Her Greatest Mistake Read online

  ‘I don’t get it, Eve. He’s not right for you. I never thought you’d be with someone like Gregg. I don’t mean to be horrible. You’d tell me, if it was the other way round,’ she told me over a girl’s night in. Chopsticks chasing rice around the silver container.

  How could she say such things? I didn’t understand either; I’d honestly believed she’d love you. You were probably more her type than mine, with all your showy charisma. You were at your most charming when the two of you first met. I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to wonder if perhaps Sam was a tad jealous.

  I put down my squashy container, catapulting the chopsticks across the already-food-smeared table, drawing my legs in closer to me. ‘What? Why are you saying this? I don’t get it. I thought you’d approve. Really, Sam, how can you even say these things? I’m really surprised at you, to be honest,’ I retorted.

  ‘It’s just something about him. He’s a bit too…’

  ‘A bit too, what?’

  ‘A bit too full of himself.’

  I did notice how the two of them eyed each other. Felt a little as if they were in competition for their place in my life. So many unsaid words between them. But I put it down to them both being dominant people. Behaving like animals, vying for pack leadership.

  ‘I find him a bit, kind of, creepy. Smarmy.’ She began to put her shoes on, avoiding eye contact. ‘Look, at the end of the day, if he makes you happy, then great. Maybe I’m wrong. Like I said, I can’t see him being the one for you…’

  How could she be so harsh? I shook my head at her. ‘That’s because you don’t know him. You’ve only just met him; you’ve hardly given him a chance. You know, I actually thought you’d be happy for me,’ I snapped. It was important for me to have Sam’s affirmation. But if she was going to be selfish, make me choose between them, I wouldn’t appreciate being backed into a corner. ‘He’s such a confident guy, maybe this makes you feel, I don’t know, uneasy?’ She did always seem a little uncomfortable around him, when I thought about it.

  ‘No, Eve, it’s nothing to do with that. Do you even know me? I can speak to anyone. I used to work in cold-calling, for God’s sake. It’s really not that…’ She reached for her jacket thrown over the sofa.

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. Look, you may as well leave. I’m pretty tired anyway. It’s not as if you have anything nice to say – what’s the point in you staying? We’ll talk about it another time, or not.’

  ‘Eve, you asked me for my honest opinion. You should have said if you wanted me to lie! If you want the absolute truth – I don’t trust him. Okay, that’s what it is. I don’t think… I don’t think you can be happy with him. What you see, maybe…’

  ‘Just go, Sam, please.’ I turned away to the sound of Sam’s under-breath mutterings then a slammed door. I threw away the Chinese remnants, sat up, waiting for you to return home.

  It was just before midnight when you found me asleep on the sofa. ‘You’re better off without friends like her,’ you whispered. Where had you been? You were only supposed to be meeting a colleague for an hour after work.

  I would like to say they reconciled their differences after a while, but they didn’t. On the surface they had a relationship built on a mutual respect for each other’s position in my life. But it was cold being in the same room as them. I had to accept they didn’t and probably never would see eye to eye. You told me Sam was a bad influence; it made me giggle. You said you couldn’t trust me when I was with her. Strange. Sam claimed I couldn’t trust you. It was simpler not to be with either of you. I didn’t grasp this was exactly what would happen anyway. Sam went first; then you later on.

  She’d let me down. She wasn’t going to come and rescue me from the toilets.

  Lost in thought, I found myself slumped in a 1980s rejected pastel armchair, in the corner of the ladies’ room. The alternative being Noddy and co or a drunken you. I’d have left, but I knew you wouldn’t call a taxi; you’d still drive home despite the alcohol. A previous bone of contention between us. I made myself as relaxed as possible, my bag and coat scrunched on my lap in a defensive manner. I must have dozed off, as I was woken by the persistent voice of a concerned toilet visitor. She obviously thought I’d fallen into a drunken stupor, despite my huge bump; she was speaking to me in a loud, exaggerated voice. The same voice people used when speaking to someone of a foreign tongue.

  ‘Are. You. Okay?’ A crinkly finger belonging to an orange face prodded my arm. ‘Do. You. Need. Me. To. Fetch. Someone. For. You?’

  I quickly sat myself up. ‘No, I’m fine. Thank you, though, for asking.’ I answered her as eloquently as I could, stuffed in the toilet chair. The last thing I needed was more attention. However, she was insistent on there being a problem, continuing in the same tone.

  ‘Oh. Are. You. Here. With. Someone?’

  I was tempted to reply, ‘No, I’m not. I often find myself asleep, alone in golf-club toilets. Do you think it’s unusual? Doesn’t this happen to you, then?’ But I gave her what she needed to carry on with her own business so I could continue with my evening, in the toilet. When I thought about this, it was becoming a bit of a habit.

  My watch assured me it was 1.10 a.m. Thank God, surely it was time to leave. I needed to be up at 6.00 a.m. for work, just a few hours. Odd, you hadn’t attempted to find me? Maybe you’d texted me and I’d not heard my phone. I really hoped not; it would infuriate you. I checked. Strange. Nothing from you, no excuses from Sam either, yet I had full signal. I dragged myself out of the surprisingly comfortable chair, checked my reflection in the mirror, before leaving to find you. Again the feeling of sickness crept over me. Surely at seven months pregnant I should have been tucked up cosy in bed. I placed my hand on my stomach; in response to the floaty, fluttering sensation. Normal? Or was it butterflies?

  Leaving the safety of my den, I was sorry to see the party still in full swing. The ice-cream brigade noticeably louder, even more animated. Odd though, as I made my way to the bar area, there was no sign of you. I crept and stumbled around the drunken bodies with matching puerile behaviours, nothing worse when you were stone-cold sober, until I exhausted every possible dark corner. You were definitely missing. I felt a momentary feeling of relief. Shouldn’t I have been worried if you were okay? Did I need to be concerned? I’d be in trouble again, if you thought I’d abandoned you. My stomach churned, though my head questioned the audacity of you. I decided to leave alone. Holding on tight to the impetuous feeling, knowing it could surreptitiously slip away by the morning, turning to trepidation.

  After a slow, thoughtful drive home, I pulled through the black iron gates onto the stone driveway. I was surprised to see we had company. The house was not in darkness, as I’d anticipated. Two unrecognisable cars sat outside. Should I be worried? What if they were intruders? I was about to waltz in with no concern. I hesitantly dragged myself from the car, my heart all the time picking up pace. Should I retreat, go to Sam’s? Try your mobile again first? What if it wasn’t you inside the house?

  I stood for a while hovering from foot to foot at the front door, wondering what to do. It must be 2.00 a.m. Who on earth could be inside? Wasn’t this the most common time for burglars? Then through the glass side panels, I noticed lights from the study at the opposite end of the reception hall. I peered further in, maintaining a reasonable distance. My heart moving up into my mouth, mingling with the sickly feeling. I could see dark silhouettes of masculine figures with their backs to me; I couldn’t quite work them out. I didn’t instantly recognise them. On the other hand, they were not exactly ransacking the house. So, unlikely to be burglars. Then, I saw you. You were there. Gesturing and articulating. Relief flooded through me, followed by annoyance. What about me, your pregnant wife? Thanks for giving a damn!

  For one stupid moment, I considered stomping through the party, making a scene; demanding you explain yourself. Would you still feel so clever and powerful in front of your disciples? Then I thought better of it. I ever so quietly opened
the door and stepped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind me. Holding my breath, I slipped off my shoes so as to tiptoe across the hall towards the sweeping stairway. At least I could go to bed, pull the duvet over my head. But then, halfway up the stairs, I stopped in my tracks. Something gripped my throat, choking me. Who were those men in my house? Because I know I didn’t imagine it – one of them just mentioned a gun. I stiffened, unable to remove my hand from the rail, though I couldn’t hear anything over my heart. A gun?

  Frozen to the spot, I lowered my head to listen. More laughing; then something about a done deal. You were talking about your firm’s partner’s son? Who was based in the same office as you; something about him being fresh, nineteen, workable. Poised footsteps on the hard floor alerted me, emboldening me to move. Upwards quickly. I reached the top, but slightly wrong-footed the final stair, my handbag clunked me on the back of my head as I pushed my arms forward to break the fall. I held my breath for the worry of being heard. In my own house. Nothing, so I gingerly stood, thankful for the acoustics of a galleried landing. I waited, lurking in the shadows of our bedroom door. Chairs shuffling. Someone was leaving, saying their goodbyes. I stepped back further into the dark of the doorway. I saw one of the unidentified men open the front door, whilst turning to speak. It was the man I’d seen you with earlier at the bar. The same man the loud group next to me were whispering about. What the hell were you up to?

  Without caring to undress, I fell into bed. What had I got myself into? More to the point, what was this baby going to be born into? My mind hurtled down dead-end options. Maybe it would all feel better in the morning. You would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for the entire evening and the strange man. But you didn’t even know I’d arrived home. You obviously didn’t care. I’d kind of come to terms with this in the last few months. A painful acceptance of hurt. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  But something else felt so very wrong.

  Alarm bells calling.

  Why would they mention a gun?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cornwall 2016

  Oh my God.

  You are there with Jack.

  You are watching Jack.

  You could by now be with Jack. In our home.

  What if you have taken Jack?

  Please, someone help.

  I’m thirty minutes from home. Jesus, I need to stop for petrol. Why didn’t I fill up this morning? Idiot, Eve. I glance at my fuel gauge, begging it to have acquired extra fuel from somewhere. Flicking through computer options on the steering paddle, I see the fuel has fallen from twenty-five to five, in a spin of a coin. Metallic essence sits on my taste buds as blood surges to vital organs. Why tonight? After all this time, all these years, the night I’m not there, Jack is alone, the dark shadow finally returns. Missing, hoped dead, all this time. Why tonight?

  My foot presses firmer on the accelerator. Conscious of being restricted by the lanes I’m travelling, I recklessly tear along. Fifth gear to second gear feeling each sharp twist, making the most of sporadic straights. I swear I’m moving further away. An oncoming car senses my urgency – I’m not stopping for anyone – and obligingly reverses into a gateway. Come on, come on, faster, hurry up, I urge.

  I reach out, grabbing at my disappearing mobile. Damn, it slides off the passenger seat, clattering down the side of the door. For Christ’s sake. I need my mobile to get hold of Jack, check he’s okay. Should I tell him, warn him? Or are you bluffing? No, how would you know Jack is home alone, has a friend with him, if you’re not watching him? Keeping my eyes on the road, I stretch to my left, desperately trying to grasp the mobile; my fingers skim the smooth surface, pushing it further away. I jump on my brakes, release my belt, and begin to frantically scratch around in the darkness. Got it. The screen illuminates the text. The text that changes everything. Years of wondering; hoping. Subliminal waiting.

  Stupid, stupid woman, Eve. I knew you’d catch us. How have I allowed this to happen? Bumbling fingers flick through my contacts in a ‘more haste, less speed’ fashion until Jack’s face is looking back at me; I hit the green call symbol. Blasted, blasted voicemail. No dial tone, just a flipping voicemail.

  Who else?

  My hands quiver, making clumsy mistakes; dialling people I haven’t spoken to in years. My mobile responding to me, with a delayed reaction. I eventually locate our landline number; I cannot for love or money recall it. Nobody uses our landline. I momentarily picture the last time it was ringing. Jack and I sat on the sofa, staring uninterestedly at it, then at each other. Deciding it was odd, couldn’t be important, then opting to ignore it. Irresponsible! Why hadn’t I taught him to pick up? It could be important.

  Please, please, Jack, please pick up the goddam phone. I call it three times.

  He doesn’t pick up. I try Ruan again in vain. What’s wrong with everyone? I set off, mobile grasped in my left hand on the steering wheel. Before long, a bright fluorescent light looms, an oncoming petrol station; approaching far too fast, I brake hard to swerve in. Filling my car just enough to reach home, I dash in to pay. As I’m jumping from foot to foot in the small queue, I think of Bea. She lives on the Porthtowan crossroads with her boyfriend; it’s only eight minutes’ drive from our house. I throw a note on the front desk, explaining I’m on an emergency call, and dash back to my car to locate her number, as I leave the garage at speed.

  ‘Hi, Evie?’

  ‘Bea, oh, Bea, thank God.’

  ‘Hey, what’s up? What’s wrong, lovely?’

  ‘I’m trying to get hold of Jack. I’m really worried about him. He’s not answering his mobile or the landline. But I know he’s at home. I’ve tried Ruan – he’s not answering either. Please, I’m so worried, can you get over to mine now? Find Jack for me? I’m still a while from home, you see. I really wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I’ll explain later. Please.’

  ‘Oh, Evie, is everything okay? What’s the problem? He’s probably not got a signal, that’s all. You know what it’s like living here. I’ll go, though, sure I will, it’s not a problem at all, but why are—?’

  ‘Bea, sorry. I can’t go into it all right now. I’m really scared – I wouldn’t ask you otherwise. Please can you get to mine? It’s urgent. Trust me.’

  ‘Sure, don’t worry. I’ll go now. But what do I say to him? To Jack when I find him?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Please leave now. Call me when you have him.’

  ‘Okay. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Oh, and, Bea?’

  ‘Yes, lovely?’

  ‘Is Matt home with you?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Take him with you. Don’t go alone. Don’t go without him. Promise you’ll leave this minute. With Matt?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, Bea. Now’s not the time. Leave now and take Matt.’

  I hang up. The adrenaline rush burns at my cheeks as the shivering spreads from my hands towards my feet. I’m really hoping Bea understood my urgency and doesn’t hang around, matching shoes and jackets et cetera. I hate myself for sending her blind into the situation. The only consoling thought is you wouldn’t touch Bea or Matt. Would you? You’d hide in the shadows, observe maybe, but I’m as sure as I can be you wouldn’t confront them. It’s not your style. It’s me and Jack you want. Or is it just me? But you know Jack is your only pathway to me.

  I frenetically make my way home, silently imploring someone to make contact, to reassure me. It flashes through my mind: I’m not really sure what I’ll do if, when, you and I come face to face again. So much time has passed between us. I haven’t set eyes on you since the night of the car accident. No one has. My stomach somersaults as I have absolutely no idea of what I am driving into. I’m lost in panic when a shrill noise eventually pierces the air, causing me to jump. My mobile, vibrating through the rigid left hand – please, God, let this be Jack. I squint to make out the caller ID. It’s Bea.

  ‘Bea, are you there? Have you found Jack?�
��

  ‘We’re at yours, yes. We’ve been knocking for a while. There’s no answer, Evie. The lights are on, though, downstairs and upstairs. What do you want us to do?’

  My chest tightens; the in-breath hurts. ‘Shit. Have you looked through the windows? There’s no sign of Jack at all?’ Of course, there isn’t; she just said so. She’s not stupid. It’s not as if we live in a huge house, and he’s unable to hear the knocking. Why the stupid questions?

  ‘Try not to panic. Matt’s going over the wall now, to get to the back of the house. He’ll check the back door, and make some noise on it, see if Jack hears him from there. Where are you? How far away?’

  ‘I don’t know, ten minutes maybe. Can you ask Matt to smash the small panel of glass in the kitchen back door? He’ll be able to put his hand through then, and turn the key. We usually leave it in the door.’

  ‘Really, Evie? You’re that concerned? You’ll be home in a minute with a key.’

  ‘I’m out of my mind, Bea. Please, just ask him to do it.’

  ‘Look, Jack could be upstairs. You know what he’s like, listening to loud music, and can’t hear us knocking from down here.’

  ‘Can you hear music, then?’

  ‘No. But… hang on, just a sec, Eve.’ I listen to Bea’s muffled voice speaking to someone, thanking them, ‘no, everything’s fine,’ she’s advising them, and no, they don’t need any help. ‘Sorry about that, Eve, just some random guy asking if there’s a problem.’

  Surely not. Surely even you wouldn’t be so barefaced. ‘Who? What guy? Where is he?’

  ‘No idea. He’s gone now, I think. Anyway, I’ll go and find Matt, tell him what you said. Just get yourself here safely. Okay. Don’t be driving like a lunatic. Eve? Eve? Are you still there, Eve? Hello?’

  A strange intermittent buzzing disrupts our conversation. I take the handset from between my shoulder and ear, pulling the screen into focus. Jack’s face. It’s Jack. Jack is calling me. Oh, thank God. I cut poor Bea off without explanation.