Chapter 20
TWENTY
JADE
‘Is this all you have for her?’
I glanced over my shoulder to see Annie standing in the bedroom doorway holding a white plastic laundry basket.
She walked over to where I was changing Amala’s nappy on her little travel mat, placing the basket down on the bed and reaching into it, holding up a handful of baby clothes as she screwed up her face in disapproval.
‘Oh, yes, that’s all, aside from what she’s wearing today. I didn’t have time to pack much,’ I added, not meeting her eyes.
I felt her stiffen beside me, as if she was remembering how frazzled I’d been the day I turned up here, though I didn’t turn to look her way.
She hadn’t mentioned her past again, her escape from abuse, since that one uncomfortable conversation, and I was glad.
It was easier if she didn’t. Even so, I couldn’t be sure she believed me when I denied that he was the reason I was here.
She’d been kinder to me, warmer, and the conversation we’d had where she’d opened up had been very insightful, but I could sense that there was a part of her that was still afraid of what might be coming.
Even so, it was clear that she also felt responsible for me somehow.
I hoped she wouldn’t ask about him again.
A moment of silence passed, and then she dropped the meagre collection of sleepsuits back into the basket. ‘No wonder you need to use the washing machine so often. You don’t have enough to get by – especially given how often she’s bursting through her nappy.’
I shrugged, not sure what she wanted me to say.
She’d told me I was free to use it, and she’d refused to drive into town to pick up more clothes for Amala.
I was perfectly aware that the situation was far from ideal.
If I’d had more time to plan – if I’d known in advance what his plans had been – I could have prepared so much better.
My own clothes were creased and haphazard, my outfits mismatched.
I hadn’t anticipated the heatwave we were experiencing, and only had the one skirt and the jeans I’d been wearing when I left.
I couldn’t wait for an opportunity to go home and pick up the rest of my things, but it wouldn’t be easy.
I wasn’t sure it would even be possible, not for quite some time at least.
I wondered if Annie had any idea of the daily struggle I was going through right now.
If she could fathom just how exhausted I was, how I was constantly on edge, the clock ticking at a rate I couldn’t seem to outrun.
Every instinct in my body was to protect my daughter, and yet I’d been forced out of my own home to come here, to this madwoman’s house, knowing I was wholly unwelcome, with no idea of when I’d be able to leave.
It was the last thing I wanted so soon into my time as a new mum.
I’d barely slept since I’d arrived here, on constant alert for a sign that Annie had figured out why I had come, or that he had arrived before I could do what I’d come here to do.
I shivered, thinking of how bad things would be for me if that happened.
I couldn’t fail. The timing wasn’t what I would have chosen, but it didn’t matter.
He’d given me no choice. It had to be now .
Through the open window, I heard the hedge trimmer start up in next door’s garden.
I refused to turn my head and look, not wanting to see the man who had threatened me.
Annie and Aaron had clearly grown too used to their own strange ways.
It was obvious I was interrupting the unusual set-up they had going here.
It was somewhat surprising to see how involved Aaron was in Annie’s day-to-day life, given how private a person she was.
I couldn’t help but wonder when that had started and why she had chosen to let him get close to her, especially considering her past.
She sighed, that same familiar noise she made every time she wanted to let me know how much I was inconveniencing her.
‘I think most of my old baby clothes are up in the loft. My mum liked to keep the best ones in case they were needed again. She hated wasting money on things that were only used for a few months, or weeks in the case of the newborn stuff. We could go and have a look up there if you like? They’ll be dated; they’re from the early nineties, but they’ll do for now,’ she added.
I nodded, wondering if she was trying to make amends for her coldness.
She looked stiff, as if each word was costing her a monumental effort, but perhaps she was trying, and if she was, I should take the olive branch.
I might not get another opportunity. I hadn’t known how to respond when she’d confided in me about the abuse she’d lived through before coming to this house.
Hadn’t been able to find the right words.
I’d wondered if she expected me to share my own story, but of course that hadn’t been possible, and I’d felt a prickly sense of disappointment radiating from her every time I’d entered the room ever since.
But now it seemed she was offering an icebreaker.
‘That would be wonderful, thank you,’ I replied, smiling as I tried to make eye contact with her.
She gave a short, businesslike nod. ‘If I remember correctly, there might even be a bassinet and a bouncy chair up there. I should have thought of it sooner. Pop Amala on a blanket on the floor and we’ll go and have a look.’
I frowned, looking at the carpet beside the low chest of drawers. ‘You think that’s safe? To leave her alone?’
‘Safer than climbing a ladder with her, I should think. We won’t be a minute.’
I pressed my lips together uncertainly, not sure I felt right leaving my newborn daughter down here alone.
But I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, and having got to know Annie a little over these past few days, I was sure the offer wouldn’t be extended a second time.
I nodded, and she laid out a fleecy blanket on the carpet, gesturing for me to put Amala down on it. ‘But we should be quick,’ I added.
‘Oh, we will be,’ she said with a rare smile.
I followed her out of the room, past her bedroom door to the far end of the hallway, where she took a long stick from against the wall and used the hook on the end to pull open the hatch to the loft.
A fitted ladder lowered smoothly down, and she stepped back.
‘Go ahead,’ she offered. ‘The light switch is to the left.’
I glanced back down the hall to the open bedroom door, hoping I’d be able to hear Amala if she cried.
For some reason, the look on Annie’s face, the unfamiliar smile, made me uneasy, and as I stepped onto the first rung, I felt a cold wave of dread wash through my belly.
I swallowed, suppressing it, then began to climb into the darkness of the cavernous loft space.
The ladder creaked as Annie stepped onto it behind me, and I reached hurriedly for the switch, grateful when the fluorescent lights overhead illuminated the enormous room.
Boxes lay piled in every direction, a hoarder’s paradise, and as I straightened, waiting for Annie to ascend, I wondered how on earth she would know where to begin searching. I certainly didn’t.
She groaned as she stretched out her back, her spine cracking loudly as she pressed a palm to it, arching .
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘All that digging. It’s good for me, I’m sure, but I really feel it these days.’
‘Maybe you should have a rest day. Go and have a picnic somewhere,’ I suggested, but she walked past me as if I hadn’t spoken, heading through the stacks as if she knew the path by heart.
I followed, glancing back every few seconds at the open loft hatch, my ears pricked as I listened for my daughter, but I heard nothing.
She was probably just staring at the ceiling rose, or an interesting pattern in the wallpaper, but I wished she would make some little sound to reassure me.
Annie stopped by a pile of red cardboard boxes and tapped a fingertip on one.
‘Ah, just as I thought.’ She flipped it open and pulled out a plain purple babygrow that looked well made and unstained.
‘It still has the tag on,’ she remarked.
‘C&A. I suppose you’re too young to remember that shop.
It closed down years ago.’ She looked into the box.
‘Most of them still have tags actually. I suppose I grew too fast to wear them.’
‘Perfect,’ I said, looking around. Annie turned to reach behind her for a much bigger box, BASSINET written in capital letters across the side, and I moved to the stack behind me, opening the one on top and peering into it.
As I stared at the contents, I froze, not sure what I was looking at.
Then slowly I reached down. The box was barely half filled with a few teddies and baby clothes, but these were clearly worn.
And as I lifted the minuscule poppered vest from the top of the pile, I stared at the rusty brown stain across the front of the soft white cotton and knew it could only be one thing.
Blood . A lot of blood. This wasn’t just a smear from a cut…
A shiver ran down my spine. What had happened to the baby who had worn this? Who had done this?
I heard a gasp and looked up to see Annie staring at the vest, eyes wide, the bassinet clutched in her hands, her knuckles blanched against the brown wicker.
She dropped it on the dusty floorboards, then strode across the gap, swiping the vest back into the box and slamming the lid closed.
As she turned wordlessly and picked the bassinet up, she knocked into another box, its contents spilling to the floor.
There was a sharp intake of breath as she stared down at the photograph on the top of the pile of papers.
For a terrifying moment, I thought she might faint.
Slowly, cautiously, I walked forward and bent down, though I kept my gaze trained on her, picking up the picture of Annie and a tall black-skinned man, his thick, muscular arm curled tightly, proprietorially, around her shoulders, a busy pub garden in the background, wooden picnic benches dotted on a verdant lawn.
Her mouth was smiling but her eyes, as she stared into the lens, were wide and frightened, as if pleading for help from whoever was behind the camera.
She met my stare, her top lip trembling. ‘Burn it,’ she said, her voice filled with venom. ‘Get that man out of my house. Out of my sight!’ She swept past me, and I heard her feet clomping down the ladder.
I looked around at the overwhelming piles of stuff in every direction, then hurriedly followed her, not daring to hesitate a moment longer. Not wanting to be away from Amala while Annie was down there with her. What had Annie done to that baby? Was this what Aaron had been warning me about?
I tucked the photograph into my pocket, and, hands shaking, lowered myself down onto the ladder, away from the horrors of the loft, wondering what on earth I’d dragged my daughter into.