Silent Victim(12)

I don’t know which of us was more surprised. The shock on Alex’s face told me how much of a state I must have looked with my mud-stained clothes and wild hair. He wasted no time in firing questions at me.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to ring you. Why didn’t you take your phone?’

I glanced at my mobile on the kitchen table. In my rush to get going, I had left it there. I stammered as I tried to formulate an answer. ‘S . . . sorry. I went for a ride on the quad . . . I fell off.’

‘Look at your hands,’ he said, turning my shaking palms over. ‘They’re bleeding. You’re filthy.’

‘I hit a bump in the road, fell into a ditch,’ I said, relieved that my bleeding blisters were consistent with a fall.

Alex smoothed back my hair, his frown growing as he focused on my face. ‘Sweetheart, you look spaced out. You could be concussed. Do you want me to take you to A&E?’

‘No,’ I said, gripping the back of the chair for support and immediately regretting it as my blisters cried out in protest. I was still trying to come to terms with what I had found. ‘I . . . I’ve got to collect Jamie from nursery.’

‘He’s in his bedroom. I picked him up on the way home,’ Alex said, still eyeing me up and down. ‘I finished early and went to the shop, thought we could all go to McDonald’s as a treat. Then Theresa said you’d left early and I tried to ring. I was worried when you didn’t answer your phone.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, still feeling dazed. My face felt tight from where the mud had dried in. I pulled the scarf from my hair, which was wild and matted from the wind. ‘I need a shower. I won’t be long.’

‘I bought you something to eat,’ he said, pointing to the microwave. ‘I’ve left it on a plate. Want me to heat it up? I can make you something healthier if you prefer.’

‘I’ve already eaten,’ I replied flatly. ‘We can talk about the move when I’m changed. Why don’t you show me the places you’ve got your eye on in Leeds.’

His face brightened, and I congratulated myself on coming up with a diversion. I peeped in on Jamie as I passed his room. His hair damp, he was already bathed and changed into his pyjamas and was sitting on his bed, cosied up to his army of teddies as he flicked through his new Fireman Sam book. He could be an introverted little soul, enjoying his own company when the mood took him. I gently withdrew from the door, having caught sight of myself in the hall mirror: my appearance would only concern him.

I stood in the shower, streams of mud and blood swirling down the plughole. The palms of my hands felt as if they were on fire as I shampooed my matted hair. I ran the soap over the curves of my body, feeling a familiar anxiety bloom. I had gained weight; I could feel it. Despite my efforts it had crept on just the same. I mentally recounted the calories I had consumed this week against the exercise I had done to burn them. Not enough. It was never enough. I dropped the soap, cursing myself for allowing my self-deprecation to creep in. How self-centred could I be? At a time like this I should be focusing on my family and how I was going to get us out of the mess I had created. I would tell Alex I had been having one last look at the land. I should have been pleased: by the look of the ditch, it had been undisturbed for some time. It was over.

A familiar voice rose in my mind. Who are you kidding? You should have dug deeper. It will never be over, you know that. I swirled conditioner in my hair, my thoughts wrapping themselves around me like a python, squeezing harder until I felt like I was going to pop. Tilting my face towards the shower head, I stood under its hot spikes, feeling out of breath as I tried to comprehend just what had happened that day. Luke was dead. Dead and gone. But if by some miracle he had survived . . . my heart lunged at the thought. He couldn’t be alive. Besides, he was not the sort of person who would just leave me alone. We were too far off the beaten track for anyone to have wandered on to our land and found him accidentally – even if they had, there were still the No Trespassing signs my father had erected dotting the adjoining field to warn them away. But I had dug deep enough to find him. So where was he? Was it really possible that he could be out there, waiting to return? I almost jumped out of my skin as Alex banged on the bathroom door.

‘You all right in there?’ His voice was husky, laced with concern.

I took a breath before responding, turning off the tap and grabbing my towelling robe from the hook on the wall. ‘I’m fine, be with you in a minute.’ I sighed, wishing my husband did not feel the need to monitor every minute of my day.

‘I’ve made you a sweet tea. Don’t let it go cold.’

Working a comb through my hair, I slipped on a pair of old jeans, wrapping a chunky knitted cardigan around me. I had barely eaten today and my stomach grumbled at the deprivation. I welcomed the discomfort. It made me feel grounded, alive.

Heat pumped from our Aga in the kitchen and I grudgingly sipped my tea, imagining the sugar-laden liquid infiltrating my system. Full-fat cow’s milk and at least three spoonfuls of sugar, judging by the taste. I wanted to pull a face but Alex was watching me closely, his expression wrinkled with concern. For once it was justified. My old habits were rearing their head and I felt helpless to stop them.

‘I think I know what’s wrong with you,’ he said, his fingers tracing the deep grooves of our thick oak kitchen table.