‘For God’s sake, leave him.’
I don’t say anything, but grab my phone and jacket from the hook inside the kitchen door.
‘Hannah! What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? You’re not going anywhere. He’ll be back, but right now you and I need to talk.’
‘I heard you.’
His eyes widen at the sharpness in my tone. He opens his mouth to reply, but I speak first.
‘We’ll talk when he’s back.’
‘And if I call the police in the meantime?’
‘Then I guess they’ll be paying me a visit.’ I attempt to keep my impatience at bay but I’m unsuccessful; I have no time for this game of Nathan’s. ‘But right now, I’m going to find my son, who’s just heard the most horrendous thing. There’s no way I’m sitting here like a hopeless idiot waiting for him again.’
Cam follows me. ‘I’ll help.’
‘Thanks, that’s—’
‘Christ!’ cries Nathan, turning his glare on Cam. ‘What are you even doing here? Just leave us alone. This is between me and my wife.’ He turns back to me, ‘Hannah, we need to talk—’
I fix Nathan with a hard, unbending stare. ‘First, you are going to help me find him,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘For God’s sake, this is what he does. It’s his thing. Running away for attention. He’ll come back when he’s blown off steam.’
‘Nathan, he ran off in a dreadful state. He needs us. You are his father, the man who brought Alex up. Not Cam. Not Davy Garnett. You. Please help me find him. Stop thinking about your bruised pride and help me. When he’s back we’ll talk. God knows I want to talk about everything as much as you do, but not until I’ve got my son home safely.’
The tension is palpable. It’s remarkable how much hatred is contained in this small area. The calm of last night on the hidden beach feels a million years ago. Here, now, is the culmination of years of lies and guilt and shame all stemming from what Davy Garnett did to me. I’ve agonised over what happened, tried to relive it, willed time to reverse so I could prevent the sequence unfolding. For so long I blamed myself, feeling pity, guilt, sorrow even, for what happened to him. But nobody made Davy Garnett do what he did, and the consequences changed the course of my life. Now I have an opportunity to reclaim whoever it is I am. Behind bars or not, one thing I know, things are going to change again. I’m going to reconstruct myself sinew by sinew until I’m as near to restored as possible.
‘I’ll follow him into the fields. Nathan, take your car and drive down to the station. Make sure he’s not there. Can you head to Newlyn, Cam? There’s a chance he’ll go looking for Martin.’
I don’t wait for them to answer before walking out of the door. It crosses my mind briefly that perhaps they might fight, but frankly I don’t care if they do or they don’t. Right now they can tear each other limb from limb. All I want to do is find Alex.
As I climb the stile and follow the direction Alex headed in, my mind begins to whir. Things would have been so different if we’d called the police that night like I’d wanted to. That night is blurred in parts, some of the facts are hazy, some gone, others exaggerated, possibly beyond reality, but I’m not sure why I let Cam do what he did. Taking Davy and his dingy out to sea, making it look like an accident, concealing the truth despite me asking him to call the police again and again.
As I stare down over the fields towards St Michael’s Mount, the sea shimmering silver, so still, like a painting, I recall the words Cam spoke from beside the bloody body of Davy Garnett.
‘I’ll take care of you.’
The same words Nathan said to me when I sent Cam away, terrified, shell-shocked, my body still sore, days after, from where Davy Garnett forced himself on me.
I’ll take care of you.
All those times I’d fantasised I was married to Cam Stewart. Pretending it was him I shared a house with, cooked for, made love to. Perhaps even in the cave on our hidden beach I had that thought in the back of my head, that I’d leave Nathan and end up with Cam. But as I follow the footpath across the fields in the direction of Penzance, it isn’t a new life with Cam I’m craving: it’s my freedom. I don’t want to be taken care of anymore. I want to make my own choices and fix my own mistakes. I want to be the mother my son deserves and someone he can be proud of.
My phone rings. I look down at the screen and see Vicky’s name. I blanch as Phil’s wearied irritation snakes through me.
You don’t need Hannah’s shit in your life.
I turn the call off, unwilling to load her with yet more of my shit, more truths I should have told her, further admission that I’d cut her out of so much of my life. I’ve always wondered if I should have told her everything and I know what a mistake I made in not doing so. Having her understanding, advice and guidance would have been a lifeline, not to mention explaining why I live a life she cannot comprehend.
But at the time, as hard as it was, I couldn’t do it.
Once Cam had disposed of the body I had no choice but to keep the truth hidden from everybody. How could I have expected her to keep my secret and not go to the police? I wouldn’t have put that on her. To keep Cam – and myself – out of prison we had to stay quiet. Nobody could know but the two of us. Now the truth is out she is going to know about it. The thought makes me weak.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from her.
My lungs burn with the exertion of running as I trip and stumble over tufts of grass on the way back across the fields. Neither Nathan or Cam are at the house when I get there. I consider calling Cam and not Nathan, but Nathan deserves to see Alex; he is after all the only father he’s had in his life. Panting heavily, I dial the number and he answers at the first ring.
‘He’s at the Treliske,’ I say breathlessly.
‘He’s hurt?’
‘No, he went to see Mum. Can you come back and drive me there?’
For a moment I think Nathan might tell me he’s going straight there without me but he doesn’t, and in a little over five minutes he’s turning his car into the driveway.
He drives five miles an hour beneath the speed limit, hands at ten to two, feeding the steering wheel as he turns, and checking his mirrors continuously. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself yelling at him to drive faster. I can feel him waiting for me to talk, expecting, I’m sure, profuse apologies and desperate excuses. No doubt he’d like to see me break down and plead for forgiveness or beg him not to go to the police. But I do none of this. Instead, I sit in silence and I know it’s killing him. A couple of times he draws breath as if to speak, but I keep my head turned resolutely away from him, tapping my finger rapidly against my lip, my stare fixed on the world beyond the confines of the car.
Finally, the silence is too much for him. ‘So you have nothing to say?’
I don’t reply.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what that man did to you?’ His concern is contaminated with a hint of disgust, like a drop of poison in sweetened tea. ‘If you had, then maybe…’
I close my eyes and block him out as I have done so many times. As his voice drifts away from me, I take myself to a windy clifftop. I’m walking Cass. As soon as she comes into my head, however, a vivid image of her lying dead in a ditch somewhere kicks the air from me. I flick my eyes open but can still see her, her eyes turned yellow and glassy by the rat poison, her lips retracted to reveal her teeth like the macabre masks on the voles left rotting in the bin.
‘Are you even listening to me?’
‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘Of course.’
‘Tell me then, how are we going to move on from this? If I go to the police—’
‘You won’t.’
‘Oh?’ he says. ‘And you’re sure about that?’
‘No,’ I say after a moment or two. ‘But why would you risk losing your job? Maybe even prison? Imagine the headlines in the newspapers. Imagine what the people at the council would think? Their award-winning citizen sent down for helping to conceal a murder.’
He answers with a stony glower. ‘So, what? We’re just going to carry on as normal?’
This word is so comical I can’t help emitting a sharp explosive laugh. ‘Normal?’ I turn in the seat so I’m looking directly at him. ‘Are you joking? Nothing about any of this is – or ever has been – normal.’
His hands grip the steering wheel tightly. I can clearly see him trying to formulate a reply that will twist and manipulate what I’ve said. I wonder if whatever he’s constructing has him painted as hero or victim.
I don’t wait to find out. ‘I don’t love you, Nathan.’
He lets out a scoff, loud and dismissive.
‘I never have.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Nathan, listen to me. It was all a lie. From that moment you sat on my bed – when my body was aching and sore from what Davy did to me, my mind clouded with guilt and confusion over what I did to him – and told me you’d seen Cam kill a man. I lied when I told you I loved you. I lied to keep Cam out of prison. He didn’t deserve to be punished. I did. Everything up until this morning has been a lie. Every time we had sex. Every time I smiled. Every time I agreed with you. Our marriage is my punishment for what I did.’
He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge my words. His face moves through a range of emotions from surprise, to shock, to pain. Should I feel sympathy? Possibly. But I don’t. Not a whisper of it. Perhaps this isn’t fair. Perhaps Nathan did his best, a damaged man plagued by his own demons, who believed himself to be a good husband to a girl who needed saving. Perhaps it was me who manipulated him. After all, as I’ve said all along, I took his deal willingly.
My freedom for Cam’s.
‘You have a good life with me.’ Nathan stares at the road ahead. ‘I’ve provided for you and provided for your son who I treated as my own. Even when I found out he wasn’t mine. I could have thrown you both out on the streets, but I didn’t. And now you call our marriage a punishment?’ He glances at me and I see his fight is returning. ‘A beautiful house? Clothes and meals out? Presents. Flowers. A husband who treats you like a princess? You think that’s a punishment? Do you know how many women would swap their life for yours?’
The face of the woman from the award ceremony sidles into my head, her eyes consuming my husband as she fiddles with her necklace, the flesh on her finger fattened around her dulled wedding ring.
‘What about the money?’ I’m appalled to hear my voice wavering as the force I’d mustered leaks out of me. ‘You took my credit card.’
He furrows his brow. ‘Do I need to tell you again how terrifying it was when you left in the middle of the night with your depression running ragged. You were nearing suicidal. I couldn’t trust you to look after yourself. Without a credit card I knew you couldn’t try and run again. All I wanted to do was keep you – and Alex – safe. What kind of a husband would have done nothing? Did I do the right thing? Maybe not. Perhaps it was an overreaction, but I was scared of losing you. Terrified you’d do something stupid and endanger yourself. I was at a loss. Watching you struggle like you did was agonising. Do you know what it’s like to see somebody you love in that kind of state? Taking away your access to money was my way of reducing the risk you posed to yourself.’
I’m reminded of the paralysing postnatal depression which came after Alex was born. Days and nights lost in a fug. I was petrified in case I saw anything of Davy Garnett in this child. Paranoia set in. What if I walked past Sheila and she recognised him in Alex? What if she became suspicious? I was hounded by nightmares of Davy’s waterlogged body, his fingers trying to grab me, his blood turning the whole sea scarlet. I was a mess, Nathan’s right about that, and at the time I could barely dress myself let alone manage money.
My head pounds as I become confused.
Nathan slows and flicks the indictor on and waits to turn into the hospital. He circles the car park, looking for a space, and when he finds one he parks and switches the engine off.
‘All I’ve ever wanted,’ he says softly, turning in his seat, and taking hold of my hand, ‘is to take care of you. You aren’t strong enough to look after yourself. You need me to take care of you.’
His words act like a defibrillator and I feel a surge of energy. I recall all those times he thrust into me, my body dry and unresponsive, biting the pillow to keep myself quiet. I recall the time he demanded nine pence change back. How again and again he belittled me and twisted my words. I recall with an aching heart all the friends he drove away.
‘I’m leaving you.’
‘What?’
‘You and me. This.’ I gesture around us with my hands. ‘Whatever this is. It’s over.’
He swallows and needles his eyes into me. ‘And your mother? How do you think you’ll pay for the care she needs without a penny from me?’
The change from desperate, loving husband to vindictive manipulator happens in the blink of an eye. I marvel at how good he is at concealing himself. He is as good a liar as I am.
‘I’ll get a job.’
His burst of laughter is sharp and unkind. ‘Good luck with that! Not too many jobs out there for a middle-aged woman with a couple of GCSEs and no A levels, who hasn’t had a job for fifteen years and only ever worked in her daddy’s bakery.’
The air was rancid with malicious victory.
‘Thank you,’ I say, as I open the car door and get out. ‘You’ve made this easy for me.’
When I get to the hospital entrance, I glance backwards and see his car pulling out on to the main road and accelerating away, and as I push through the revolving door I am filled with an intoxicating sense of freedom.