Mummy's Favourite (22 page)

There was no choice. He couldn't stop now.

He made a decision, there and then, while staring into her eyes: he would go to her very soon and wait in her house for when she returned. He would have to be careful that it was only her though; he didn't want to bump into her lying, cheating husband, Greg. He didn't look after her properly; he was always going away on business. He was probably sleeping with other women, like all the other business-men did, boasting about their prowess behind their wives' backs; boasting and bragging and shagging and fucking, while Annabel stayed at home and looked after his children. The man didn't know how to treat a lady like her. He didn't buy her flowers or appreciate what he had. Maybe it would be good if he did actually bump into the man; maybe he could show him the error of his ways, tell him how wrong he was to leave her alone, treat her like he did. But then what would happen? Maybe the bastard would change and she would grow to love him more, and then where would he be? Left out in the cold.

No, that would not do; that would never do. He would go prepared to teach the bastard a lesson, but not a verbal lesson because that wouldn't help. He paced across the room and opened the kitchen drawer, rifling through the utensils until he found the vegetable knife. It wasn't large, but it was sharp, four inches of razor-sharp metal that could teach her cheating husband a lesson, make him undesirable to all women, disfigure, distort, mutilate, maybe kill; but he didn't really want to do that, not unless he had to.

He wrapped the knife in a tea towel and put it on the table next to his computer. Her face smiled up at him still; she was pleased that he was going to show her wayward husband that he should treat her better. He could tell.

He was getting excited now, very excited and very aroused at the thought. If Greg was there alone he would teach him a lesson; if she was there alone he would show her how much he cared. If they were both there or the kids were there, he would sneak back out and wait for another opportunity. He had her door key, he'd found the spare hanging in the little cupboard in the hallway when he'd broken in the first time, got another cut the same day and returned the spare. It had been easy. Since then he'd come and gone as he pleased, making sure to leave everything as he'd found it, nothing disturbed, every cushion back in place, every piece of furniture or bedding smoothed down and unruffled; pristine like it always was.

He put the key next to the knife and checked her status one last time. A new post had just pinged up on the screen.

So they would be around tomorrow at lunchtime, both of them. Would they be going home first or meeting straight out? He wondered idly which anniversary it was. It didn't really matter though. Their marriage was a sham and her “lovely hubbie” didn't give a shit about her. It made him fucking angry.

Grabbing his towel, he busied himself in the communal bathroom. The shower was fitted to the taps of the bath and the previous resident had left a mixture of soap and dirt to dry on the bottom of the bath. He swore out loud. He aimed the shower head at the dirt and scrubbed it away before climbing in and standing under the water. The pressure was good and he soon felt clean and exhilarated. He was buzzing now. It wouldn't be long before he was there, waiting for her, waiting for him.

He would soon be giving them an anniversary to remember.

The evening rush hour was almost over as Dana Latchmere pulled her Mercedes convertible out of the driveway.

Gemma, their daughter, was back from West Sussex University for a long weekend and they were having a mother daughter outing to indulge in some retail therapy at one of the out of London factory outlet complexes that were springing up all over the place. It was late-night shopping on a Thursday, and as Gemma had not had any particular lectures that she needed to attend on the Friday, she'd come up a day earlier, very happy to comply with her mother's wish to lavish new clothes, jewellery and handbags on her.

They were heading out towards the Valley Park Retail centre in Purley, a drive of between half an hour to an hour, but she knew a few short-cuts through the industrial estate leading to the main shops, so hopefully it wouldn't take too long. They were a little later than anticipated. Time had run away from them, chatting over an initial cup of tea, but they'd still have the evening. Valley Park was one of their favourite destinations; there was a good spread of stores stocking well-known brands and a variety of restaurants in which to sit and discuss their purchases afterwards.

The gates swung open as she aimed the remote at them. She pulled out and then waited stationary as they clicked back into position, glancing around the bushes and dark spots of their driveway for any sign of that Keith Hubbard. There hadn't been any incidents recently and she was at last beginning to feel cautiously optimistic that he had decided to leave her alone, but then that could all change with a moment's notice if there were any further developments in the case. The police had still not found any sign of Julie and Richard, and until they did, it was hard dealing with her husband's rants at the injustice of still being on bail after his recent arrest, as well as Keith Hubbard's rather alternative methods for abstracting revenge on the man he obviously held responsible for making him look a fool.

Dana didn't know what to make of it herself. She had to believe that Justin was not involved, even though he had definitely had the affair. Could he have orchestrated something? She didn't know and she didn't like to think about it too much. He did have another side to him that she tried to overlook; the side that could ignore her and their two children, while picking up other women to guiltlessly use and discard when he'd had enough. When some of his past conquests had sought more than just a little physical pleasure, he had been quite ruthless in the way he had dispatched them, but it had only amounted to dumping them, as far as she knew. Nothing stood in his way, whether in love or at work, and he would go to whatever lengths necessary to put a lovelorn woman or a prosecution barrister in their place. Justin was a force to be reckoned with, as well she knew.

Gemma was obviously excited about being back, chatting and laughing as she shared with her mother the stories of her latest adventures at university. Dana wondered whether her daughter and her mates ever did a minute's worth of work or whether she and Justin were, in fact, paying for a three year sojourn into the pubs, clubs and nightlife of Brighton.

‘So, have you actually done any work this term or has it just been one long social?'

‘Mum.' Gemma's voice was slightly petulant. ‘You know I work hard.' Her mouth turned up into a wide grin. ‘We just play hard too. You wouldn't have it any other way.' She paused as if for effect. ‘Remember I take after you.'

Dana laughed at the last comment.

‘Cheeky! You might be right though.'

‘You know I'm right.'

‘You have no respect.' She tutted out loud and slapped her daughter playfully on the knee. She loved having Gemma around. Now the teenage angst was over and done with, they actually got on as much as friends, as mother and daughter. They fell into a companionable silence. She loved this too; the fact that they could talk until the cows came home, or sit silently in each other's company without a moment's self-consciousness or awkwardness.

‘So how's Aiden at the moment?' Gemma suddenly asked, as if she too was thinking about her relationship with her mother. ‘Still giving you and Dad a hard time?'

Dana sighed. She didn't really want to think about him at that precise moment. He was fifteen going on thirty and full of outspoken advice on how she and Justin should conduct their marriage, in the light of the revelations of his father's infidelities. She had to feel sorry for him really. He was obviously getting a rough ride from the kids at school, notably Hubbard's other son, Ryan. Rumours and gossip about who was to blame for the disappearance of Julie and Richard were rife, and were no doubt being fuelled by both boys, who were obviously trying to accuse each other's fathers. Aiden did, however, have to deal with the fact that it was now common knowledge that his father had been shagging Julie, as all the kids were putting it, and Aiden was therefore on the back foot, trying to stand up for a man who, as her son said regularly to her during his marriage guidance lectures, ‘couldn't keep it in his trousers'.

‘He's having a hard time – and I suppose he has to vent on someone.'

‘Yeah, but it's not your fault. He should be aiming it at Dad, not you.'

She paused, not wanting to agree and therefore look to be criticizing her husband.

‘Gemma, your father's not a bad man. He just has…' She looked across at her daughter's face that was set hard in anticipation of what was to come. ‘Needs.'

She waited. Three, two, one.

‘What do you mean he has
needs
?' Gemma nearly exploded. ‘What about your needs.'

‘Gem, let's not get into this again.' She pulled to a stop a little too quickly at the set of lights just on the outskirts of town. ‘You know I love your father and I don't want to discuss our marriage yet again. I've done enough of that with Aiden in the last week. It's a strong marriage and we will get through it. Everyone has to turn a blind eye sometimes to their partner's failings. I'm no different.'

‘Yeah, other women have to turn a blind eye to their husband failing to put the toilet seat down or squeezing the toothpaste the wrong way, not to them shagging other women whenever they get the urge.'

‘Gem, don't speak to me like that.'

‘Mum! That was tame. You know I could have put it in a much cruder way.'

‘I'm sure you could, but shall we just leave it now?'

Gemma shook her head in obvious disgust. ‘Well I will never let my husband get away with what you're letting Dad get away with. He'd be straight out the door.'

She smiled at her daughter's naivety. She was too young to know the complexities of relationships, how one party nearly always had to compromise more than the other, how marriage was a trade-off between what you could put up with and what you could gain as a result. However, her daughter did have a point.

They were nearly there now. She turned into an access road in an industrial estate, behind a large coach park, following it round towards the rear exit, where Justin, months ago had shown her a fantastic cut-through to a small leafy lane. The lane skirted round the back of the local council's municipal dump, before eventually weaving out into the end of a small cul-de-sac in which a rival law firm was situated. The offices were a stone's throw from the main road leading into Valley Park. The short-cut was about half a mile in length but shaved off the last busy two-mile section of the journey. Very few people seemed to know about it, apart from those working in the nearby buildings, and as they were shut up for the night now it was even quieter than usual. A car horn brought her out of her reverie. The car behind was hooting at her and flashing their lights. She looked in her mirror and saw the driver gesticulating for her to pull over. She braked without thinking, stopping at the nearside kerb. What could be wrong? The car behind pulled up next to her. The window opened and the man driving leaned across into her line of vision and motioned for her to also open her window.

She did as instructed, wondering in that instant, as the chillier air pushed past the stuffy warmth of the interior and hit her in the face, why on earth she had stopped for a total stranger. Still, it was broad day-light and there was something vaguely familiar about him that she couldn't put her finger on.

‘Sorry to disturb you, but you've got a flat tyre.'

‘I haven't, have I?'

She hadn't even noticed, but then she'd been more intent on speaking to Gemma than concerning herself with the tyre pressures of her car.

‘Yeah, sorry, rear off-side one's as flat as a pancake.'

‘Oh dear.'

Gemma joined in the conversation. ‘What are we going to do, Mum?'

‘If you want, I could help you change it. I'm a bit of a dab hand at roadside wheel changes? I presume you've got a spare?'

Dana was suddenly unsure. She'd heard about scams where drivers were pulled over and robbed. Maybe this man was about to do the same. But then why had he pulled up next to her, as opposed to in front or behind? Surely he would have blocked her in or straight away asked her to get out of her vehicle if he was thinking about getting her into a vulnerable position. He was too casual and relaxed. If he had been planning anything, he surely wouldn't be having a chat first. Plus, he didn't look the sort. He wasn't your normal, young thug; he was smartly dressed and well spoken. And there was definitely something familiar about him.

She looked around her, quickly assessing where she was. It was doubtful anyone else would come past. If she didn't take him up on his offer, there would be no alternative other than to try and change the wheel herself. She didn't even know if she could. Or she could give Justin a ring for help, but by the time he got to them, the shops would all be shut and their evening would be over. She made a quick decision.

‘Thank you! That would be great. I haven't changed a wheel for over twenty years… and then only with the help of a bus driver who came to my rescue. I would really appreciate a hand, if you don't mind?'

‘No problem. Stay there and I'll park up and get things sorted.'

She watched as the man pulled over in front of her and reversed back so his car was close to the front of hers. She saw him glance into the mirror and caught his eye looking back at her, and for the briefest of moments a slight shiver of apprehension ran down her spine.

‘That's nice of him.' Gemma's voice broke through her thoughts.