Tears explode from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, and I sink to my knees, sobbing for the child whose life had been snatched away because of me. This is why my dream of a new life is crumbling. I don’t deserve one. I don’t deserve happiness, to be able to listen to the dawn chorus greeting a new day when my little boy will never hear the melodic sound of birdsong again, never feel the sun on his face. Did I imagine that if I stuffed the pain deep down, I could forget about him, put him in a box along with my dead husband and bring them out only whenever I felt strong enough? Grief doesn’t work that way. Guilt doesn’t. It crashes over you out of nowhere when you least expect it, leaving you winded in its wake. I miss them. I miss my little boy so much it’s unbearable. I long to see him, to hold him, breathe in the special smell of him.
I can’t, no matter how much I want to. His favourite T-shirt, which I have carefully preserved in a shoebox along with his Jellycat cuddle toy, still smells of him, but it grows fainter with time. I can’t cling to the ghost of him, nor can I let him go. And what of my unborn child? My hand strays to my tummy and a new guilt kicks in ferociously. I can’t just give in, roll over and let my life slip away. I have to fight. I have to keep my baby safe. If that means ending my relationship with a man who might be a threat to me, and ultimately the life growing inside me, then I have no choice.
Determinedly, even though I’m breaking inside at the thought of losing all I thought I had, a strong relationship with someone I imagined cared for me and who I could trust, I pull myself to my feet. I will have to deal with Lina, make some calls. She can’t be here. I have no idea how I stand legally now that she is, the effect it will have on Evie if she has to go into a care home. But the influence she is having on Evie now has to be detrimental to her mental well-being. I can’t let this go on. Iwon’t.
Wiping the tears from my face, I glance around for my phone. I don’t see it in the lounge, so I head towards the kitchen. Then come to a halt, my heart stopping dead in my chest as I hear it again: a child’s laughter, innocent and sweet.Kai.Terror gripping me as I consider that I must be going out of my mind, I stay stock-still for a moment. It’s not a figment of my imagination. I’m not dreaming. I can hear it, right here in this house. Jolted from my stupor, I fly towards where it emerges from the kitchen.
As I go in, my eyes swivel to the worktop, where light flickers from my phone. It’s a video, playing on a loop, I realise, hurrying across to it. There on the screen is my little boy, laughing gleefully as he splashes about in the pool at his water-play birthday party. Who did this? Fear twisting inside me, I glance frantically around. That’s when I feel it, the cool draught as the wind whispers through the gap in the patio doors. But I’d locked them. Someone must have opened them and slipped inside.Lina.
FORTY
Whywould she do this? Scrubbing furious tears from my cheeks, I hurry across to close the patio doors. It has to have been Lina. I can’t believe it was Jack. However much he might have drunk, he would never be so cruel.
Recalling his vehement denials of the accusations I’d hurled at him, the tears I was sure I saw him crying as he’d left, I feel a sharp stab of guilt. Had I jumped to the conclusion Lina hoped I would? He has been drinking more, but is it really excessive, or am I judging him based on my own history? A turmoil of emotions hitting me all at once – horror, fear and fury vying with utter confusion – I go quickly to the key hooks for the spare key to the annexe and hurry to the front door.
There are no lights on inside the annexe, I note once I’m on the drive. Regardless, I push the key into the lock and let myself in. I’ve barely taken a step when the lounge lamp clicks on.
‘What’s happening?’ Evie asks warily as she rises from where she’s obviously been sleeping on the sofa.
I walk straight across the lounge to the stairs. ‘Where’s Lina?’ I ask, my tone short. I can’t help that. I’m in no mood for niceties.
‘In bed. Where else would she be?’ Evie answers, clearly bemused.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I glance upwards. There’s no sign of life, no light shining from beneath the bedroom door. ‘Has she been up there all night?’
‘Like I said, where else would she be?’ Evie responds.
I hear the belligerence creeping into her voice and choose to ignore it. ‘How does she manage the stairs?’ I ask, turning to face her. When I first met Lina, she became breathless after walking just yards. She was breathless earlier when walking the short distance from the house to the annexe. Was it genuine?
‘With difficulty,’ Evie answers, looking me over with a puzzled frown. ‘She has to rest halfway up. So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
I hesitate, debating whether to tell her that someone has been in the house, but decide not to. I don’t like myself for thinking it, but I’m wondering whether it could even have been Evie who’d snuck in. She’s angry with Jack, blaming him for all that’s wrong in her life, suspicious of him, just as I am, all thanks to Lina’s insidious comments. She’s angry with me for being here when her mother isn’t. But no matter how traumatised and confused she is, she wouldn’t do something so calculatedly nasty, surely?
‘I was worried,’ I tell her. ‘I wondered whether Lina might have a concussion, so I came across to check on her.’
‘She’s fine. I looked in on her half an hour ago,’ Evie says, folding her arms across her chest and regarding me now with deep suspicion.
‘I gather. She’s lucky to have you,’ I say with a smile. ‘Go back to sleep. You’ll be tired in the morning.’ I hesitate for a second, then lean towards her to give her a hug. Evie doesn’t shrink away from me and I dismiss the notion that it could have been her.
I’m walking back to the front door when I hear the distinct creak of a floorboard overhead, meaning that Lina is actually not in bed. Is she aware I’m here? Has she been listening? My own suspicion in overdrive, I glance again at Evie, who appears oblivious, then head on out.
As I walk back to the house, I go over all the things Lina alleged Jack had done, including her insinuation that he’d had something to do with poor Imogen’s death. She’s painting him as a complete monster. He’snot. I’m doubting everything about him because ofher. He simply isn’t capable of violence and coercion. Or am I being naïve in clinging to that hope?
Once inside, I hear my phone ringing and I hurry to the kitchen to grab it from the worktop. My thumb hovers as I realise it’s Jack. I don’t answer. I can’t do this now. Having had hardly any sleep and feeling constantly nauseous and light-headed, I’m utterly drained.
Before I place the phone back down, I replay the video that had been selected so spitefully to hurt me. Who would know my PIN code? It comes to me blindingly. I’d given it to Evie when I’d driven her to Lina’s flat. I’d thought Lina was sleeping, but if she wasn’t, she would have overheard me. Surely, though, if she does have short-term memory loss, she couldn’t have memorised it? Could she? I’ve never given Jack the code – I’ve never had reason to – but I suppose he could have seen me key it in or guessed it since it’s such an important date to me and one I was likely to use. My thoughts go round and around and I’m still no nearer knowing who did this. I’m beginning to feel as if I really am losing my mind.
Placing the phone down, I go to the kettle to make myself a hot drink. My baby’s kicks, like soft butterflies in my tummy, remind me to avoid the caffeine I feel badly in need of, and I settle for herbal tea. Once I’ve made it, I go back to collect myphone and I notice a new voicemail. Guessing it’s from Jack, I hesitate and then play it back.
‘I’m sorry, Kara. Please believe I didn’t have anything to do with what happened last night. Please don’t give up on me,’ he begs, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I love you. I would never knowingly do anything that would hurt or upset you.’
He pauses. Then, ‘It’s early,’ he goes on. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep. I should have thought before calling. It’s just… I have to speak to you. I have something important I need to tell you. I’ll be back soon.’
FORTY-ONE
As I step out of the shower, I hear the doorbell go. There follows another sharp ring, followed by a knock on the door, and I grab my dressing gown, tug it on and hurry down to answer it. Reaching the door, I peer through the peephole, expecting to see the postman with a tracked delivery. A shiver of icy apprehension prickles over me when instead I find DI Blake and PC Patel on my doorstep. Quickly, I tighten the belt of my dressing gown, brace myself, and pull the door open.
‘Mrs Keenan.’ DI Blake smiles. ‘Sorry to bother you so early. Is Mr Conley at home?’
