How I Lost You (39 page)

‘They got him.’ Josh is smiling, he puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘They picked him up coming back into the country with a fake passport. Arrogant son of a bitch thought he could return as if nothing had happened.’

‘Why? Why was he coming back?’

‘For Mark’s funeral.’

The words force the air from my lungs. I’d decided not to go – a huge and difficult decision for me to make, but the right one I’m sure. I can hardly believe that the man who was responsible for all this, the man who caused the downfall of my perfect existence, the ruination of God knows how many girls and their families, thought he could just walk in to Mark’s funeral and act as though he was completely innocent.

‘What’s going to happen to him?’ I’m shaking and trying my hardest not to cry.

‘He’s going to go to prison. For a very long time. I promise.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders and steadies me. He’s done this more than once in the last few weeks. He has such a calming effect on me, but I’m still wondering what I’m going to do if one of these days he leans forward and kisses me. ‘Since everything came out about Beth, they’ve had girls coming forward from as far back as 1990 saying they were attacked by him and his friends.’

Him and his friends. My husband.

Bracing myself, I ring the doorbell. The thundering of small feet sounds on the stairs and I think for a second that Josh or no Josh, I might just turn and run.

It’s only been a week since Rebecca’s visit but it has felt like a three-year sentence all over again.

The plain, ordinary-looking white envelope that had the potential to change my whole life sat on my dad’s kitchen counter for four hours until I finally broke down and called Josh. After an ordeal that almost cost him his life, he’d have been justified in never wanting to see me again. Instead he turned up on my dad’s doorstep and sat with me in silence until I was ready to open it. Then he held me close while I sobbed into his arms. I don’t know what will happen to us after this is over; all I know is that I’m not ready for him to leave my life.

The Matthewses put up no fight during mediation while social services decided the best way to reunite me with my son. All Rebecca asked was that they be allowed to stay involved in Simon’s life. Given that their daughter kidnapped my son and killed my ex-husband, among other people, her request was denied, but I’ve fought as hard as I can and promised they will have regular contact with their grandson. They have done nothing wrong and my son loves them; it wouldn’t be fair to him to push them away. I can’t say I’ll be as amenable to his paternal grandparents. The CPS are still deciding whether Margaret and Richard will be charged with obstructing the course of justice in Beth’s murder and I don’t know yet how I’m going to deal with them.

Today I’m going to meet my son for the first time in four years. We all agreed it would be best for him to be in his own home, and that we’ll take it as slowly as he needs. When Rebecca opens the front door, I see that our social services adviser, Michelle, is already there.

‘Hi.’ Rebecca gives me a quick hug and leads me into the living room, where Michelle is waiting with Christopher Matthews. I introduce Josh; Michelle smiles and greets us both and Christopher offers a curt nod. He might not be putting up a fuss but this is breaking his heart. After hearing the news about his nephew, I can only imagine what this family are going through today.

‘OK, Susan, are you ready?’ Michelle asks me kindly. I’m not. I don’t think, however long I had to prepare for this moment, anything would ever make me ready. Still I nod. Michelle looks at Rebecca, then goes out into the hallway and I hear her speaking in a low voice to a child. My child.

The door opens. I hold my breath as a beautiful little boy appears in the doorway, looking down at his feet. Rebecca gives him a small nod and smiles at him encouragingly. The little boy takes a few steps into the room and looks up at me and Josh.

‘Hiya,’ he says brightly. A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know if I can trust myself to speak, but I force out the words.

‘Hello.’ I smile down at the little boy I brought into the world, the little boy I held in my arms and rocked to sleep when he cried. ‘My name’s Susan. What’s your name?’

‘Simon,’ he says, proudly holding up a toy truck for us both to see. ‘Do you like my truck?’

‘It’s perfect,’ I reply, fresh tears forming in my eyes. ‘It’s just absolutely perfect.’