What Lies Between Us(70)

When the landing door eventually opens, we greet each other politely before I make my way downstairs. However, I can instantly tell there’s a distance between us. I hide my disappointment even though it comes as no surprise. So if she isn’t going to help me, I am going to help myself. I steel myself because I know this is going to get ugly.

‘You look nice,’ I say as she passes me a bowl of pasta. ‘Is that dress new?’

‘It’s a couple of weeks old,’ she replies.

‘You don’t normally wear such bright colours.’

‘I fancied a change.’

‘Is it for a special occasion?’

‘No, not really.’

‘How was work?’

This time she hesitates, as if she is trying to decide whether I indeed watched from the crow’s nest as she left and returned with that man. I don’t give anything away.

‘The usual,’ she replies.

‘Nothing out of the ordinary then?’

‘No. A typical day in the library.’

We both know she is lying.

‘Did you read the book I left you?’ she asks, changing the subject.

‘Not yet.’

‘Why? Struggling to find time in your busy schedule?’

I side-eye her as if to say I don’t appreciate her sarcasm, but she isn’t fussed by what I think. She’s annoyed with me. ‘A lot of it wasn’t applicable to my circumstances, like going outdoors, getting exercise, seeing friends and generally remaining positive.’

‘Maggie, you’ve got to meet me in the middle.’

My hackles rise and my reply comes through gritted teeth. ‘I appreciate that you are trying to help, but it’s not books or healthy food I need, it’s a proper diagnosis.’

‘If you’re not going to help yourself, then why should I?’

My frustration and resentment towards her rises with the speed of a rocket. If she won’t let me out of here then I am going to need to fight my way out. I have what I need on me. I slip my hand into my cardigan pocket and feel a sharp prick from the plug and screw I’ve been carrying. I place the half of the plug with the screw protruding from it between my thumb and index finger and grip it so the end protrudes and almost penetrates the fabric. My heart is already racing.

‘Sometimes I don’t think you appreciate everything I do for you,’ Nina continues, oblivious. ‘You know that my hands are tied when it comes to what we can and can’t do, so when I go out of my way to find alternative ways and you ignore them, it feels like you’re throwing it back in my face. It’s like banging my head against a brick wall.’

An ever-increasing part of me wants to bang her head against a brick wall, over and over again until she either sees sense or falls unconscious. Then I can grab the keys to my ankle cuff and escape her once and for all. But I need to get this clear before I make a decision that will change everything for the both of us.

‘So what you’re saying is that you are not going to help me?’

‘The books, the vitamins, the alternative medicines, the food – if that’s not helping you then what is?’

‘Getting me an expert diagnosis!’ I snap.

‘You have to remember that you have put yourself in this predicament, not me. Killing Dad, taking my son away from me . . . the guilt you feel from everything you’ve done to us all is likely to have eaten you up inside. And from the studies I’ve read, that kind of stress could be a contributing factor towards the development of cancer.’

‘And you don’t think locking me up here for two years might have had anything to do with it?’

She laughs. ‘Are you really trying to blame me?’

Bite your tongue, I tell myself. Wait for your chance. I grip the plug and screw so tightly, my pulse hammers inside my throat.

‘You haven’t answered, which indicates you know I’m right,’ Nina adds. ‘It’s time you stopped fighting against me and started working with me. I’ll help you, but we are doing it on my terms. And I’m sorry, but that won’t involve you leaving this house.’

She places her knife and fork on her empty bowl and sees that I have stopped eating. ‘I assume you’ve finished,’ she says, and points to my barely touched salad.

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

Nina rises to her feet, picks up my bowl and I spot the fob where she keeps the key that unlocks my chain poking from her dress pocket. The fob used to belong to her dad and I hate that she exhumed it when she exhumed him.

It’s now or never. I knock my fork to the floor and she bends over to pick it up. This is my opportunity. Within the blink of an eye I could withdraw my weapon, catching her completely unawares and stab her hard in the back of the neck. It might take a few jabs until I can completely overpower her and set myself free, but I can do it. I want to, oh Christ I want to, in fact I want to do it so badly that it’s like a fire burning me from the inside out. In the next five minutes I could be out of that front door and a free woman again.

Compared to my past efforts to escape, I know this one has the potential to be the most debilitating or even lethal. Realistically I could kill my own daughter if I hit her in the right spot. But as much as I want to raise the plug above her head, I just cannot bring myself to do it. I brought her into the world, I cannot take her out of it. I can hate her, resent her and despise her, but I cannot end her life to save my own. Because above all else, Nina is still my baby girl whom I have loved every minute she has been in this world.