I met them in the autumn, at a school fete, working side by side on a second-hand stall. A picture of familial unity. I asked Owen, quite loudly, why he beat his wife and whether he intended to stop. He tried to shout me down, but I had so much detailthat Cait had shared with me, and such a large audience of other parents, that I didn’t stop until the police arrived. He never much liked me after that, but someone tried to hurt me once too. The difference being, with me, it was only the once.
‘Who was in your house?’ says Sophie, her arm already around Cait’s shoulder.
‘Owen,’ says Cait, shaking now. ‘He texted me a photograph he took of me asleep in my bed.’
‘He’s not supposed to be near you, is he?’ says Aisha. ‘You’ve got a court order.’
‘The number is anonymous. He sent me another text last week, asking for money. He says he’s in debt to some bad people. Probably gambling again.’
‘So this picture is a threat?’ I say. ‘He broke into your house, right?’
‘What else could it be?’ Cait stifles her tears, then presses her finger to her nose. ‘He was probably searching for money while we were all asleep.’
‘Fucking bastard,’ says Sophie. ‘He should be locked up.’
Cait looks up, her face etched with fear, nails scraping across her red neck. Sophie is hugging her tightly.
‘You must tell the police right now,’ says Aisha, sensible as ever.
‘But there’s no proof it’s him.’
‘Does he still have a key?’ says Sophie.
‘I was going to get the locks changed, but it’s two hundred pounds. I thought the court order would be enough,’ says Cait.
‘It’s never enough with men like that,’ says Sophie, stroking Cait’s long red hair.
We don’t get into too much more detail, as Jethro decides he wants Nathan’s spade and Nathan objects by throwing soil in his mouth. Other children take sides, and a small skirmish breaks out on the patio. We all rise to intervene.
‘Drinky-time!’ I call out, trying to keep my mood light and cheerful. A horde of small people stop fighting and career towards me as I stand between our voluminous double-fronted fridge (my husband seems to think we’re American) and the rather quaintold-fashioned butler sink, diluting some blackberry and raspberry juice. If I didn’t dilute, at least two of the mothers here would react as if I were feeding rat poison to their children.
My mind wanders to the dead man as I pour the bright red drink into their little organic bamboo beakers. At first, I presumed he was just a common burglar after cash, jewellery or the key fob for the Porsche. But he didn’t seem like a burglar. He was dressed quite smartly, but perhaps they go upmarket when raiding Muswell Hill. No, it was something else. The way he looked at me, with recognition. And why did he strangle me? Why not just run?
As I muse, Jethro grabs at the tray and a beaker tips over. I feel a strong urge to tip the rest of the beakers over his head. I often have such urges, but I have learned to resist and now have excellent self-control. If I didn’t, I’d probably be a widow by now. Instead, I mouth the word ‘monster’ and Jethro starts to howl again. Nathan, who’s consumed too much sugar, starts to cry along with him. Sophie rises, looks at her son, and then turns away and heads over to her handbag for her vape.
I’m rushing towards my son when I hear Cait’s phone ping again and, out of the corner of my eye, I see her jump up and run into the hall. I suspect Owen has texted something even more unsavoury, but I can’t follow her because I’ve just grabbed hold of Nathan and he’s struggling the way sheep do when they’re about to be shorn.
‘Not the living room, Cait!’ I call out. Even if I had Aisha’s creative powers, I don’t think I’d be able to come up with something believable if Cait stumbles across a fresh corpse.
‘Stop,’ I say harshly to Nathan, as he pulls my lip down with his grubby fingers. I can taste soil. I put him firmly on the floor, and dart for the door.
I am only halfway across the kitchen when a piercing scream echoes from the hall.
Chapter5Rabbit
Human beings are adept at distinguishing between different types of scream. They each awaken several of our senses, but only the scream of genuine fear grips your nervous system by the throat and applies sudden pressure.
At least that’s what I can gather from Aisha’s and Sophie’s frozen stances as their faces drain of colour. Each child, a moment ago lost to their own squabbles and antics, stops dead. A short silence is followed by children sobbing.
I’m pleased that no one sees the faint smile on my lips. It’s just as quickly gone, however, as I need to contain the situation. Although this discovery could land me in prison for several years, I’m palpitating with excitement. I’ve always been excited by danger. I lick my lips and rush to the hall.
‘Leave it to me,’ I call over my shoulder, although I’ve no idea how I’ll silence Cait if she’s face-to-face with the man I’ve turned into a sieve. Cait is standing outside the living room door, visibly shaking. I can practically hear the thump of my pulse, and feel goosebumps tingling.
‘What’s the matter?’
Her shoulders heave up and down. I want to put my hand over her mouth to stop her whimpering, but I’ve learned to resist my first urges. They are rarely acceptable to others. I breathedeeply, count to four (there’s no time to get to ten) and approach her.
The living room door is still closed, so I conclude it’s just Owen again. I put an arm on her shoulder. It’s the acknowledged way to comfort people in distress, but Cait flinches.
