Silent Victim(49)

‘But why?’ I said. ‘The phone calls, the flowers. Why has it started up again?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe stress is the trigger. Having you and Jamie in her life has really helped her pull things together. I’m hoping when you move she’ll come back to herself again.’

‘Or she could go the other way,’ I said, thinking of the extent of my wife’s lies. It was as though we were talking about a different person. I didn’t know her at all. Yet I needed to ask Theresa outright – to hear her say the words aloud. I inhaled a deep breath, the warmth of the morning breeze giving me strength. ‘Did they sleep together? Was that why she stalked him? Because that’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it?’

‘I think so.’ She nodded. ‘And I feel bad for not believing it at first. But you have to remember, Emma was just sixteen. Luke took advantage of her, used her for sex. That’s when things turned nasty. Despite everything he’d done, Emma wasn’t ready to let him go.’

So, Emma was the stalker, not Luke. He had been telling the truth all along. Thoughts raced through my head as I journeyed to my office, each one accompanied by a streak of fear. Theresa loved Emma as much as I did, and I knew she would never lie about their past. Her account had made me wonder if I had been married to a stranger all these years. Could Theresa have got it wrong? My shoulders fell as I realised I was coming up with excuses, rather than believing what was staring me in the face. But as I reached the office, it seemed that Theresa was not the only source of information. As I sorted through the pile of post on my desk, I found another part of the puzzle which was entirely impartial. The blood drained from my body as I read the postmark of the envelope. Jamie’s DNA results. A hard ball lodged in my throat as I picked up the envelope. Was I strong enough to cope with what was inside?





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

LUKE





2003


My meeting with the head teacher should have been the end of it. Yet I knew I could not leave it there. Having Emma in my life was like a scabbed-over wound I couldn’t resist picking at. I knew from our chats that her dad went to the pub to meet up with his cronies on a Thursday night, leaving her all alone. I had been careful to park my car away from prying eyes. Dressed in black, I was barely visible against the greying landscape, and I crept to the back of the bungalow to check Emma was alone.

I held my breath as I glanced through the small square window, watching as she stirred a bubbling pot on the stove. How many times had she done the same to me? I had seen her, creeping around the perimeter of my home on the CCTV. Annoyance rose up inside me as I watched her cooking without a care in the world. Her hair was tied up with a red scarf, and she looked like she was humming a tune as she turned to scoop up a handful of chopped garlic cloves and plop them into the broth. Her long flowing skirt swayed as she moved; she appeared as if she came from a different era, an oddity in this world. But I knew what she was capable of and I could not stay away. I tapped on her window with my knuckle, taking pleasure in making her jump out of her skin. Gripping the kitchen counter, her expression changed from fear to wonder as she realised it was me. Patting her hair and brushing off her skirt, she whirled around in a panic, taking the pot from the stove before making her way to the back door.

A sudden puff of garlic-infused steam escaped into the night air as the door creaked open and I wasted no time in walking inside. ‘Are you alone?’ I grunted, surveying the kitchen.

She nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. After all the times I had warned her off, she must have felt as if she were dreaming, finding me in her kitchen, the two of us alone. Any other woman would have been enraged by my treatment of her, dumping her so mercilessly after I’d got what I wanted. But not Emma. I only had to click my fingers and she would be mine. That was the beauty of the troubled backstory I had fed her. I could behave exactly how I wanted and she would put it down to me having a childhood as disturbed as her own.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said, clasping and unclasping her hands.

‘You know why,’ I said, my tone deep and menacing as I backed her up against a wall. ‘I had a visit from the headmistress today. Have you been spreading rumours? Trying to get me the sack?’

Her mouth dropped open upon hearing the accusation, and I grabbed her arms and shook to elicit a response. ‘Well? What have you been saying?’

‘N . . . nothing,’ she said. ‘I swear, it wasn’t me. Luke, please. I’d never do anything to hurt you.’

‘Really?’ I said, expelling a bitter laugh. ‘Tell that to my dog. I only had him a year. Don’t try denying it. I know it was you who let him out of the car.’ The truth was, I had been glad to see the back of him. I’d never liked that dog; it was my mother who thought I would benefit from having a pet. But women were attracted to animal lovers, and on this occasion I was happy to use him as leverage if it wiped the smile from Emma’s face.

‘It was an accident. I didn’t know he was on the back seat. I saw you go into the shops. The car was unlocked and I was getting into it when he jumped out.’ Her chin wobbled as she struggled to word a response. ‘I panicked and ran away. I thought he’d just go home.’

‘But he didn’t run home, did he? He ran straight under the tyres of a car.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she wailed, her face twisted with angst. ‘I feel awful for what happened. But you hurt me, Luke, more than Mum, Theresa, anyone I know. And the worst thing about it is that I . . .’ She gasped for breath as tears lined her lids. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.’