Ipswich
10th August: The night of the murder
Caroline
I don’t know why but I’m nervous about tonight, about babysitting little Eve again on my own. Even though I said I didn’t mind, even though I do want to help Jenny, I can’t stop my eyes from flicking to the clock every couple of minutes, as six o’clock draws closer and closer. I think it’s the thought of the night stretching ahead of us, just me and Eve, of all that responsibility. What if I drop her and she hits her head? What if I feed her the wrong thing? What if she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up?
I know I looked after her on that first night at Rick and Jenny’s, but that was different. I didn’t have time to worry about it, I didn’t have a choice. Whereas this time I’ve had all of today to obsess over it, all of yesterday too, ever since Jenny phoned and asked me for the favour.
‘Rick’s driving me mad,’ she’d hissed down the phone, her voice low, as though maybe he was in the next room. I don’t know why she didn’t just go upstairs – their house is big enough. There’s nowhere to have a private conversation in my flat, literally nowhere to go.
‘He’s distraught about his bloody mother, keeps saying he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she dies. I mean, Caro, she’s in her late seventies. He’s got me and Eve. And she’s a miserable old bag anyway, truth be told.’ She’d sighed heavily.
‘Well,’ I’d said, ‘some people are really close to their parents, Jen. And seventies isn’t that old.’ I think of my dad, rotting away in the house in Stowmarket, unable to talk about anything he’s feeling, and my mother, buried six feet under in the local churchyard. Some people, I said. Not everyone. Not me.
‘I know, I know. I suppose it’s because I never have been, I can’t understand it. I’m a bitch, I already know, you don’t have to tell me.’ She gave a little laugh. I gripped the phone more tightly.
‘Anyway, it was lovely to see you the other night. We’re so grateful to you for staying and watching Eve.’
There was a pause, and I knew what was coming.
‘We were wondering – we’ve got to go to the hospital again, tomorrow night, they’re running some tests and Rick wants to be there. I said he should go on his own but – I don’t know, he wants me with him, I guess. Says hospitals freak him out.’ I could almost feel her rolling her eyes down the phone.
‘Is there any way – and do say no if you want to, Caro – that you might take Eve for the night again, babysit her for us? I mean, not for the whole night, of course not, just for a few hours? Say two or three? Maybe an eensy-weensy bit longer?’
I’d hesitated, thinking of that moment alone with her in the bedroom, of the beat of my heart in the darkness.
‘I could bring her over to you!’ she’d said quickly, and I could sense the pleading tone in her voice. ‘She’d be so easy, I promise, I’d make sure she had everything with her, everything she needs, all you’d need to do would be to pop her in the cot and check on her every now and then. You probably wouldn’t even need to change her nappy! Well, not unless it got really bad. I’d bring you wine as a thank you! Good wine, not that cheap stuff we used to drink at uni! What do you say?’
‘OK,’ I’d said, feeling the fizz of excitement go through me even as my stomach began to fill with dread, ‘OK, sure. I’ll do it. I’d like to.’ Immediately, I wondered whether I’d made the right decision, but I pushed the thought away, focused on what Jenny was saying, her gushing words of relief.
‘Amazing! God, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you, Caro. Honestly. Hey, I thought you were really good with her the other night.’
I snorted. ‘I didn’t do anything, Jen – she was asleep the whole time.’
‘Well, I know, but often with new people she gets really agitated, wakes up. It’s as if she can sense them in the house! But she was good as gold, you must have been a calming presence.’
It was the next words that got to me.
‘You’ll make a good mother some day, Caro. You know that, don’t you?’
Those words went round and around in my head for ages.
Anyway, so now I’m sitting watching the clock tick towards six, having a very small glass of red wine as I wait for Jenny and Eve to arrive. I’ll brush my teeth before they get here – I don’t want Jenny to worry. My phone buzzes and I reach for it; ever since the other day I’ve been scared of getting another of those creepy messages, telling me they know what I’m doing. But there’s only been the one.
Speak of the devil.
My family and I are going to France tomorrow. When I get back, I think it’s best we don’t speak any more. Please, stop calling me. Take care of yourself.
My heart gives a giant lurch because it’s him, it’s him in my phone, sending me a cruel little message before he jets off with his wife and daughter. I stare at the words, not quite believing them. Before I can stop myself, I am typing out a reply, my fingers hitting the keys too hard, making typos because I’m writing so quickly.
I don’t send the reply; I type until I cannot type any more and then I screenshot it all, all the things I want to say to him, and then I delete the text. The cursor blinks at me knowingly. It’s healthy, I think to myself, what I’ve just done is healthy. I’ve written down my feelings, all the things I want to say, but I haven’t inflicted them on anyone else. I haven’t sent the message. Good girl, I think.
I read about that trick in an online therapy thread. Some people said you’re meant to actually write a letter, but surely a text is just as good.
The worst part, though, is his final line: take care of yourself. So patronising. So estranged.
I have been calling him, I think I may as well admit that now. Not a lot. Not as much as that message makes out. But in the last week, the week since I saw Jenny, I have a few times. I think it was seeing her and Rick, and Eve of course. It reminded me of what I’d lost. Or of what I’d never really had. And it reminded me of what he did to me. It made me angry. So I rang him, just a couple of times, usually late at night. He picked up only once, hissed at me down the phone. I was going to tell him about the text message, the threatening one telling me to keep away. But our conversation never really got going.
‘Is your wife there?’ I said, and that was when he hung up. I thought about going round to his house, forcing him to listen to me, though I don’t know quite what I wanted to say. I even thought about taking Eve with me, holding her on my hip, showing him what a good mother I could have been. Anyway, in the end I didn’t do either of those things, I just stared at my phone for a really long time after he’d hung up, reading and re-reading the message that I didn’t send.
There’s a knocking at the door and with a start I realise I’ve lost track of the time – it’s five to six and Jenny is here with Eve. Well, at least it’s a distraction. A focus.
I can’t wait to see Eve.
I get up, and go to open the door, realising too late that I haven’t brushed my teeth. Hopefully she won’t come close enough to smell the wine on my breath. I might have another one once Eve is down to sleep.