The Second Wife Page 14

  There’s only so much I can occupy myself with – my new card hasn’t arrived from the bank yet and I only have small change on me, and it isn’t the sort of day to sit outside and soak up the atmosphere. The sky is bright but it’s the kind of brightness that almost hurts, light stabbing coldly down through the autumnal air. By lunchtime I’m bored and restless, and missing Alex. Leaning back against the iron railings flanking the road, I give him a call. He answers almost at once, his tone guarded and low, as if he’s trying not to be heard.

  ‘Where are you?’ I ask without preamble. ‘I’m sorry about this morning. I just needed a bit of space.’ It’s a cliché and it isn’t even true. I thought I needed space, but all it’s done is unsettle me.

  A brief pause. ‘I’m at the office. I came in to help the guys out with something.’

  I almost laugh; it’s typical of Alex to get on with the job, even when his life is falling apart around him. ‘Can you take a lunch break? I’m not far from you, I could be there in ten minutes.’

  He exhales before saying OK. I can tell he’s still aggrieved at my disappearance, and the knowledge makes me walk faster, head down, anxiety thudding through my body with every step I take. The last thing I want is for him to be angry with me. I’d never show it, but so much of what I do and say is geared around him – trying to make him happy, trying to make his life perfect – that when things go off track it scares me.

  When I reach the office I pull out my phone to call him again, but then I see he’s already at the top of the stairs, jogging down towards me. As he opens the door, a middle-aged woman is approaching, ducking into the building, and when she sees us she does a double take. ‘Alex,’ she says, ‘are you OK? I heard about what happened. I didn’t think you’d be in so soon.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Alex says briskly. ‘Thanks. I’ll be in and out for a few days.’

  The woman waits with eyebrows raised, her face awash with concern; clearly she’s expecting or hoping for more, but Alex just nods tightly and moves on past, placing his hand on my back to guide me with him along the street. ‘Great,’ he says under his breath as we go. ‘Now it’ll be all over the office. That’s my afternoon’s work screwed. I might as well not go back.’

  ‘It doesn’t really matter though right now, does it?’ I say, struggling to keep up. ‘About work.’

  He slows his steps for a moment, glances at me and sighs. ‘I suppose not.’ We walk in silence for a little longer, lost in our own thoughts. ‘I probably wouldn’t have gone back anyway,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll need to go back to the hospital. I was just enjoying it for a bit. You know, being normal.’

  I nod, understanding. ‘I get it, though it did surprise me. You didn’t tell me you were thinking of going to the office.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t get much chance, did I?’ he points out. ‘You’d upped and left.’

  ‘At least I left a note.’ This is starting to sound like the beginning of an argument, and I quickly link my fingers through his. He squeezes them a little, letting me know that he too doesn’t want to go down that road. It’s a complex game we play, I think, this kind of cut and thrust; the balance of words and actions, everything open to interpretation and nothing entirely unambiguous. It’s a disturbing enough thought to keep me quiet on the way down to the seafront, and Alex seems content to walk in silence.

  It’s only when we’ve settled ourselves on one of the wrought-iron benches that flank the pier, looking out to sea, that I turn to face him, placing my hands lightly on to his knees. ‘I am sorry. I know this is a terrible time for me to have added to your stress, and I know you must feel like I’ve lied to you.’

  ‘That’s because you have,’ he says. His voice is mild, but there’s a confrontational bluntness to the words.

  ‘I know,’ I say slowly. ‘All I can say is that it does feel like another life. Genuinely. Part of the reason I never told you before was that it just didn’t feel relevant. It has nothing to do with who I am now. It’s dead and gone.’ I’ve never really set it out like this before, even to myself, but what I’m saying is true. When I try and put myself back there, in those days, the memories have the quality of dreams.

  ‘But is that really true?’ Alex asks. ‘Look, I went to see Jade early this morning. She told me some more about the man she saw in the house, and I believe it happened. And from what she says to me, it isn’t the first time he’s been hanging around.’

  ‘What?’ I’m jolted. ‘She’s seen him before?’

  ‘That’s right. Several times, apparently.’

  I take a breath, taking this in. It’s a shock, but almost immediately it starts to feel inevitable. Of course, she’s seen this man before. It was naive of me to think otherwise.

  ‘We need to take what Jade is saying seriously,’ Alex says. ‘I know this is frightening, but you need to accept that there probably was someone in the house that night. You didn’t lock the back door, did you?’

  Mutely, I shake my head. The reality is that I rarely lock the back door when Alex is out; he’s been known to forget his key on nights out and our street is quiet. ‘Don’t be angry.’

  ‘I’m not. But we need to think about what this means.’

  For a moment I glimpse something in the corner of my mind’s eye; the idea of a man’s silhouette, moving fast and quietly along the back wall, coming inside while I’m sleeping, intent on setting the house ablaze. I can see why the thought is terrifying, and why it might have drained the colours from my husband’s cheeks, but I can’t make it feel real.

  Alex is watching me closely. ‘Natalie, I don’t think I have any enemies. I’ve been racking my brains for anyone who might have a grudge against me, and there’s nothing, nothing that could be anywhere near big enough to justify this. But from what you told me last night, I get the sense that a lot has gone on in your past that I don’t know about. I have to ask, is there anyone who might resent you?’

  I allow a little bark of laughter to escape, short and bitter. ‘Plenty. They were good at holding a grudge, my sister’s friends.’

  ‘Well, you need to be aware of this, then,’ Alex says. ‘Jade said this man was fairly short, cropped white-blond hair, broad shouldered. And that he had a kind of malleable face – that isn’t the word she used, I can’t remember exactly what she said, but that’s what I got from it. Does that sound like anyone you know?’

  I’m not sure what I should reply, but I find that speaking is difficult in any case. It’s the precision of the picture he’s painted, I think, that has knocked the breath from my body. From that description, anyone who knew Dominic Westwood would recognize him. I can see his face in front of me as clear as day.

  ‘Maybe,’ I manage. ‘There was a guy … it sounds like him. He cared about loyalty, more than most of the others, I think. And he was probably infatuated with Sadie, too, which wouldn’t help.’

  ‘Really?’ Alex says. He looks surprised, as if readjusting a mental picture.

  ‘Most people were,’ I say, and then I can’t resist adding, ‘You probably would have been, too.’

  Alex laughs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He frowns in amusement, but I keep staring at him steadily, and he seems to realize that I want him to take this seriously. ‘Look, Natalie,’ he says. ‘I love you. Nothing that’s happened here has changed that. I’m not interested in anyone else, and I wouldn’t be even if she was the most beautiful woman on earth. Although, of course, that’s you.’ It’s a cheesy line, designed to make me smile along with him, and I do, but then his expression straightens again. ‘Look, you know we’re going to have to talk to the police about this. If you think you know who this guy is, we need to inform them.’

  Even the thought of involving the police brings a sour, nauseous taste to my mouth, but I know I’ll never be able to make him understand. To Alex, the police are reliable and kindly, the obvious source of support in times of trouble, people who will help you and always do the right thing. I’ve learned the hard way that
this isn’t always true.

  ‘I know,’ I say, ‘but I’d rather wait a bit longer at least, see if their investigation turns anything up. We don’t actually have any proof he’s involved. And it would be so much better if they found something beyond our say-so that actually tied back to him which they could use as evidence, something concrete and unarguable.’

  ‘What difference would that make?’ Alex asks, clearly exasperated. ‘I mean, obviously it would be easier to convict him then, but why does that mean we shouldn’t say anything now?’

  ‘Because if they find him and speak to him on the back of no hard evidence, then he’ll know that I’ve tipped them off.’ I’m aware my voice sounds harsh and unfriendly, and I make an effort to soften it. ‘Look, the bottom line is that we’re safe for now. We’re in the hotel, and Jade is in the hospital. Nothing’s going to happen while we’re all being looked after. Just give me a couple of days, please, just to get my head round this, because if we do go to the police, I’m going to have to talk about a lot of stuff that I’ve spent the past God knows how many years not talking about. It isn’t easy for me, Alex.’ Something inside me twists. I wish I could cry, but my eyes are achingly dry.

  Alex must sense my distress, because he puts an arm round me and pulls me in towards him, letting me press my face against his chest. I feel his breath rise and fall in a heavy sigh, as if he’s trying to weigh up what I’ve said, but before he has a chance to speak the shrill melody of his ring-tone leaps into life. He moves away from me, looking at the screen, and I see that it’s the hospital.

  ‘Yes?’ he says sharply. ‘Is everything all right with Jade?’ There’s a pause, and I try to read his face, which isn’t crumpling in despair, but nor is it lifting with relief. ‘Well, of course,’ he says after a short while. ‘I’ll come down straight away. Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ I ask as soon as he’s hung up.

  He half nods. ‘Physically, she’s OK. But the doctor tells me that emotionally she seems troubled. She won’t tell them what’s wrong. It could just be delayed shock, of course. In any case, I’ll need to get down there.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ I ask, then wish I hadn’t.

  He looks at me a little awkwardly, his eyes meeting mine for a beat before he glances away. ‘You could, of course, but maybe it’d be best if I go alone for now. I’ll call you, let you know what’s happened.’ He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead, clearly already preoccupied elsewhere. It’s as if the conversation we’ve just had hasn’t happened; it’s been superseded, blown out of the water.

  I watch him go, and I try not to let it sting. It makes sense that he’d want to see her alone first. He’s her father, after all. I think of all the times I’ve seen them together; the silent bond of intimacy that flows between them like a river, the automatic understanding of each other. From what I can tell, they don’t talk much about their feelings, but they’re synchronized somehow. They seem to know what the other needs at any given time, a knowledge faster than thought or reason. Little things. A cup of tea, a carefully chosen DVD. A spontaneous walk on the beach, a quiet night in. I’ve tried to second-guess these little rituals, but there’s no pattern to them.

  My eyes are still on his departing back, but he’s walking fast, reducing himself to a pinprick so I’m no longer sure if I’m still watching him at all. This just confirms what I already thought. He doesn’t trust me to do or say the right thing, not like he would have trusted her mother. The thought sends a wave of sadness sweeping over me. The past few days are digging everything up, uncovering the bones of our family and throwing them into stark relief, and more than ever before it feels as if everything we’ve built together is more tenuous than I’d thought, and dangerously at risk of collapsing.

  Alex

  September 2017

  THE BLUE CURTAINS are pulled round the little cubicle where Jade’s bed stands, and as I approach I can hear the sound of muffled sobbing, an unsteady, relentless sound. Jade is lying awkwardly on her side, her face turned and pressed into the pillow. Her shoulders are shaking with the effort of repressing her misery, and I’m briefly pulled back to that time nine years ago – the five-year-old sobbing for her mother. I don’t remember having seen her quite like this since those days.

  Sitting down beside the bed, I reach across and gently place the flat of my hand on the back of her neck, stroking it. There’s no jolt of surprise. She knows I’m there, but it takes at least another minute for her to lift her face from the pillow and glance in my direction, her eyes red and sore from crying. I can tell from her expression that she can’t quite make up her mind whether she wants to pull me close or push me away. It’s a conflict I’ve seen played out in her so many times this past year or so, since the explosion of hormones that has hit her. I move my hand down to her shoulder and squeeze it lightly, trying to transmit a signal. ‘Sweetheart,’ I say, ‘what’s wrong?’

  She is silent, frowning ferociously, trying not to start crying again. ‘Is it the fire?’ I try. ‘Or something to do with what we were talking about last time? About the man?’ I’m guiltily aware of having done exactly what I didn’t want to do – of having pushed her too fast, tried to get her to relive things that she isn’t yet ready for.

  Jade shakes her head, her breath expelling in a long tremulous sigh. ‘You wouldn’t get it,’ she says eventually. ‘You’d say I’m being stupid, so there’s no point.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’ I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever dismissed her feelings like this, or if this is just casual teenage assumption. I don’t think I’ve ever called her stupid. ‘Whatever it is, it’s obviously important to you. And that makes it important to me.’

  Jade rolls her eyes faintly, but I can tell she’s thawing. ‘You say that,’ she says, ‘but …’ All of a sudden she breaks off, her eyes darting to where her mobile is briskly vibrating on her bedside table. She makes a lunge for it, but she’s forgotten her injuries, and she stops herself with a wince of pain. By the time she’s collected herself and reached across more cautiously, I’ve had time to look at the lit-up screen and see the start of the message that is revealed. The name at the top is ‘Jaxon’, and the message beneath is in almost indecipherable text speak: Alrite babe im sorry I no u wuldnt lie 2 me I just scared ur goin … I can’t read the rest of the message, but it’s enough.

  ‘Jade,’ I say steadily, ‘who on earth is this messaging you?’

  She moves restlessly and frowns again, and for a moment I think she’s going to swing towards defiance, but in the end she just droops her head down to her chest and rubs her eyes. She doesn’t have the stomach for a fight.

  ‘Just this boy,’ she says, trying to sound offhand and failing miserably. ‘We’ve been chatting for a few weeks online and, well, you know. We were going to meet up. But when I told him about the fire and that I was in hospital he didn’t believe me – he thought I was lying because I didn’t want to meet him after all.’

  I wait, wondering if there’s going to be an explosive twist in the tale, but it seems she’s finished. I can barely credit a few unkind words from a boy she barely knows with the power to trigger the outburst I’ve just witnessed, but I force myself to remember how it is for her, at her age – how these early infatuations can swell and suffocate everything else out. But I’d thought we had another couple of years, at least. ‘Jade,’ I say again, struggling to keep my voice level. ‘You’re fourteen. Fourteen. I know that’s not a baby, but it’s also far too young to be talking to strangers on social media and agreeing to meet up with them. I mean – you don’t even know anything about this boy. Only what he’s told you. You don’t even know what he looks like. I know you think you do,’ I continue, raising my voice as she opens her mouth to contradict me, ‘but in reality, you have no idea. Anyone can take a photo of a good-looking teenage boy off the Internet. He could be …’

  I stop, unsure of how much I want to say. I’ve always found it difficult, trying to
tread this line between instilling confidence and paranoia. I don’t want my daughter to be a shrinking violet, jumping at her own shadow, and there’s some sentimental part of me that still hates the idea of sullying her innocent acceptance of the world as a warm and cosy place, though some might say that that ship sailed a while ago. But safety trumps sentiment. The thought of some sixty-year-old pervert squinting lasciviously at a screen and messaging my daughter is enough to make up my mind. ‘He could be anyone,’ I say decisively.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she says. Her lips part as if she might say more, but in the end she just shoots me a sideways glance that looks thoughtful, a little calculating even.

  ‘I think I do,’ I say, ‘and I don’t like it. I don’t know anything about this boy. Maybe, if he wanted to meet me …’

  ‘You?’ she asks, her eyes round and aghast. ‘That’s – that’s not – I can’t invite a boy to meet my dad for our first date.’

  ‘Well, in that case, you should probably stop messaging him entirely.’ I glance at the phone again, now in her hand, but she’s angled the screen protectively away from me. ‘I mean, for God’s sake. Jaxon? It’s the sort of name a middle-aged man would choose because he thought it sounded cool. I’m pretty sure it’s fake.’

  ‘Dad,’ Jade mutters under her breath, shaking her head. I can’t tell if I’ve rattled her or not. ‘No one does that.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s not true.’ For an instant, I’m tempted to say what I’m really thinking. Natalie, sitting huddled opposite me on the rocks, her lips moving into the shape of that new and unfamiliar name. Rachel. It hits as if for the first time, sending a tremor of unreality sifting down my spine. How different is this, really? How much difference does it make that I’m married to this woman, sharing my life with her, if the bedrock deception is the same?