61

When Nula was out of hospital, she bided her time until Milly and Harlan were out of the way before cornering her husband. ‘So what’s the truth then, Charlie?’ she demanded.

The woman from the government agency had never phoned her back. Probably thought she was a crank. Probably, she was right. Nula felt like her grip on things was loose, at best. She was shaky. Full of anxiety. Her chest was tight every day and her head ached. She hardly slept for fear of waking up one night with Harlan looming over her, knife in hand. Something wasn’t adding up about Harlan, something was off about the kid, and she was going to find out why.

‘About what?’ He looked startled.

Yeah, of course he did. Does he think I’ve found out about him fucking Jill Barton against her will? She hoped he was sweating over it, the arsehole. She hated him, but she was stuck; frightened. She didn’t want to lose the lifestyle she’d craved and was now so used to. And she couldn’t divorce Charlie Stone, not knowing all that she knew. She’d been inside the tent pissing out, and it was too late to think of doing the reverse. He’d kill her. Christ, if he knew all the stuff she’d been putting in her journals, about him and all his crooked goings-on, he’d wring her neck right now.

‘About Harlan. I contacted the adoption agency.’

‘You what?’

‘I contacted them and I asked to speak to that Mrs Bushell woman who sorted out all the paperwork, the one who came here with Harlan a couple of times when he was a kid. You remember her?’

‘Where’d you get the details from?’ he asked. Suddenly he looked mad.

‘In your bloody desk, Charlie,’ snapped Nula.

‘But I keep that locked.’

‘I levered the damned drawers open. Broke the locks, then had the thing repaired. You didn’t notice anything, did you. Didn’t even smell the fresh varnish in there. If you’re never going to be straight with me about anything, what else am I supposed to do but take things into my own hands?’

Charlie jumped to his feet and paced about. Then he rounded on her.

‘I’ve been straight with you. I’ve done fucking everything for you.’

‘Those two things ain’t the same, Charlie. You’re so used to doing hooky deals that you probably think they are, but they’re not. I’m not a child. I don’t need shielding from the world. So tell me – did you really get Harlan from the agency? That Mrs Bushell, was she really an official, or just one of the people on your payroll? Christ knows you’ve got plenty. And you got print men coming out of your arse, aintcha? Forging a few official-looking documents would be a piece of shit to them.’

‘Look . . .’ started Charlie.

‘Don’t bullshit me. I mean it: don’t.’ Nula was trembling with the force of her rage. He really was the lowest of the low. Egging her on so that she ‘partook’ in those wild parties, the dirty bastard. And then raping another woman – his best friend’s wife! There was nothing he wouldn’t sink to. Whenever Charlie tried to initiate sex with her these days – and thank God it wasn’t often – all she could think about was him forcing himself on Jill. ‘That weird little fucker tried to kill me. And now I want an explanation. I want the truth.’

Charlie was running his hands over his balding pate, over and over. He’d aged, she thought. But then – so had she. ‘Christ Almighty,’ he muttered.

‘There’s worse, Charlie,’ said Nula quietly.

‘Worse?’ He spun around, stared at her. ‘Jesus, Nules, ain’t we had enough shit to last a lifetime?’ He blinked and for a moment Nula could see that he was on the verge of tears. ‘Losing our boy that way? Little Jakey? And now you’ve got this rubbish in your head about Harlan . . .’

‘It ain’t rubbish. I spoke to Chrissy Foster . . .’

‘That bitch? We should never have left her in charge of our boy. Never.’

‘She woke up one night and Harlan was standing over her bed. He had a knife in his hand.’

That stopped Charlie in his tracks. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

‘I wish I was. I’m not. She said she thought there was something wrong with him. That he had . . .’ Nula frowned, groping in her memory. ‘She reckoned he had a thing called reactive attachment disorder.’

‘This is bollocks,’ said Charlie.

‘No! She was serious. And if you don’t believe her . . .’ Now Nula hesitated. The next part was terrifying.

‘What?’ prompted Charlie when Nula fell silent.

‘Ask Beezer. Ask him what he saw at four o’clock on the morning that . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘. . . That little Jake died.’

Charlie was staring at her, open-mouthed. ‘Beezer?’ he echoed faintly. ‘What the fuck’s he got to do with anything?’

Nula stood up on shaking legs. ‘Ask him,’ she said, and walked over to the door and opened it. Harlan was there, hanging his coat on the hook that was a mere five feet from the sitting room door. Had he heard? Milly and Belle were upstairs, thumping about. Then Milly’s sound system was cranked up to full volume and the bass started pounding faintly through the floor. The Bay City Rollers, ‘Bye Bye Baby’. You always knew when Milly was in the building. She wasn’t exactly dainty. Now Nula could hear her daughter and Jill’s singing along up there. Harlan was different. He was quiet as a mouse. No, not a mouse. A cat, maybe, stalking about silently, in pursuit of a kill.

‘Hi, Mum,’ he said.

Nula went past him, into the kitchen. And then she heard it. Not just Milly’s music. She could hear Jake, crying. It was real.

Harlan had followed her into the kitchen.

‘Can you . . .’ she started to say, then her voice died on her and she had to gulp and start again. ‘Do you hear that, Harlan? That noise?’ she asked him.

‘What noise?’ Harlan was staring at her blank-eyed. ‘What, Milly’s row, d’you mean?’

Nula didn’t reply. Instead she hurried out into the hallway and up the stairs and along the landing and up more stairs. Then she was running, she was sprinting along the second-floor hallway and then she reached the door. The nursery door, next to her and Charlie’s bedroom.

Her hand reached out to the doorknob and then she drew it back, fearful. She could still hear Jake crying, and it was a sound that wrenched at her. She didn’t believe in spirits, in ghosts, but what if she was wrong, what if Jake was crying for his mother somewhere, in torment?

She opened the door and stepped into the room.

‘Jake?’ she whispered.

Her voice echoed back at her from the walls. The room was completely empty. After Jake’s funeral, Charlie had insisted all the nursery stuff be disposed of, he’d said it was too upsetting for them both to have the room left like some sort of shrine. Nula had resisted, cried, pleaded, but deep down she knew Charlie was right. There was no point holding onto the past. It was gone. It was dead.

She stood there in the empty nursery, shivering with dread. There was nothing now, nothing but the noise of Milly’s music and the frantic beating of her heart.

The crying had stopped.

I’m going mad.

‘Mum?’

She whirled around with a shriek. Harlan was standing there, staring at her.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked her.

Nula was shaking her head. ‘Nothing, nothing,’ she muttered. She was going insane. Completely crazy. The baby wasn’t crying. The baby was dead.