I wake with a start to the sound of a fist drumming against the door. When I pull it open, Guy is standing there. He steps forwards, stops abruptly.
‘Oh Christ,’ he says. ‘What are you doing with that?’ He reaches down, takes the knife from my hand, sets it down on the side.
‘I was here alone,’ I say.
He stares at the blade for a moment, then takes me into his arms. His grip is strong and powerful, his stubble rough against my cheek. ‘I’m here now. I got stuck behind an accident and tried calling, but the line was dead.’ He looks down at the phone, notices the cable unplugged from the wall. ‘I thought something had happened to you.’
‘I fell asleep. I pulled it out so my parents couldn’t call me back. I knew they wouldn’t leave me alone to do this.’
‘Well, grab your coat. It’s cold out tonight and it’s started raining again.’ He looks down at my trainers. ‘You could do with a pair of wellies where we’re going.’
‘Should we wait a while, do you think?’ I peer out of the window. The rain is battering the glass, streams of it rushing down in abstract waves. The street lights blink behind it.
‘No,’ he says. ‘You were right in the first place. We need to do this now.’ He reaches past me, grabs the coat from the sofa. ‘But wear this, otherwise you’ll freeze.’
We run to the car pressed up against each other as he tries to use his coat to shelter us both from the rain. I get into the passenger seat, and he rushes around the front to the driver’s door. He struggles out of his wet coat, then starts the engine and pulls out into the road.
‘I can’t believe the weather,’ he says as we drive through the city. But I can. I am thankful for it. It’s just like that night.
‘At least it will help me remember, don’t you think?’
He smiles, running a hand through his wet hair. ‘Well if this doesn’t, nothing will.’
We speed through Brighton, past the gothic steeples of St Peter’s church and onto Ditchling Road, the Victorian villas decreasing in number until the green plains of a golf course come into view on our right. Little white flags hang limp and drenched. The tail end of the city dwindles until eventually we leave it behind. And as the rain strikes the windows, the wipers swinging back and forth, I’m able to picture myself in Damien Treadstone’s car. On this road. I was speeding, frantic, doing well above the speed limit. I know that I was alone in that car, closely following a set of red lights ahead, tears streaming down my face. It was my car in front, stolen with Joshua inside. I look across at Guy, reach to place my hand onto the steering wheel.
‘Chloe, what is it? Are you OK?’ he asks. He touches my knee. A shiver rises up my back, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘Yeah,’ I tell him, but I know that I sound less than sure. I feel less than sure as well.
‘Did you remember something?’ I nod as we slow for a corner, the wind buffeting the car. The force is so strong that Guy has to hold the wheel with both hands. He takes my hand, peels it away. ‘Don’t be scared. You’re safe now. Everything is going to be OK.’
‘No it’s not. Damien Treadstone was telling the truth, Guy. Being here, I’m starting to remember more about what happened.’
‘Well that’s good.’ He is gripping the wheel tighter, his knuckles white. ‘Then tonight will tell us everything we need to know.’
‘I hope so,’ I say, staring out of the window.
He presses his foot to the accelerator. The land rises and falls, opens out wide to softly undulating countryside. Soon we are above the houses, the road long and curvy as we descend another hill. It seems to go on forever. After a while it begins to narrow, the trees rising higher as the road becomes curved and dangerous. A risk, an accident waiting to happen. I see the spot ahead where the tape flickers in the breeze.
‘Just over there.’ Guy pulls up on the verge, following my instruction. Seconds later he cuts the engine.
I step from the car. I see faint skid marks on the tarmac. The scar on my head throbs, the pain of that night suddenly as fresh as if it has just happened. Guy rests his hand on my shoulder and I take a deep breath. I am about to revisit the site where my son lost his life. I have no idea how to face that. I close my eyes, see my dreams before me: the damage to a tree just at the edge of the road. I open them again and spot an area of flattened undergrowth. The more I look, the more certain I become.
‘That’s where I pulled up,’ I tell him, pointing. ‘I skidded, crashed Damien Treadstone’s car into it. But I was fine. I got out and ran down that way.’ The realisation gives me strength, the knowledge that the truth is close.
I push my way past brambles and bare branches, slipping on the same slimy ground as I remember from that night, only just managing to hang on and stop myself from sliding down the perilous slope. Guy follows behind me, calling out instructions to be careful. Up ahead I see the tree with the missing bark, a strong old oak against which my car came to a halt. I see the clearing where Joshua lay, the place where I fell to my knees and cradled him in my arms as he died.
‘What can you remember?’ Guy asks at my side.
I point to the tree. ‘My car was crashed there.’ I move towards the clearing, my breath catching as my throat tightens. It feels in that second as if every moment I ever lived with Joshua passes before my eyes: his birth, his first day of school. Our afternoons together on the beach. Night-time snuggles and bad dreams. First steps, first words. Last words. ‘This is where I found him,’ I whisper.
I sink to my knees, the ground so soft it almost swallows me up. It is as if I am back there on that terrible night, rain pummelling me, the wet earth soaking into my trousers. I see Joshua’s body lying there before me. I remember how he spoke, just one last word before his life slipped away.
Mummy.
‘He was here,’ I say as I press my hands to the soft wet leaves. ‘This is where I found him. This is where he died, Guy.’ I remember the sound of my engine ticking over, the steam rising from the crushed bonnet. I remember the feeling of his warm body as I pulled him close, limp and weak as I hugged him against me. I whispered to him, promised him that everything would be all right, pledges I couldn’t keep. I told him that Mummy and Daddy loved him so much. I knew he was going to die.
‘Do you remember yet?’ I hear Guy ask.
I feel one of his hands rest against my shoulder and I bring my left hand up to his. His fingertips brush across mine, heavy and comforting and protective. But then he stops, his touch moving across to my wedding ring. He holds it, his grip firm.
‘You weren’t wearing this before.’
I twist my body to look up at him. I stare at his face, into his eyes, the rain blurring my vision. His fingers are still touching the ring, his jaw set tight, teeth showing. The pressure on my hand begins to hurt.
Then before I can move, he brings his right hand up in the air, drives it towards my head. I try to duck away as I see the sharp-edged rock coming towards me, but he makes contact, strikes me hard. I fall face down on the spot where Joshua died. I feel hands grip my body, haul me across the ground, dragging me through the wet leaves, catching on rocks and twigs and tree roots. I grapple for something to hold, find nothing. It’s only seconds before my sight begins to dim.
‘I remember, Guy,’ I manage to say. I try to stay awake and fight. The pain in my head intensifies. And then my eyes glaze over, flicker closed, and I am gone.
As I stepped out from behind the cover of the trees and began to walk down the path, you stood up, your face a mixture of anger and relief. I expected you’d be angry with me. But I was angry at you too, Chloe. I could feel it in the way my fingers clenched and stretched, that urgency I had to make you pay for just how far you’d taken this. Just how close to the line. But I shoved my hands in my pockets, tried to push the feelings down. I didn’t want you to see that ugly side of me. Not yet.
It was only when I threatened you that you gave in, wasn’t it? Is that what your daddy taught you? But still, you were so pleased to see me that night. I could see it on your face, the relief of my presence; feel it in the way you were slipping back inside me, swelling against my skin. That’s what it’s supposed to be like, Chloe. Nothing like drowning. It’s supposed to feel like that when you’re in love. If it doesn’t consume you, it’s not worth the effort.
And then after all the waiting to get you back, you were there, only an arm’s length between us. I could barely believe you came. You opened your mouth to speak, but I knew I had to get in first. Because before you said anything, I wanted you to know that it’s always been you. I never cared that you were married. I didn’t care that you were supposed to be his. I needed you to know that you were mine and always would be, just like I was yours. Am yours, Chloe. It’s only you I want. Just you and me, for ever and ever, until death do us part.