The Missing Husband (16 page)

The note was a half-written letter that had been screwed up and then perhaps hidden away quickly from prying eyes. There was no way of knowing when David had written it, but she guessed it would have been shortly after she had told him her good news. The letter was in her pocket now and she had already memorized every venomous word that had not only obliterated her wavering hope that David simply needed some space and time, but had poisoned some of her most precious memories like the one of him putting his hand on her stomach and feeling little FB kick for the very first time. And to add insult to injury, the letter wasn’t even addressed to her. Apparently she wasn’t that important in his life.

Dear Dad,

I can’t believe it, I really can’t, which is why I think I have to write it down otherwise the news just won’t sink in.

Jo’s pregnant. I’m going to be a dad!

I’m still in shock. Seriously, I wasn’t expecting this at all. She came off the pill without telling me and apparently she’s known for weeks that she was pregnant, but hadn’t had the courage to tell me. She even pretended she’d had PMT the other month to stop me getting suspicious. Why did she do that? What the hell was she thinking? How could she make that kind of decision without me? What does it say about us, what does it say about me?

It doesn’t matter now, I suppose, what’s done is done and I keep trying to imagine what it will be like this time next year. Am I going to be like you, Dad? Am I going to spend the rest of my life relying on documentaries on TV to show me the world instead of going out and experiencing it for myself? I wanted to wait. I wanted some more memories under my belt to keep me smiling while I’m changing nappies and wiping snotty noses. I didn’t want my kids ending up like me, being a fucking burden to their father. A Fucking Burden!

There had been a brief moment when Jo had read the first lines and her heart had soared, she had thought she was about to be vindicated. She had thought David was describing his joy but it had been a cruel ruse and, even as his initial words lifted her up, the next paragraph sent her plummeting to new depths. The letter had broken off abruptly and she supposed she should be grateful that she hadn’t been subjected to even more of her husband’s diatribe.

She had sat on the bed, sobbing, staring at the letter long after the tears had blinded her. She had been brought down as low as she could possibly get, or so she believed until another thought struck her. She had wiped her eyes and glared at the last two words he had written and her misery was compounded. Fucking Burden, he had written. FB. Fucking Burden – not Fur Ball …

And that was why she was burning his clothes. She was terrified of finding another note but that wouldn’t stop her continuing the search, and that was when she had come up with a simple solution. She wouldn’t need to check jacket pockets ever again if they had been reduced to ashes and so she had stayed up until the early hours removing David from her life as ruthlessly as he had removed her from his. And she had sobbed as though her heart would break the entire time.

‘Stay as far back as you can,’ Jo warned as she turned up the sleeves of her newly acquired coat and began pouring petrol over the rags and rolled-up magazines they had already poked into the wood pile. She was grateful for Lauren’s presence; it forced her to act calm and collected; only she could hear the scream inside her head.

Jo wiped her hands with a rag but the cloying scent of petrol was too strong to be whipped away by the biting wind. ‘I think it would be safer if we stood upwind,’ she said and guided Lauren to the furthest reaches of the garden. ‘Ready?’

Holding the rag at arm’s-length, Jo set fire to it with a gas lighter. Flames licked gently around one leg of the boxer shorts but suddenly the whole garment was alight and she let go of it reflexively. Still several feet from its intended target, Lauren quickly picked up an old fence pole and used it to fling the flaming rag towards the bonfire. The whoosh of hot air made them both step backwards and the ensuing heat forced them to retreat further until they had their backs pressed against the fence at the end of the garden.

The seemingly benign pile of damp wood roared into life and Jo marvelled at its beauty, which had immersed the rest of the garden in flickering, golden light. She turned to Lauren whose face glowed orange and her flame-coloured hair shone. Her niece’s eyes were wide with wonder.

‘I didn’t expect it to take hold that quickly,’ Jo said. She had a smile on her face as she basked in the warm glow from what was, effectively, the incineration of her marriage.

‘We should have brought some potatoes to bake.’

Jo looked at the narrow gap between the shed and the bonfire. She could just make out the lights from the kitchen beyond the wall of fire. ‘Maybe we’ll wait for it to die down first,’ she said as she looked deeper into the dancing flames, which seemed determined to draw David back into her life despite herself.

She stamped her feet and almost expected to feel the crunch of snow. Above the crackle of burning wood she could hear fireworks whizzing above her head and, although she knew she was in Beaumont Avenue, she could just as easily have been in Iceland, enjoying another of those life-affirming trips that David was intent on fitting in before family life clipped his wings. This one had been last New Year and was meant to celebrate Jo’s thirty-first birthday but, try as she might, Jo hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate.

The memory couldn’t be eviscerated as easily as David’s worldly goods and she heard his voice first …

‘Dance with me, Jo,’ he had called to her.

‘I’m too tired. If we’re going to be climbing glaciers tomorrow then I’m going to need my beauty sleep.’

‘We’ll have plenty of time to sleep when we get back home to tame, old England. Dance with me, Jo.’

‘Dance with yourself,’ she had shouted and through the red and orange ribbons of fire, she had watched in disbelief as her husband began to waltz around the bonfire, arms clasping an imaginary partner, chin lifted. She had laughed when he had sneaked a hand down to squeeze the behind of the invisible woman, but as he moved towards her, she was already digging her heels into the snow.

‘You can be so stubborn sometimes,’ he had said when he was close enough to whisper in her ear.

Jo had held her tongue even though she wanted to remind him of how magnanimous she was being. The year in which they were meant to start a family had come and gone and, other than the occasional reminder to her husband that their family plan had been postponed rather than cancelled, Jo had ignored the ache in her arms to hold their baby. She had supported him as he came to terms with his father’s death and silently watched the world map in the study fill with red pins.

She had pushed him away. ‘
You
dance.’

‘Stubborn,’ he had repeated.

‘Yes, and I don’t know why you put up with me,’ she had said, knowing why he did.

David knew she did too but had said it anyway. ‘Because I love you, Jo Taylor. I love you, I love you, I love youuuuu,’ he had sung as he danced away from her.

Jo had felt a flutter of excitement as she watched him. If she was being forced to postpone having a baby for the sake of a holiday, then she should at least be enjoying it. She had raced after him and leapt on his back bringing a yelp of surprise from both of them. He had held on to her and twirled her around as they laughed together …

The laughter Jo was trying to recapture caught in her throat. She still loved David – her heart wouldn’t be told otherwise – but her hand was reaching inside her pocket to touch the evidence that suggested he might not feel the same. Unable to bear the presence of the damning letter for a moment longer, she took out the crumpled piece of paper and flung it into the flames where it was hungrily devoured. She wished she could destroy the memory of his words as easily. She wished she could have just one more chance to talk to him, to remind him how much they loved each other, and to find some way for them both to make amends for their mistakes.

As Jo stared into the flames, the wind changed direction and clouds of black smoke billowed around her. Jo’s eyes were streaming as she tried to summon her husband again from amongst the dancing shadows. To her surprise, she saw movement then blinked, not trusting what she was seeing. When the smoke began to clear, Jo’s heart leapt.

‘Did you see that?’ she asked Lauren, gripping her niece’s arm tightly with one hand and pointing over towards the house with the other. She was sure it had been the silhouetted figure of a man walking past the kitchen window.

Lauren followed Jo’s gaze but the wind had blown new life into the flames and the gap between the shed and the fire had been reduced to nothing. ‘See what?’ she asked, wincing a little as Jo’s grip tightened.

The reply came from the far side of the garden and cut through the November night.

‘Jo? Are you there?’

‘David!’ Jo cried and lunged forward. She used her arms to beat a path through the flames and almost made it past the bonfire unscathed until the lingering vapours of petrol caught light on her coat sleeve.

Jo waved her arm frantically but only succeeded in helping the fire catch hold. Flames sucked the oxygen from the air as she stumbled on, more desperate than ever for David to be there to catch her. The searing heat and smell of burning polyester choked the breath out of her lungs. As she gasped for air, panic bloomed in her chest and she was sure her heart was about to explode. Darkness began to creep and then coursed across her field of vision and the last thing she saw before she passed out was a man’s face looming over her.

The acrid mix of smoke and petrol seeped into Jo’s consciousness and triggered flashes of memories so bright they burned the back of her closed lids. She took a gasp of air that tasted of oily soot. Her stomach churned and her eyes flickered open.

‘Are you OK?’ Lauren asked.

Jo was lying on the sofa and she quickly checked her right arm, which had been engulfed in flames. She wasn’t wearing her coat now but her jumper felt rough where the wool had scorched. The skin on her hand felt tender but miraculously she had avoided any serious burns. Her hand moved across her abdomen. There was no pain there, but neither had there been any hint of movement since she had come round. The gentle kick that came a second later should have given her some comfort but it only succeeded in making her stomach lurch. She looked up at Lauren whose face was streaked with soot and tears but it was the face of the man who had come to her rescue that played on her mind. She willed herself to resurrect each and every one of David’s features from the ashes but it was hopeless. ‘Where’s Steve?’ she asked.

‘He’s trying to damp down the fire. We weren’t sure if we should phone for an ambulance.’

‘Have I been out long?’ Jo was heaving herself up and ignoring the speckles of light that threatened to return her to darkness.

‘Only a couple of minutes,’ Lauren said, but her words caught in her throat. ‘I was so scared, Jo. You were on fire and I couldn’t get to you and then you fell. Do you think FB’s OK?’

Hearing that name was like being stabbed by a red-hot poker. ‘Don’t you ever,
ever
let me hear you call it that again!’

Lauren blinked in shock and her lip trembled furiously. ‘Sorry, Jo. I didn’t—’

‘No,
I’m
sorry, Lauren. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault,’ she said, but the sight of her niece’s tears was bringing Jo’s roiling emotions closer to the surface and the scream she had been stifling since finding David’s note was getting difficult to hold back.

She tried telling herself that she had to withhold judgement until she knew exactly what had happened to David, that there was always the possibility that something bad had happened and she would be wracked with guilt for thinking the worst of him, but it was too late: she had already burned that bridge – the ashes were still smouldering in the back garden.

Her body started to shake as if it were a pressure cooker waiting to explode. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she hissed as she scanned the room for something on which to direct her fury.

There was a gasp as Lauren was pushed unceremoniously to one side and Jo’s heart pounded as she snatched up a framed wedding photograph. It crashed into the wall but the sound of breaking glass was impossible to hear above her screams.

‘You bastard! You selfish, heartless bastard!’

Jo’s eyes were wild with rage as another picture-perfect image was sent flying through the air, crashing against the mantelpiece.

‘Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me to my face that you didn’t want to be here any more? Why couldn’t you have the balls to pack a bag and leave me crying on the doorstep? What did I do to make you hate me so much that you would put me through this? Isn’t it enough that I have to lose you?
How could you be
so cruel?
’ Her last words tore from her lungs with a howl of fury as she ripped the starburst clock from the wall and hurled it towards the door. Steve only just managed to dodge the missile as he rushed towards her. For the second time that night, he made a grab for his sister-in-law, only this time she was far less malleable. He did his best to calm her but he was reluctant to put up much of a fight against a pregnant woman no matter how much she hit him.

‘Please, Jo, it’s all right. It’s going to be all right,’ he was saying over and over again, but Jo wasn’t listening. She was too busy fighting him off as she searched for something else to smash into smithereens.

The battle of wills might have continued indefinitely if Jo hadn’t seen Lauren flee out of the room in terror. She thought about what her poor niece was being forced to witness, and it was that, along with the sound glass crunching underfoot and the mess she would eventually have to clean up, that brought her back to her senses. With one final shove, she pushed Steve away. Her body heaved as she tried to catch her breath between sobs. ‘Why can’t I just hate him, Steve?’ she asked when she could talk. ‘I can’t go on like this! I need to know why this is happening.’