The Other Woman(72)

‘You look as right as rain now,’ he’d insisted, driving straight past the station on his way to the hospital. ‘You’ve got your colour back.’

‘I really don’t feel well. Can’t you just drop me off?’ I’d said.

‘But Mum will be so disappointed. She’ll be upset if you can’t, at the very least, have a cup of tea with her.’

If I’d felt stronger, I would have dragged him into the hospital, demanded to be directed to the relevant ward and called her out. Only then would he know what she’d done, what she was capable of. She’d be none the wiser, though, as whilst he furiously searched the list, refusing to believe she wasn’t there, she’d be happily pottering around the shops in town, no doubt treating herself to a new blouse. But that’s all it would take to make him see. For him to start understanding what she’d put me through, and for both of us to begin to piece together what she’d done to Rebecca.

Once the string was pulled, it would unravel at an alarming rate, but I needed time to work out which thread to pull first. Adam needed to see her for what she was, to believe in the possibility that she could do someone real harm. He’d think I was deranged if I started accusing her of Rebecca’s murder with no real evidence, and if he didn’t believe me, it would spell the end of us. I wasn’t prepared to let that happen, not only because I love him, but because I refuse to let her win.

I wished that the anger I’d been carrying around for so long was still there now, forcing me to stand up and do what was right, whilst I had the chance. But that maddening resentment that had always been so close to bubbling over, had been replaced by fear: not only for the relationship with the man I love, but for me. This woman, who I’d first thought of as nothing more than an annoying, but harmless, over-protective mother, is a jealous psychopath who will stop at nothing to get what she wants.

To think that, looking at her now, is laughable. All hunched over, with her pleated skirt and sensible cardigan buttoned up tightly, shuffling ever so slowly, as if every step pained her. If I wasn’t so scared it would be funny.

‘Would you mind sitting in the back, dear?’ she said as she reached the car. ‘It’s just that I feel awfully nauseous after that, and I’m better in the front.’

I didn’t say a word. Just got out and moved.

‘Thanks so much. Honestly, I can’t describe what it feels like.’

Go on, try, I wanted to say. Explain to me what it feels like to pretend to have cancer, to wander nonchalantly around the shops whilst your friends and family put their lives on hold and pray for your recovery.

‘How was it?’ I said instead, my voice level, even though my heart was thumping out of my chest.

‘It’s not very nice,’ she said. ‘And they say it’s going to get worse. I can’t imagine what I’m going to do with myself when that happens.’

‘You might be all right,’ I said curtly. ‘People react very differently to chemotherapy. It’s down to the individual. You might be one of the lucky ones.’

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ she said.

‘Doubt what?’ asked Adam gently, as he got into the driver’s seat.

‘Emily thinks I’ll sail through this, but I think she might be underestimating it.’

I smiled to myself and shook my head incredulously, just as Adam turned to look at me, his face saying, what is wrong with you?

‘How did it go, Mum?’ he asked. ‘You okay?’

She pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan again, as if showing a ball of cotton wool was all that she needed to do to prove she had cancer.

‘I feel a bit woozy,’ she said. ‘I think even the place makes you feel strange. All those stories you hear. They’re enough to send you bananas on their own.’

‘Why don’t you let Adam come in with you next time?’ I said. ‘He might be able to take your mind off it.’

‘Oh no, I don’t want him seeing me in there, like that,’ she said.

‘I’d like to, Mum. If it will help?’

‘No, you’re a big softy,’ she said, reaching over to pat his thigh. ‘I can’t have you getting all upset. Now, enough of all this doom and gloom, let’s get back home and have a nice brew.’

I made the tea while she lay on the sofa, directing Adam as to how to place her pillows so that she was sitting up enough, but not too much.

‘Well, isn’t this lovely,’ she commented, as I carried in the tray with the teas on. ‘I just wish I was feeling better.’

‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’m sure you’ll be as good as new in no time. We’ll just have to make sure we look after you until then.’

‘Well, I was going to say about that,’ she said, as she shakily took a cup and saucer from the tray. ‘I’m not all that good, as you can see.’ She held up a doddering hand as if to prove the point. ‘And I had a fall on the day you moved back to be with Emily.’

‘Oh no,’ he said anxiously. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Well, I am, and, as you know, I’ve always been fiercely independent, but . . .’ she trailed off.

I turned to look out of the window, waiting for what I knew was about to come.

‘But I’m finding it very difficult,’ she went on. ‘It’s hard to admit, but that’s the fact of the matter. It would really help if you were around a bit more. I got used to having you here for those couple of weeks – wrong I know, but I can’t help it. I feel vulnerable, now that you’re gone.’