The Stranger Within (34 page)

              “I don’t know. It just seems like things have been better between you and the boys.”

              Things
are
better, and it does appear that we have reached a silent truce, but it doesn’t matter now because it is too late. But until the final moment comes, I will make the most of any family time we can share.

“They have, I think. But it’s early days. And who knows how Dillon will be now. After…this.”

“You’re right. Rhys dying has got to be the worst thing that could have happened to him, other than losing me. Us.”

But there are worse things, far worse.

“He’s already lost Lauren. What’s next?”

              I don’t know if James expects an answer, but I have none to give. I am out of comforting words.

              “I’ll go and check on them,” he says, leaving me alone in the dark kitchen.

Once he’s gone I have space to think. For the first time it occurs to me that things might not be hopeless, after all. The Marshalls have said the police aren’t sure what happened, so that must mean nobody saw or heard anything. And if they have found any evidence they would be banging the door down by now. Of course, it might take a few days, but I know I didn’t leave anything behind; I was there such a short time.

              It is now a waiting game and only when enough time has passed will I know it is safe. Is it possible that we can be a normal family? Rhys’ death would always hang over us, but with a fresh start, in time it might fade. I get so carried away with this idea that I think about asking James if he would consider moving away now. I could make him see that it would be good for Dillon, good for all of us. He has been against it before, but if he thinks it will help Dillon then surely he will give it some thought? We don’t have to go far, just away from this house, these memories that stain every wall.

Do you know what this is? This excitement you are feeling in the midst of everything? This invincibility? It’s not real. And soon enough you will crash back down.

              I mention my idea to James later, when we are in bed, cocooned in the duvet that is far too warm for this weather. He takes my hand under the sheet and squeezes it. “I don’t know, Callie. Do you think that’s a good idea? Taking the boys out of school? Dillon’s got his GCSEs.”

              “I know, but by the time the house is sold he’ll be finished, won’t he? It’s not going to happen overnight, it could take months to get a sale. Anyway, we don’t have to move far. They could still go to the same school.”

              “Is this about Lauren?”

              His question is a surprise and I’m about to deny it when I realise I can’t lie anymore. Of course there are lies I cannot expose, but I won’t add any more to the pile. I will be honest with James whenever I can. “Partly,” I say, and his hand tightens its grip. “It’s been hard for me. Living here. In the house that belonged to you and her. And I think it might be part of the reason the boys didn’t want to accept me. How could they, when everything is a reminder that I don’t belong here?” As I say these words, it occurs to me how strange it is to be talking about Lauren after everything that has happened tonight.

              “You’re right. I’m sorry, Callie. The truth is, I don’t think I wanted to move because I was scared it would mean there’s nothing left of Lauren.” I am grateful for his honesty; I know this is not easy for him to say. “But I’ve realised that the boys are all I need of her, so what else matters? And it’s not about her now, it’s about you.”

              Relief floods through me. “Thanks for saying that.” Now there is a chance for us all to escape the mess I have made.

              James kisses me. “As soon as Dillon feels better, let’s get an estate agent round to value the house.”

              I lean across and wrap myself around him, burying my head in his chest. My tears fall onto his skin but he doesn’t seem to notice. At first they are tears of relief. But quickly I realise I am not sure who I am crying for the most: me or Rhys.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sometimes I wonder what I would think of myself if I were someone else. If I could analyse myself from some exterior perspective: my thoughts, my actions, nothing out of bounds or hidden from view, what opinion would I have of Callie Harwell?

              It’s easy to sum up.

              I would wonder how she gets out of bed every day, eats breakfast, showers, talks to her family. How she lives with what she has done. How she puts it aside like a handbag when she needs to get on with something else.

              But the body and mind have a way of carrying on, despite what we put them through. It is a protective mechanism, a way of warding off insanity. Only when that breaks down are we in trouble.

Days pass and after Rhys’ funeral I start to breathe again. The truth is always there, of course, tainting everything I do and every word I speak, but I cover it with acts of normality and hope it will stay buried. But still, I hold my breath every time the phone rings or someone comes to the door.

James is in regular contact with the Marshalls and they say the police are stumped. There have been no developments, and Rhys’ computer and mobile phone show nothing unusual. I don’t even want to consider what would be happening if I hadn’t thought to delete my texts from his phone that night. The fact that there are so many others, going back months, will hopefully mean the police are satisfied, at least for now. It is a certainty they will look into his phone records, but Mrs Marshall makes no mention of this, so for now, at least, I am safe.

All of Rhys’ friends have been questioned, and when it was Dillon’s turn, a few days ago, I stifled my nausea and watched as he told them everything he could, in between fits of crying. He asked James and me to stay in the room with him, and although I was surprised he wanted me there, I was grateful to hear what the police asked him. From their questions, I was able to put my mind at ease that they have not linked me to Rhys.

James keeps to his word and, after discussing it with the boys, arranges for an estate agent to value the house. Initially there is some moaning from Luke, until he’s told he won’t have to change schools. Dillon, on the other hand, doesn’t object at all.

Even though we are months away from a house sale, yesterday we took the boys into Kingston to pick out new furniture. “There’s no point buying anything yet, but just looking might get them excited about it,” James said. “And the important thing is we’re doing something as a family.” And he was right. Both Dillon and Luke seemed pleased that they could help us choose how to kit out the house we will eventually buy, and I cherished every second in that shop, knowing people in there saw me as the boys’ mother.

Dillon remains subdued, but James and I have discussed counselling with him and, after some initial reservations, he’s starting to come around to the idea. It is a shame I cannot help him. Although I am making good progress with my studies, this is all too close to home.

I know Jenny is looking after Dad, but I haven’t seen him for a few weeks and I can’t leave it any longer. At first I couldn’t risk leaving the house, but today, once the boys have left for school, I will drive to Palmers Green and spend the morning with him. Dillon has an exam today and will be home early, but he mentioned that Esme might come over so they can study together. He seems to have cut himself off from all his other friends since Rhys’ death, so neither James nor I have the heart to uphold the rule barring him from having girls over while we’re out. I’m glad he still has someone. I don’t know if they are still in a relationship, or if they are just friends now, but at least she is company for him.

Despite what’s happened, Dillon has been catching up on all the studying he missed while he was away from home, and he is taking his exams seriously. I hope he will do well. I have already messed up his life, as well as my own, but if there is any chance to salvage it then I want him to grab it.

Thinking of this reminds me of Rhys. I try not to think of him too much, blocking his image out whenever it attempts to appear, but sometimes I let myself. It is only right. He would be sitting his final A-level exams now, and planning his gap year and the trip to America, if it weren’t for me. If he were still alive, his band would be playing more gigs; how can they hope to be even remotely successful without Rhys at the helm? I have snatched all this from him.

Dillon and Luke both appear in the kitchen, snapping me out of my melancholy. “I want to get to school early to do some more revision,” Dillon says. “I’ll grab some breakfast on the way.”

Luke looks disappointed but won’t want Dillon to head off without him. I reach for my purse and grab a handful of coins, dividing them between the boys. “Get something with this,” I say.

Once they have gone, I trudge around Sainsbury’s, picking up Dad’s regular groceries as well as some things for us. Dad’s list is always the same; he never asks to try anything new, just as nothing will ever change in his life. He can never get well. And suddenly, right there in the middle of the aisle, I am powerless to stop my flood of tears. People pass by but nobody says a word, they just avoid me as if I am a crazy person, best avoided. I wonder if they are right, because the truth is I don’t know the real reason for my tears. Maybe it is about Dad, but it’s just as likely to be anything else. Or everything mashed into one. If I were here only to shop for James and the boys, I would run out of here right now. But I have to get Dad’s food. I have already let everyone else down; I can’t do that to him too.

By the time I have pulled myself together and made it to Palmers Green, it is nearly one o’clock. I wanted to be home by now, to be there when Dillon gets back, not only just arriving at Dad’s.

As I park up and grab the shopping from the boot, I glance across the road at the park. It will always make me think of Rhys now, even though we only went there once together, and I have been many times without him. I know that I will never set foot in there again. I will have to find somewhere else to take Dad when he is having a good day.

Things start off the usual way after I’ve pressed Dad’s buzzer, but it doesn’t take long before I realise something is wrong. I have been out here too long. Dad has never taken this much time to answer. But it’s not just that. I can feel something is wrong. I just don’t know what it is.

I press the other buzzers – all of them – and wait for someone to answer. I know the woman next door to Dad doesn’t work, and pray that she is home. After a few seconds a female voice answers. Quickly I explain who I am and she lets me in.

When I reach the top of the stairs she is waiting for me, poking her head out of her door. I can’t see much more than her curtain of grey hair but she looks a bit younger than Dad. “You come every week, don’t you? His daughter?” she says. Her eyes drop to the shopping bags I’m holding. “Is Mike okay?”

I tell her I don’t know, that this is the first time he hasn’t answered his door.

“Maybe he’s fallen asleep? I do that sometimes after lunch. It’s this weather, you see. Much too warm for me.”

I give her a brief smile and knock gently on Dad’s door. It will do no good to pound on it. There is no answer so I knock again, harder. Still nothing. And no sound from inside. I turn to the woman and she must see the despair in my eyes because she smiles and says, “Would you like the spare key?”

Confused, I frown at her. She must be mistaken.

“Your dad gave it to me once. Years ago. Asked me to look after it in case of emergencies. I’d forgotten I had it until now.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The idea of Dad giving his neighbour a spare key seems unbelievable. He doesn’t even trust me or Jenny to have one. He must have given it to her when he was having a clear day. But whatever the case, I am grateful for it now.

“I’ll just go and find it,” the woman says, leaving her door ajar as she disappears inside her flat.

The seconds tick by and begin to feel like hours. As each one passes, my anxiety increases. I try to tell myself he is asleep, but I know he only sleeps lightly so would have woken by now. Even our voices would have been enough to rouse him.

Dad’s neighbour reappears, jingling the key in the air, proud of herself for being able to help me. It is all I can do not to grab it from her. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help.”

“Do you want me to come in there with you?” I know why she is asking but shake my head. Whatever it is, I will deal with it alone.

“No, but thanks. I’ll be fine. He’s probably just gone out or something.”

She doesn’t look convinced. She must have lived next door to Dad long enough to know how unlikely this is. I wonder what else she knows about him. Whether she has worked him out.

“Well, just knock if you need anything.”

The second she closes her door I thrust the key in the lock of Dad’s, feeling strange because I have never once opened it myself. Inside, the usual stale air assaults me, but it is too dark for this time of day. I soon see why. In the living room, the curtains are drawn and there is no sign of Dad. He’s not in the kitchen either but the blinds are pulled down, the slivers of light through the gaps casting bright orange lines onto the wall.

The bathroom door is wide open so I can immediately see he’s not in there. That leaves only the bedroom to check.