Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
ANNIE
I had been gnawing at my fingernails for so long I could taste blood, and yet even with the metallic tang hitting the back of my throat, making me want to vomit, I couldn’t stop.
I was wrapped into a tight ball, my arms cocooning my body as I sat on the edge of my bed, unable to relax, despite the locked bedroom door protecting me from the outside world.
I couldn’t get the image of that baby vest from my mind.
The crusted brown stain, the sheer tininess of the garment.
It had taken every ounce of my willpower not to scream, the memory making me recoil, sick to my stomach over what had happened. What I had done.
And now that Jade had seen it, there would be questions.
Ones I had no intention of answering. I’d seen the look in her eyes, the fear at what she’d walked into, who she was living with, what I’d been through before her.
It had been as if she’d suddenly seen me for the first time.
She’d been terrified. For herself, but more so for her baby.
And I had done nothing to quell that fear.
It might not be Ryan she was fleeing, but there was someone she was trying to escape, someone like him.
It was better that she saw the reality, the situation she had let herself be forced into.
Better that she was forewarned. That she didn’t have to relive my past. Leave herself behind and become someone wholly new in order to escape.
That photo of him – seeing his face again – had shaken me.
What if I was wrong to trust her? If she was lying?
If this whole thing was one of his games?
I pendulated back and forth between wanting to help her and wanting to lock the door and hide in the dark until she left for good.
I wanted to believe that she was too clever, too strong to fall victim to him, but I had once been an intelligent woman, and it hadn’t stopped him from preying on me.
If Jade was here because of Ryan, there was no point in sugar-coating what lay ahead if she continued to do his bidding, play his sick games.
No guarantee she’d have the strength I’d had to do what was necessary.
I heard the front door opening and rushed to the window, breathing a sigh of relief as I watched her walking to the gate, Amala tucked against her body.
She’d mentioned going to the village shop, though this time she hadn’t invited me to go with her.
I watched her stride away, shoulders stiffer than usual, her purse clutched in her hand, and realised that she wasn’t carrying the changing bag.
She’d finally left it unattended. All my resolve to try harder, take her word that she wasn’t connected to the man I’d escaped, faded into vapor, and I spun from the window, my heart pounding against my chest. I didn’t have time to waste.
Wiping my raw, throbbing fingertips against my top, I slid back the bolt, opening my bedroom door and heading into the coolness of the hallway.
I went straight to her room, stepping inside without a trace of guilt.
I had every right to know why she was here, what she wanted from me.
And if she wouldn’t tell me, I would damn well find out myself.
There was no sign of the bag, but I seized the opportunity to snoop, yanking open the dresser drawers, finding them all frustratingly empty.
I turned, hurrying down the stairs, first darting into the living room and seeing nothing, then making for the kitchen.
The dark green changing bag was slung over the back of a chair, and I didn’t stop to question myself as I darted towards it, pulling it onto the table and emptying its contents.
Nappies, wipes, Sudocrem, nipple cream, spare dummies and, to my relief, her phone.
I grabbed it, determined to get my answers, but found the screen locked, a generic background staring back at me.
But wait… there was something else. An ICE number.
Her in-case-of-emergency contact. No name, just a number.
If I called it, would he answer? Did I even dare?
I didn’t recognise the phone number, but that meant nothing. He could have easily changed it since I had lived under his rule. I cast around, looking for a piece of paper to write the number down, for once wishing I had a mobile, not to mention an internet connection to look the number up.
‘What’s going on?’
I froze, my fingers damp with nervous sweat as they gripped the phone, unwilling to let go of the only clue I’d managed to clutch hold of this past week.
Slowly, I turned to face Jade. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, Amala in her arms, a strong smell of milky poo emanating from the baby and a giveaway stain seeping up her back.
‘I knocked into your bag,’ I lied, my tone clipped and annoyed as I turned from her to face the table. ‘I was just picking everything up for you. The strap was dangling off the side of the table. I nearly went flying. You really need to be more careful.’
‘The bag was on the chair.’ Her words were slow, accusing. ‘Just there.’ She pointed, and I shook my head.
‘You’re mistaken.’ I held her stare, and she walked towards me, holding out her hand for the phone.
I wanted to refuse to give it to her. At least until I’d had time to write down the emergency number.
It might be my only opportunity. In fact, I was sure it would be.
But it was too late. I couldn’t keep hold of it without making a scene and letting Jade see how rattled I was by her being under my roof.
Biting my tongue, I handed it back to her.
I shook my head, feeling suddenly tearful. The stress had all but broken me, and I couldn’t cope with it any longer. I had to know who she was and why she’d come here.
‘I can’t have you here if you won’t tell me the truth, Jade,’ I said softly.
‘You said you’re not Ryan’s new wife, but that’s not enough.
’ I pressed my hand to my forehead, trying to steady my breathing.
‘Why won’t you tell me? Given everything I’ve shared with you, why won’t you trust me enough to explain what’s going on? ’
Her eyes were still narrowed in anger as she pocketed the phone. Her chest heaved as she composed herself, and I could see the effort it cost her.
Finally, she met my eyes. ‘I have to change Amala. This isn’t good for her skin.’ She scooped the pile of nappies and wipes back into the changing bag, then, slinging it over her shoulder, strode to the stairs, her footsteps heavy.
I stood, frustrated and angry, staring at the empty doorway, and felt sure, if she wasn’t telling me her story, it could only be because she knew I wouldn’t like it.