Chapter 44 Now
Now
Mint-green flecks of paint dust my fingertips as they press into cool metal. I only just repainted the hallway radiator in the renovations. The paint job shouldn’t be disintegrating this quickly, but then again, neither should my marriage.
There’s something grounding about standing here in the stillness of the house, James not back from work yet.
Not due back for likely at least another hour.
Maybe more. I rub my fingertips together.
Drive away the debris. Handbag is shaken off and shoes kicked away.
The moment of pause is welcome. Needed, even.
But I can’t be still for long. I make my way to the sofa, check my personal emails.
Obviously nothing from Chioma’s mother yet.
Friend request not accepted on Facebook, either.
I remember an article describing her as a healthcare assistant.
Look up the nursing homes in the towns closest to where James grew up.
I do the math; she might not be retired yet.
I scour websites, seeing no sign of her.
Then I start jotting down addresses. There aren’t too many.
If she’s still working, I can drive to them. I can find her.
Everything okay? You’ve been a bit quiet.
Will.
Yeah, all good. It’s going to take time, but I’ll let you know if I find anything useful.
Maybe. Because am I really going to throw all my trust in the alcoholic and very married lothario who fucked his way around the junior women in the office?
He’s no saint. I’m caught between the secrets and lies of two extremely dysfunctional brothers.
It would help if I knew for sure that James had sent those letters.
That he’s been the one threatening me. Evidence. There must be some evidence.
Instinctively, I head for the bedroom with no idea where to start.
Wardrobe. Unassuming rows of shirts, jackets, trousers.
Nothing pushed into the dark corners but dust. Rows of neat, folded jumpers, no secret missives filed between them.
Chest of drawers. Just socks, pants, casual T-shirts.
I traipse over creaky floorboards throughout the house, hands passing over one unassuming object, then another, left empty.
My hands are rifling through the drawer of letters in our living room cabinet when I hear him come in. I step away, his cold-flushed face appearing in the living room. His handsomeness has a haggard edge to it today. Eyes track to the open drawer and back to me with a question in them.
“I was just looking for recent proof of address. Found a new savings account with a great rate.”
Now they narrow at me, crowded with confusion.
“For our IVF pot,” I explain.
The confusion is expunged by surprise. “Oh.” He rubs a hand across his forehead as he pulls away his scarf with the other. “Also, hi.”
We both jolt forward as if we’re onstage having just remembered lines momentarily forgotten. We kiss, give each other a quick squeeze.
“Hi, my love,” I say.
His gaze around the room is furtive, eyes trying too hard to avoid the open drawer. He leads me to the sofa, cups my hands in his big ones.
“Listen, baby, with everything that’s going on…”
And although the mention of the new savings account was a ruse, I already hate him for what he’s about to say.
“…I just don’t think now is the best time for us to be planning a family.”
I withdraw my hands from his. They feel cold outside the warmth of his palms.
“Right.”
“I just…Everything’s still so volatile with Will.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And the past couple of weeks have been rough for us, Nat.”
“Sure.”
“And the money—”
My temper spikes then. I can’t help but provoke him.
“I know we decided it wasn’t safe, but maybe now we know I’m innocent, we could think about asking your parents again.”
I watch the words curdle in his ears and then on his face, lumps of fear creeping across his cheeks.
Avoiding his parents has never been about protecting me.
It’s always been about him. His dirty little secret about why Chioma really died.
And it’s in this moment that I finally understand that there is never going to be a baby.
This dream of creating the family I never had, being the mother I never had, raising a daughter who is happy and healthy and good.
It’s dead. I can hardly hear James’s words over the bright and brittle sound of it shattering.
“Baby, I just don’t think it’s safe. Will’s clearly serious about using your letters if he has to.”
And I could almost believe that the fear on his face is really for me—if I didn’t already know everything else.
He continues. “And I just think we need to be on more even ground as a couple before throwing IVF into the mix. I mean, the process—”
His phone begins to buzz in his trouser pocket. He pulls it out, frowns, and declines the call, discarding the phone on the coffee table.
“Like I was saying, the process is rough on couples and—”
His phone again. When he picks it up and looks at the screen, a weary look descends upon him.
“Sorry, baby. Horrible timing, but I need to get this.”
I shake my head with easy understanding. Cool Girl mode reactivated. By all means, take another call in the middle of telling your wife you no longer plan to have babies with her.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say.
“We’ll continue this conversation later.”
I suspect we won’t.
I hear him answer a “hello” as he hurries up the stairs, guest room door snapping shut behind him.
I wish I couldn’t feel this, was able to be a ghost in the room watching this happen to someone else, but the disappointment, the pain, can’t be numbed.
Grateful that James is out of the room, I let a few tears fall, breathe deep, and then use all my strength to push this grief into a corner of my body where it can sit until I’m ready to deal with it.
Right now, I need every reserve of strength and focus to figure my husband out.
The amorphous sound of James’s conversation whispers through the doorway.
It’s nothing I’d ever have questioned before, countless supplier calls stretching into evenings and weekends.
But now I can’t help but wonder who’s on the other end of the line.
Who’s been on the other end of the constant emails and text messages.
It’s never going to work between you two.
When Will said that to me, was that meant to be a warning, rather than a dig?
Feeling brave, careless, or desperate, I punch Will’s number into my phone.
I’m not certain I can trust him, but if I keep applying pressure to both brothers, eventually one of them will break.
After only a couple of rings, he picks up.
The words are garbled out with a sobriety and concern I find in equal parts surprising.
“Hello? Is everything okay? James isn’t onto you, is he? You’re safe?”
“Yes, I’m safe. I just…” I pause to listen for the muffled sound of James’s ongoing call upstairs.
“I’m just trying to figure some stuff out.
I know it was ages ago, but when I first met your parents…
When James and I were leaving. You said, ‘It’s never going to work between you two. ’ What did you mean by that?”
Will’s silent for a while. “Oh.” Another beat. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”
Thanks for the patronizing tone, Will. “I have my reasons for asking.”
He sighs. “I guess it was a lot of things. He hadn’t held down a serious relationship in years. Could never really seem to get into a girl. And he’d told me he thought you’d stalked him to the bar when you had that drink at Christmas, which he seemed to be into, but I thought was off…”
My stomach flips at that. He’d figured out what I was doing and liked it?
I guess he’s got his own issues, too. Is attracted to damage.
It would explain why he didn’t immediately run when he found the letters.
My heart swells a little with hope at that thought.
That James really sees me and loves me for who I am.
But if everything Will’s told me is true, his love is either a lie or too twisted to be any good. If. Big if.
“…And a part of me thought maybe you would work,” Will continues, “but I was pissed at him for the stuff about Chioma, about trying to push me out of the business, his life, so I wouldn’t be a problem.”
“So you were just trying to fuck with him?” I ask, disappointed and relieved.
He pauses, and the longer he doesn’t speak, the more dread I feel.
“Listen, I…I guess I was also trying to scare you off a bit. I was plastered at the time, not thinking straight. But knowing what he did to Chioma and then what happened to his most recent ex…It was stupid.”
His most recent ex?
It’s a little too quiet upstairs. I get up, stand in the doorway of the living room, straining to hear more.
The shuffle of James’s feet upstairs tells me he’s pacing, which means he’s in an active part of the conversation, just listening.
Will and I should still have at least a minute or two before he’s done.
I walk back into the living room, try to keep my voice even on the call.
“Will, what happened to his ex?”
A beat. “She killed herself.”
I drop back to the sofa.
“And I know it’s sick to say it,” Will goes on, “but I couldn’t help but feel that maybe being with James didn’t help. He’s got this darkness in him, you know?”
Do I know this for sure? If I ignore Will’s words and focus on James’s actions, he’s been nothing but kind to me. But if Will’s telling the truth…“Does any part of you think James might have killed her?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. It all seemed pretty clear-cut at the time. I just wouldn’t have been surprised to find he pushed her over the edge.”
Quite the thing to say about your own brother. “Text me everything you know about her. Her name, socials, job. Everything.”
“God, it was a while ago…”
“Do your best to remember and I’ll do some more digging. But I’ve got to go—I don’t want to push my luck and have James catch me speaking to you.”
“Oka—”
I end the call.
Stupid. Had I not been so relieved at our pact to leave the past where it belonged, I’d have pushed more about the women who came before me.
One dead ex is a tragedy. Two is too much of a coincidence. I should know.