His hands, though large, were gentle as he painstakingly spread and separated the wings, pinning them carefully, symmetrically. She watched, mesmerised, in awe of her father’s care and attention to detail. She loved the expression on his face as he worked: peaceful, calm. The way he looked at her sometimes. As she backed away from the door, her elbow caught the doorjamb and she yelped in pain. She covered her mouth quickly with her hand, but it was too late. Her father’s expression changed in an instant. His lips snarled back, like the neighbour’s dog always did when she walked past the gate, and his cheeks turned red. His hands slammed down hard on the table, knocking the butterfly to the floor.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’
Jane’s eyes immediately filled with tears and she backed up, afraid to take her eyes off her daddy. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just wanted to see.’
As though a switch was flicked, his face softened. ‘I guess there’s nothing wrong with curiosity,’ he said. ‘Come here.’ He smiled as he beckoned her. Relaxing again now, Jane stepped closer. ‘Want to see how it’s done?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘We’ll have to get another specimen; this one is ruined now. Fetch your coat. But be quiet. Don’t let your mother hear you or see you. Understand?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’
She returned, her coat on and buttoned up. ‘It’ll be one of our secrets?’
‘Yes, my princess. It will.’
Cold seeps through the flimsy material, bringing me to consciousness.
I’m in the garden shed.
Why am I here? I’ve woken on the kitchen floor the last few times, but with no recollection of where I’ve been during the blackout. I wonder if the shed is where I’ve been coming when I’ve left the house. I cast my eyes around in the dim glow of light offered by the moon. It looks the same as usual as far as I can tell – everything is in its place. My eyes fall upon a black ceramic cat ornament poking out from beneath the wooden bench. I don’t immediately recognise it – but maybe Mark put it here. Frowning, I crawl across and pick it up. In that moment, I’m jolted by a flash of memory – the weight in my hands familiar. Do I collect random objects from people’s gardens during a blackout? My mind is too weary to contemplate this further so I replace it and stand up.
I’m assuming I’ve had this latest episode because of the police visit and Mark’s less than supportive attitude. His bitter words, the way his face hardened when he looked at me, played on my mind while I lay awake next to him. Even during the problems we had following his affair, he didn’t act that way towards me. Something has snapped; broken. I’m not sure we’ll recover from this. We might still be sleeping in the same bed, but we couldn’t be more distant from one another. I’m betting the sleeping arrangements won’t last, either. This is the worst state my marriage has ever been in and I can’t see a way forward. Even if I now come clean about the reasons for my recent behaviour, it won’t turn things around; probably just make it worse. Kill our suffocating marriage dead.
My body is heavy, as though I’m literally weighed down. I shuffle to the window. I see the silhouette of the house against the dark-blue sky. Still night, then – or at least, very early morning. My concept of time has gone. Checking myself over, I find scratches on my arms – they sting as I run my fingertips over them. Fresh: tiny spots of blood punctuate them, but they’re superficial. And, as far as I can tell, not made by human nails. I suck in a slow breath. That’s something. Still, I’ve managed to get these somehow and the fact they’re not human-made means an animal has inflicted these on me. So, the question is, what did I do to deserve it and what happened to said animal?
There’s no evidence of an animal having been in the shed. I look all around me and feel certain. In fact, everything is neat and tidy; I haven’t disturbed anything. Time to sneak back inside. This is getting more challenging with each new blackout and as they’re becoming more frequent, I’m having to deal with the difficulties they throw up more often. I should have some kind of kit bag, ready in the shed – a change of nightwear, wet wipes to clean myself up, a pair of shoes so my feet don’t become muddy again. That would at least help save time, and I wouldn’t be spending ages in the bathroom at weird times of the night. I make a mental note to do this as I tiptoe across the cold, damp grass and let myself in the back patio door. It’s open, as it’s been every time I’ve found myself outside, so this must be the way I leave the house on each occasion.
My bare feet make gentle slapping sounds as I make my way over the marbled floor towards the stairs. I’ve no phone with me, so no light – I can’t afford to switch on the main one leading up the staircase, so I keep a hand on the wall as I feel my way back to the bedroom.
As I reach the top stair, light blinds me.
‘Where’ve you been this time?’ Mark’s voice, deep and abrupt, gives me a fright.
‘Shit, Mark. What are you doing?’
‘I asked you first,’ he says, angling his mobile phone torch into my face.
I put a hand up to shield my eyes, blinking rapidly. ‘Can you move that thing?’ I carry on past him, my eyes squinted, but he pulls my arm, swinging me around to face him.
‘We have to talk. Now.’ He drags me back towards the stairs and I fumble my way after him, my feet almost tripping over each other.
‘Can you stop?’ Tears prick my eyes. He’s never been heavy-handed with me before. This is scaring me, his anger palpable. I really feel in this moment that he hates me. He takes my hand in his as we reach the hallway, pulling me in the direction of the lounge.
‘Right, sit there,’ Mark says, pushing me roughly so I collapse onto the sofa. ‘And we’re not moving until you tell me everything.’
‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘Don’t play dumb, Jen. You know damn well what I mean. You’ve had another blackout. Where did you wake up?’
I contemplate my answer. I could be honest, because I know there’s no longer anything incriminating in the shed. I need to weigh up the consequences of each of my answers as I know I’m about to be grilled to the level of a police interrogation. ‘In the shed,’ I say, simply.
‘Really?’ His tone is incredulous. I shake my head, staring into his face and seeing nothing but contempt.
‘Yes. Really. So, no need to worry, eh?’ I snap at him.
‘You have been seen in the village, you know – which means you go much further afield than you let on.’
My jaw slackens and I try to hide my surprise by going on the defensive. ‘Let on? You know I have no clue where I’ve been during a blackout but it’s not like I’m lying to you when I say I’ve been in the shed – that’s all I can recall.’
‘No.’ Mark begins pacing the lounge. ‘I don’t think it is. You’re keeping stuff from me, Jen. I know it. Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me?’
‘Well, if you’re going to bring up the trust issue—’
‘Enough!’ He hurtles towards me, shouting in my face, spittle hitting my skin. ‘Stop doing that. Stop trying to make this all about me, about a one-off mistake that you can’t let go of. This is about you. And about whether or not I feel my kids are safe in this house.’
Shock pushes me back; he may as well have hit me. What is he talking about? ‘Our kids are, and always have been, safe, Mark,’ I hiss the words slowly, quietly. How dare he question their safety.
‘I’m sorry, Jen. I disagree. And as you don’t seem capable of telling the truth, I’m going to have to be the one to safeguard them.’
I jump up from the sofa and square up to him. I want to argue the point, but realise he’s got the upper hand. Without divulging everything right here and now, I can’t even come up with a counter-argument. ‘I need your support, Mark,’ I whisper, my eyes imploring his. ‘The blackouts are scary – finding myself on the kitchen floor or in the garden, my clothes dirty, sometimes an hour has passed – it’s the worst experience. But I have never put our kids in danger. Only myself.’
His face has softened slightly, though his anger is still filling the room. He’s a good man, not prone to flying off the handle or being confrontational, so I know he’s scared too. The detectives being here has rattled him and he’s trying to deal with his emotions as well as dealing with me. I need to remember that.
‘I don’t know how to help you, though,’ he says. ‘And, given the intensity of the blackouts, the fact you don’t know what you’ve done during them … I’m … well, I’m …’ His face crumples and my stomach cramps.
‘You’re what?’ I coax.
‘I’m wondering if you did something to Olivia during one. The night she disappeared, you had a blackout. And as Teresa’s spotted you before in the early hours of the morning wandering the village, you could’ve done it that night too.’
‘Okay, I realise this looks bad. But, think about it, Mark. Think.’ I stab a finger into my temple. ‘How could I – in my trance state, and in only my pjs – have overpowered a woman? And, even if I’d managed that, then what? Physically drag her through the village to a location where the police haven’t been able to find her? It’s impossible, isn’t it?’
Mark stares at me, saying nothing. I continue on the same trajectory.
‘To be able to abduct her, I would’ve needed a plan – an escape route – and on foot that would be really challenging. Whoever abducted Olivia must’ve had use of a car. If police have seen CCTV and all they’ve picked up is me in Olivia’s garden days beforehand, then that means nothing.’
‘That’s the only thing they’ve divulged, Jen. You know they aren’t going to tell people everything.’
‘If they had more, they’d have arrested me.’
Mark looks thoughtful for a moment, his face relaxing. ‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘I’m experiencing more blackouts due to stress, love.’ I go up to Mark and wrap my arms around his middle, laying my face against his chest. ‘If you help me, stop being so accusatory, I might stop having them. Then you won’t need to worry about the kids.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. He circles his fingertips in my hair, then kisses the top of my head.
‘Can we go back to bed, now, please?’ I ask. Mark gives an awkward half-smile. For now, I think I’ve brought him around. Planted the seed of doubt into his mind, made him feel guilty for even suggesting I had something to do with Olivia’s abduction. The similarities between the gaslighting my mother used and what I’m doing now dawn on me. Am I like her? I can’t worry about that now, though – and besides, I may need to use these tactics again because his suspicions of me will no doubt resurface. He’s clearly questioning so much more than he’s done before. How much time do I have? As we pass the front door, the illumination of the streetlamp snakes through the glass, spreading a beam of light up the first few stairs. ‘Our guiding light,’ I say.
Mark stops dead, his head turning towards the door. I feel his arm loosen from around my shoulders and he takes a step away from me. I freeze. What’s he doing?
‘Come on, love,’ I say, reaching out to him. ‘The kids will be up soon and we’ll feel like crap. Let’s grab a couple of hours at least before facing the day ahead.’
He hesitates, paused between me and the front door.
‘Sure,’ he says, finally. He takes a big breath in, and he comes back to the foot of the stairs. He looks into my eyes for a split second before taking my hand, and we go back to bed.