What Lies Between Us(62)
‘Nina, you’re scaring me. Why are you doing this?’
She shrugs then, and the smile she gives me is as cold as the Arctic. ‘You can pick a reason. There are plenty to choose from.’
What does she know?
CHAPTER 53
NINA
TWO YEARS EARLIER
I watch in fascination as my mother’s panicked eyes flit around the bedroom trying to place what has changed since she was last in here, ten days ago. I have left her with the same furniture and bed but I’ve taken away her creature comforts. There’s no longer any jewellery inside the mother-of-pearl box on her dressing table, little make-up in her bag, no knickers in her drawers nor shoes in her cupboard. But she will find all of that out for herself later. It has taken so much effort and organisation over the last few weeks to get to this point and her reaction is making every moment of it worthwhile.
New triple-glazed and shatterproof windows have been installed in the landing, bathroom and bedroom, and a carpenter has fitted shutters in here that allow Maggie to see out but no one from outside to see in. The builder I employed didn’t question what it was for when he inserted a steel joist in the centre of her bedroom floor and welded a metal ring to it. I use it to attach Mum’s made-to-measure chains that I ordered from a German fetish website. And I told the woman who installed the soundproofed ceiling, partition wall and door on the first-floor landing that it was to block out the noise of my son, an amateur drummer.
It was only the night before work on the house began that I drugged Maggie’s food for the first time with Moxydogrel, the same medication she plied me with all those years ago. Given that the use-by date stamped on the packaging warned that the drug had expired some thirteen years earlier, I had previously tested one myself and when it wiped me out for the entire evening, I knew I could use them on her. I kept her locked in the basement until the workmen completed their jobs. I clothed her in adult nappies in case she wet or soiled herself as she remained unconscious, and I set the alarm on my phone to every eight hours so that when she stirred, I could make her drink, spoon-feed her easy-to-digest baby food, then pump her with more medication.
I called in at her surgery to inform them that she was sick with a flu-like bug. And when two of her colleagues turned up at the house with Tupperware containers of home-made soup and a bunch of flowers, I told them that Maggie had just been taken to hospital following a suspected stroke. Further tests revealed that it was likely to have caused vascular dementia. Maggie’s colleagues never saw or heard from her again.
I later told the surgery – and Elsie next door – that I’d taken her to Jennifer’s house in Devon to recuperate. Then I contacted Jennifer and repeated the diagnosis but changed the locations and tearfully explained I had no choice but to put Maggie into a care home.
With work complete on the house, it was time to move Mum upstairs and to the room where she will be spending the rest of her life. After a devil of a job dragging her unconscious body up three flights of stairs, all that was left to do was wait for her to wake up.
I had options. I could have said nothing and got the hell away from her; contacted the police or even killed her. God knows, I seriously considered the latter. I ran through the options of how I might do it, and decided I’d bury her body next to the father I loved and the man she murdered. But no matter how much I hate her, I am not like her. I am not a killer.
So instead, I decided to remove her from everything and everyone she loves. I am separating her from her job, her colleagues, her friends, her freedom, her home and motherhood. I want all her needs to be almost within touching distance, but just that little bit too far out of reach.
Each time my conscience questions what I’m doing – and it has, frequently – I recall finding Dad’s fractured skull. Whatever she did to him was swift and brutal, and what I’m going to do to her will be long and drawn out. But she will pay for taking my dad and my son away from me.
CHAPTER 54
MAGGIE
TWO YEARS EARLIER
This must be what a panic attack feels like because I’m hyperventilating and my skin is on fire. I want to be sick but I can’t inhale deeply enough to retch.
Even with this debilitating headache clouding my judgement, it’s fast becoming obvious that Nina has discovered at least one of the secrets I’ve kept hidden from her for most of her life. Her deliberate mention of Moxydogrel means that she has pieced some of her past together and realised I used this medication to keep her sedated. But does she know why? I cannot defend myself until I learn how much she is aware of. And I don’t want to be the first one to blurt out the whole sorry story in case I’m offering her new information that she can use against me. Showing her my hand could have a catastrophic effect on her fragility. I don’t want to be responsible for destroying the thing I love the most in the world.
I must get out of this room and clear my head. She doesn’t try to stop me when I stand. Instead, she watches with amusement. I try to regain control over my breathing and use my hands to steady myself against the surface of the bedside table, then against the wall as I move forward. I turn to look her dead in the eye, using her face as my focal point while I wait for the room to stop spinning.
Carefully, I make my way to the door and turn the handle. It’s unlocked. But as I attempt to cross the threshold, the chain around my leg tightens. I pull at it and it pinches my skin. I bend over to pull at the padlock’s curved bar but it won’t budge.