‘What did you say?’
‘The … I’m sorry.’ She’s red in the face, flustered. ‘I shouldn’t have … She was pregnant when she died. Megan was pregnant. I’m so sorry.’
But she’s not sorry at all, I’m sure of it, and I don’t want to go to pieces in front of her. But I look down then, I look down at Evie, and I feel a sadness unlike anything I’ve ever felt before crashing over me like a wave, crushing the breath right out of me. Evie’s brother, Evie’s sister. Gone. Rachel sits at my side and puts her arm around my shoulders.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says again, and I want to hit her. The feeling of her skin against mine makes my flesh crawl. I want to push her away, I want to scream at her, but I can’t. She lets me cry for a while and then she says in a clear, determined voice, ‘Anna, I think we should go. I think you should pack some things, for you and Evie, and then we should go. You can come to my place for now. Until … until we sort all this out.’
I dry my eyes and pull away from her. ‘I’m not leaving him, Rachel. He had an affair, he … It’s not the first time, is it?’ I start to laugh, and Evie laughs too.
Rachel sighs and gets to her feet. ‘You know this isn’t just about an affair, Anna. I know that you know.’
‘We don’t know anything,’ I say, and it comes out in a whisper.
‘She got into the car with him. That night. I saw her. I didn’t remember it – I thought at first it was you,’ she says. ‘But I remember. I remember now.’
‘No.’ Evie’s sticky little hand presses against my mouth.
‘We have to speak to the police, Anna.’ She takes a step towards me. ‘Please. You can’t stay here with him.’
Despite the sun, I’m shivering. I’m trying to think of the last time Megan came to the house, the look on his face when she said that she couldn’t work for us any longer. I’m trying to remember whether he looked pleased, or disappointed. Unbidden, a different image comes into my head: one of the first times she came to look after Evie. I was supposed to be going out to meet the girls, but I was so tired, so I went upstairs to sleep. Tom must have come home while I was up there, because they were together when I came downstairs. She was leaning against the counter, and he was standing a bit too close to her. Evie was in the high chair, she was crying and neither of them were looking at her.
I feel very cold. Did I know then that he wanted her? Megan was blonde and beautiful – she was like me. So yes, I probably knew that he wanted her, just like I know when I walk down the street that there are married men with their wives at their sides and their children in their arms who look at me and think about it. So perhaps I did know. He wanted her, he took her. But not this. He couldn’t do this.
Not Tom. A lover, husband twice over. A father. A good father, an uncomplaining provider.
‘You loved him,’ I remind her. ‘You still love him, don’t you?’
She shakes her head, but there’s no conviction there.
‘You do. And you know … you know that this isn’t possible.’
I stand up, hauling Evie up with me, and move closer to her. ‘He couldn’t have, Rachel. You know he couldn’t have done this. You couldn’t love a man who would do that, could you?’
‘But I did,’ she says. ‘We both did.’ There are tears on her cheeks. She wipes them away and as she does so something in her expression changes and her face loses all colour. She’s not looking at me, but over my shoulder, and as I turn around to follow her gaze, I see him at the kitchen window, watching us.
MEGAN
Friday, 12 July 2013
Morning
SHE’S FORCED MY HAND. Or maybe he has. My gut tells me she. Or my heart tells me so, I don’t know. I can feel her, the way I could before, curled up, a seed within a pod, only this seed’s smiling. Biding her time. I can’t hate her. And I can’t get rid of her. I can’t. I thought I would be able to, I thought I would be desperate to scrape her out, but when I think about her, all I can see is Libby’s face, her dark eyes. I can smell her skin. I can feel how cold she was at the end. I can’t get rid of her. I don’t want to. I want to love her.
I can’t hate her, but she scares me. I’m afraid of what she’ll do to me, or what I’ll do to her. It’s that fear that woke me just after five this morning, soaked in sweat despite the open windows and the fact that I’m alone. Scott’s at a conference, somewhere in Hertfordshire or Essex or somewhere. He’s back tonight.
What is it with me, that I’m desperate to be alone when he’s here, and when he’s gone I can’t bear it? I can’t stand the silence. I have to talk out loud just to make it go away. In bed this morning, I kept thinking, what if it happens again? What’s going to happen when I’m alone with her? What’s going to happen if he won’t have me, won’t have us? What happens if he guesses that she isn’t his?
She might be, of course. I don’t know, but I just feel that she isn’t. Same way I feel that she’s a she. But even if she isn’t, how would he know? He won’t. He can’t. I’m being stupid. He’ll be so happy. He’ll be mental with joy when I tell him. The thought that she might not be his won’t even cross his mind. Telling him would be cruel, it would break his heart, and I don’t want to hurt him. I’ve never wanted to hurt him.
I can’t help the way I am.
‘You can help what you do, though.’ That’s what Kamal says.
I called Kamal just after six. The silence was right on top of me and I was starting to panic. I thought about ringing Tara – I knew she’d come running – but I didn’t think I could stand it, she’d be all clingy and over-protective. Kamal was the only person I could think of. I called him at home. I told him I was in trouble, I didn’t know what to do, I was freaking out. He came over right away. Not quite without question, but almost. Perhaps I made things sound worse than they are. Perhaps he was afraid I was going to Do Something Stupid.
We’re in the kitchen. It’s still early, just after seven thirty. He has to leave soon if he’s going to make his first appointment. I look at him, sitting there across from me at our kitchen table, his hands folded together neatly in front of him, his deep doe eyes on mine, and I feel love. I do. He’s been so good to me, despite the crap way I’ve behaved.