The Stranger Within (3 page)

“Surprise!” I say, pushing through the door and waving the food bag at James. My forced display of confidence is painful to act out, but I have no choice. Although I’m looking directly at him, I notice Tabitha’s smile fade.

“Callie! I wasn’t expecting you! What’s in the bag?” James throws his arms around me, unashamed at his public display of affection. Even after nearly three years together, I still feel butterflies when he touches me. I still want him to see only my best side.

“I brought some breakfast. Probably a second one for you?”

James laughs. His face crinkles when he does so, and I get a glimpse of the man he will be in ten years. Twenty years. He will only get better with age. “Yep. Fried eggs this morning. Surprised you didn’t hear me crashing around. You must have been out of it.”

I wish he’d woken me. It would have been nice to do it this morning, to feel his solid body on top of me. To distract me from myself.

Tabitha walks over to us and for the first time I notice spidery lines sprouting from the corners of her eyes. I am a bitch for feeling pleased. “Hello, Callie.” She says my name as if she’s eaten something foul-tasting and needs to spit it out. She turns back to James. “Don’t forget your appointment is in ten minutes.” She pats him on the shoulder before heading to the back studio, leaving us alone.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask, sinking onto the soft leather of one of the window seats. It’s almost as comfortable as our sofa at home. Tabitha chose well when she helped him design the shop interior.

James scratches his chin. “Well, I could lie and say something corny like you just looked beautiful and peaceful sleeping so I left you to it.” He laughs. “But the truth is you just looked so tired.” I can always depend on James for the truth; he doesn’t believe in sugar-coating. “Are you feeling okay? It’s not like you to sleep that long. I was home by ten last night and you were conked out.”

I offer him a faint smile, but don’t mention that I’m probably not okay. Perhaps there is a physical reason I’m not feeling myself. I think about Dad, but brush the thought aside. I don’t have the space in my head for that at the moment.

“Anyway,” James continues. “I knew you’d have your alarm set for the boys.” Yes, that’s me. Good old dependable Callie, never letting the boys down. “They’re lucky to have you. I keep telling them that.” Neither of the boys will have had a chance to tell him they got themselves up for school, that I slept right through it all. Perhaps they will keep quiet, an exchange for my silence about their disappearing act.

I consider telling him but think better of it. He needs a break from the fighting. “No, everything was fine.”

James nods, his eyes lighting up. No doubt he is relieved he doesn’t have to deal with another argument. “See, that’s progress, right?” But quickly his eyes glaze over and I know he’s thinking about Lauren. He reaches for my hand and I digest his silent apology.
I’m sorry for thinking about her. That old cliché about time healing? Well, I’m not so sure about it.

I’m about to change the subject but he does it for me. “So what have you got planned for today?”

Before I can answer, Tabitha strides back in and slides into her chair at the desk. Her nails click-clack on the keyboard, distracting me from James’ question.

“I’m guessing you’ve got coursework to catch up on?” He unwraps his bap and scrunches the wrapper into a ball, hurling it into the bin by Tabitha’s desk.

“Great shot!” she says, a bright red smile spreading across her face, her head falling to one side as she eyes James.
If this is how she flirts with my husband when I’m here…
I avoid finishing the thought.

I turn back to James. “I was planning a day off from studying but, actually, I’ve got an assignment due in next Thursday. I should really make more of a dent in it.”

“What’s this one about?” James asks, sipping his cappuccino through the lid. He always does this with takeaway cups, even when he is in the shop and not walking around.

“Fear and sadness.”

“What’s all this?” Tabitha says. I haven’t noticed until now that the click-clacking has stopped.

It is tempting to tell her to mind her own business, but I hold my tongue. James answers for me. “Callie’s doing an Open University degree. Counselling. We’re so proud of her. She’ll have her own clients soon. Just think, two entrepreneurs in the family.” But I don’t hear his praise. All I can focus on is the word he has used.
We
.

Tabitha delivers a fake chuckle. “That’s great.” Within seconds she is back to her typing, her earlier flirtatiousness wiped out by James’ compliment to me.

Standing up, I tell him I need to get going. I still have plenty of time left before I need to be home. Hours of freedom but no idea what to do with it. Then an idea occurs to me. “Shall we go out to eat tonight? Just the two of us? We could get Mrs Simmons to babysit. It’s been ages since we…”

James doesn’t need much convincing. “Great idea. But not Mrs Simmons. Don’t you think she’s a bit…I don’t know…it would be more like the boys babysitting her. All she ever does is moan and complain. Or get confused. No, I’m sure Emma will do it. I’ll leave early this evening and –”

“Oh, sorry, I don’t think you can,” Tabitha says, standing up. “I’ve literally just taken a booking for you. Docklands. Seven p.m. Couple want snaps of their engagement party so it could be a late one. Sorry, James.”

“Oh.” James takes my hand. “Sorry, Callie, how about tomorrow?”

I pull him into a hug and speak into his shoulder to hide my disappointment. “That’s fine. Tomorrow. See you later, then.”

I add a brusque goodbye to Tabitha and, without waiting for her to respond, step outside. It is no longer drizzling and the sun is trying its best to make an appearance. As I pass the window and head to the bus stop, still unsure what I’ll do until the boys get home, I see Tabitha, already leaning over James again at the window display. I give a half-wave but neither of them notices. When I reach a bin, I toss in my bacon and egg bap. Thoughts of leaving Tabitha alone with my husband have destroyed my appetite.

Back at the house, I step through the door and stand in the hallway. For eight months I have been walking into another woman’s home. Every day I stand on her mocha carpet, surrounded by her furniture, her choice of paint. Why is the solution only just occurring to me?

In the living room, I drag the sofa to the window. I arrange the two armchairs next to each other, covering the old sofa patch, and then move the TV over to the other side of the room. The piano and cabinet are too heavy for me to move on my own but there is nowhere else they would fit anyway. Instead I will buy some decorative ornaments for them, ornaments of my choosing. I will get a new rug too, one that will cover most of the carpet.

I let out a sigh of relief. This will be good for all of us; a fresh start.

When I’ve finished, I stand in the middle of the room and study the new layout. I have only moved a few things but already I feel better. I have put my mark on the room and it will do until everything can be replaced.

But it’s still not enough.

I race to the car, haphazardly parked outside Mrs Simmons’ house. Giving her a wave because I know she must be watching, I screech down the road, excited to be taking action. Doing something positive, to make things better for all of us.

B & Q is only a short drive away so I am back within the hour, weighed down by heavy tins of pale citrus paint. The yellow will be more cheerful than Lauren’s sterile white, and it’s bound to lift all our spirits. Surely those Feng Shui experts know what they’re talking about? As I make trips back and forth from the car, I further convince myself that I’m doing the right thing. Matching what’s on the outside to how we should all feel on the inside.

I change into one of James’ old t-shirts, then cover the hallway carpet with dustsheets I find in the shed. I have never painted before, but how hard can it be? The words on the tin promise a single coat is enough so, shrugging, I begin. I will just do the hallway for now. I want to surprise the boys, to show them that things are going to change for the better.

With my earphones in and my iPod blasting out summer anthems, I don’t notice the time. It’s only when my left earphone falls out that I hear breathing behind me. Still on the ladder, I turn around to find Dillon and Luke staring at me, clutching their bags, their eyes wide.

“Does Dad know you’re doing this?” Dillon asks, shaking his head.

“No, actually, I wanted to surprise you all. Cheer things up a bit.” I climb down but now Dillon towers above me and I feel as small as an insect.

Luke shakes his head, but he doesn’t look angry. He starts to stutter. “B..b..but Mum chose that colour. She wanted it all white, she said, because we both loved snow when we were babies.”

Suddenly I feel as if I’m sinking. I have made a horrible mistake.

Chapter Three

Now

“I know what you’re thinking.”

              DS Connolly stares at me, his eyes intense, as if searching for signs of who I am. He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to continue, while beside him, the female officer looks on.

              “How could I have made such a mistake? How could I not have seen that changing things in the house would upset them? It’s clear as day, surely? But, no, it wasn’t. Not to me. Not until I saw their faces.”

              They both frown.

“Do you have children, DS Connolly?”

              His eyes widen at my question – this isn’t how he has envisioned our interview going – but he humours me and nods. “Two sons,” he says. Neither of us smiles at the irony.

              “It’s not always easy, is it? We don’t always get it right. Dillon and Luke had only lost their mum three years ago, and there I was, a stranger in their home. The last thing I wanted was for them to feel I was trying to replace their mum. I wasn’t. I wanted to support them in every way I could. But for eight months, nothing I did made any difference. I looked after them, I disciplined them, nothing worked. So what was there left to try?” I stare at my nails, bitten down to my skin. “They’d been through enough losing Lauren so suddenly to a brain haemorrhage, more than any child should have to go through, so there was no way I wanted to make things worse. I was trying to make things better.”

              The two officers silently digest my words, assessing them, trying to match them up with the crime I’ve committed.

              “How did you meet James Harwell?” the female officer asks. Is this abrupt change of subject part of their game? To throw me off balance, try and trip me up? What would be the point when I am telling them everything?

              “I was working in a coffee shop, trying to save up money to do my Open University degree.”

              DS Connolly shuffles some papers. “Counselling, is that right?” He turns to his colleague and a silent look passes between them.

              I focus on my story. This part, at least, is easy to tell. “He runs his own photography business across the road and he’d come in every morning for a large cappuccino.” I smile at the memory. James, handsome and kind, always friendly. “Eventually he’d come in the evenings, after my shifts had ended. We’d just sit and talk. He never looked down on me or acted superior, and when I eventually told him about my dream of being a counsellor he was full of encouragement.”

              I take a pause; talking about James this way is harder than I imagined. “I knew he was a bit older than me and that he’d lost his wife. He used to talk to me about it a lot. And I’d just listen, let him grieve for her. I wasn’t trying to…you know…
get
him. It was a while before I even realised I’d fallen for him. And I never dreamed he felt the same about me. But he did. He told me once that I’d saved him. Those were his exact words. I’d
saved
him.” I look away from DS Connolly’s gaze. “And now look what I’ve done.”

              “So you didn’t mind that he had children? Lots of people would be put off by that. Would find it too hard to deal with.” He ignores my self-pity; there is no room for it here. He only wants the cold, hard facts.

              I shake my head. “Not at all. In fact, I loved the fact he had kids. I was desperate to be a mum and it was my only chance.”

              DS Connolly straightens in his seat, a frown crossing his forehead.

              “I can’t have my own,” I say, saving him the bother of asking. I feel my insides collapse because I have to tell them, I have to relive it and feel the pain afresh. “I…had a stillborn baby. I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant and had to deliver her. She had died inside me. Just like that, no warning. One minute she was there, the next…” I feel my eyes well up and squeeze them shut.

“I’m sorry,” DS Connolly says. “I can only imagine what you and your husband went through.”

I shake my head. “It…was years ago. With my ex. Before I met James.”

And now an image of Max appears in my head. It is a still picture with no words or movement. The only thing I now remember about him is how, despite everything I put him through, he looked out for me. He never went about it the right way – nothing about him was conventional – but he always meant well.