Her One Mistake(52)
The next time she went to the store, Harriet rolled his words around and around on her tongue. “Dark chocolate, dark. Remember it’s dark, Alice.”
They stood in the biscuit aisle, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the dark ones. “Alice, what did I say?”
“Dark.” Her daughter nodded as Harriet cautiously put them in the basket.
When they got home and she laid one out next to his mug, Brian had picked it up and turned it over in his hands as if he’d never seen anything like it. Then he’d looked up at Harriet and said, “Oh my love, come here. You’ve done it again, haven’t you? It’s the milk chocolate I prefer.”
Harriet was losing her mind. By then she was certain of that. She feared she would ultimately lose everything.
“You will lose Alice one day,” he would often tell her.
He was right about that. Now she had lost her daughter.
? ? ?
THE CREAKING ABOVE her stopped and Harriet froze as she listened for his footsteps down the stairs. Of course, by now she knew she wasn’t losing her mind anymore. She was well aware it was Brian trying to convince her she was. She had become sure of that over the last twelve months, since the day she’d started writing in her notebook.
Though it was also fair to say she had done something crazy.
When he came into the kitchen he looked at her, but still didn’t speak. “Is everything okay?” she asked as calmly as she could.
“I need to go out. I need to speak to someone,” he said, though he didn’t move.
“Who?”
Brian gave a small shake of his head. He seemed uncertain about leaving her in the house, which made her wonder what was so important that he would go anyway. “Remember, Angela is coming round soon.”
“Yes. I know.”
“She’ll be here in half an hour, so there’s no time for you to go anywhere.”
Harriet nodded. The clock behind Brian showed it was nearly midday. Angela wouldn’t be here for another four hours.
“Twelve thirty, Harriet. She’s arriving at twelve thirty,” he persisted as if goading her to contradict him, but Harriet just nodded again. Eventually Brian tutted and walked out of the kitchen. “I won’t be long,” he called as he went out the front door.
? ? ?
IT CROSSED HER mind that Brian was going to see Ken Harris, the man who’d withdrawn his alibi, but she couldn’t think about either of them right now. Wherever he was off to, it was the least of her problems. Harriet needed a clear head to work out what she was going to do next, because she only had four hours until Angela arrived and even less before her husband returned.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Think, Harriet.”
The past twelve months flickered like a movie behind her eyelids. The realization that Brian had created a life she and Alice couldn’t escape from, the appearance of the ghost from her past, the sheer desperation that made it seem like her plan was a good idea.
Everything had changed in the last twenty-four hours and Harriet knew it was dangerous to leave, but Alice was her priority. It was always about Alice. Only now she might possibly lose her daughter for good.
It was Harriet’s fault her daughter had disappeared twelve days ago, because she was the one who had planned it. Every meticulous detail of Alice vanishing from the fair was so they could escape him.
HARRIET’S STORY
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
I’m worried I might have done something bad.
Brian came home from work last night and rushed straight upstairs, frantic. He asked me why I’d left Alice in the bathtub on her own. I told him I didn’t. I can’t believe he thinks I would—I’d never do that.
But he looked at me in that way he does when his head leans to one side and his eyes roll over my body. It makes me think I’ve done something wrong, only I can’t remember.
He said Alice wouldn’t lie. He’s right—we both know she wouldn’t. He told me he was worried, even though I pleaded that I didn’t leave her for a moment—I could see myself in the bathroom, sitting on the footstool. I’d filled a jug of water and tipped it down Alice’s back, making her squeal with delight. Then I got a clean towel from the radiator and wrapped her in it as she stepped out of the tub. I remember it all. I didn’t leave the room. Yet, if Alice says I did . . .
The memory was so clear only moments ago, but a small black hole has appeared in the middle, slowly spreading like spilled ink. Now I’m left with a gaping blankness in the middle of the picture that I can no longer fill in.
Brian carried on talking at me, telling me Alice was frightened but that she would be okay. He told me not to cry as he wiped my tears with his thumbs, but I couldn’t bear the thought that I did anything to hurt my baby girl. His next words cut through the air like a knife—all it would take was for Alice to slip under the water and she’d be dead. I screamed at Brian to stop, clamping my hands over my ears. I would never let that happen.
But what if I had?
I told Brian we would go see the doctor again. I’m supposed to call him today and make an appointment. He will take more notes, pen it in black and white that my daughter is not safe alone with me.
Maybe she isn’t. All night I couldn’t sleep because every time I closed my eyes I saw Alice disappearing under the water. Beside me, Brian lay peacefully still, his breath deep and content with his spotless conscience.