~
Porlock is a long way from Grasmere and I feel safe here. For a while. But by Friday afternoon, the familiar knot in my stomach is back. The police still haven’t located Alex. DC Bryant has informed me that according to Alex’s colleagues, Alex had taken a few days off work and wasn’t away on business at all. No one seems to know where he is.
I tell myself that he’s due home today and he’ll be arrested then.
The phone rings and interrupts my thoughts. I hold my breath while Dad answers it.
‘It’s the police,’ Dad says, and I breathe out. For a second, I thought it might be Alex.
‘Nigel Bryant here,’ the detective constable says. ‘Nothing to tell you, really, but I wanted to touch base. As you know, we’re working with the Cumbria Constabulary and they found evidence of unlawful imprisonment at your house when they went there the day before yesterday.’
‘The handcuffs,’ I offer.
‘Yes. Obviously, there will be a full investigation now. My colleagues in the Lake District will continue to drive by both Mrs Riley’s house and Mr Riley’s house until your husband shows up. Then he’ll be taken into police custody.’
This is nothing new, but the uneasiness in my tummy begins to lift.
‘He’s supposed to come home sometime today,’ I say, although we’ve already been over this, too. ‘He’ll probably go to his mother’s first. That’s where he thinks Chloe is.’
‘Mrs Riley is cooperating with us, Ms Best.’
DC Bryant continues to talk to me, but I listen with only half an ear, thinking about Sandy, and hoping this will all be over soon. Then the police officer mentions something that grabs my attention.
‘My colleague in Cumbria also said that a friend of yours was at the house today.’
‘Which house?’
‘The Old Vicarage. A Nicola Todd? You mentioned her in your statement.’
‘Yes. What was she doing there?’
‘She said she was picking up a few things.’
‘What things?’
‘I don’t know. Apparently she said that would be OK with you?’
‘Um … yes.’ I clear my throat and try to sound more convincing. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘I think my colleague only brought it up because, well … I don’t know why he told me, actually. I think they’ve done what they need to do inside, but they weren’t expecting anyone to enter the house except your husband. She was just leaving with her mother when my colleagues arrived.’
‘Her mother?’
‘Apparently,’ Bryant repeats.
When the police officer ends the call, I’m left feeling confused. I have no idea why Nikki would go round to my house with her mother or what she would take. The only things that belong to her, as far as I can see, are some of the medals and the book she gave Alex that I found in the cardboard box.
I try to calm myself down. I’m sure Nikki would have a perfectly good explanation for this if I asked her. I would call her, but of course I haven’t got her number – it’s in my mobile. I decide to email her. I have her email address thanks to the photos she sent me of my face.
By the next morning, I’m consumed with paranoia. Nikki hasn’t replied to my email and I don’t know why. I can’t imagine what she was doing at the Old Vicarage.
But, more importantly, the police haven’t arrested Alex. They still don’t know where he is. I’m convinced he found out somehow that I escaped from my prison in the nursery. His mother might have warned him after all, or maybe he drove by the Old Vicarage and saw something that raised his suspicions – Nikki and I left the gate open, I remember, although it may have been closed since then, or perhaps he spotted a police car or Nikki’s car.
Alex will come after me now, I’m certain of that. He won’t let me get away. I don’t know where he is, but he’ll know where I am. Where else would I be? This is the very first place he’ll look. My mother-in-law’s words echo in my mind: Make sure the police find him before he finds you.
DC Bryant has promised to let me know as soon as he hears anything. He says he will send a patrol car round periodically to check on Dad’s house as a precaution. Dad has also tried to reassure me, saying that the police in Cumbria have probably got him and if we haven’t heard anything yet, it’s simply because it’s the weekend.
I try to relax under the hot jet of the shower, savouring the homely mess of Dad’s bathroom. It’s quite a contrast with the showroom neatness of the sparkling en suite bathroom at the Old Vicarage, where Alex lines up his bottles according to size and keeps everything in its place.
It’s as I’m looking among the bottles on the windowsill for the shower gel that I spot it. I gasp. It’s the make Alex always buys because it contains no parabens or allergens. A memory replays in my head – Alex waving an identical bottle to this one in my face, accusing me of switching his body wash deliberately to bring him out in a rash.
Alex has been in the house. He has been in the bathroom. He’s playing tricks on me.
I don’t remember getting out of the shower or getting dressed. The next thing I know, my dad is holding me as I sit on the floor in Julie’s room, shaking and gulping for air.
‘Breathe in,’ he says, rubbing my back. ‘Breathe out.’
I realise that it was my father’s voice in my head, helping me control my breathing, every time I was overcome with anxiety. Breathe in, breathe out. These are the words I’ve been repeating to myself whenever it has felt like my lungs are shrinking. A mantra I’d stored in my memory, but that wasn’t meant for me to begin with.
This is how my dad used to calm my mum down, I remember now, when she had panic attacks after losing Louisa. I recall peeping round the bedroom door and seeing him sitting on his daughter’s bed as his wife lay in it, unable to face life for a while, but ready to embrace death. The cancer didn’t grant her that wish until a few years later.
Damn! I thought I was done with the panic attacks. The memory of my mother doesn’t help. But I’m determined not to let Alex beat me and I focus on my breathing and shut out everything except my dad’s voice.
When I’ve finally recovered, I ask him about the shower gel.
‘I probably bought it when I did the shopping,’ he says. ‘There was some shampoo and stuff I don’t usually buy on special offer at Tesco’s last week.’
A false alarm, then. All that for nothing. Feeling annoyed with myself, I let out a huge sigh of relief.
‘Speaking of which,’ my father says, ‘we need to get some shopping in. Do you want to come with me?’
I don’t, but I don’t want to be alone, so the three of us go to Tesco’s, then come back and make lunch. I appreciate spending time with Dad and I can see Chloe loves being around him, too. I think having us around is taking Dad’s mind off Jet a bit.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I remember I wanted to ring Hannah to tell her I can’t make it for dinner. I realise I don’t have her mobile number and I don’t think I ever learnt Kevin’s by heart. Looking at my watch, I think I should still be able to get hold of Hannah at the salon, but it seems a bit late now and a bit rude. Both she and Kevin work on Saturdays so they will have got organised before now for this evening. I’m going to have to go.
So later that evening, I borrow Dad’s car and drive to Hannah and Kevin’s. After strapping Chloe in her carrycot in the back seat, I follow the satnav instructions to Hopcott Terrace, stopping just outside Minehead to buy chocolates and flowers from a petrol station.
The whole way there, I wonder what Kevin wants to tell me. The only thing I can come up with is that he must have asked Hannah to marry him, but I don’t know why she couldn’t have told me that herself.
I find their house easily enough. Hannah opens the door.
‘Hi, come in. We’re so glad you could make it.’
Her delighted tone is affected. I know Hannah well, or I used to, and I can tell she’s feeling as awkward as I am. I follow her into the kitchen and sit down to tend to Chloe while Hannah opens the oven, peers inside and then closes it again. I watch as she undoes her bun, winds up her hair and pins it up again. It doesn’t look any different to me.
‘I’ll show you around in a minute if you like.’
Fortunately, she seems to forget about this idea, or maybe she just thinks the better of it. I don’t get the guided tour in the end anyway. I look around the kitchen. Kevin collects those rectangular magnets you can buy in tourist traps all over the world and clearly he still uses them to stick important notes and business cards to the fridge. Whenever we went abroad, he bought one. Paris, Lyon, Rome, Florence, Madrid … So many memories. There’s a new one, I notice. Prague. We always talked of going there. He must have gone with Hannah.
Kevin appears in the kitchen doorway. Chloe is on my lap, and I’m grateful for that as it saves me from having to get up and greet him. I don’t know what the correct etiquette is for greeting your ex in his home when you’ve been invited for a meal. His damp fair hair tells me he has just taken a shower, the first thing he always did when he got in from work.
‘Hi, Kaitlyn. I was a bit later than I’d hoped getting home,’ he says, by way of an apology. ‘We’re having problems with the foundations for that new sports complex up the road because of the sloping site and bad drainage. It’s all turning out to be more complicated than we’d anticipated.’
He’s babbling and I can see he’s not at ease with me being here. I try to show an interest in his work, though, as that’s a topic we’re safe with. But there are lots of uncomfortable silences even before we take our seats in the dining area at the table Kevin and I chose a lifetime ago in a furniture shop in Taunton.
Throughout the meal, I find myself stealing glances at Hannah’s tummy, trying to work out if she could be pregnant. Hannah and I only have one glass of wine each. If Hannah had got drunk, I’d have known she wasn’t pregnant, but with one glass I can’t be sure. The fact she hasn’t drunk much doesn’t mean anything, either, as she rarely overdoes it on the alcohol.
I would certainly have downed more wine this evening if I hadn’t been driving. A lot more. If nothing else, to help the conversation flow more easily. After all, what is there to talk about? We seem to have the choice between Hannah and Kevin’s plans for the future or the events leading up to me leaving Alex and coming back down to Somerset.
Chloe is on the floor in her car seat next to the dining table, studying a toy that Dad bought in Tesco’s that stretches across the handles of her seat. I notice Kevin gaze at her several times while we’re eating. He has what I can only interpret as a longing expression on his face. Perhaps he’s broody.
When Hannah has polished off the last of her dinner, she asks if she can hold Chloe. Maybe I’m right and they are expecting a baby. Hannah coos away to her while Kevin clears the plates and I sit watching Hannah with Chloe, keen to get away and head back to Dad’s.
Kevin and Hannah wait until we’re having coffee after the meal before they drop their bombshell.
‘Kaitlyn, Hannah and I have something to tell you,’ Kevin begins with his broad Somerset inflections. Kevin went to the local comp whereas at my school we all spoke with plummy accents. Even now his voice is like music to my ears.
He pauses and I can hear a drum roll in my head. I get ready to offer my sincerest congratulations with a contrived look of joy.
But when he says it, I’m dumbfounded.
‘What?’
He repeats, but I can’t take it in. To say this gives me pause for thought would be a huge understatement. It takes me a few seconds, but the first thing that springs to my mind is, I have no connection whatsoever to Alex now. The shock becomes infused with a rush of relief.
‘But how do you know? Are you sure?’ I try to think back to October, when Alex came to Exeter and I slept over at his hotel. It’s possible, I suppose.
‘Do you remember when you came to see me at work a few weeks ago?’ Hannah says. She doesn’t wait for me to reply. ‘I pulled a hair from Chloe’s head.’
I remember Hannah holding Chloe after cutting my hair. Chloe suddenly started screaming for no reason. Well, for no reason I could see at the time. It was the first time she’d screamed like that since we left Grasmere and she wasn’t being drugged by Alex anymore. Now I know the reason. Hannah pulled some of her hair out.
‘I got the hair tested,’ Hannah continues. ‘You know, DNA? You can send it off––’
‘There’s no doubt,’ Kevin interrupts. ‘Chloe is mine.’
‘Oh God. Oh, Kevin, I am so sorry.’ I put my head in my hands with my elbows on the dining room table. ‘It’s just that you and I had been trying to have a baby for so long with no result, I just assumed … It never occurred to me …’
The next half an hour or so goes by in a daze. I think it’s Hannah who suggests I should go home and let it sink in. I’m homeless at the moment, but I don’t say that.
As I’m leaving, I try to ask Hannah something. ‘But how did you …?’ What I really want to know is how it crossed Hannah’s mind that Chloe might be Kevin’s when it didn’t cross mine. I can’t finish the question, but Hannah has understood.
‘Kevin said he never saw it coming. You leaving him, I mean. He confided in me before we … as a friend. At the time he said he hadn’t stopped loving you and it wasn’t like you were no longer sleeping together or anything. I don’t think he meant to open up as much as he did. We’d been drinking wine that evening. But it was something I couldn’t forget afterwards. And then, well, Kaitlyn, Chloe’s got blonde hair. Like Kevin’s.’
‘Yes, but Alex was fair when he was a baby.’
She shrugs. ‘I didn’t know that,’ she says.
‘And my dad was fair-haired. Before he went bald.’
‘I know. I remember.’ She shrugs again. ‘I wasn’t sure. It was a hunch, I suppose. But I needed to know.’
Hannah and I are standing on the doorstep. Kevin has stayed inside, ostensibly to finish clearing the table. I’ve never known him not to see any of our guests off as they were leaving. He would always wave until they’d driven off and were out of sight. But I expect he’s as confused as I am.
‘And Kevin? Was he the one who––?’
‘No. It never entered his head. I didn’t tell him until the results came back.’
‘How long have you known?’
‘A couple of days,’ she says.
That explains the strange look she gave me when I turned up at the salon. And it explains why Kevin needs to be alone with his thoughts right now.
‘Will you call us in a few days’ time?’ Hannah says. My cue to leave. ‘When you’ve had a chance to get your head round this?’
I can feel myself nodding.
She gives me a brief hug, then, and I can smell the fruity scent of her hair. I’ve missed you, I think, but there’s a lot to be sorted out and, although I’m going to be linked to Hannah through Kevin and Chloe now, I’m not sure if we’ll ever be friends again. I’d like us to be, though. One day.
I drive to the promenade and fit Chloe’s car seat onto the chassis. Then I walk. When the Esplanade becomes a path that leads round the clifftop, it becomes too tricky for the buggy, so I turn around and walk the other way. Then, sitting down on a bench on the Esplanade, I close my eyes and inhale the salt air.
I’m not sure what to make of this. Opening my eyes, I look out across the Bristol Channel at the lights along the Welsh coast and I let my feelings churn every which way in my mind before trying to identify them.
Relief. I’m relieved that Chloe no longer connects me to Alex. I’m married to him, but that can be undone. When we’re divorced, there will be no reason whatsoever for him and me to stay in touch. I’ll be free.
Guilty. I have messed up – badly. And I’m going to have to put this right. I can’t turn back time or rewrite the past. I can’t erase what I’ve done. But I can use a fresh page to write my future. And Chloe’s future.
Nostalgic. I sigh, thinking of Kevin. Our relationship was one of missed chances and broken dreams. We were always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe in the right place at the wrong time. After all, we made Chloe, and I wouldn’t change that. Not for the world. But Kevin and I had run our course. There’s no going back for us, either. Only forwards.
Stupid. I can’t believe Hannah worked out that Kevin could be Chloe’s father when I had no inkling of that myself.
I’m wrenched from my thoughts, suddenly aware of the little hairs on the back of my neck prickling. Someone is watching me. I whip my head round and look behind me, but although there are a few people about, no one seems to be paying any attention to me.
I can’t shake that impression, though, the feeling I’m being observed, so I get up and hurriedly wheel Chloe’s pushchair along the Esplanade, past Butlins on the opposite side of the road and on towards the car park.
It takes me less than five minutes to reach Dad’s car and strap in Chloe’s infant seat. I whirl around every few steps, convinced I’m being followed. As soon as I’ve folded the chassis down and shut it in the boot, I jump in the car and press the button for the central locking.
It takes me less than fifteen minutes to drive back to Dad’s. Despite my grip on the steering wheel, my hands are still shaking as I drive past the sign for Porlock. I keep looking in the rear-view mirror, but there are no headlights behind me. Another false alarm.
As I pull into Dad’s road, I can see there’s a car in front of his drive, where he usually parks. Because it’s dark and the streetlights are dim, it takes me a few seconds to recognise it. When I do, I feel like my world has tipped on its side. I can’t see straight or think straight. For a while, time seems to stand still, at an odd angle. Then my brain kicks in.
It should be in the driveway of the Old Vicarage. What’s it doing here? Who drove it here from Grasmere? These questions tear through my head, but the answer is already racing after them. Alex is here. My first instinct is to drive off. Not used to the clutch on Dad’s car, I stall it as I turn it around in the road. Then panic takes hold of me as though someone is gripping my throat. Dad! I can’t leave Dad!
I park behind the red Citroën. There doesn’t seem to be anyone in it. He’s in the house. Getting out of Dad’s car on wobbly legs, I check the registration plate on the red car. It’s definitely my car. Clutching the handle of Chloe’s car seat with a sleeping Chloe strapped in it, I creep up the drive to Dad’s house. My eyes dart all over the place. I feel utterly terrified and yet faintly ridiculous at the same time. I open the front door as quietly as I can, but, as always, it sticks a little and I know I’ll have been heard.
‘Kaitlyn, is that you?’ My dad’s voice sounds muffled. I picture him in the sitting room, bound to a chair. ‘We’ve got visitors.’
‘Kaitlyn! Chloe!’ a familiar voice calls out. ‘There’s someone here to meet you! Come and see!’