Silent Victim(30)

‘I used to be her schoolteacher years ago, but I imagine she’s told you that. Judging by the way you’re glaring at me, I expect that’s where the truth ended.’

I raised an eyebrow, trying to relax my facial muscles as they tightened around my frown.

Luke gave a nervous laugh, raising his palms in mock surrender. ‘Mate, I come in peace. It’s not what you think.’

‘What do you expect?’ I said. ‘You’ve come here to relive your sick infatuation with my wife. Should I go to the jukebox and play “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”?’ I exhaled tersely. I had to distance myself if I wanted to hear him out.

Luke raised a cautionary finger. ‘There’s a lot of truth in that song. Especially when it ended with me almost being killed. Seriously. I’m trying to help you here, but if you’re not ready to hear it, then I’ll go.’

‘Stay where you are,’ I said, swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

There was no doubt now. He was talking about attempted murder. He was talking about my wife.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EMMA





2017


It wasn’t that I hated being alone. For most of my life, I’d preferred my own company, particularly when I was growing up in Mersea. But having three small bedrooms in close proximity did not offer much privacy. Every argument, every outspoken word could be heard. Our windswept bungalow jutted out of the landscape like a jagged thumbnail. Not many people wanted to live this far out, let alone on an island regularly cut off by the tide. I did not doubt that moving away would be the best thing for our son. He would miss the beach and the raw freedom of his surroundings, but I knew he would delight in our new home. I wanted him out there in the big wide world, but I wanted to be by his side too. The thought of being separated haunted my nightmares with terrifying lucidity. I did not deserve my beautiful child. Since confiding in Alex, I had wrestled with my conscience. But I was not a character from a horror story. Perhaps I was not even a killer after all.

A miserable growl emanated from my stomach. I hadn’t eaten, apart from some salad Theresa had guilt-tripped me into and a chocolate digestive which I had taken a bite from then spat out in the bin. Hunger distracted me from my thoughts. Theresa would never understand.

For once, our house was steeped in serenity. The only sounds were the grandfather clock in the hall and the soft hiss and crackle as damp logs burned in the hearth. Alex always filled the void with the mundane chatter of a television show. Coming from the city, he had never gotten used to country life. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the pinecones I had picked with Jamie days before. I ran my hand along the long wooden beam my father had fitted years ago. It had been replaced after the fire. I thought about that day, how I’d hugged my knees as the flames danced around me. It was my father who had found me. Another horrific episode I wished I could forget.

I stared into the fire, my memories cracking open like festering eggs, the stink within leaking out. Alex had said that my nightmares were my subconscious mind trying to deal with what I repressed. If only he knew. Was I a product of my social environment or was I just born like this? I tried to think about Mum, to use my adult brain to analyse what sort of a person she really was. I’d been thirteen when she’d left. I focused hard, visualising her face, the memory blurred around the edges. I clung on tightly to the memories of her good days, when she was sober and Dad was around. Picnics at the beach, crabbing in the water, her skin freckled from the sun when we stayed out too long. But then there were the bad days when she was feeling neglected. When she drank too much and her moods raged like a storm. She was stick thin, unlike most of the mothers who picked up their children from school. I used to watch them, in their chunky knitted jumpers and padded coats, welcoming their children with warm hugs. I cycled home on my own from an early age. I withdrew from the heat of the fire – thinking of the past wasn’t helping. I had to move forward. Move away and forget this place.

Picking up the poker, I jabbed at the logs, watching the sparks dance as they were sucked up the chimney and released into the violent winds. A sharp rap made me jump, and the poker clanged against the hearth as it fell at my feet. I held my breath, wondering if I had imagined it. Perhaps it was the crack of a log that misguided my senses into thinking it was someone at the door. We did not get callers this far out. It was after nine and Jamie was tucked up in bed. So who could be outside? I waited, crouching down to pick up the poker once more.

Crack! My head swivelled to the left as something hit the windowpane, making me freeze in my tracks. I had locked the doors, hadn’t I? What about the windows? Were they closed too? My heart galloping in my chest, I rushed towards the glass, half expecting to see Luke peering through. It was just the storm, I told myself. Some debris had hit the door and was rattling the windows. But I didn’t really believe that was true. After checking the locks, I stood in Jamie’s doorway, watching his sleeping form. My heart melted at the sound of his soft snore. What sort of a mother was I when I could not keep my son safe? It had started, I was certain of it. Luke was back and determined to re-enact what had happened before. It would not be enough that he had invaded my mind. He would invade my home also. But it was not just me who would be put in harm’s way this time. My family would suffer too. The sharp ring of the telephone made me grasp the doorframe. Tearing myself away, I forced myself to answer it, holding my breath as I awaited a response. But just as I expected, there was nobody there – at least, nothing except the faint sound of breathing on the other side. I ended the call and took the phone off the hook, checking the doors and windows one more time before peeping in on Jamie and going to bed. Around me, the house creaked and moaned in response to the gale outside. Taking a breath, I steadied myself. I could not give in to panic, not now. My fingers found the back of my neck, easing down the hairs that had prickled with fright. Bending on one knee, I checked beneath the bed, ready to shoot out of the room at a second’s notice. There was nothing there, but I knew that may not always be the case. ‘No,’ I whispered, stumbling backwards as the walls closed in around me. The last thing I could feel were my knees hitting the carpet as I fell to the floor.