Chapter 5
FIVE
JADE
My stomach gave a painful rumble, and I pressed my free hand to my still soft belly as I stood at the bottom of the stairs listening for movement.
Sleep hadn’t come. The bed in Annie’s spare room was ancient and sagging, and despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t relax, too afraid of Amala rolling into the centre, of waking up to find her face pressed into the mattress, a lifeless shell of a doll.
I didn’t know if it was my hormones – the potent cocktail of new motherhood – but I didn’t feel like myself.
I kept having flashes of horrific images, premonitions I hoped wouldn’t come true.
Coming here hadn’t made it any easier. I would have loved to be able to stay in the home I’d created, in my own bed, recuperating from the birth of my first child. But I had made my choice. And despite the difficulties I was facing now, I knew this was my only option.
So I’d stayed awake. Kept vigil, though my head had drooped again and again. I’d got up, pacing the room, peering out through the little sash window at the still, moonlit summer night, and longing for the moment I could go downstairs.
Annie had kindly brought me up a tray with some soup and a couple of slices of buttered bread last night, but I got the impression she had no idea of the appetite of a breastfeeding mother.
She was a tiny bird of a woman, her skin deeply tanned and starting to show the signs of sun damage, her golden-brown hair scooped into a messy bun on top of her pretty face.
She’d been wearing a knee-length blue-and-white floral summer dress, buttons running the full length of it, and she flitted around as if she had too much energy to contain in such a small body.
I got the horrible impression she wasn’t much of a foodie.
And people like that always assumed that because they were full, everybody else must be too.
It had been a long night, feeding Amala every other hour with nothing more than half a tin of soup to keep me going, accompanied by endless glasses of tap water from the en suite, and now I was ravenous, desperate for her to come down and offer some form of breakfast. At nearly midday, my hopes were dwindling.
I could hear her up there. She’d been awake for hours. There was movement coming from behind the closed bedroom door, creaks in the floorboards overhead. What was she doing up there? Did she even remember I was here?
I hitched Amala upright on my chest, her tiny head wobbling as she tried to peer over my shoulder.
How long would I have to be here for? Would a week be enough? Annie had made it quite clear that I was an unwelcome imposition on her life, her home. So it would have to be enough. It wasn’t like I had another option – time wasn’t on my side.
A shiver ran through my body as I thought of the man I’d evaded at the train station. The consequences of this week not going to plan. It wasn’t a choice. If I’d had more time, like I’d anticipated, things might have been simpler. But now the decision had been taken out of my hands.
I looked at my daughter and felt more determined than ever. I was doing this for her. For us. For our future, our freedom. I wouldn’t let her down.
I shoved the last bite of the flapjack I’d found stashed at the bottom of Amala’s changing bag into my mouth, chewing it rapidly as I left her sound asleep on the makeshift bed I’d made out of the sofa throw on the sitting room carpet, hurrying into the hallway and pausing by the stairs.
I waited a moment to see if Annie was going to respond to the quiet tap at the front door, but she didn’t appear.
I hesitated, not keen to open the thick wooden door myself and find out who was behind it.
I didn’t think it was him. If it had been, the door would be swinging on its ancient hinges by now, but still, I couldn’t help the nerves that swirled inside my belly.
The knock came again, and I approached slowly and slid back the heavy bolt.
The man on the front step did a double-take when he saw me, his brow creasing in confusion. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, his brown eyes narrowing as they met mine.
‘Uh, you knocked on my door. I don’t give out my personal information to strangers.’
He blinked, then shook his head, letting out a slow breath. ‘I’m Aaron Williams. I live next door. I help Annie with things… things she needs. So…?’
He waited pointedly, folding his arms.
‘I’m Jade. Jade Ashton.’
‘And what are you doing in Annie’s house?’
I shrugged, finding his attitude strange and overbearing.
‘Why do you care? I’m staying for a few days.
I’m a guest. Is that okay with you, Aaron?
’ I knew I was being abrasive, but I was tired and hungry and his whole demeanour put me on edge, the way he stood blocking the front door with his tall, muscular frame, as if he thought he’d trapped me so I’d have to submit to his interrogation.
I instantly disliked him. The way he assumed he was entitled to know everything about me.
He looked over my shoulder, as if he was checking to see if Annie was coming, and when he saw no sign of her, he stepped closer to me, his feet breaching the threshold.
I sucked in my cheeks, biting the soft skin inside them as I forced myself to hold my stance, refusing to back away, though every instinct in my body told me to move.
‘Annie doesn’t have guests,’ he said softly. ‘Not ever. And you shouldn’t be here.’
The words sent a shower of goosebumps racing up my arms, and I suppressed a shudder.
He stepped back and bent down, picking up a blue ceramic bowl full to the brim with fat red strawberries.
He handed them to me, and my stomach growled.
‘Give these to her, will you? And tell her I’ll be back later… to see if there’s anything she needs.’
I nodded wordlessly, my jaw stiff, my mouth unsmiling, and as he turned towards the path, I remembered that Annie had told me that her neighbour was in the police force.
Was this the man she’d expected me to turn to for help?
As I closed the door, holding the bowl against my chest, I wondered why his words had sounded so much like a warning.