It was too much information for me to process at once. Feigning illness to get out of classes, I said goodbye to Stacie and hurried towards theChronicle & Echo. There, I sat in the reception area flicking through old issues of filed copies, catching up on what I had missed. So much of the story didn’t make sense. I was his pregnant girlfriend, not this Sally Ann girl, and I was very much alive. Jon was never the slightest bit aggressive with me. And when he was using, he was too out of it to move, let alone hurt anyone. I could only assume Mum had known about it, but didn’t tell me because she didn’t want to hurt me.
My mobile phone rings and brings me back to the present. I don’t know how long I’ve been lost in thought, but the washing-up water is now lukewarm and my hands are white and wrinkled. The phone’s screen reveals that Aunty Jennifer, Mum’s sister, is calling. I let it go to voicemail. She rings every fortnight for an update on Mum’s ‘condition’, as Jennifer’s own disability – multiple sclerosis – means she can’t travel to visit Maggie in the care home that I’ve invented. I leave a notepad of things I tell her each time we speak just so that I don’t contradict myself. But Christ, keeping up with your own lies is difficult. I give Maggie grudging respect for managing it successfully for so many years.
I dry my hands, send a text message and place a couple of fingers on top of the cake to check that it’s the right temperature before spreading chocolate mousse across the base. I take the piping bag and fill it with buttercream, then start to decorate it with the name Dylan. Finally, I add twenty-three candles that I bought from the supermarket yesterday, one for each year since I gave birth.
‘Happy birthday,’ I say, and I allow them to burn for a minute or so before blowing them out myself. And I make a wish that could never come true.
CHAPTER 32
MAGGIE
The sight of him is enough to make my pulse race.
Who he is and what he’s up to, I don’t know. But for the third time, he has turned up here in his white car and is simply staring at my house. Only today, he’s slowly making his way up the path. I crane my neck to get a better view but the bloody shutters are making it difficult. I drag the ottoman over and stand on it so I am right at the top of the window, looking down. I can just about see him; I think he’s looking in through the lounge window while I’m looking out from up here. If he’s a burglar, then he’s not a very good one because he’s far from subtle. Perhaps he’s a plain-clothed police officer or even a private detective? Maybe someone I know doesn’t believe Nina’s claims that I’m now living with my sister on the coast? Perhaps they are missing me?
Suddenly someone else comes into view – I think it’s Elsie. She’s a one-woman Neighbourhood Watch scheme and very little happens without her knowing about it. She uses her walking frame to approach him, although I have no idea what they’re saying. Now she’s pointing to the telephone in her hand and he’s beating a hasty retreat back to his car. I know she’s only trying to be helpful, but if he was planning to break into this house, she might just have scuppered my chances of being discovered.
As his car pulls away and Elsie returns to her house, I scan the street again and a room in the home opposite hers catches my eye. I don’t know the family at all; they moved in some months after I ended up in here. Two adults and two children, a boy and a girl, likely under the age of ten. I’ve never really liked the look of the husband. He’s a chubby man with tattoos up and down his arms and even from this distance, I recognise an arrogance in the way he swings his shoulders as he walks. I can’t see his wife’s face clearly but I picture her to have harsh angular features and to look as equally unpleasant as her spouse. And I’ve never seen the kids playing out in the street like Nina did when she was their age. I suspect they’re not very good parents.
I watch both of them in an upstairs bedroom with the daughter. The light is on but the bulb has no shade. They’re decorating the room and the window has watered-down emulsion on it that stops you from seeing inside while the curtains are down. Only from this height and angle, I can see through the upper section of the sash window, which they haven’t bothered to cover.
The wife has my attention; her finger is pointing aggressively towards the girl and she is leaning towards her as if she is shouting. But when her husband turns to leave, something happens. I can’t see what’s gone on behind him until he passes, but his daughter is falling into the wall and I watch helplessly as she collapses to the floor, out of my sight. I think her mother has just smacked her hard. In fact I’m sure of it. ‘No!’ I shout.
I ball my fists and will the girl to clamber to her feet. Her mother’s mouth opens wide again as if she is still yelling at the poor mite, then she too leaves and pulls the door behind her. Eventually, and to my relief, her daughter rises back into view; she’s rubbing her eyes and then the side of her head that hit the wall. She moves towards the door and I assume she is turning the doorknob, but it won’t budge. She tries a few times before accepting that she’s been locked inside. My heart bleeds for her as she disappears again.
She wants to look out of her window and wipes some of the temporary paint that’s obstructing her view. I think how terribly alone she must feel, incarcerated and with nobody knowing how much she is hurting. I want her to knowIam here and thatIcare.
An idea comes to me.
I grab the bedside lamp and drag the cable towards me, then start flashing the lamp on and off, over and over again in rapid succession, in the faint hope that it will catch her attention. I have tried this many times before but nobody has ever noticed, not even Elsie and especially not in daylight. I think it must be the positioning of the slats that won’t allow light to be seen below from certain angles. ‘Come on, come on,’ I repeat anxiously before I hear a noise that takes the wind from my sails. It’s a ping. The bulb has blown.
‘No, no, no, no!’ I yell. Without thinking, I put my hand on the bulb to turn it in case it has only come loose. It burns my fingertips and I curse. I move swiftly to grab the other bedside lamp, but it won’t stretch as far as the window. I unplug it but the cable is caught behind the cabinet. I pull the furniture away with a tug but lose my balance and my foot becomes entwined with my chain, causing me to fall face first on to the bed.
I climb to my feet and plug the lamp into the second socket and start again. A good fifteen minutes pass before finally, the child turns to look in my direction, squashing her face up against the glass. Even if she can’t see my face behind the shutters, she knows someone is up here. Then she places the palm of her hand to the window as if to say hello.
I am overcome with emotion. Aside from Nina, this is the first interaction I have had with anyone for two long years. Finally somebody outside of this house knows that I exist! I struggle to stem my tears. I don’t want it to end.
The girl’s hand moves from left to right, like she is waving at me. She disappears out of sight for a moment and her room goes a little darker. I squint until she switches her light on and off and then returns to the window and I do the same with the lamp. Now I am practically bawling.
But our interaction is cut short by her mother appearing at the door; she catches her daughter playing with the lights. She grabs her by the arm, the light goes off and the girl vanishes again. I vow to myself that I am going to help that child. And in doing so, perhaps she can help me. But I won’t be able to do it on my own.
CHAPTER 33
NINA
‘I need to show you something,’ Maggie says with urgency. She scuttles towards the window, her chain rattling like Marley’s ghost’s. ‘Come here.’
Despite the facial bruising and my lost tooth, I decided tonight that we need to move forward and eat together. It’s the first time we have come face to face since she tried to escape ten days ago. This is not the welcome I expect, and I regard her with my usual suspicion.
My eyes dart around the room. The ottoman has been moved to under the window and its padded cushioning has an impression that suggests she’s been sitting there a lot. Nothing else appears out of the ordinary. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t. I can only trust Maggie as far as I can throw her. However, after the events of the other night, I take a chance that she won’t make the same mistake twice.
‘What is it?’ I reply and remove the key for her leg cuff from my pocket. She’s not listening. She’s standing by the shutters, pointing towards the house opposite Elsie’s.
‘You see that window?’ she asks, and I think she’s referring to the one with white paint covering much of it. ‘I can see directly into it.’
‘And that’s your big news? Who shall I call first, theDaily Mailor CNN?’
‘I haven’t finished,’ she snaps, then recognises that she shouldn’t have. She waits to see if I react, but I let it slide.
