The Dead Ex(104)

But then it all went wrong. I thought he’d be pleased when I told him that I was the one who had hit you. Hadn’t he said that he’d wished you were dead? He’d clearly encouraged me. But he denied it, saying that I’d killed his baby boy. He insisted we couldn’t risk seeing each other for a bit until it all died down. Then he did what I’d always wanted him to do. He left you. But not for me – for Tanya.

I couldn’t believe it. But David soon realized his mistake. Not long after they got married, he rang to say he missed me. The sex, he said, was ‘boring’. He wanted his ‘bad girl Jackie’. So we went back to our old routine: meeting up every now and then when we could both get away.

This time, I didn’t nag him about commitment. I bided my time. I’d wait for years if necessary.

But then he went missing. I was terrified in case the police linked us and came knocking at my door. And I was scared in case something terrible had happened to him.

When David turned up again at the trial, I was so relieved. I ran up to him outside the court and flung my arms around him. But he pushed me away, declaring he didn’t want anything to do with me. He said he’d changed and that he wanted to go straight now.

I returned to my flat, my heart broken. My fiftieth birthday was approaching, and I still didn’t have anyone. Just the prison, which had become my life. And an ex whom I couldn’t get out of my head.

I’ve tried calling David so many times. But he never answers. And now I know. He just wanted me when I had something he needed.

So this is my final act of revenge. It’s not an apology. I want that man behind bars. And I know you can put him there. Goodbye.



I read the letter over again, still in shock. My friend and colleague. David’s lover. David’s dead ex. My baby’s killer.

And then I reread the first letter from my solicitor. The bit where she tells me that David has been arrested.





64



Helen

2 January 2019


‘Do you work here?’ asks the scared-looking kid with a torn brown rucksack on her back.

‘Yes.’ That’s right, I sing inside my head. I’ve got a job in a hostel where I once scrubbed the shit off the walls. It’s a bit cleaner now, though. New management. They were looking for staff and they didn’t seem to mind at the interview when I told them I was a single mother. The most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me! Now I’m in charge of kids like this one.

‘May I help you?’ I continue out loud.

She shifts nervously from foot to foot, eyeing the baby in my arms. (I’d just been feeding her. My daughter’s appetite is, it seems, insatiable.) ‘I need somewhere to stay. Social Services suggested I came here.’

‘Is this the first time you’ve been away from home?’ I ask gently.

The girl shakes her head. ‘Been in care all my life. My mum – she’s in prison. My last foster family was OK but then they had to move.’ She takes in the brightly coloured walls and the lively noticeboard which I’ve been rearranging. ‘There’s table tennis?’

‘That’s right. You’ll like it here. Just keep your head down and don’t do anything wrong.’

‘I’m not like that.’ She looks at the noticeboard again. ‘Cool pictures.’

‘I took them myself.’ I try to sound casual. ‘In fact, I’ve won a few competitions.’

‘Wow! I’ve always wanted to take photographs.’

I get a sudden flashback of Robert, my foster father, donating his old camera and showing me how it worked. Taking pictures had somehow made all my anxieties melt away. I contacted them a few months ago to apologize for everything. Dee wrote back saying all was forgiven, but that Robert had been ill and it might be better if we didn’t see each other for a while. Maybe this is my chance to go some way towards making up for my terrible behaviour.

‘I can teach you, if you like,’ I tell the girl in front of me.

‘Wow! Thanks.’

And for the first time in a long while, I begin to feel there might, after all, be a decent way forward.

Later on, one of the hostel kids knocks on my office door. I’m knee-deep in paperwork. ‘There’s someone to see you.’

My heart does a little flip. I’ve never been able to stop wondering where my grandparents are or even if they are still alive. Soon after getting this job, I’d saved enough money to place some ‘Looking For’ personal ads in the local paper (Mum had finally revealed the name of the small Welsh village where she’d been brought up). But there’d been no response. Even so, I can’t help a burst of hope every time someone rings and asks for me.

‘Says her name is Vicki Goudman.’

Shit. How has she tracked me down?

‘Tell her I’m busy,’ I say sharply, looking down at my paperwork again.

‘Please. It won’t take a minute.’

It’s her! Standing at my door. There’s no getting out of it.

‘It’s taken me a long time to find you.’ She seems to be studying my face. ‘I thought you seemed familiar that time by the sea in Penzance. I could see your mother in you.’ She shakes her head, almost as if speaking to herself. ‘I knew something had upset me. I just couldn’t remember what.’