Silent Victim(7)

Alex gave me the courage to believe that I deserved a better life. Family was everything to him and, after we married, all he wanted was to seal our union with a child. Getting pregnant with Jamie had been worth all the sacrifices it took to get there. But now there was a cloud on the horizon, threatening to break a storm over our happy home.

The more I thought about what I’d done, the sicker I felt inside. The truth was rotten and festering. I pictured it as something ragged, dragging itself across the mudflats to make me account for what I had done. Lying in bed with no street lights to soften the night, it was easy to allow my imagination to run riot. I had been reckless, crazy. Christ! I still had the shovel in my shed. Why hadn’t I gone back there, buried the body deep and disposed of the evidence? It was the same reason I stopped going to church after it happened. Because I could not face it, that’s why. I forced myself to think about what I had done. Luke’s body was out there, but what state was he in? It had been four years. Had he fully decomposed? Or had the wildlife picked his remains apart? My stomach lurched at the thought. And then a flashback, in glorious detail, making me sit up in bed and gasp for breath.

Alex stirred beside me. ‘You all right, love?’ His words were muffled, thick with sleep.

I smoothed his tousled brown hair. ‘I was having a nightmare. I’m going to get a glass of water. You go back to sleep.’

But as I wrapped my dressing gown around me, I knew the truth was a nightmare from which I could not awake. I crept to the kitchen, working my way through my options, trying to view them as dispassionately as possible. I could return to the body and dig a deeper grave, yes, but what if the new owners had the site excavated? Then what? A chill descended and I switched on the kitchen light. An energy-saving bulb hung limply from its pendant, devoid of a light shade. The last time I had tried to fit one, it had driven a shock down the length of my arm right down to my toes. Alex seemed happy to allow the place to fall further into disrepair because it was another reason for us to leave. Shuffling to our wide, square kitchen sink, I filled a glass with water from the tap, forcing myself to focus. I needed a plan B. I could gather up Luke’s remains, burn them, dispose of what was left somewhere safe. But how? I was a thirty-year-old woman who dealt in wedding dresses. I couldn’t do this alone. You murdered him quickly enough, my subconscious rasped.

I took a shuddering breath. The idea of going back there made me sick to the core, but I told myself that the man I’d buried had been more of a danger alive than dead. I stared through the window at the moonless sky, comforting myself with the thought that Luke could no longer threaten me. But that was a lie; he was still reaching out from the grave, calling my name. There was no ghost haunting the Strood, just Luke. I had to go back there and deal with the body: only then could we move away and start again. A new home, a promotion for Alex and private schooling for Jamie – it was all we had ever wanted and it was within reach. I just needed to be strong enough to get through this.

I sipped my water, not realising I had bitten my lip until I tasted the warm tang of blood. I remembered the stained shovel, the blood oozing down on to Luke’s shirt collar then into the soil for the insects to feast on. My breath sharpened. I began to think about the meal I had eaten that day and how it was lying in my stomach, working against me. Dark thoughts reached out like tentacles in my mind. I closed my eyes, willing myself to think sensibly. Tomorrow I would go to Colchester, place Jamie into nursery then ask Theresa to cover so I could finish work early and return home. If Alex found out, I’d say I was checking the fencing before the buyers returned. I’d dig up Luke’s remains and dispose of them for good. This time somewhere nobody would ever find them.





CHAPTER SEVEN

EMMA





2017


The balls of my feet ached from standing in my heels. After a busy morning, I was happy to turn the Closed sign on the door for lunch. Not that I was complaining. Being occupied kept my mind off my problems. But I could not exercise avoidance for ever. As soon as Theresa came to cover my afternoon shift, I had to go home.

‘Something wrong with that?’ Josh eyed me from across the circular table as I poked at my salad.

‘It’s a bit limp,’ I said. ‘I should have put it in the fridge.’ Our staffroom was blisteringly warm. It comprised a small table and chairs and a kitchen counter with the usual appliances: microwave, fridge and sink. It smelled like a greenhouse: tropical plants took up most of the room, a joking reminder of Theresa’s disapproval of the high heating bills. But I couldn’t have my brides trying on wedding dresses with goosebumps on their skin.

‘Want some of mine?’ Josh offered, nodding towards his lunch box. ‘Mum made loads.’

‘No, you’re all right. I’m just tired,’ I said, listlessly prodding some beetroot with my fork. ‘I had a really lucid dream last night, and it’s been running around in my head all day.’ This much was true, though I could not tell him the real reason behind my unease.

‘Was it one of those dreams? I had this dream about Tom Hardy the other night . . .’ he said, his blue eyes glinting as he flashed me a cheeky smile.

‘Tom Hardy didn’t feature,’ I replied, wishing I could come clean. The more I came to know Josh the more I liked him, but there was no way I could burden him with the awful truth. I should have been confiding in Theresa, but I couldn’t risk her judgement either.