The Woman Before Me (26 page)

“It’s a lovely inscription, Rose. Upon Angel’s wings – it’s just beautiful.”

“He’s with my Mum,” I said, “and my Aunt Rita. He’s safe.”

I didn’t know if I would call the place where he now was heaven, but I knew he was somewhere, watching me. I could feel him sometimes, especially at night when I was alone.

I kissed the stone where his name was etched. The sun had warmed it. Behind me I heard Emma sob, interrupting my peaceful meditation.

She was searching for a tissue among the nappies and baby wipes.

Luke was asleep, his cheeks rosy as he snuggled with his blanket. She didn’t deserve him.

43

Dominic Hatcher watched as his wife, zombie-like, led the probation officer to the lounge and mumbled an offer of a drink, an offer that he knew she would forget to carry out.

Anticipating Emma’s inability to perform even this simple task, he had already boiled the kettle and set out three mugs. He lingered just long enough to hear the probation officer say, “coffee, please. Black, no sugar,” and disappeared to make it.

Stirring the drinks Dominic tried to still his brain, knowing the main guest at the table of his sorrow was anger, which he must control. Anger at Rose Wilks, that she was found not guilty of murder. But also angry with Emma. Angry that she had invited Rose into their home, that she had failed to see what that woman was, and the monster she would become.

Dominic and Emma’s marriage was cold and businesslike, with no arguments, no passion. Emma lacked the energy for anything and Dominic feared that if he started to show any emotion he would not be able to staunch the volcano of his feelings, which would consume them both.

He was quick making the drinks, but not quick enough, and when he entered the lounge a strained silence had already been established. He saw by the way the probation officer was leaning forward, pen poised, she was waiting for an answer to a question she had asked Emma, which he knew would never come. Emma was teetering on the sofa, staring into the middle-distance. The thought entered his mind that he would like to slap her, just to get some reaction.

He placed a mug in front of the probation officer, who was young, barely out of university by the look of her. She had a serious face, though, and was frowning. She put her pen down and took the mug into two hands, held it tight, and told him to call her Cate, beginning once more to explain why she was there. Dominic heard the words – ‘parole report,’ ‘impartial,’ ‘your views’ – but they barely penetrated. It was just jargon. There was only one thing he needed to know.

“So when will that woman be let out?”

He watched Cate sip her coffee, and then hold the cup from her mouth. “That depends on what the parole board decide when they meet next week.”

His breath caught. “When do you think it will be?”

She pursed her lips before she answered. “If she doesn’t win parole she’ll be in prison for another two years.”

“Only two years? That’s an insult!”

“But if she’s successful, she’ll be released in September.”

Emma looked up, surprised. “But that’s next month.”

Cate put down her cup. “She would be out on licence and have to report to a probation officer working in the town. We’d require her to complete some offending behaviour courses. She wouldn’t be able to get a job without our permission, and we would have to approve the address she lives at. It’s not an easy ride for a released prisoner.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Dominic’s heart thumped his ribcage. “She’d be free. That’s the point.” He wished there was something to slam his anger into.

Emma mused to herself, speaking softly and slowly as she shook her head in disbelief. “I could see her in the street, at the supermarket. She could walk past this house.”

“No,” said Cate, “we wouldn’t allow that. If she’s released there would be a condition of no contact.”

Dominic stared at her earnest face, heard the certainty in her voice, and despised her for it. “She killed our child. Do you really think anything you say would stop her doing whatever she wants?”

“If she broke any parole conditions she’d be sent straight back to prison.”

He sat down heavily on the sofa, feeling the weight of his own fury bearing down on him. “So how much will our views really count when you write this parole report?”

He could see by her face, sympathetic yet professional, that she was trying to manage him, trying to diffuse his anger, but it was futile. He had been angry for four years, and nothing she could say would change that.

“Well, I’d like to know of any conditions you would like imposed. For example, we could have one to stop her from entering this neighbourhood. If Rose Wilks is assessed as worthy of release, your views are unlikely to influence that, but they would influence the nature of the licence.”

“In other words, this is a waste of fucking time.” Anger gave way to something more painful, the hopelessness of defeat. Emma, at his side stared at the floor.

“Mr Hatcher, I want my report to represent your views too. I haven’t made a decision on whether to recommend release or not, and I’d really like to know how Rose became so involved with your family. Can I ask you about the case? I’ve read your witness statements, but if you feel able to talk, I’d like to listen.”

He had been waiting for this. Another stranger wanting to delve into their pain, to pull around with the whys and wherefores when none of it would change the fact that Luke was dead. He was about to say as much when Emma surprised him by speaking first. Her voice was a monotone.

“I felt sorry for her. I wanted to help, to be her friend. She was a bit odd, but then who wouldn’t be, after losing a baby?” She gave a sound like a sob, and her pain punctuated the words as she struggled to finish her sentence.

Dominic dutifully moved closer to Emma on the sofa, placing an arm around her waist, but she didn’t respond. It was like embracing a statue. She was silent; her body slumped as if whatever energy she had was spent.

“Did you notice she was becoming obsessed with Luke?” asked Cate.

Emma took a long time to answer, her head shaking slowly before the words followed. “No. Not really. But then I was wrapped up in being a new mum. And she was always there. I got used to her. I was grateful for the extra help. I was finding it hard.”

Dominic made a guttural noise, like a suppressed roar, forcing down his desire to shout. He was sick of hearing that Emma had found it hard to be a mother, that Rose had seemed to be helping her. Luke had been a perfect baby, and they had a nice home. She’d had a supportive husband, and yet she still said it was hard.

“Tell her about your dreams,” he commanded. “Go on, tell her.”

Emma was mute, studying the pattern on the carpet.

Cate leant forward, saying gently, “Is there something else you think I should know?”

Dominic tightened his arm around Emma’s waist, urging her to speak.

“When Luke was about two months old, I started having these strange dreams. Just when Dominic was away. Not really nightmares, but they were frightening. I dreamt that somebody was in the house, in Luke’s room, and sometimes that there was someone in bed with me. It was so real – I felt that they were touching me, kissing me. It was strange, but the next day everything seemed back to normal so I assumed the sleeping tablets were to blame. One morning I found something. A torch, on Dominic’s side of the bed.” She gasped, as if realising once again that she had been touched, invaded, in her own bed. That even sleep was not safe.

“Was the torch Rose’s?” Cate asked.

“At the time I thought it must have been Dominic’s, and I just put it in the kitchen drawer and forgot about it. But afterwards – after the fire – I remembered it and showed him. It wasn’t his after all. So then I began to think about my dreams. Maybe they weren’t dreams at all. If she really had…”

“You think she touched you whilst you slept?”

“She’s a freak! I’m going to show you something…” Dominic dashed from the room, collecting a carrier bag from the cupboard and returning to the room. He emptied the bag onto the floor. It looked like a bundle of fabric scraps, all frayed and in strips. All white.

“It’s my wedding dress,” Emma whispered, reaching to touch one of the silk pieces. “She did this.”

Unable to stop himself any longer, Dominic erupted. “The twisted bitch! She was in our home, creeping around when we were asleep. Setting fire to the house. She burned our child to death – he hadn’t even seen his first Christmas. And you think that sick woman deserves to be released?”

Emma began to sob, reaching for him, and buried herself into him. He held her tight against himself if only to stop the urge to throw her to the floor. From above came the baby’s cry.

Dominic disentangled himself but Emma wiped her tears away, her lips pursed tightly together. “I’ll go to her, Dominic.”

Upstairs, the crying was replaced by the low sound of a mother soothing her baby.

“That’s our daughter,” said Dominic.

Cate looked surprised, “I didn’t know you had another child. How old is she?”

“Eight months. You can’t imagine how that little girl has made us feel – she can’t take the pain away, nothing can. But, my God, at least she gives us a reason to live.”

Cate nodded slightly.

“After we lost Luke we were heading for divorce. There was nothing to keep us together, but then Emma fell pregnant and that changed everything. It saved us.”

“Has it helped your wife to move on?”

Dominic ran a hand through his hair. “She’s had a reason to get up in the morning. A reason to go out each day. And she never complains about being tired or any of that other crap that used to get her down with Luke. We both count our blessings. So, yes, since our daughter was born she has seemed better. She’s still on sleeping tablets, of course.”

They both listened to the mewling baby overhead.

“After Luke died,” Dominic said, “she couldn’t bear to be alone in the house. I had to give up my job at the boarding school, she just couldn’t cope with me being away. She had nightmares, and heard noises in the night. It was better for the first few months, after the birth, but just recently…” He felt himself wavering.

“Yes?”

“Look, I don’t want to make out that my wife is mentally unstable, but I want you to know how much damage that Wilks woman has done. Maybe it’s knowing the parole date was looming, but over the last few weeks Emma’s nightmares have returned.”

Dominic scrubbed a mark on his trousers, and then looked up at Cate.

“Emma says she’s seen someone hanging around the house. A woman, or maybe a girl. Last week she said she saw her looking in through the window. Then Emma got it in her head that the backdoor key was missing. She called me and I came straight home, drove like an idiot. But when I got here I found the key, just where it should be, on a hook by the back door.”

“Have you reported this?”

Dominic looked incredulous, and his lip curled. “What for? There was no-one looking in the window, no key was taken. The only person who would want to do that is Rose, and she’s behind bars. It’s Emma’s brain playing tricks. That’s what I’m saying to you. That even a new a baby can’t cure her of the fear. She’ll never feel safe again.”

Just then footsteps came down the stairs, and Emma appeared in the doorway, speaking low and evenly to the child in her arms. The little girl was in a pink babygro, and she had wisps of golden curls.

“She’s lovely,” Cate said, “what’s her name?”

Emma gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and then turned to Cate. “Hope,” she said. “Our daughter’s name is Hope.” Emma sat on the L-shaped sofa, leaned forward, and strapped her daughter into the bouncy chair. It was pink with yellow stars.

Cate couldn’t start her car, her hands were shaking so much. Tears blurred her eyes. It was useless to fight, so she let go of the tentative hold she’d kept throughout the awful interview, finally allowing herself to be a mother again, rather than a probation officer.

As she cried she thought of Emma and Dominic Hatcher.

Emma was a woman defined by her terrible loss and she must live with the fact that she allowed Rose into her home. Luke could even now be running around on podgy infant legs, clumsily kicking a football and rushing into her embrace.

Cate thought how easily life could be taken. If anything happened to Amelia, she knew she would never survive.

And Rose Wilks dared to hope that she would be released after four years, but Emma and Dominic Hatcher would never be free, never be released from grief. If Rose hadn’t been in the house, hadn’t lit that cigarette… Murder or manslaughter, intentional or a terrible accident, it was still Rose who caused the fire that killed Luke.

It was Cate the mother, not the professional, who placed the key in the ignition and drove to the prison.
What a waste. What a senseless waste.

44

Black Book Entry

Emma had no family close by so she used me more and more to babysit while she popped to the post office or the shops. I’d always try to persuade her not to rush back and she never did. She even began to arrange lunch dates, sending and receiving texts on her phone and saying there was someone she wanted to meet with, would I be able to babysit for a few hours? She enjoyed her time away from Luke and would return flushed and happy.

Finally I was asked to babysit for a whole day. It was Emma and Dominic’s first wedding anniversary. If it was me I would have wanted to celebrate as a family, go on a day trip somewhere, but they didn’t want to take Luke. I was glad that they wouldn’t be back until the evening. Luke and I would have our own celebration.

When I arrived at the house Dominic was full of himself, boasting about how he’d managed to get tickets for the owners’ enclosure at Newmarket, through one of his pupil’s fathers who was some business hotshot and owned a racehorse. I tried to look impressed. His white hair was smoothed with Brylcream and he wore a pink shirt, too trendy for a man his age. As I made all the right noises about how smart he looked I was thinking how pathetic he was. He was impatient to be off, having finished admiring himself in the hall mirror, he called upstairs for Emma to hurry.