The Woman Before Me (30 page)

I knew it was a lie. I stuffed my fingers in my mouth to stop a yell and walked upstairs, stepping slowly and listening carefully.

And then Dominic boomed, “I’m not a fucking idiot, Emma. Don’t you think I know what’s going on? Those texts, you being secretive. You smelling of cigarettes. When I come home after a night away I can
tell
someone’s been in my house!”

I dropped my glass and wine flew everywhere, red stains bloomed on the cream carpet. Dominic shouted, “Rose, what the hell are you still doing here?”

He came downstairs holding an overnight bag and stormed out of the house. I went to find Emma.

Emma was hunched on the bathroom floor, cradling Luke, both crying.

“What’s happened?”

She tried to compose herself, but failed, and didn’t resist when I took my boy from her, passing her some toilet tissue to wipe her cheeks. Her words were punctuated by sobs.

“Something Dominic’s got in his head. Some stupid idea that I’m seeing someone.”

I looked at her suspiciously. “Why does he think that?”

Emma’s mouth quivered. “He got hold of my mobile and checked my messages. He had no right to do that! And he’s got this idea that I’ve had someone here while he’s been doing nightshifts at the school. Says he’s noticed things... ”

I looked at her hard, thinking what a convincing act she put on.

“He’s paranoid. I need to talk to him.” And she tried to stand, steadying herself with the wall, but legs buckling under the weight of Dominic’s accusation.

“I’ll take Luke downstairs while you wash your face.”

I picked up Luke and took him downstairs. I heard the tune of Emma’s mobile ringing, and Emma dashing down the corridor to grab it from her room. I stood in the hallway and listened.

“Hello? Yes, this is Emma Hatcher. Nurse Hall… Oh yes, how are you… Oh, he’s fine…”

I opened the front door, still listening to the phone call upstairs. There was a long silence then Emma said, “Well, yes, Rose is very fond of him…”

I stepped outside, Luke in my arms, and ran.

51

Cate pumped the brake pedal as a group of students ambled across the road, clutching folders and linking arms, chatting in the sun. She put the car back into gear and parked up, outside the flats on Coronation Road. The steering wheel slid in her wet palms. Last time she had been here Jason Clarke had shown her Joel’s nursery, and the time before she had left him fighting tears on the floor. And this interview was certain to be worse.

The parole board was sitting at 10a.m. and she wanted to be back at the prison by then. It was just after nine when she pressed the buzzer and the door opened immediately. Jason stood before her, bedraggled hair and rumpled shirt, like he’d just leapt from bed.

“Not too early I hope?”

“Come in. I’ll make us some coffee.”

The flat was back to the mess it had been on her first visit. In the lounge crumpled cans of Stella and cigarette butts ground into ashtrays littered the table. Jason came into the room with two mugs of steaming coffee, pushing aside the debris and sitting down. “So, today’s the day.”

Cate’s stomach tightened, and she felt her professional mask slip into place. Her mouth became tight and her eyes serious. “It certainly is. The parole board will meet this morning and they already have my report, along with those of the prison staff and others who have met Rose.”

“But your report carries the most weight?”

She shifted slightly. “Not necessarily. But it would be unusual for someone to get parole if the probation report was strongly opposed.”

“So put me out of my misery, then.” He sipped his coffee casually but she heard the anger under the surface.

She took a quick breath. “I don’t think Rose should get parole, Jason. I’ve recommended she stays in prison.”

He slammed his mug down on the table and coffee sloshed over the sides. “What?”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear.”

“But why, for God’s sake?”

Cate leaned back in the sofa; let some space settle between them. “I don’t think that Rose has any remorse for Luke’s death.

She has never fully accepted the part she played in it.”

Jason erupted, “because she didn’t mean to start the fire! Jesus, how many more times?”

“But it was her cigarette…”

“You people! Hasn’t she done enough? Four years of her life for nothing.”

“For stalking and starting a fire that caused a death.”

“No!” Jason’s eyes were bulging and he moved closer to her. “Don’t you dare do that! I’ve told you she’s innocent. Oh God…”

Cate put her coffee down. “Whether or not she gets parole is up to the board. But I wanted you to know my conclusion.”

“Just get out.”

“Jason, I…”

“Go now!”

Cate stood and walked swiftly from the room, turning when she heard the sound of shattered glass to see that Jason had punched his fist through the photograph frame with the picture of his dead son. There was blood on his fist and he was crying, muttering to himself those same words she had heard before. “What have you done? Oh God, what have you done?”

52

Black Book Entry

10a.m: the parole board will be sat around a table, piles of reports in front of them. Talking about me. They’ll have Callahan’s report, which I’ve read, and Cate’s, which I haven’t.

I’m watching from the window as seagulls perch. Where do they nest? I’d like to see, like to watch them care for their chicks. I would like a chick. A new baby. A girl this time, sitting in a baby chair, pink with yellow stars.

I hold my nest, my precious nest. The twigs are old and brittle, but still entwined in that perfect shape of a home.

Rita and Mum come to me often now. Tell me there is a new baby, a little girl. I know she’s yours, Jason, and soon she’ll be mine, just like a magpie, stealing from another’s nest. Oh, my head hurts so much. It hurts from watching the clock and waiting.

I need to be released. I need to be free to find a nest.

Natalie Reynolds pushed a handmade card under my cell door earlier. Good Luck it says, with a black cat on the front made with sequins and pipe cleaners. Funny how black cats are associated with luck when they’re such sly, aloof creatures. I’ve been like a cat, dressed in black, padding softly through Emma’s home. Cats can have lots of homes; they’ll feed from several people, each one thinking they are its master when all along it has mastered them.

I’m lying on my bed, watching the ceiling and making out shapes, as a free person would watch clouds. Every wall has stains or marks that can be beautiful if you squint. It’s after lunch and I’m sleepy, dreaming away the time before I get my news.

Heavy boots coming. Stopping outside my cell. The key turns in the lock. It’s the only notice we get, as the officers never knock.

The door heaves open and Officer Burgess stands in front of me. His skin looks sore and he has purple bruises under his eyes.

He’s too young to look so haggard, so defeated. A boy like him has no business working in a prison.

“Alright, Wilks?”

He doesn’t look me in the eye. I make him nervous. He wouldn’t unlock my cell without a good reason.

“Get your shoes on. We’re going for a walk.”

“Where?” I ask.

“To see the Governor.”

This is the moment I’ve been longing for and dreading, in equal measure. I close my eyes, my hands clasp together as if in prayer, and think of freedom.

I follow Burgess off the landing and across the prison to the administration block, trying to control my breathing, knowing I’m about to hear my fate.

The Governor’s office is large and dominated by a massive desk. On it is a blotting pad, a wooden desk-tidy, and a picture of a smiling woman with burgundy lips. Sitting behind the desk is the massive bulk of the Governor poised like King Canut before the sea. My stomach folds in waves, which only he has the power to stop.

Burgess is in awe of the imposing figure, and swallows hard as he speaks. “Here’s prisoner Wilks, Sir.” He pushes me forward, and I step to the front of the desk, head slightly bowed.

“Thank you, Burgess. Are you her Personal Officer?”

“No, Sir. Officer Callahan is. He’s on nights this week, Sir.”

The Governor eyes me up and down with undisguised fatigue. “Do you know why you’re here, Wilks?”

“Because of my parole decision, Sir.”

“That’s right, Wilks.” He lifts a piece of paper from his desk, and I crane my neck but it’s too far away to read. He looks at it, as if reading it for the first time. Like he has all the time in the world. And then his head snaps up, relish on his lips.

“Bad news, Wilks.
You didn’t get it
.”

It must be wrong . There must be some sort of misunderstanding. “What?”

“You heard.”

“But I told her everything!” My brain is confused: she has a child. I told her I didn’t hurt Luke. “The probation report…”

The Governor doesn’t let me finish, his voice rising above mine.

“She said you don’t deserve parole. The board weren’t going to release you after that.”

My head hurts. The tension inside me breaks, shattering into a million parts. All that time, hoping and praying and for nothing. You didn’t get it.

“You can go now,” he says, both the Governor and Burgess watching me. All those hours, waiting. All those words wasted.

My knees give way, and I collapse to the floor, sobs wracking me for the first time in four years, tears salting my mouth.

53

Black Book Entry

I was sat on the sofa, catching my breath. Waiting.

Emma ran into the tennis club, nearly throwing herself at me. “Where the fuck is he, you witch? What have you done with my son?”

She was close, too close, and I thought about slapping her hard, but I saw that with any movement she would go for me, like a dog. Her face was contorted with misery and anger. I slowly looked to the large windows, to the empty tennis court beyond the glass.

I’d called you, and you’d come readily. You were walking with Luke, holding him, and pacing the outer edge of the court. Did you think I was stupid, Jason? I knew all along that you were fucking Emma. It was time to stop pretending.

“He’s over there,” I said to Emma. I watched as she saw her son with her ex-husband. “With Jason.”

“Oh Jesus,” she whispered, forgetting me. “How the fuck?”

“I want it to stop, Emma.”

Her voice curled up like snake ready to bite. “What twisted game is this, Rose?”

“Jason’s mine. You had him, and you left him. He’s mine now.”

She was still looking through the window. “Who are you, Rose? Who the fuck are you? I know about the breastfeeding, you sick bitch… I’m going to get my son.”

She was backing away from me, seeing me for the monster I am, and I grabbed her arm, held her fast. She was terrified.

I pulled her close, and she flinched in my grip.

I spoke quietly but shot every word through with force. “I want you to stop fucking Jason. Or I’ll tell Dominic who Luke’s real father is.”

Emma’s face collapsed, her mouth dropped open.

“Did you think I didn’t know, Emma? I can see the likeness even if your stupid husband can’t. He wouldn’t want you if he knew, would he? If he knew you were still fucking your ex. And I will tell him, Emma. I promise you I will.”

She was mute, looking from me to where you were still pacing with Luke, ignorant of what was happening just yards away.

Ignorant that I’d discovered your secret.

“You’re mad,” she said, quietly. “Luke is Dominic’s.”

“Don’t lie to me! I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re crazy.” Her eyes were wide with fear and she was pulling away.

“I won’t tell Dominic anything. It’ll be our secret.” I pulled her close, brought my lips to her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe. “But please stop seeing Jason. Please.”

She wrestled out of my grip. “I want my son. Now.”

I held her, a hand on each arm, thinking how fragile she felt. “I’ll get him.”

I went into the tennis courts, where you were holding Luke, telling him the rules of tennis as he gazed up at you, mesmerised.

You didn’t want to see her, did you? Not while I was around. You thought I had no clue that Emma was still your lover. You quickly placed Luke in my arms, holding him just a beat longer than necessary, pausing to stroke his chin. “See you again, little man.”

I told you nothing about my argument with Emma. I told you that I would see you at home later. I tried to smile, and you kissed me. Dry lips on my cheek.

I returned to Emma, handing Luke back to her. She snatched him from me. I thought she was pathetic, holding him away from me as if he was in danger.

She had made her mind up, and her voice was firm. “I’ll never see Jason again. I promise.”

The relief was immense, like my heart bursting open. “Thank you.”

“But you are never, ever to see Luke or me, do you understand? We never want to see you again. Do you understand?”

I did understand. It was all over. Emma would give me you, but losing Luke was the price. I agreed.

And with that, gripping onto her son, Emma left.

I started the car, realised I was shaking. I’d lost him. For the second time a baby was being taken from me.

All the loss and grief of losing Joel snowballed into the pain of losing Luke and I hardly know how I managed to drive. There was only one place I could go to think, one place where it might make sense: Joel’s grave.

The flowers had died, and I tried to arrange the dry buds as best I could. I hadn’t been to Joel’s grave since that day with Emma. I’d been too wrapped up in my worries about your infidelity, too much in love with your living son to care for my dead one. But Joel was out of harm. No-one could ever take him from me again.

Comforted, I knelt on the earth, kissing the sun-warmed headstone, tracing his name with my finger. “Oh, Joel. My boy. My darling.”