46. Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Six
I sat fully clothed on the toilet, taking deep breaths. I couldn’t afford to let my mask slip and had to keep pretending to be content with a life I hated. Marion had taken to dropping round on a whim, usually when Rob was at work. Goodness knows what she hoped to catch me doing, but every time she appeared she seemed disappointed to find me engaged in a mindless housework chore.
A couple of times over the past week, I’d felt as though I was being followed. As much as I resented the intrusion, it gave me some pleasure knowing my stalker would be just as bored as I was. And my stalker was not an early riser. Clearly, whoever Marion had hired didn’t think it was worth watching the house before eight a.m. which was just as well.
I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand, flushed the toilet, and ran my hands under the tap. Marion probably thought I had something wrong with my bowels, the amount of times I hid in the toilet during her visits.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Marion nosing around the living room. That was fine by me. She’d find nothing of any interest there. I doubted she’d start rooting through the understairs cupboard, and even if she did, it was a logical place to store camping equipment and sleeping bags, given we had no garage or attic space.
‘How is Albert getting on at school?’
‘Fine.’ A lie. He was miserable.
‘And the extra tuition?’
‘Fine.’
‘No luck with finding a job?’
‘No.’ Another lie. ‘I went to the job centre, but they tried to sign me up to training courses and I wouldn’t be able to fit those around Bertie.’
‘Quite right. A mother’s place is in the home looking after her family.’
‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘No, I must be on my way. I just wanted to check in, see how you were getting on.’
I showed Marion to the door. At least she never went upstairs. If she did, she’d see one wall of Bertie’s bedroom covered in black chalk paint. He’d decorated it with a range of colourful faces, all with their mouths turned down at the corners. My son was not exactly subtle.
Once Marion’s car disappeared from view, I lay down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. There was only half an hour before I’d need to leave on the school run, not enough time to risk a nap. My early starts left me zombie-like for most of the day. Sleepless nights followed by three a.m. starts were playing havoc with my health. My skin was covered in pimples, my hair had lost all its shine, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags beneath my eyes. I suffered from brain fog, forgetting where I’d left my keys, what day it was. One day I’d even tried to let myself into my old house, confused why my keys weren’t working.
I pulled out my phone and flicked on the messages. This was a daily form of torture I subjected myself to. It was guaranteed to make me cry, but I feared that without it, I’d forget my true self. As I scrolled through the messages from Seb, I let the tears flow freely. There had been no communication from him since I’d left Lowen Farm and I couldn’t blame him. I turned my attention to my photos, reminding me of faces which had grown so familiar and who I now missed so much it physically hurt.
My alarm went off, and I picked up my bag and car keys. Bertie was struggling enough without me being late. I’d promised him a trip to Cass’s house on the way home hoping to cheer him up, but even the thought of seeing his cousins hadn’t raised a smile.
Outside the school, I waited a safe distance from the other parents. It only took a few days before Cressida realised I wouldn’t divulge any secrets and went back to her familiar barbed comments and laughing behind my back. At Bertie’s last school, there had been a mixture of mums, dads, and grandparents at the school gates. At this school, the waiting parents were almost exclusively female, either mothers or nannies (as in the au pair variety, not the grandparent or goat sort).
Bertie was one of the last children to leave school. He trudged towards me, his head bent, kicking up gravel as he shuffled his feet. As he got closer, I noticed a red streak travelling from his lip to his cheek.
‘Bertie,’ I said, tilting his chin so I could get a good look. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me now, or I’ll have to speak to Mrs Bright.’
Bertie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t, Mum, it’s nothing.’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing.’
‘They were just messing around.’
‘Who?’
‘Jack Jamison and his mates.’
‘What did they do to you?’
A tear trickled down Bertie’s cheek and he brushed it away with an angry swipe of his sleeve. ‘They were saying mean things about you and Dad. That we had no money, that Dad doesn’t love me. Then they started hitting me with branches.’
‘Branches? Where were you?’
‘They dragged me into the woodland area at lunchtime.’
‘And did you tell anyone what happened?’
‘I tried to tell Mrs Bright, but the others said we were just playing, and she told me to stop making a fuss.’
‘She what?’ I began marching up to the school, but Bertie chased me, yanking my arm to stop me.
‘Please, Mum, don’t. You’ll just make it worse.’
‘I won’t stand for you being bullied.’
‘But they’ll bully me more if they think I’m a snitch.’
‘Fine. But I want you to think about it tonight, and I want you to let me take a photo of your cut for evidence.’
After much protesting, Bertie relented and let me photograph his face.
‘Come on, let’s go and see Aunt Cass.’
‘Can we just go home?’
‘Are you sure? You love seeing Jake.’
‘I don’t want him to see this,’ said Bertie, pointing to the cut on his cheek. ‘I’m really tired, Mum. I just want to go home.’
‘All right, but wait in the car while I call Aunt Cass. I need to let her know we won’t be coming over.’
‘OK.’
Bertie climbed into the car, and I dialled my sister’s number.
‘Hi, Liv. Are you on your way over?’
‘No, sorry, I’m going to have to cancel. Bertie’s had a bad day at school and wants to go straight home.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Bullying, I think. He’s made me promise not to speak to his teacher, but I’m going to speak to the headteacher about it tomorrow.’
‘You poor thing. As if you don’t have enough to be dealing with.’
‘Are you still OK to pick me and Bertie up tomorrow to visit Dad? Rob needs the car.’
‘Of course. I’ll be at yours by eleven.’
‘Thanks. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’