The Wife Before Me(63)
Elena reads his impatience in the lift of his shoulders as his mother continues talking. Unlike Elena, Yvonne has never been forced to analyse his body language, listen for his change of tone, the lift of an eyelid that signals a mood swing. Is it possible that she has no idea that her son is capable of both instinctive and calculated violence? Could his childhood have been as exemplary as Yvonne insists? Surely, there must have been signs of his cruelty: flies with wings torn off, schoolboys who had been bullied and battered, tearful girls who were charmed, then belittled and sullied by his scorn, his indifference? All Elena knows about his past is what she has seen in that album of smiling family photographs. She clenches her fists, beats them silently against her knees as he eases his long body into the car and turns on the ignition. Yvonne waves him off. Have Grace and Joel waved back? It’s impossible to see through the tinted windows. She has pins and needles in her legs. They will give way if she tries to stand.
When the car has disappeared from sight and Yvonne has returned to the house, Elena rises, grimacing as she stamps her feet. She is about to emerge from the makeshift shelter when Yvonne reappears. Her bridge morning. Always on a Friday, Elena remembers as she hunkers down again. Yvonne reverses from the driveway and, in the hush that settles after her departure, Elena is taunted by the sight of that empty house.
She resists the pull until her head begins to throb and another form of reasoning takes over. This graveyard place will be devoid of life until the afternoon. All she needs is a few minutes to check out whether her children are receiving the love they deserve.
If Rosemary knew what she was doing on her day off… Elena refuses to think about her reaction. She crosses the road before she can change her mind. The privet hedge shelters her when she enters the driveway. She rings the doorbell, ready to run if she hears movement from within. The chimes have an echo, a harsh pitch that suggests too much empty space. Moving quickly, she enters the side passage, where she is hemmed between the gable wall of Stonyedge and the dividing wall that separates the two houses. A wooden gate at the end of the passageway blocks her entry.
The distance between the detached houses is slight, about the width of a wheelie bin, she reckons. The wall is low enough to climb and allows her the momentum to heave her body over the gate. A jump to the ground; she lands catlike, a cat burglar, and smiles grimly. She opens the door to a garden shed. Nicholas once mentioned that a spare key was always kept under a tin of paint. She examines the tins lined up along a high shelf, hoping that this is still true. All have been opened and used, dried stains on their outsides. She checks underneath three tins before she uncovers the key.
The house to the rear of Stonyedge has been built on a rise and the occupants have an unobstructed view into the Madison’s back garden. Exposed, Elena imagines eyes fixed on her as she unlocks the patio door. She has gone too far to stop now and steps quickly inside when the door slides open. The kitchen is spotless. She touches the sterilising unit containing Joel’s bottles. She opens the fridge where Yvonne has stored the children’s dinners in food storage containers, each one labelled with its contents and the child’s name. Yvonne, methodical and practical as always. What a disorganised muddle Elena must have seemed to her.
Upstairs, her footsteps sink silently into soft carpets as she moves from room to room. Grace’s bed has a duvet with a picture of Peppa Pig. Her clothes are folded in drawers, rows of underwear, jumpers as neat as a display in a department store, tights, leggings, dresses. Elena cannot see anything her daughter had worn before they were separated on that fateful morning. The pictures on the walls are also unfamiliar. She searches for a photograph of herself, unable to believe Yvonne or Henry have made no effort to provide one. The photograph on the bedside table is of Grace and Joel at a picnic with their father and grandparents. She resists the temptation to raise the frame above her head and smash it off the wall. Fury will not serve her purpose. She needs to remain in control but her hands tremble when she replaces the frame in its original position. She lifts a jumper from a drawer and holds it to her face. She longs to breathe in the scent of her daughter but all she can smell is fabric freshener. She could be standing in the room of a child stranger. The jumper looks lumpy when she attempts to fold it back into the drawer with the same precision as she found it. She shakes it out, tries again. She must focus – focus. This time, her attempt is passable and she slides the drawer closed.
She glimpses her reflection in a pink-framed mirror. The natural colour is returning to her hair. She has had it cut short to hasten the process and the cropped style highlights her haggard features. Her eyes seem enlarged, their colour dulled from medication. She is afraid to stop taking the correct dose of prescribed tablets in case it jeopardises her hard-gained bail, yet here she is, risking everything for what? She must leave now, this minute, slip away as quietly as she entered. Head down, she moves across the landing – and stops at the open door to Joel’s room.
Thomas the Tank Engine is obviously his passion – or Yvonne has decided that for him. Duvet, curtains, wallpaper, all the same. His drawers are as organised as Grace’s and the photograph beside his bed shows the same configuration, only this time the five of them are sitting on a bench in a playground. Nicholas is preparing his ground for a custodial hearing, each photograph projecting the smiling features of a caring father and adoring, trustworthy grandparents. Elena remembers the nights she waited in vain for him to come home from work to say goodnight to his children. Whenever he did manage to see them before they fell asleep, his interaction with them was brief, the earlier enthusiasm he had shown when they were newly-born fading as they grew more demanding.