The Secret Mother(26)
The fair-haired officer flushes. ‘Ah, yes, of course. Sorry.’
So he has heard of me then. ‘It’s all a load of made-up nonsense,’ I say. ‘Your lot don’t seem to think I’m guilty, but since when has the truth mattered when there’s a story to sell?’
‘You’ll want to get that boarded up,’ the dark-haired officer advises. ‘You on your own here?’
I nod and chew the inside of my lip. ‘Yes, I’m on my own.’
‘Got any chipboard?’ he asks.
‘I… er, I don’t know. If there is any, it’ll be in the garden shed.’
‘Right, come on, show me the shed. I’m sure we can find something and I’ll board it up for you. Won’t take five minutes. My old man’s a chippy, taught me everything I know.’ He gives me a wink, and I’m pathetically grateful. ‘I’m PC Dave Cavendish, by the way,’ he says. ‘And this useless article is PC James Lewis.’
PC Lewis flushes once again. I give him an encouraging smile.
Downstairs, I slip on a pair of old Crocs, and Dave and I head out across the soaking grass to the dilapidated shed at the bottom of the garden while his colleague waits in the kitchen. I unlock the shed and it takes him around twenty seconds to find what he needs – an old kitchen cabinet with chipboard backing, and a staple gun.
Ten minutes later, my bedroom window is boarded up, the glass all swept away and my bed stripped and changed.
‘This can’t be part of your job description,’ I say. ‘Won’t you get in trouble?’
‘It’s a quiet night,’ he says with a smile. ‘You’ll need a glazier to fix it properly, but this will do as a temporary measure.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I reply.
‘Your foot…’ he continues.
‘I stupidly stood on some of that smashed glass.’
‘You wanna get that looked at properly. Don’t want it getting infected.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, knowing I probably won’t do anything about it. ‘Do you think you’ll catch whoever did it?’
‘Truthfully, it’s doubtful. But if it’s any consolation, I don’t think they’ll come back. Probably just some idiot who thinks they know better than the police. Call us if you have any more problems.’ He jerks his head towards the street. ‘That lot out there giving you much grief?’
I shrug – I don’t have the energy to tell him they’re making my life a misery.
‘We’ll have a word on our way out, warn them to behave themselves.’
Once the officers have gone, I hobble back up to my bedroom. It all looks fairly normal in here now. With the curtains drawn, I can’t even see the board across the window. But the air is cold and damp. Tainted. I know I won’t be able to climb back into bed and close my eyes as though nothing has happened. How can I fall asleep in here knowing there’s someone out there who hates me enough to do something like this?
I scoop up my alarm clock and duvet and leave the bedroom, closing the door behind me. It hardly seems worth going to bed just for an hour and a half, but what else am I going to do? I realise I don’t like spending time in my house any more, even without all the press hanging around. Actually, I haven’t enjoyed being here since Scott left. It’s a house of memories. Lifeless. I’m not sure if it has given up entirely, or if it’s waiting for something.
I wander along the short landing to the back bedroom: Sam’s bedroom. I step inside and inhale the stale air, foolishly hoping to catch a remnant of his scent. But there’s no trace of my little boy. I place my alarm clock on his low nightstand and lie down on the bare mattress of his toddler bed, curling up in the foetal position and pulling my king-size duvet around me. It’s only when I huddle under the covers that I realise how cold I am. My duvet is still freezing to the touch and I wish I had a hot-water bottle or an electric blanket… a warm body to spoon with, to press my icy toes against.
Eventually, I manage to fall into an uneasy slumber shortly before my alarm goes off. I wake disorientated, and then I remember last night. Right on cue, my foot starts to throb. I ignore it and uncurl myself, stretch out the kinks in my back and stand up. After throwing on my work clothes, I hobble downstairs and peer through the lounge blinds into the dim, cloudy morning. Oh joy. My fan club is back in force. There are more of them here than ever. Word must have spread about the brick thrower – I’ll need to order a taxi to work.
As I munch on cornflakes and water again, I berate myself for calling Scott last night. It’s humiliating to remember how I pleaded with him to come over. He’s already made it crystal clear that he has more important things to worry about now. He’s hardened his heart towards me. This Ellie woman is going to be a permanent fixture. I can just about deal with her, but I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle the rest of it – Scott having a new family. Even thinking about it twists my guts and leaves me short of breath. In my mind I see this faceless woman bending over her newborn while Scott looks on adoringly. Stop thinking about it.
I gaze at Sam’s and Harry’s drawings stuck to my fridge, the sweet, childish images lifting my heart a little.
I should probably check the news to see what lies they’re spreading about me this morning, but I can’t face it, and besides, I don’t have time. A car horn sounds out the front: my taxi’s here. I dump my cereal bowl in the sink, snatch up my handbag and head towards the front door with not quite as much terror as I felt yesterday.