‘Have you thought about what I said?’ Michael asked afterwards. ‘Because I was serious, you know. Even though I know it’s complicated. Come away with me. We can start again elsewhere and no one needs to know it’s us.’
‘That’s a lovely fantasy,’ I told him.
We were still wrapped together, our bodies sticky with sweat.
‘It doesn’t just have to be a fantasy, Rachel. I know it sounds all romantic and corny, but let me take you away from all this. To somewhere safe. I’ve got some savings. I can keep us afloat until I find more work. That’s the thing with being a carpenter, I have skills and I can travel with them. You can work anywhere. Teach. English or creative writing, or take that time out – you always wanted to write a book. But most of all, just be away from this, from Paul and from this psychopath.’
As pretty as that picture was, it wasn’t realistic. Real life was different. What kind of mother would I be to leave my children in the midst of such trauma? How selfish would I be just to walk away? Didn’t what Paul and I had – what we’d shared for seventeen years now – didn’t that deserve another chance at least?
And what if the killer didn’t stop just because I was gone – if he turned his attention solely to Julie, or to my girls?
‘I have children,’ I said. ‘You know that. I can’t walk out on them. Especially not now, when they’re both so scared. Beth’s at a vulnerable age. Molly’s just a baby still. I can’t walk out. I’ve thought about it and little else over the last twenty-four hours, Michael, and I can’t reconcile with that. No matter what I feel.’
I stroked his face as I spoke, hoped he could see that losing him was far from easy for me, either. Tears welled in my eyes.
He looked at me for a moment, his expression that of someone truly dejected.
‘But just now? What was that? If you didn’t want to be with me …’ He pulled back as I pushed myself to sitting.
I blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just lost the run of myself when I saw you. It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you. I do. You know I do. But it’s more complicated than that.’
‘It doesn’t have to be. Things are only ever as complicated as you make them. You deserve to be happy, you know. We deserve to be happy. You deserve not to have to watch your back. To not have to worry about every blue car that drives past you or whoever sends you flowers. You should be able to live a normal life. You should be able to live an extraordinary life. To be loved extraordinarily.’
I let his words sink in for a moment. Tried to find a truth in them that was more important than the truth of my responsibilities to my family and my love for them. A love that was extraordinary in its own way.
‘That may be the case,’ I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head.
It was startling how soon my skin cooled without the weight of him on me. How my body missed his. I put my hand to his cheek, tilted his head so he was looking directly in my eyes.
‘But I can’t put my happiness above that of my girls. I don’t think I could ever be happy without them. My marriage may have its difficulties, and it may well be over in all but name, but we have to try for them at least. I’m so scared that there are times when I feel I can’t breathe. But my girls, they didn’t do anything to deserve me suddenly disappearing from their lives. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in this world, but there’s one thing I know I’ve done right. I’ve been a good mother. A really loving mother. I can’t screw that up, even if it means …’
He stared straight ahead, ran his fingers through his hair.
‘This is messed up, isn’t it?’ he said.
I nodded.
It was more than messed up.
‘But you understand? What kind of a person would I be to turn my back on my own children? Surely they’d see it as a rejection of them.’
‘So you’d rather reject me?’ he asked, his gaze still turned from mine.
‘It’s not like that,’ I said. ‘You know I care for you.’
My voice was shaky now. I didn’t want to hurt him. He’d shown me nothing but kindness, and friendship and love.
‘Care for me? When I love you? You just “care” for me?’
There was anger in his voice now. I couldn’t blame him. I felt wretched. I shouldn’t have come here. I certainly shouldn’t have had sex with him.
‘Michael, let’s not make this harder than it already is,’ I said, shuffling to move out of the car.
He climbed backwards, stood in the warm evening sunshine. His clothes dishevelled. His hair messy. Sunlight shining directly on him. He was simply stunning and this, I knew, would break my heart.
‘I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I hurt them,’ I repeated. ‘When I became a mother I took on that responsibility. That I’d never hurt them. A mother doesn’t do that,’ I said, standing beside him.
He moved away from me and I followed.
He sniffed. Kicked at the parched ground beneath his feet, sending small clouds of dust billowing into the air.
‘You know what, Rachel. You live in a very privileged world. Some mothers do, you know. Some mothers reject their children, no matter what their children do. That’s what real life is like. It’s not all sunshine and roses and happy families.’
‘You’re telling me life isn’t just all sunshine and roses less than a week after my best friend was murdered? A year after my mother died much too young from a brutal disease? Do you think I don’t fucking know that life is horrific?’
I was angry then. I knew he was hurting. It was written all over his face, but how dare he accuse me of coming from a life of privilege! Of living in some cosseted world where people didn’t get hurt! I knew people did. I knew people suffered terrible, awful things. I knew it and it made me want to scream at him.
He was glaring at me, defiant. Like a child himself, about to throw a tantrum. It made me realise just how little I really knew him. It had just been a fantasy. Madness. None of it had been real life.
I shook my head. I had nothing more to say. I just wanted to go home.
‘You’re as selfish as you ever were, Rachel!’ he spat. ‘A spoiled, stuck-up bitch who doesn’t care who you hurt. You only think you know horror. I’ve seen it,’ he said. ‘I’ve caused it. And it was all that she deserved. Another stuck-up bitch. Oh! her face, Rachel, when she realised. It was almost as priceless as yours is now …’