on the spot and started walking back to the school. ‘Come on “mate”!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that.’
‘You don’t want to hear about the evidence that’s come to light which suggests you’ve made up your story completely?’
He stopped, turned round again, hands still in pockets and stared at me. ‘You’re not from the Mail. I know that partly because my main contact there is called Sadie, and she’s a lot more attractive than you, but mostly because I know exactly who you are. You’re Alex’s husband, aren’t you?’
My muscles tensed with anxiety, fight or flight beginning to kick in, and as I stood there, my hand started to fold into a tight fist.
I saw his gaze flicker to it, and he froze. I actually saw his body go rigid.
‘That’s how the big boys like you solve things, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Well, no problem. Go for your life. A black eye will look great with a filter; proper vintage fight club. I might even take my shirt off before I post the pic. Alex will like that.’
I rushed right over to him, I couldn’t help it, but although his eyes widened with fright, he just stood there, shaking. He didn’t lift a hand to defend himself, and he didn’t try and escape either. I got so close up into his face I could feel the heat of his body and smell his florid aftershave; it made me feel nauseous. I have never wanted to hurt anyone so much in my entire life. I wanted to burn the world around him, leave him standing on the last scrap of space and have him beg me for mercy so he knew how desperation felt.
‘Do not talk to me about my wife.’ I was furious.
‘Are you going to push me around now?’ he blurted. ‘Threaten me unless I retract everything? Abuse me just a little bit more? Go on then. Do you know how I recognised you when we’ve never met? From the photos in your sitting room. Alex and I had sex there when you and your daughters went to stay with your parents that weekend.’
Ironically, it was that mention of Maisie and Tilly that saved me. I stepped back instantly, realising what it would do to them if I was arrested right there and then for GBH. Alex wouldn’t cope, she was barely functioning as it was. I couldn’t deprive my children of two parents. I had made an epic miscalculation.
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘Alex was at home on her own that weekend, that’s true. But I bet all you did was come round, hide in the dark and peer in through the windows at her without her realising, like the dirty little perv you are. Do you know what I think, Jonathan? I think you were obsessed with my wife from the second you met her when she looked after you – but that’s what she’s paid to do. She doesn’t care about you, you’re nothing to her. She didn’t even remember who you were.’ Jonathan flinched, like I actually had hit him, and I realised I was bang on the money. He really did have a thing for Alex.
‘As for “recognising” me,’ I continued ‘there are plenty of pictures of me online. I’m on LinkedIn. It would take you five seconds to find out what I look like. I’m flattered that you care enough to have bothered, though.’
Day hesitated, then spat on the ground at my feet. ‘Fuck you.’ He turned round and began to walk away, only to stop again and call back over his shoulder. ‘That’s what she’s told you, and what you want to believe. I don’t blame you for that, but it doesn’t change the truth. For the record, I only care about what she’s done to me. I genuinely couldn’t give a shit about your wife.’