The Waiting Game (15 page)

I don’t like this. She needs to make her mind up. It’s not fair to keep me hanging on. Does she want this or not? One minute, she can’t stay away from me. The next, she’s so cold it’s like she hates me.

If she’s not careful, she’ll be sorry. She’ll come looking for me one day and I won’t be there. I’ll have found someone else. But there isn’t anyone else. Sometimes, when I’m not doing so well, I swear to God, I nearly hate her for it.

Is that possible? Can you hate someone and love them all at the same time?

Yes. Right now, right this second, I swear that it’s exactly how I feel. Part of me wanting to love her and protect her and make sure nothing bad ever happens to her again. The other part – the bad, evil part of me – wants to punish her for making me feel this way.

I don’t like it. She knows that and she does nothing to make it any better. Sometimes, I even think she’s doing it on purpose.

Too scared to get a taxi, not knowing who might be driving the car, she jumped on a bus as far as Lewisham. There, she waited ages for a bus, but none came and she had to walk the final stage. She went the long way around, along the high street, up Hither Green Lane and down Ennersdale Road.

At the house, all she’d have to do was go inside, grab a few things. Then she’d jump on a train to Greenwich. She’d booked a room in the Holiday Inn Express. One night there, then she was on a plane to Spain. She should have done it earlier instead of wasting all this time trying to make a go of things herself. Mum had been so happy to hear from her. Offered to pay her ticket and everything. Promised things would be just the way they used to be. Before Ricky came into their lives and ruined everything. Mum was right. She’d never been able to stand on her own two feet, so why on earth did she want to start doing it now?

Just you and me, Chloe. Like we used to be.

There was a time, not so long ago, it was the last thing she wanted. How stupid she’d been. Mum had always looked out for her, been her best friend as well as her mother. People used to mistake them for sisters, not mother and daughter. Chloe had hated it for reasons that now seemed so silly. They’d have fun together. Like they used to before she grew up and decided she
wanted a life of her own.

Some sort of life it had turned out to be.

Ennersdale Road was quiet. When she turned into Nightingale Grove, it was quieter again. There was someone behind her. Not her imagination this time. She had to keep going. Nearly home.

Footsteps. Walking when she walked, stopping suddenly when she stopped. She swung around, eyes scanning the road, peering through the darkness. Couldn’t see anyone, but she knew he was there.

‘Hello?’

A figure stepped out of the shadows, walked towards her. She should move. Run. Get as far away as she could. But she was frozen to the spot, watching it happen like she was far away and not even inside her own body. And then, right when she thought the fear would consume her, when she thought this was it and she would die right here, right now, the person moved under a streetlight and she saw who it was.

She laughed, shaky, hysterical laughter. Laughing so hard, her eyes watered and her stomach hurt.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I just wasn’t expecting… I thought it was someone else. But it’s only you.’

‘Will you be my best friend forever?’ Eilish asked as Ellen tucked her into bed.

‘I’ll be your mum forever,’ Ellen said. ‘And your best friend if you want me. But you’ll have so many friends, Eilish.’

‘Even more than now?’

Ellen smiled. ‘Even more.’

Eilish had her father’s personality. All lightness and sociability. Poor Pat took after Ellen: dark and difficult. She bent down and kissed Eilish on the forehead, inhaling her daughter’s soft, sweet smell.

‘I love you, Mummy.’

‘I love you too, darling. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

Pat was reading a book when she went in. The latest
Alex Rider
book. Ellen loved Anthony Horowitz for getting her son into reading.

‘Another few minutes, Mummy? Please?’

‘It’s nearly eight,’ Ellen said. ‘How about I let you read until eight-fifteen, then turn the light off?’

When he smiled, it transformed his face, the darkness
banished
, reminding her of what he was like as a toddler. He’d been happy then. Happier, at least. Not that he was unhappy now. It was more that he lacked Eilish’s innate ability for happiness. For his sake, Ellen wished he was less like her and more like his father.

‘Will you read it to me?’

He held the book out. She sat down, took it from him and started reading.

At twenty past eight, his eyes were closing. Ellen shut the
book, switched the light off and gave him a kiss goodnight.

‘I dreamt last night that you got shot,’ Pat said. ‘We were on a walk and a man came along and shot you. He didn’t shoot me, but I couldn’t stop crying because you were dead and I wasn’t. I don’t want to live without you, Mummy.’

Ellen sat down again, wishing she could lie beside him, not talk anymore and just go to sleep. She was suddenly so very tired.

‘Pat,’ she said. ‘You know if you have a bad dream and you tell someone, it means you never get that dream again and that the dream can’t ever come true.’

‘Really?’ His voice told her he didn’t believe that. Not for a single second.

She smiled. ‘Cross my heart.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Love you, Mum. You can go now. I’m tired.’

At his bedroom door, she hovered, wondering if she should say something else. Hoping he was okay.

‘Night, Mum.’

‘Night, darling.’

She left, taking care to leave the door open so the light from the hall shone into his room. Just the way he liked it.

As she came downstairs, the front doorbell rang. She ran to answer it, saw Jim’s outline through the glass panels.

‘Hey.’ She opened the door and they hugged. He was warm, his T-shirt damp with sweat, like he’d come straight from the gym.

‘Sorry.’ He patted his T-shirt. ‘I’ve just finished work. Probably
should have gone home and changed first but I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I’d catch the kids before they were asleep?’

‘They’re in bed,’ she said. ‘But Pat’s still awake. Just. If you run up now, you’ll catch him before he nods off.’

She listened as he went upstairs. She could hear the rumble of his voice and Pat’s and wondered what they were talking about. Strange to think her children were building their own relationships with him, separate from her and him.

It struck her that she was happy. Right here, in this moment, perfectly content with her lot. She considered this revelation, checking it over, doubting it and half expecting to find something that would dispel the feeling.

But she didn’t find anything. Work was going well, her family were healthy and happy. And there was Jim. All things considered, life could be a lot worse. She was lucky, and she knew it.

Hush little baby…

Her eyes are open. She thinks her eyes are open. In the darkness, it’s difficult to tell. She tries to remember what she’s doing here, but the place where her memories used to be is empty. Or missing. She knows her name. Chloe.

Cold Chloe. Teeth chitter-chattering. Body shaking. Ice cold. Tries to move but nothing happens. Her name is Chloe. Was Chloe. Pictures – faded, hard to focus – drift around inside her head. Things that don’t make sense. A man with blue eyes and dark hair. A name. Ricky. She thinks she knows Ricky but she’s not sure.

A flash of focus then. A moment’s clarity… Shock. She’d got it all wrong. Why? She can’t remember. Nothing in her head now,
nothing anywhere except pain. Oh God, the pain.

Don’t say a word…

A face. Kind face. Smiling. Arms wrapped around her, hugging her. Singing her to sleep.

Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird…

Mummy. She’s crying.

Mummy loves you, my darling…

Sweet soft voice.

Crying. Holding her tighter now, telling her she loved her, begging her to stay.

And if that cart and horse fall down…

She has to go. She’s floating. Drifting away. Moving from the pain. Better like this. Because the pain, it’s bad now. Really bad. She can’t take it.

You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

The pain fades. And everything else with it. No cold now. No anything. Drifting, floating. Gone.

It was the sound of someone moving around downstairs that woke Monica. She opened her eyes, the dream fading as she tried to work out if the person downstairs had been part of the dream too. Or if there really was someone there.

Her shoulders ached and the muscles in her arms were stiff. It happened sometimes if she’d spent too long in the gym. She rolled her shoulders, flexed and unflexed the muscles along each arm, waiting for worst of the pain to pass.

Sometimes when she woke, it took a while to work things out. Where she was and who she was. The strength of the dreams made it difficult to escape them in those first few moments between sleep and wakefulness. Ever since Brighton, the dreams had been more frequent, more vivid than ever. This had been one
of the worst. Her mother was there, of course. As present in her dreams as she’d been absent from her life. Saying those things to her, half-smiling, like it was funny. Like she didn’t know it was wrong, all wrong. Lying – because of course it was lies, they both knew that – and never shutting up. Just going on and on and on until she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Until…

Whistling.

She sat up in the bed, heart racing. What if she’d been followed?

At the same time as she thought this, she noticed other things. The stale smell of a body that wasn’t hers. The indent on the spare pillow. And then she remembered. Her world spun 360 degrees until everything was in place and she was fully awake. The tread of feet on the stairs, the bedroom door opened and there he was.

‘Harry.’

He smiled. He really did have the loveliest smile.

He was carrying a tray. The smell of fresh coffee and buttered toast invaded the room, blocking out the other smells.

She patted the side of the bed, beckoned him over.

He placed the tray on the table beside the bed and sat down where she’d told him to.

‘Breakfast in bed,’ he said. ‘Hope it’s okay?’

He gave her that puppy dog look, eyes all big and watery, mouth half open. Made him look like a retard. He was sitting too close. She shifted across to give herself more room, but he just moved with her. Like he was attached to her with Velcro.
And still staring at her. Jesus Almighty, is that what love looked like? If it was, she could do without it, thank you very much.

But she remembered why he was here and she smiled and thanked him. Although she couldn’t quite bring herself to let him feed her the slivers of toast when he tried to. That really was a step too far.

Later, they went to the park. Her idea. She’d reached the point where she couldn’t take anymore. It wasn’t just Harry, although he didn’t help. It was everything. The lingering effects of the dream, the unbearable build-up of tension, the feeling that something was about to happen and if it didn’t soon, she would explode from the waiting for it. The desperate, claustrophobic sense that the house was closing in on her and if she didn’t get out, her body would close down, simply stop working and everything she was would disappear.

How did you explain that to someone? You couldn’t. Not without sounding like a nutter. And she wasn’t mad. Furthest thing from crazy there was. All this, the planning, the thinking through every single piece of it, having to go back over things time and again to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. That was the problem. Her mind was burning up from the effort of it all.

Another reason to be grateful to Harry. If she could just switch her mind off for a bit, let herself relax, then being with him wasn’t such hard work. Yes, she had to be careful, make sure she didn’t reveal too much of herself. But she could hardly call that hard
work. She’d had a lifetime’s practice.

He yabbered on a bit, but that was mostly okay. She was happy to let him talk while she pretended to listen. And he didn’t need much back. Seemed more than happy just being with her. They strolled through the park hand in hand – okay, that was an effort, but she had to make allowances – while he talked at her and she zoned out.

After a bit, he went quiet. She waited a few minutes, pretending she was still lost in her own thoughts or the loveliness of the moment or whatever. Then she squeezed his hand, still clinging on to hers like a child’s.

‘I’ve wanted to talk to you about something,’ she began. ‘But I haven’t known where to start.’

He returned the pressure on her hand.

‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You know you can talk to me about anything, Mon.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just, well, you know I don’t find it easy. Trusting people, I mean.’

‘You and me both,’ he said.

He stopped, took her face in both of his hands and stared hard.

‘Listen,’ he said, voice all urgent now, getting ready to communicate something of great importance. She had to fight the urge to giggle.

‘We’ve both been through a lot, right?’ he continued. ‘I understand, Mon. At least, I want to. If you’ll let me? Look, I never
told you this, but I really admire you. Because you’re so open about it. Talking about that shit, it can’t be easy for you. You’re amazing, you know that?’

She reached up and stroked his face, fingers tracing the tickly overnight stubble.

‘So good-looking,’ she said. ‘You’ve no idea, have you?’

He blushed and it made him even cuter. She smiled.

‘I know I can trust you, Harry.’

He nodded.

‘The thing is,’ she said. ‘I’m scared. There’s this woman. A detective with the police.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Ellen,’ Monica said. ‘Ellen Kelly. If I tell you about her, do you swear not to breathe a word to anyone?’

‘No one,’ he said.

She smiled, knowing she had him. And then she started talking.