Silent Victim(58)

I had been delayed as I picked up Jamie because the nursery worker had chatted to me as he gathered up his things. It meant I would not be able to come home early and check on Emma as I had planned. I knew why she had insisted on going shopping on her own. She needed time to stash the food she would gorge on when I was asleep. I had supported her when she attended counselling and celebrated the times she was well. But stress was a part of life, and a relapse was always just around the corner. I had searched for support and information online so many times, but the administrators of online help groups were painfully guarded, open only to the sufferers themselves. Where was my support? All I wanted to do was to understand. People focused on the victims but what about their other halves? I was not immune to her pain. I learned to turn a blind eye to the packages of food hidden at the back of our wardrobe, the clues that signalled a relapse. I knew that she was not taking a shower when she disappeared to the bathroom after a meal. I knew that it was hurting her inside. Theresa had been a lifeline when it came to helping me understand, explaining the twisted narrative that had brought Emma her own private hell. My stomach contracted miserably as I parked the car on our drive. What I would give to wave a magic wand and put an end to all our problems. We loved each other, I knew that. But would a move to Leeds be enough to drive our demons away?

Carrying in my precious sleeping bundle, I was met with the smell of cleaning fluid drifting from the bathroom. I gently placed Jamie on the sofa, unplugging him from his wellington boots and covering him with the woollen throw. I found Emma at our kitchen table, having cleaned away the evidence of her binge and now barely able to lift her gaze. Her hair had come loose from its clip and mascara was smeared down her face. She looked gaunt and dishevelled, far from the immaculate image she usually presented to the world. I frowned. She had cleaned up the kitchen but forgotten about herself. My eyes darted to the cooker to find she had not made anything for dinner. It wasn’t that I minded, but any deviation from her routine sparked new worries. She was getting worse. I needed to fix this as soon as I could.

‘Jamie’s asleep in the living room.’ I was still hurting from the results of the DNA test and spoke in clipped tones.

‘Is that the time?’ she said, gazing at the clock on the wall, and I wondered just how long she had been sitting there.

‘You sort Jamie out; I’ll make us spag bol. Have you eaten?’ I said, glancing in her direction.

‘I got something in town,’ she replied.

I shrugged a response. ‘Fine, suit yourself.’ I knew that I should comfort her, talk to her about her day. But my feet seemed glued to the floor, a part of me hanging on to the male pride which was telling me to walk away. My phone dinged with a text, and I slid it from my pocket. It was Theresa.

Hired a mini digger. Being delivered this evening. Keep Emma off the land until we sort this out. x T.

I stared at the phone, relief sweeping over me as the woman I trusted took control. I failed to see how there could be a body in our land, but at least I knew that I was not in this alone.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

EMMA





2017


I sat on the lid of the toilet seat, absorbing the happy sounds filtering through our family bathroom. I had bribed Jamie into having his nightly bath by allowing him to use the colour-changing bubble bath Theresa had bought him last week. Clapping his hands together, he squealed with delight as orange and pink bubbles exploded between his fingers. ‘Look, Mummy,’ he said, taking a handful and blowing them in my direction.

‘Oh, you naughty little boy,’ I teased, exaggerating my movements as I pretended to shield myself from the invasion of bubbles. Skimming a handful from the bath, I plopped them on to his hair and watched as he gave himself a Mohican. But my thoughts tugged at my consciousness, and I picked up my phone to check my notifications, feeling a tingle of excitement as I realised I had received a response. I had not expected a reply this soon. Theresa was the wizz on social media whereas I barely looked at my Facebook account these days. My profile picture depicted a sunset, and my middle name was displayed instead of my first. On this occasion I was grateful for the anonymity, given who I was making contact with. I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed the towel that was warming on the rail. ‘Right, little man, time to get you into your onesie. Daddy’s cooking your favourite tonight, spaghetti bolognese.’

Scooping him out of the bath, I remembered the expression on Alex’s face when he came home. I had been lost in thought, weak from my exertions. The incident with the slashed dress had shaken me, and the disbelieving look on Theresa’s face had mirrored Alex’s as he stood at the kitchen door. Last night I had heard scratching at the window, but I had been too scared to get up and look. I had not forgotten Luke’s threats to break me apart. It wasn’t just my house that felt like it was being invaded. My relationships with the people closest to me were too.

I brought Jamie close to me as he zipped up his X-Men onesie, and he squeaked in protest as I hugged him tightly.

‘Mummy, you’re hurting me,’ he said, and I blinked back the tears blurring my vision.

‘Sorry, poppet. Mummy just loves you so much, that’s all.’

‘I love you too, you’re the best mummy in the world!’ Planting a kiss on my cheek, he grabbed his teddy before running out to the hall to monitor his father’s culinary efforts. I checked my watch. It was almost time for me to go. The meeting had been set up at short notice, but I would not back out now. I checked my face in the mirror, now scrubbed clean with a light application of tinted moisturiser. I should have dressed up, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t that person any more. Jeans and a thick woollen sweatshirt would have to do.