What Lies Between Us(71)

As she turns her back to me and leaves the room with the dishes, I want to weep in frustration or use the weapon against myself as punishment for my inability to act. Cancer might as well ravage me because life would not be worth living if I had her blood on my hands. And for her sake, I cannot allow her to know of the blood she has on her hands, either.

I cannot kill as she has killed.





CHAPTER 61





MAGGIE


TWENTY-FIVE YEARS EARLIER


I awake with a start, unsure of what’s prompted my eyes to open so quickly.

Over the last year or so, I’ve had a lot of trouble getting to sleep. It’s as if the touch of the pillow against my head sends a message to my brain urging it to burst into life, no matter how tired I feel. So I’ve started using sleeping tablets as a temporary fix to help me get a good night’s rest; otherwise my tossing and turning will keep Alistair awake. And typically, I’m out like a light and rarely wake up until morning. But tonight is an exception. Something isn’t quite right, I can feel it.

The alarm clock on his side of the bed reads 12.45 a.m., so I’ve only been out for the count for a couple of hours. ‘Alistair?’ I whisper, and feel around for him in the darkness. He isn’t curled up next to me, but that’s not unusual. When his work as a civil engineer isn’t taking him to different parts of the country, he’s often squirrelled away in his office downstairs until the early hours.

Lately he hasn’t had much time to spend with Nina or me. He hasn’t even been able to visit his mistress, the golf club, as often. His golf bag has been leaning against the landing wall between Nina’s room and his office for the best part of a fortnight, waiting to be either used or moved. And it’s become an unspoken battle of wills between us as to who is going to fold first and shift it to the basement. Neither of us have yet backed down.

Climbing out of bed, I slip on my dressing gown and promise myself I’m going to drag him to bed whether he likes it or not. Sometimes, for his own sake, he needs me to point out if he’s been burning the candle at both ends.

I make my way to the first floor and reach the bedroom he has converted into a home office. I don’t see a light shining from beneath the door and wonder if he fell asleep in there. It wouldn’t be the first time. I push it open and switch the light on. Inside is a desk, two filing cabinets, reams of paperwork and walls covered with sketches of buildings, bridges and tunnels. But there’s no Alistair.

I return to the corridor and am about to head downstairs to see if he’s dropped off in front of the television when I notice Nina’s door is slightly ajar. An orangey glow spills from the cracks, which suggests she’s fallen asleep reading those Sweet Valley High and Judy Blume books that she’s obsessed with.

I let out a long yawn as I make my way towards her room to switch the lamp off. Suddenly, Nina’s door opens quickly and I jump. The light illuminates Alistair’s face and he is as shocked to see me as I am to see him, if not more so.

‘You scared me to death,’ I exclaim. He doesn’t respond, and I can’t determine what the look on his face means. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he says, and curls one half of his mouth into an awkward smile. It fails to reassure me.

‘Why are you up so late? Is Nina all right?’

He nods too quickly. ‘She’s fine.’

‘Why were you in her room then?’

‘I . . . I thought I heard a noise.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘And did you?’

‘No, I was wrong,’ he replies.

My father was a natural-born liar but my husband is not and I see straight through him.

‘What are you not telling me, Alistair? Please tell me she doesn’t have a boy in there?’

He shakes his head but offers nothing else. Then I recognise his expression. It’s guilt, like when he tells me he’s taken the bin out but has actually forgotten, or says he’s been working late on site when I can smell booze on his breath. Only tonight, Alistair’s guilt is compounded by fear. He is the calm rational one in our relationship. Nothing worries him. He doesn’t fret about money or his career, he doesn’t get angry and he doesn’t dwell upon sadness. But I have never seen him like this before. He is terrified and he is doing a terrible job of trying to hide it. My eyes burrow so deeply into his that I wonder if I might find his soul.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask in a firmer tone. ‘What were you doing in Nina’s room?’

But before he can answer, a shadow appears behind him. A form in motion, first taking a step away down the hall, then sweeping back towards us with something swinging high above Alistair’s head. He registers my reaction, but before he can turn around to see what it is, there’s a dull thwack and he falls, face down, to the floor at my feet. I’ve taken a lurching involuntary step back to allow him to drop. It’s only then that I see Nina raising the thing above her dad. Alistair stretches an arm out in front of him as if hoping to crawl to safety, but he isn’t given the opportunity. His daughter rains two more blows upon him, one across his back and another to the head, until he stops moving.

Then without saying a word, Nina drops the object to the floor and retreats to her bedroom as quietly as she appeared.