The Widow(Kate Waters #1)(83)
Later, sitting in front of the television, he let himself take out the new information and examine it minutely. He knew where to find Dawn and Bella. He could go and wait outside the nursery and follow them. But what then? What was he thinking of? He didn’t want to think about it here, in his sitting room with his wife curled up on the sofa.
He’d think about it when he was on his own. Figure out something. He just wanted to see them.
Just wanted a look. He wouldn’t speak to Dawn. He’d been careful to make sure she didn’t know what he looked like, but he couldn’t risk speaking to her. He had to keep her at arm’s length. Keep her behind the screen.
He had to wait weeks for his next south-coast delivery. It was exhausting, fretting and worrying at the details of his fantasy while keeping up his role of devoted husband at home. But he had to maintain boundaries. No slippage.
On his and Jean’s seventeenth wedding anniversary, he’d made a big fuss over her with flowers and a meal out. But he wasn’t really there at the table in their favorite Italian restaurant. Jean didn’t seem to notice. He hoped she hadn’t.
He felt sick with anticipation as he drove down the motorway. He’d looked up the nursery school in the Internet club and had an address. He’d sit down the road and watch.
Glen arrived as the children were beginning to trickle out of the building, clutching pictures nubbled with painted pasta in one hand, their mums’ hands with the other. He worried he might have arrived too late but parked so he could watch in his rearview mirror and no one would be able to see his face.
He almost missed them. Dawn looked older and scruffier than in her Facebook photos, with her hair tied back and an old jumper swamping her. It was Bella he recognized first. Skipping along the pavement. Glen followed them in the mirror until they passed his van and he got his first direct sight. Close enough to see the smudged makeup under Dawn’s eyes and the golden glint of Bella’s hair.
They went around the corner, and he started the engine. “Just want to see where they live,” he told himself. “That’s all. Where’s the harm in that? They won’t even know I’ve been here.”
Driving home the back way, he pulled over and edged up a farm track, turned off his phone, and masturbated. He tried to think about Dawn, but she kept sliding out of the picture. He sat afterward, shocked by the intensity of the experience and afraid of the man he’d turned out to be. He told himself it would never happen again. He would stop going online; he’d stop looking at porn. It was a sickness, and he’d get better.
But on October 2 he was given a delivery in Winchester and he felt the physical certainty that he would drive down her street again.
He turned on the radio as he made his way, to distract himself, but all he could think of was the golden glint. I’ll just look to see if they are there, he told himself. But when he stopped for fuel on the motorway, he bought a sleeping bag from the bargain baskets and sweets.
He was so wrapped up in the fantasy that he missed his turn and had to double back to the garage. It felt dreamlike as he acted the deliveryman for the customer, joking and asking after business, holding his secret close. He was on his way to Manor Road, and nothing could stop him.
The danger was part of the reason he was doing it. Glen Taylor, former bank executive and devoted husband, could see the shame, the disgrace he risked by his actions, but TDS wanted to stand close to it, to touch it, be singed by it.
“See you soon, Glen,” one of the blokes in the parts department called.
“Yeah. Bye.” He walked to the van and climbed in. There was still time to turn back, to go home and be himself again. But he knew what he would do and signaled to pull out.
Manor Road was deserted. Everyone was at work or indoors. He drove slowly, as if looking for an address, playing the part. Then he saw her, standing behind a low wall, looking at a gray cat rolling in the dust on the pavement. Time slowed, and he found he’d stopped the van. The sound of the engine had distracted the child, and she was looking at him and smiling.
He was jolted back to reality when a front door slammed shut behind the van and, in the side mirror, he saw an elderly man standing on the doorstep. Glen pulled away, turning left into a side street almost immediately, and drove around the block. Had the old boy seen him? Seen his face? And if he had, so what? He’d done nothing wrong. Just parked.
But he knew he had to go back. The child was waiting for him.
The van pulled forward to turn back onto Manor Road, and he could see there was no one there. The only living things were the cat and the child, standing inside her garden, waving to him.
He didn’t remember getting out or walking over to her. He remembered picking her up and holding her and getting back in the van, strapping her into the passenger seat. It took less than a minute, and she didn’t make any fuss. She took the sweetie and sat quietly as he took her away from Manor Road.
FORTY-SIX
The Widow
FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 2010
Dawn has always been on the telly. She likes to tell everyone that Bella is alive. That someone took her because they couldn’t have children and wanted a child so badly. Someone who’s looking after her, loving her, and giving her a good life. Dawn has got married now—one of the volunteers from her campaign, an older man who always seems to be touching her. She’s got another little girl. Where’s the justice in that? She holds her new baby tight when she’s on the breakfast show, to show what a good mother she is, but she doesn’t fool me.