The Accident (15 page)

I stop, my thumb hovering over the screen. If I call the police they’ll think I’m having another episode and ring my doctor. That’s what happened the last time. But I was wrong to call them then. I genuinely
was
ill. Why else would I have believed that James was living in the shed at the bottom of the garden and sending me coded messages via wet laundry and dead birds?

With two taps of my thumb the 9s disappear.

I select Brian’s number instead.

It rings then—

‘Hello.’ His tone is curt.

‘Brian, it’s me. Listen—’

‘No, you listen, Sue. I meant what I said yesterday. You either go and see the doctor or our marriage is over.’

‘But Brian something terrib—’

‘Are you going to see the doctor, Sue?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then I’ve got nothing further to say to you.’

The phone goes dead.

I dial my husband’s number again. This time it goes straight through to voicemail.

‘Brian, it’s Sue again.’ I pause to steady my breathing. ‘I know you’re angry but this is important.
Really
important and I need you to come home as soon as possible. When I got home from seeing Charlotte this morning I … no, wait … there’s something I need to say first. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I said last night. Keisha explained to me why Charlotte sent her that message and it was … well, I can’t begin to apologise for—’

To save this message press 1. To leave a new message press 2. To end the call press 3.

2 … 2 … 2 … I stab at the number. What just happened? Why couldn’t I leave a message?

‘Hello Brian, this is Sue again. I tried to leave you a message but I got cut off and I’m not sure you got it so I’ll try and keep this quick. I’m sorry about last night. I’m
so
sorry. What I said was horrible. It was worse than that. It was unforgiveable and I don’t blame you for walking out. I wasn’t thinking clearly because James has—’

To save this message press 1. To leave a new message press 2. To end the call pr
—

I press the ‘end call’ button and the voice stops instantly. It’s no good. I’ll have to wait until Brian gets home. I stare at the phone. Who else can I call? Obviously not Mum. And I can’t ask Oliver to go back to the house with me because he’s back in Leicester and besides, I’d never risk his safety like that. I can’t risk anyone’s safety.

I rest my head on the steering wheel and close my eyes.

I don’t know how long I stay there, slumped over the steering wheel, but when Milly nudges my hand and whines I open my eyes and sit back in my seat.

‘It’s okay, girl.’ I stroke her woolly head. ‘I know what we need to do.’

Wednesday 20th December 1990

I knew it couldn’t last, the blissful bubble James and I had been living in since we returned from Prague. I knew he’d have to go and spoil it.

We’d been to Clapham to discuss the new play the company should do next and there was an argument between James and Steve about what they should do. The argument ended with James calling Steve ‘an arrogant little prick’ and storming out. We went back to mine and James wouldn’t speak to me. I lay wide awake in the dark, wondering if I’d done something wrong when James suddenly sat bolt upright in bed and looked at me.

‘How many men have slept here?’

‘Sorry?’

‘In this bed. How many?’

I sighed and rolled over. ‘I’m not having this conversation, James. We’re both tired. Let’s just go to sleep.’

‘How many?’

He was itching for a fight and there was no way I was going to let him have the satisfaction of me joining in. ‘None.’

‘Liar.’

‘Okay, one.’ I pulled the duvet up around me. ‘You.’

‘Bullshit.’ He gripped the edge of the duvet and ripped it away. ‘This mattress is probably soggy with other men’s spunk.’

I stared at him in shock. ‘That’s a vile thing to say.’

‘I’m not the vile one.’ He jumped out of bed and looked down at me, sneering. ‘And I’m never sleeping in this bed again.’

‘James!’ I pulled the duvet back over my breasts. ‘Stop being ridiculous. Come back to bed, for God’s sake.’

‘You stay in bed. I’m sleeping on the floor.’

‘James!’

I watched in astonishment as he marched up to my wardrobe, threw it open and pulled out an old camping blanket. He wrapped it around himself, grabbed a cushion from the armchair by the door and lay down on the floor with his back towards me.

‘James please.’ I inched towards the edge of the bed and reached out a hand. ‘This is ridiculous. You’ve slept in this bed loads of times and it’s never bothered you before.’

He flipped over to face me. ‘We weren’t engaged then.’

‘That’s what this is about? Us getting engaged?’ A wave of fear crashed over me. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Us getting engaged changes things.’ He sat up, resting his back against the wall. ‘You’ll be my wife one day Suzy and I can’t deal with the fact that you’ve been with so many men.’

‘But I haven’t. I’ve only
—
’

‘Fifteen,’ James said and I cringed. Why
had I been so honest with him on our second date? ‘Why?
You gave your cherry away to a one-night stand who used you like a dirty wank rag.’

I prickled but said nothing. It wasn’t worth it. At least James had stopped raging and was speaking in a more measured, almost reflective, tone.

‘I waited,’ he continued. ‘I waited and I waited to meet the woman who’d saved herself for me but, time and time again, just when I thought I’d met “the one” I’d find out she was a dirty slag like all the others. Do you know what I did?’ He reached up and grabbed my wrist, yanking me towards him so our faces were millimeters apart. ‘Do you know what I did when I finally accepted there was no such thing as a soulmate and that the world was laughing at me? I gave my virginity to a prostitute!’ He spat out a laugh, spraying me with saliva. ‘Yes, an actual slag. Why give it to an amateur when I could give it to a pro?’

I said nothing. James was scaring me, the way he was staring at me, his fingers pressed into my wrist, his hot beery breath flooding my nostrils. I’d never seen him look so angry, never seen him glower at me with such hatred and resentment. I wanted to reason with him, to apologise to him, to commiserate with him. Instead I said nothing and bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying.

‘I never expected to fall in love with you.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘I thought you were another good time girl I’d have fun with but,’ he leaned away and traced the shape of my lips with his index finger, ‘there’s more to you than a regrettable past. You’ve got a beautiful soul, Suzy. That’s why I gave you my grandmother’s ring, the most precious thing I own. I hate that other men have fucked you and they didn’t realize what a precious, precious jewel they held in their arms. I want to destroy them, one by one, until your past is obliterated and there’s just me and you in the here and now.’ I must have made a noise, some squeak of surprise because he added, ‘I’m talking metaphorically of course. I’d never hurt anyone. You know I’d never hurt a fly don’t you, Suzy-Sue? Never.’

The atmosphere in the room was so thick, so charged with emotion, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to break out of James’s arms, throw open the window and gulp huge lungfuls of night air.

‘We’re engaged,’ he continued. ‘It’s a commitment to each other but it’s also a new start. Let’s wipe the past from our lives, Suzy and begin again. Is it too much …’ he glanced at the headboard then back at me, ‘is it too much to ask you to get a new bed?’

I shook my head. Looking at it like that – like we were practically married – it didn’t sound like such an unreasonable suggestion. A new life together and a new bed, it made sense.

Chapter 14

‘And you’re quite sure you saw this person enter your house?’

I’m pretty sure the WPC thinks I’m lying. Which I am.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I was sitting in the garden reading a book when he jumped over the hedge, sprinted across the lawn and made a beeline for the porch door.’

The male officer wanders over to where I’m pointing, to the six-foot privet that separates us from next door, and stands on tiptoes to peer over it. He then crouches down and runs a hand through the undergrowth before standing up and returning to where we are standing.

‘There are no signs of damage.’ He gives me a long look. ‘You’d expect there to be broken branches and scattered leaves and twigs if someone just jumped a hedge that size.’

I shrug. ‘He was very lithe, athletic looking, you know – sporty.’

‘So he vaulted the hedge without touching it?’ The officer raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s some athleticism.’

I cross my arms over my chest then uncross them again. ‘Well, I didn’t actually
see
the burglar jump it. I heard something and looked up from my book to see him sprinting across the lawn towards the side of the house.’

The officers share a look and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. It seemed like such a plausible story when I was driving back from Woodingdean. I’d tell the police that a burglar was hiding in our home and then there’d be no need to mention my ex-boyfriend and the snow shaker he’d left on my doorstep. The police would check my house was safe – and empty – and I’d risk nothing.

‘What makes you so sure the “burglar” entered your house through the porch door,’ the WPC looks towards the side of the house, ‘when you can’t actually see it from here? For all you know he could have just run off down the driveway.’

‘Because I left the door open.’

She raises an eyebrow.

‘To let the dog wander in and out,’ I add.

‘Right.’ She scribbles something in her notebook.

‘It’s my husband, you see – Brian Jackson, MP for Brighton. We can’t be too careful.’

A look of surprise crosses the WPC’s face. She looks at her colleague who raises his eyebrows as though he’s impressed. Or shocked that Brian would be married to someone like me. Either way, both of them have stopped looking at me like they’re considering charging me with wasting police time.

‘We’ve checked your house.’ The male officer strolls across the lawn, his car in his sights. The WPC indicates, with a nod of her head, that we should follow him. ‘And there was no sign of any kind of disturbance, or an intruder.’

The WPC stops walking. ‘You okay, Mrs Jackson? You look a little shaken.’

‘I am, yes.’ For the first time since they started questioning me I’m telling the truth. Now I know James isn’t in the house or hiding in the garden I feel weak with relief.

‘We could stay with you, at least until a friend or relative joins you. Is there someone you’d like to ring?’

I shake my head. I need to get inside and look through Brian’s laptop. If Charlotte used it to urgently message someone, who knows what clues it might reveal.

‘No, thank you. I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes,’ I say with more conviction than I feel, ‘I’ll be okay. Thank you so much for coming out.’

The male officer nods curtly and opens the car door. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

My bravado disappears the second the police car crunches its way down the driveway and disappears around the corner. What if the police only poked their heads into each room and James is still hiding somewhere? He’ll have heard them leave and know I’m alone.

I look from the open porch door to the car. I could just go – jump back in with Milly and drive to my friend Jane’s house. I could tell her Brian and I had a row (which wouldn’t be far from the truth) and ask if I could stay for a couple of nights. But she and Eric have got two cats and I’d have to put Milly in kennels. Who else? Annette? No. I immediately discount her. She’s a terrible gossip. It would only take a matter of days, if not hours, for the news to spread that my marriage was in disarray. I cycle through the rest of my friends – Ellen doesn’t have the space, Amelia is knee deep in renovations and Mary is in Spain. The Travelodge just off the A22 takes dogs. All I need to do is pop into the house to grab the laptop and we can be there in under an hour.

I put my hand on Milly’s soft head and scratch behind her ear as I mentally rehearse my route through the house, making a list of what I’ll take from each room. The house isn’t safe anymore. I need to get in and out as quickly as I can.

‘Ready girl?’ I take a step towards the open porch door.

Every squeaky floorboard, rumbling pipe and creaking wall makes me start as I hurry from room to room, throwing open drawers, gathering up clothes and sweeping make-up and toiletries into a large floral overnight bag. Darting into the bathroom to collect my toothbrush terrifies me when I notice someone staring at me from the other side of the room, only to discover that Brian has left his shaving mirror angled towards the door and it’s my own reflection. Milly quickly tires of my frenetic pace and lies down in the middle of the hall and rests her head on her paws.

I leave Brian’s study for last and it’s only as I turn the handle that it strikes me that he might have taken his laptop with him when he left yesterday. I push the door open and peer into the room.

It’s on the desk, closed and unplugged with the lead coiled over the lid and the plug resting on the side like Brian was planning on taking it with him and then forgot. I scoop it up and then—

BANG!

The office door slams shut behind me.

I freeze, half bent over the desk with the laptop in my hands. Every fibre of my body is still, every hair erect. My heart slows to a steady thud-thud-thud as I listen.

Listen.

For the creak of a floorboard, the creak of a joint, or the low sound of a breath.

Listen.

Time slows and I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here, hunched over the desk, listening, waiting, dreading. My lower back aches, my hip bones hurt from where they’re pressing against the desk and the laptop is slipping from my sweaty fingers. If James is behind me I need to turn around and face my fate head on.