The Stranger Within (18 page)

              “I’m
eighteen
in a few weeks.” He smiles triumphantly.

              “It doesn’t matter!” I stand up. “I’m sorry it’s gone as far as it has, but we can’t do this any more. Whatever it is, stops now.”

“But you came here. You came here to see me.”

It is now I realise my actions are inconsistent with my words and that he is only observing what my presence proves. That I want him, I need him.

“I’m not giving you up,” Rhys says, pulling me down onto the mattress. And then he is kissing me, and once more I am powerless to stop him, my strength to end this before it’s begun evaporating. He reaches under my shirt, his hands smooth and cool, and I groan in his ear. “You like me too,” he says. “I know you do.”

              I don’t answer, but wrestle his t-shirt over his head and pull him on top of me. His body feels thick and heavy on mine. He is not a boy.

Afterwards he can’t stop smiling, and he clutches me as I rest on his chest. As good as I felt seconds ago, I am now swamped with guilt and feel as if I’m being crushed. I have crossed a line and there is no going back. This can’t be undone. But when I look at Rhys, I only think of the pleasure he has given me, the way he sees my true self.

Pushing my doubt aside, I listen as he chatters away about his university plans. I take in every word as he tells me he wants to take a gap year and travel to America this summer. “I’d just busk out there,” he says. “And drive around from city to city. I’ve been researching Route 66 on the Internet and I really want to do it. I’ll be taking my driving test soon.”

              I feel a twinge of regret that I never thought of doing something so exciting when I was his age. Travelling, seeing the world, living. All I wanted to do was become a mother. “That sounds like fun,” I say, staring at his chest. There are a few scattered hairs on it but nowhere near as many as James has.

              “Come with me.”

              I run my hands over his body, wanting to take in every inch of him, to remember when I get home. “Oh, Rhys, I can’t even think about tomorrow, let alone this summer.”

              “Well, we can talk about it later,” he says. I can tell he is disappointed but he doesn’t mope or sulk. He holds me tighter and kisses my shoulder.

              “So tell me how your gig went on Friday,” I say, lying back and listening to the melodic sound of his voice. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed. It is as if everything negative has slipped away, and even if I wanted to I wouldn’t be able to think about home.

              Until I notice it is almost ten p.m.

James is sure to be home by now and wondering where I am. “I have to go,” I say, jumping up. “Sorry.” I start reaching for my clothes, which are scattered on the floor by the bed.

Rhys doesn’t move but turns on his side to watch me, still naked. “When will I see you?” he asks.

“Soon. I’ll sort something. I promise.”

At the front door we kiss, and he watches as I drive away. As soon as he is out of sight, guilt once again threatens to suffocate me. Until I think of James with Tabitha.

I pull onto our road and spot James’ car parked a few houses down from us. I check myself in the rear-view mirror, just to make sure there are no visible signs of Rhys on me. I can tell without checking that I smell of him, but I will rush to the shower. I wonder if James does this after he has been with Tabitha. The scent of her perfume can’t be easy to erase.

“Where have you been?” he asks when I walk into the front room and find him on the sofa. There is no light on but the television illuminates his face. He squints at his watch and looks as if he has just woken up.

“Out with Debbie.” The short drive home has given me time to concoct a cover story.

“Oh,” he says. He doesn’t ask anything further, but stands and stretches before turning off the television. “I’m knackered, I’m going to bed.” When he walks past I back away and even in the darkness of the room, I’m sure I see something flicker across his face.

He knows something is wrong. He must do, because my whole body is screaming out that I’ve betrayed him in a worse way than he could possibly imagine.

Chapter Nineteen

I haven’t seen Rhys for two days and I have mixed feelings about this. Part of me thinks it is a blessing, and as each hour passes without sight of him, I hope my need for him will lessen. But it only grows stronger. As does my guilt.

I have proved I am not fit to be a mother to Dillon and Luke. People would consider me a monster if they knew, and what could I say in my defence? I picture Rhys’ parents if they found out, the devastation it would cause to both our families. But still I cannot stop. I cannot give him up when he is the only part of my life that is not in shreds.

              We text each other at every opportunity, and I call whenever I am alone in the house and he is not in class or with Dillon. These moments are rare; he and Dillon seem inseparable. Each time we have contact, Rhys asks when he can see me, but all I can tell him is
soon
.

              It bothers me that I can’t share my awful secret with Bridgette and Debbie but they would never understand. Infidelity is one thing, but indulging in it with a teenage boy is another. They won’t be able to fathom that he is so much more than that. Or that I feel free when I think of him.

              James arrived home early from work yesterday, but I didn’t ask him why, even though it was unusual. Either something has gone wrong with Tabitha or he is suspicious of me. But other than one late night, I have given him no reason to question me. I delete Rhys’s texts as soon as I’ve read them, and keep my phone in sight. I am playing a dangerous game.

              “Remember Emma’s coming for lunch today,” James says. It is Saturday morning – his busiest day – but he still hasn’t left for work. He sits at the table with his coffee, smoothing out the pages of his newspaper.

              “Okay. What shall I cook?” I only have a vague recollection of him mentioning Emma’s visit and cooking is the last thing I feel like doing today.

              “The thing is, she’s bringing her new partner to meet us all so she wants to cook herself. Make a good impression. She’d do it at her place but there’s no space. You don’t mind, do you? She’ll bring everything.”

              “Well, she won’t want me getting in the way, so maybe I’ll pop out for a bit.” I am already planning to tell Rhys we can see each other sooner than expected.

              But James has other ideas. “What? Why would you do that? She wants us all here.”

              “What about the shop?” I ask.

              “Tabitha will be fine if I pop back for a couple of hours. She knows what she’s doing.” His eyes light up when he says her name, and my stomach sinks. I know I am caught up in my own betrayal, but that doesn’t make his any easier.

After he leaves, I remember Mrs Simmons is going into hospital today. I deliberately haven’t told him or the boys I’ve got the keys because I have been planning to escape next door to clear my head and focus on my studies without worrying about the boys and their tricks. But now a different plan forms in my mind. It is reckless and crazy but it fills me with excitement.

              Taking my phone outside, I head to the bottom of the garden. Then I call Rhys, still keeping my voice low, just in case the boys are awake. I tell him my idea and let his excitement fill me up. “We’ll have to be careful, though. Everyone will be home and it’s only next door. I’ll say that I’m going to see a friend in town, so meet me there at eight-thirty. There’s a gate at the side of her house that leads round to the back garden. I’ll leave it unlatched so go through it and I’ll let you in through the kitchen.” I sound as if I’m delivering instructions for a bank robbery and Rhys laughs.

              “Got it,” he says. “Callie? I miss you.”

              “Not for long. Just look forward to tonight. But be careful. You really can’t be seen. At least it will be dark by then.”

              “You panic a lot, don’t you?” Rhys says, chuckling down the phone.

              And now it hits me that I am the only one with everything to lose. I should call him back and tell him to forget the whole thing, but, of course, I don’t. I am in too deeply now, heading for a cliff at a hundred miles an hour and unable to brake.

              I check on Jazzy before I go back in and he is just waking up in the shed. At the sight of me, he stretches and begins purring. I top up his bowl from the packet of dry food I have stashed in the shed and he saunters over to it, rubbing his head on my hand before tucking in. He looks healthier already. His fur is growing back and he is definitely fatter. I am growing fond of him and wish he could be in the house with us. Perhaps when things are better I will mention him to James. I just don’t want Jazzy to be the cause of more conflict. Thinking of this, I’m surprised the boys haven’t already told James about him.

              But will things get better?

              For now I leave Jazzy to eat, making sure the shed door is open so he can come and go as he pleases. As I cross the lawn, I am sure I can see Dillon watching again from his window, but as I draw nearer he vanishes.

              Dillon and Luke eventually appear in the kitchen, still in their pyjamas. “Where’s Dad?” Luke asks. “He said he’d still be here when we got up.”

              I watch their faces fall as I tell them he’s left. Now they know I will be making their breakfast. Lauren always gave them a cooked breakfast at the weekend and this tradition has lived on.

“How about just eggs on toast this morning? Emma’s coming over to cook a big lunch so you probably shouldn’t eat too much.”

              “Yay, Aunty Emma!” Luke says, to Dillon rather than me. “It’s always better when she’s here.”

              Dillon, still half-asleep, slumps on the table, but nods his agreement. As I reach for the bread, I smile because they don’t know I have armed myself against them. I have Rhys. He may be Dillon’s best friend but I am confident that for someone his age, sex will always win.

              While they eat, I pop next door to check on Mrs Simmons, desperately hoping her plans haven’t changed.

              “Oh, it’s you,” she says, as she opens the door. “Where are the boys? I thought they were coming.”

              “They are, Mrs Simmons,” I lie. “But I just wanted to see you before you left, to wish you...” I search for the right words. “All the best for your…operation?”

              She doesn’t deny or confirm this, but I let her coldness wash over me. In a few hours I will be in her house, alone with Rhys, and nothing else will matter. “So what time are you off? I’ll send the boys over this evening to check on things.”

              “Hmmm.” She peers past me to the road. “The taxi’s coming at twelve. I hope it’s on time.”

              I tell her I’ll leave her to get ready and she closes the door without a thank you.

              Back in the house, the boys have finished eating but their dirty plates remain on the table. There is egg smeared over the wooden surface, soaking in pools of orange juice. I should be used to their vindictiveness by now, but not even the thought of seeing Rhys later can soften the blow.

Emma turns up at eleven and I am forced to endure the boys’ fussing over her, acting as if they haven’t seen her for years. Eventually she tells them she needs to start preparing lunch, and they leave her in peace, disappearing to the front room to play on the PlayStation.

              Left alone with her, I offer to help. She accepts, although I can tell she’d rather I didn’t. “So how are things with you?” I ask, peeling carrots while she sets to work on the potatoes. For some reason she has decided we are having a Sunday roast, even though it’s Saturday. She must really want to impress this new man of hers.

              “Great. I just want to get this meal right.” She seems nervous, a trait I’ve not noticed in her before. I feel sorry for her, and put more effort into preparing the food.

              “So, what’s his name?” I ask, as if we are best friends, chatting about the latest man on the scene. Perhaps it will diffuse some of her coldness.

              “Ha,” she says. “
Her
name is Natalie. Don’t tell me James hasn’t told you?”

              I had no idea Emma liked women, and it’s none of my business, but it puzzles me that James has never mentioned it. “He…I, um, he probably just wanted to protect your privacy.”

              Emma turns to me. “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” she says. “He can tell the whole world if he wants.” She goes back to peeling potatoes and we say no more about it.

Natalie is not at all who I pictured. She is tiny, not just in height but her whole frame, and she looks fragile. Her skin is tanned, perhaps a sign of Mediterranean blood. Next to her, Emma is a plain, dull giant. I immediately like Natalie; she smiles shyly as she shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says, her soft voice matching her appearance. I wonder if Emma talks to her about Lauren, if she compares me with her dead friend.