Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
NATALIA
Poor broken little bird. I stare down at the woman who, having undoubtedly figured out who I am now I look more like myself, is dragging herself across the ground, trying to escape her nightmare. She clearly doesn’t realise she’s been living with her nightmare.
She had no clue who I was when I saw her for her first ultrasound scan at the hospital.
With my weight loss, a little filler here and there, blue contacts and blonde hair, I didn’t look anything like the woman I used to be.
She’d been equally clueless when I saw her shopping in the parent-and-baby section of the department store, smiling and walking across to me.
She’d been worried about her baby’s development.
Working to quash a visceral pang of jealousy as she pressed a hand to her bump, I’d adopted my professional sonographer persona and reassured her it was early days.
She looked relieved and, strangely, I was pleased I’d been able to help her.
I’d enquired after her ‘husband’, making my point that he wasn’t hers, which I don’t think was lost on her.
She’d told me at her scan of the tragedy that had befallen him, that the poor man had lost his wife.
I’d been so tempted to say how careless of him.
It actually was. Clearly he hadn’t imagined I could possibly have survived a fifty-foot fall into the water and that I might float back with all of his secrets.
I wouldn’t have survived but for the fact that I’d entered the water feet-first. The depth and density had played a factor, I’d learned at the local hospital.
They’d called it a miracle. I was blessed, they’d said.
I didn’t feel blessed. I doubt Jack will either when he realises his poor tragically lost wife is very much alive and kicking.
Jack hadn’t been at the hospital, of course.
Obviously I couldn’t have him there. I hadn’t felt too guilty about slashing his tyres.
I’d done him a favour really. The tread was worn.
Dangerous. I didn’t want him dead yet. Or her.
I’d been excited at the prospect of meeting her before I disassembled the life she’s built for herself on top of my metaphorical ashes.
‘How’s he doing now?’ I’d asked, my forehead furrowed in feigned concern.
‘He’s okay,’ she replied, a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘Still carrying a lot of guilt over what happened to his poor wife. He blames himself. I tell him he shouldn’t, but…’
‘It’s part of the grieving process,’ I managed, fighting back the urge to tell her just how much he should blame himself, how much he should be blamed.
She’d nodded sadly, telling me she knew all about survivor’s guilt, and I’d felt for her, which wasn’t part of my plan.
I might even have liked her in another life, been able to forgive her for taking my place in my daughter’s life, if she hadn’t set out to steal my husband.
Innocent-looking Kara isn’t quite as innocent as first impressions would have one believe.
If you ask me, it was convenient that she’d managed to ‘lose’ her family.
She really will wonder what she did to deserve it when it happens all over again.
I’d felt a lurch of panic as I noticed Jack come back into the store.
Making my excuses about running late for an appointment, I hurried away, telling her to take care and that I would see her soon.
But not at the hospital, as she would have imagined I meant.
My temporary stint there had served its purpose.
Next time, it would be Natalia she saw, not kind nurse Melanie.
And here I am. And here she is, her mother’s instinct to survive clearly as strong as mine. Continuing on down the embankment towards her, I’m quietly impressed by her determination as she raises herself to all fours and then pulls herself to standing.
As she blunders blindly away, she stumbles, crashing heavily back to the sodden earth. Again, I feel for her as I hear the anguished cry that escapes her, raw and primal. She’s obviously anxious for the child she carries inside her. His child.
He’s just an innocent baby, I remind myself. It’s not his fault. But then, nor is it mine. I get no pleasure from this. My aim isn’t to make her suffer. It’s to make Jack pay.
And the woman who calls herself my mother?
I feel the tiniest smidgen of guilt as I consider that conundrum.
Up until recently, I hadn’t seen her since I stuck the pig she was married to with a paring knife.
I smile as I recall his expression after I’d pinned one of his wandering hands to the dining table.
Startled with incomprehension, his eyes had been as wide and petrified as those of the broken little bird who’s now lying at my feet looking imploringly up at me.
‘What do you want?’ she asks, her voice a terrified whisper.
‘Justice.’ I smile down at her. ‘Do unto others as they’ve done to you,’ I murmur. It’s a misquote, but that’s the gist of it. Jack needs to know what loss is. He’s played the grieving husband well, but you don’t grieve the loss of something you don’t care about. I won’t grieve for him.
She looks at me as if I’m entirely mad, which considerably annoys me. Does she not realise that it’s her who’s mad, becoming involved so fast with a man she knows nothing about? Getting pregnant by him?
‘You need to get up.’ I curb my temper and extend a hand to help her.
She scrambles backwards away from me.
‘Get up!’ Growing impatient, I make a grab for her.
She squeals as I catch hold of her wrist, and I wince. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, but time is against us. ‘You need to get up. Now!’ I yell. ‘There’s petrol leaking everywhere.’
Wild with fear, her eyes dart to the side and she jerks herself to sitting, obviously preferring her fate at the hands of a woman she imagines is dangerous than to have her flesh stripped from her bones by fire.
I grip her arm tightly and heave her up. ‘We have to move. I’ve called the emergency services,’ I lie as she finds her feet and stumbles unsteadily alongside me. I imagine someone will alert them and they’ll soon be arriving. So, though, will Jack. We need to be gone before he does.
Slipping and slithering, we make our way precariously up the embankment, me holding firmly onto her.
A quick check of the road tells me the coast is clear, although a car has just gone past and might well turn around.
Quickly, I urge her through the gap in the guard rail.
I feel her wilt as I guide her towards the vehicle I’ve ‘borrowed’ from my landlord.
Wrapping an arm around her, supporting her, half carrying her, I guide her to the passenger door, opening it and helping her in.
She doesn’t protest much. She’s woozy from shock and clearly in pain from the injury to her wrist. Possibly also drowsy from smoke inhalation. Or else a side effect of medication.
Her chest is wheezing, I note. I hope she’s not going to die on me now I’ve realised it might suit my purposes better to keep her alive. It pains me to think it, but Jack does appear to care for her, or at least for the child growing inside her.
Scouring the road again, I race around to the driver’s side, climb inside and drop the locks. She looks at me dazedly as I reach to buckle her seat belt. ‘Where are we going?’ she asks croakily.
‘Not far,’ I assure her, starting the engine.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror as I pull away, I note a car approaching at speed.
Her car, I think, Jack probably at the wheel, blue lights and sirens close behind him, Won’t they all be surprised when they find no one in the wreckage?
Her body just vanished. Jack, I imagine, will experience a sickening sense of déjà vu.
She’s in and out of consciousness as I drive, and I grow concerned for her, until I hear her mumbling Jack’s name, and then my heart hardens. I have no time for sympathy. Perhaps if anyone had had any compassion for me…
Arriving at our destination, I park the car and hurry around to help her out. It’s dark, thankfully, and the road is relatively deserted. There are no CCTV cameras around here – I’ve checked, so I’m confident we won’t be seen.
She’s disorientated, as meek as a lamb as I encourage her through the building’s outer door. Just as well. I don’t need her kicking off now.
It’s not until she’s halfway up the litter-strewn stairs that she realises where we are. ‘Lina’s flat?’ she murmurs, her face registering surprise.
‘The one next door,’ I inform her.