Look Behind You (13 page)

Liam hasn’t given me a replacement front door key after the change of locks, so I take the new key from inside the kitchen door and step out into the back garden, shutting the door. It closes silently behind me. That’s another pet hate of Liam’s, you see. Squeaking doors drive him mad. He’s always oiling the hinges, just to make sure they don’t make a sound.

I lock the door and put the key in an old handbag of mine then walk along the gravel path that leads down the side of the house to the driveway. I’ve never learnt how to drive. To be honest, the idea of it scares me. Being in control of a big hunk of metal is intimidating. So I make do with walking. I can walk to work in thirty minutes. Walk to the main high street area in the opposite direction in twenty-five. Liam takes me food shopping when he’s off work at the weekends. He moans about it, but really, I think he likes it. It means I’m more dependent on him. Maybe one day I’ll learn how to.

I step out onto the street and look both ways. No one is around, but as I walk out of my cul-de-sac towards the bus stop at the bottom of the hill I have a horrible feeling I’m being watched. I turn round to see if anyone’s following me, but there’s only a young mum pushing a buggy. She’s leaning over the handles, talking to her baby cocooned inside and doesn’t even notice me. I scan the houses either side of the street but don’t see anyone in their gardens or looking through their windows at me.

I carry on walking, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who looks like a potential threat. It’s scary being out here. Alone. Exposed.

When I get to the bus stop, I breathe a sigh of relief that other people are there. A teenage boy with angry red spots on his face is sitting on the bench. He’s plugged into earphones, miming the words to a song. An elderly woman smiles at me and starts talking about how wonderful the weather’s been lately. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to think, but I feel a bit safer amongst other people so I humour her as best as I can. At least no one can touch me in broad daylight with all these witnesses around.

I check the timetable. A bus is heading towards Welwyn village in ten minutes. I shift from foot to foot and manage a few
yeses
and
nos
now and then as the woman speaks to me until my bus arrives.

It takes forty-five minutes to get to the stop nearest the hotel. I get off the bus and walk to the end of the road then take a right. I glance behind me. No one else is around. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

When I get to the car park at the front of the hotel, I have a weird sense of déjà vu. I’ve never stayed here, but I feel like I’ve been here before, standing in the same spot, staring at it and wondering what I’m about to find out. Maybe I’ve seen it advertised somewhere locally, a photo taken from this very spot in the
Welwyn Gazette
. My heartbeat flutters inside my chest as I force myself to walk forward on shaky legs.

The building is sleek, bright, and modern; exactly the kind of place Liam took me on our first romantic weekend away two weeks into our relationship. We stayed in York, since Liam had never been and wanted to see it. We didn’t actually get to see much, though. Instead, we spent most of the time tangled up in the sheets with each other, ordering room service if we were hungry.

When I finally got away from the children’s home and escaped to Uni, where no one knew my past, I reinvented myself. The new Chloe was carefree, fun, and flirty, but I still wasn’t confident enough to attract the boys. I seemed to lack some natural skill to find love that everyone else seemed to have, so I’d only ever slept with one person before Liam, and it had only been a brief fling. That’s why I thought it was a miracle Liam could love me at all. That anyone could. And even after such a short time together, I already knew I felt the same way about him, too.

When we arrived at the hotel, he’d already organized for champagne and strawberries to be brought up to the room. He fed me the strawberries dipped in champagne, and it was the most sophisticated and romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. Later, after the first time we made love, his gaze roamed my naked body, as if he was trying to commit every part of me to memory. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, his fingers sweeping over the curve of my breasts. ‘Who cares if you have tiny boobs?’

His words crushed me, but I’d spent a long time trying to hide the pain of my past and my low self-esteem from everybody, so I laughed it off, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t bothered by what he’d said. If he really knew exactly what damaged goods I was, he’d leave me in an instant. ‘Isn’t more than a handful supposed to be a waste?’ I joked.

He just continued studying me as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Why don’t I buy you some breast implants?’

It was only the first of many times he criticized my body, and I tried to ignore it for a while. When I couldn’t ignore it any longer, I tried to minimize the times he saw me naked again.

I block out the memories. They’re not the memories I want to remember. I want to find my lost ones instead.

As I walk into the reception, I take off my sunglasses. A young staff member in a smart uniform sits behind the counter, tapping away at his computer. He looks up as I approach and smiles. ‘Can I help you?’

I force a smile, but it sits uneasily on my face. ‘Hi.’ I pull out Liam’s credit card receipt and place it on the counter, unfolding and smoothing it out. ‘My husband has a credit card receipt from this hotel, and I wondered if you could tell me whether he stayed here with someone else.’

His friendly expression wavers, replaced by something that looks a lot like sympathy. Maybe I’m not the first woman to come here trying to find out if her husband is having an affair, although it doesn’t look like the kind of place that rents rooms by the hour. He looks more closely at the receipt. ‘I’m afraid we can’t give out information about our guests. It’s the hotel’s privacy policy.’

‘Yes, I understand that, but it’s my husband’s receipt. Surely you can tell me.’

‘I’m sorry, madam, but I’m unable to help you. I did tell you that last time.’

My spine goes rigid. ‘Last time?’

‘Yes.’ He turns to his computer again, looking bored now. ‘You came in before asking the same question.’

‘Did I?’

That jerks his gaze away from his screen. He frowns, probably wondering what kind of nutcase he’s dealing with and whether he’ll need to call security to remove me from the premises. ‘Don’t you remember? You were quite agitated when I said I couldn’t tell you anything.’

‘No, I…’ My fingertips reach for the lump on the side of my head. ‘I had an accident and can’t remember anything.’

The frown gets bigger. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I still can’t help you.’

‘When?’

‘Pardon?’

‘When did I come here before? Do you remember the date?’

He tilts his head, thinking. ‘I’m not sure, exactly. Probably a little over two weeks ago.’

I calculate the days in my head. Today is the thirteenth of May, which would mean I came here sometime around the end of April, after I was released from the psychiatric ward.

‘Now, I’m afraid I must get on,’ he says, and I realize I’m staring at him open-mouthed.

I walk back along the road to the bus stop, lost in thought. I’d already visited the hotel, which means I must’ve suspected Liam was having an affair. It also means I must’ve found the receipts once before. What else did I find out?

Was it the discovery of my husband having an affair while I was pregnant that set off the miscarriage? Was I distraught enough to make me lose the baby?

No. That didn’t work. My miscarriage was on the twenty-fifth of March. I didn’t visit the hotel until the end of April, and I remember everything up until the party on the twenty-third of March. So I know for a fact I can’t have found out about Liam staying at the hotel until sometime after that.

And was he even having an affair anyway, or was I just jumping to conclusions? Had I got muddled, thinking he’d said he was staying in Scotland when, in fact, he was staying here? Maybe there was some work conference on at the hotel.

But then, it was only a few miles from home. He would’ve just caught a cab back or driven, not stayed there. I know things aren’t perfect between us, but both of us always vowed that marriage was for life. In fact, Liam’s commitment to marriage and settling down was one of the things I found so attractive about him in the first place. In an era where more and more couples didn’t want to get married, it was refreshing that Liam said he couldn’t
wait
to marry me. We’d both had the same goals and ideas. We thought that whatever it took, whatever problems we went through, we should work at it. Stay together. And especially with a baby on the way. I didn’t want any child of mine growing up how I did. I wanted them to know love from both parents. Wanted them to feel safe and secure.

Except maybe, I didn’t feel safe and secure with Liam anymore. I’d ignored things for a long time. Accepted things. Put up with things. Until I didn’t really know the Chloe I’d become. My personality had been eroded to make room for his. My dreams and wants had disappeared and became his needs and wants instead. But the baby. I remember now being so excited about telling him after the party.

I thought it was a sign. A brand new start for us to get things back on track. Maybe it would make Liam see
me
again and want to rekindle the loving relationship we’d had in the beginning. Last night he’d said he was happy when I’d told him I was pregnant, but had he really been? If he
was
having an affair, would it have been an inconvenience to him? A dent in his plans?

I shake my head. No, of course he wasn’t having an affair. What was I thinking? I almost laugh aloud then. It’s completely ridiculous. Maybe I am going mad.

But…what’s the alternative? Why did I go to the hotel before to check up on him? I must’ve suspected something.

I’m so lost in thought I don’t realize I’m crossing the road in the path of an oncoming car. The driver’s horn blares, bringing me quickly back to earth again, and I run across the road to avoid being hit. I take some deep breaths when I get to the other side and wait at the bus stop.

When I get home, I retrieve my list from where I’ve hidden it at the back of the sink with the cigarettes and add this new revelation to it, wondering what else is out there waiting to hit me in the face.

15

‘Have you been out today?’ Liam breezes into the kitchen and puts his briefcase on the floor.

I’m just finishing off dinner. Chicken in a creamy tarragon sauce, green beans al dente, and crushed new potatoes. No mash for Liam. They have to be crushed ever so slightly with just the right amount of butter. Too much and they go greasy and oily. Too little and they’re bland. His words again, not mine. Always his words, until they become my words, my thoughts, my actions, and I don’t know who I am any more except an extension of Liam.

‘No.’ I pull the chicken out of the oven and put it on the worktop. He walks up behind me and slides his hands round my waist, drawing me towards him so my head leans against his chest. He kisses my neck, and I tilt my head sideways to let him.

I close my eyes, and for a moment, I forget the fear and the suspicion. For a little while, I want to believe that everything is all right between us. That he’s not lying to me or having an affair, and everything that’s happened to me is all just some kind of horrific dream I’ve had. It would just be easier to believe Liam’s version of events.

But I don’t. And I can’t.

‘I called you earlier, and you didn’t answer,’ he says into my neck, his words vibrating on my skin.

‘Oh, I must’ve been in the garden and didn’t hear it. I fell asleep out there reading a book.’ I give him what I hope is a vague look and wriggle away to drain the beans so he can’t see the lie on my face. ‘Did you have a good day?’ I make my voice sound even and light and hope he can’t see my jaw trembling.

‘Yes, I managed to get a lot done.’ He picks a bean out of the colander and takes a bite. ‘They’re soggy. You’ve cooked them for too long like you always do.’

‘Sorry.’ I turn away and dish up the dinner onto the plates Liam likes.

‘What else did you do, apart from read?’ He sits at the kitchen table and loosens his tie.

‘Not much. Watched a bit of TV; made dinner.’ I put the plate in front of him and sit opposite.

He forks in a mouthful of food and studies me carefully. ‘I see the refuse collectors still haven’t been. There are piles of rubbish sacks out on the street. They’ll attract vermin soon. It’s disgusting. How long are they going to be on strike for?’

I don’t think he’s expecting an answer from me, so I don’t give him one. I don’t give a shit about the refuse collectors. Don’t even want to think about something so trivial right now. I push the food around on my plate, taking a mouthful here and there. He’s right about the beans; they’re too soft. But I like them that way.

He talks about how he won his squash game this morning before work with a colleague called Charles. Goes on about how Charles should just not bother playing, he’s so useless, and how it’s hardly a challenge for him when you’ve got someone as unfit for an opponent. I smile, nod, and make appropriate noises in the right places to seem interested. When he finishes eating, he takes his plate to the draining board, rinses it methodically, and stacks it in the dishwasher. Then he pours himself a glass of red wine and says, ‘I’m going on the computer for a while. I’ve got some reports to catch up on.’