Between You and Me: The bestselling psychological thriller with a twist you won’t see coming. Lisa Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Thirteen

      SAL

      You usher me back towards the house, a rigid smile on your face all the while. Feeling a little off balance, I pause for a moment before I open the front door and hold it open while trying to juggle the shopping bags. You sweep in ahead of me, leaving me to close the door one-handed. Following you through to the kitchen, I start to put the shopping away, all the time a sense of unease growing inside me.

      ‘You never mentioned that you and Maggie went to the beach yesterday.’ Your voice is like ice water dripping down my neck.

      ‘No, well, like I said outside, Charlie, I fell asleep before you even came home and then there wasn’t really a lot of time for talking before you went up to bed, was there?’ I feel my spine straighten, as I stand a little taller. Do I really have to explain myself? Do I really have to tell Charlie every time I leave the house? Surely this is not the norm for most other couples? I’m starting to feel as though I’m not sure how much more of this I can take – the constant accusations of lying, the permanent state of mistrust.

      ‘I just thought you might have mentioned it, that’s all. Seeing as you said you didn’t have any plans. You said you were going to stay home with Maggie all day, sorting the house and doing some gardening.’

      ‘Laura suggested it and I agreed; it would have been a waste of a day to stay indoors.’ I am determined not to back down on this one – I did nothing wrong, unless taking your daughter out to enjoy the sunshine is doing the wrong thing. ‘And Maggie enjoyed herself. She can’t stay home every day, just on the off-chance…’ I trail off. My little spark of courage has burnt out and I am worried about antagonising you further.

      ‘Just on the off-chance? Just on the off-chance of what exactly? That I might call and try to speak to my own child? That I might call to check and see if you’re OK? Going out with that tramp from next door is more important than building a home for your family, is it?’ Your eye twitches with that telltale tic, the one that prewarns me you’re about to lose your temper.

      ‘No, that’s not what I said! Charlie, you’re twisting my words, I never meant that; all I meant was that Maggie needs some stimulation – I can’t keep her home all the time; she’ll be going to school soon.’ I place the roasted chicken on a chopping board and turn to face you, desperate to calm the situation before things boil over.

      ‘Please, Charlie, let’s not make this into a big deal. I took Maggie to the beach with her friends, that’s all it was. It wasn’t an attempt to escape from here, not a chance to neglect my duties at home or to try and get away from you. You weren’t home and I wanted to do something nice for Maggie. Please don’t ruin what’s left of our weekend.’ I take your hands and kiss you gently. You take a deep breath and just as I brace myself for the start of another onslaught you smile.

      ‘OK. It’s not a problem.’

      Confused by your quick change of mood, I give a small nod and drop your hands. I should have known that wouldn’t be end of it.

      The afternoon passes in a pleasant haze of scorching hot sunshine and we agree to take Maggie up to the park for a picnic for lunch. We paddle in the stream that runs through the common, watching Maggie trying to catch the tiny sticklebacks that flit through the clear water. Holding hands, all three of us run through the fountains that spurt up from holes in the ground in random patterns, trying to make it through to the other side without getting soaked, before collapsing in a giggling heap on the grass. Lying on my back, with you laid next to me, I watch the clouds scudding past overhead, a gentle breeze lifting my curls and tickling my forehead. We used to do this all the time, before Maggie came along. Just wander down to the common, dragging a picnic basket between us, lying on the grass talking and swigging Prosecco that had gone warm in the sun because we always forgot to pack the ice blocks. We would spend hours planning our future and laughing at your hideous jokes – you have such a wicked sense of humour that you never fail to make me laugh; it’s just a shame we don’t see as much of it as we used to. This morning’s argument has faded into the distance, made almost a memory by the perfect events of this afternoon. I just wish that these moments, when we are relaxed and happy, with no tears or accusations of lies, were more frequent. When we are in these moments we are what we strive to be – the perfect family, a team with a bond that is unbreakable.

      Zero stickleback, one ice cream and three hours later we head for home. Maggie, with the energy that only a four-year-old can have, runs ahead, while we stroll slowly along together, holding hands. Mrs Wilson spies us from her kitchen window and we both raise a hand to her. I feel content, and immensely relieved that this morning’s storm has passed. I managed to defuse the situation before you lost your temper – does this mean you’ll relax a bit more now? Maybe this means you’ll change and not get so angry so easily any more. I think how nice it would be if this afternoon were to mean a turning point in our relationship – maybe things will return to how they used to be between us, before we had Maggie and everything got a bit crazy. It would be worth hanging in there, through all the crazy stuff, if it just meant we could maybe get back to that.

      ‘Happy?’ you ask and I turn to you and smile. ‘You know what? I am. Today has been really, really lovely, hasn’t it? We should make an effort to do things like this more often.’ You smile and nod your agreement, and I am just so relieved that everything is OK.

      ‘Sal, I’m putting Maggie to bed – do you want to get us some dinner on?’ you shout down the stairs to me, a little while later. I smile and put the newspaper I’m reading to one side. You must really be making an effort to rein it all in, to make a change. Maybe this is the start of a new you, not just a new stage in the never-ending cycle that we usually live in. You very rarely put Maggie to bed, even on the evenings when you are home, preferring to let me deal with it all, saying you don’t have the patience for finding numerous stuffed toys, drinks of water, chapters of whatever book Maggie and I are reading together. I go into the kitchen and dig the chicken out from the fridge. Picking up the small wicker basket that we keep by the back door for collecting our spoils I head out the back door for the vegetable patch, ready to pick some salad to go alongside the chicken for our evening meal.

      When I reach the vegetable patch I stop, my heart racing. My mouth hangs open in shock. What the hell happened? The gate that secures the patch is hanging off its hinges and the entire patch is destroyed. Every single thing I’ve grown from scratch with Maggie has been pulled from the earth and thrown into piles in every corner of the plot, so there is no chance of saving anything. This is not the work of rabbits, or of foxes; this can only have been done by a human being. And there is only one person who would know how badly something like this would hurt me. I should have known that an illicit day out at the beach wouldn’t go unpunished. I put the basket gently down and sink to my knees in the hard earth, stones and small rocks digging into my skin. Nothing has been spared, not a single tiny cherry tomato, all of which have been pulled from their plants and squashed underfoot. My heart breaks a little at the thought of all the hard work Maggie and I have put into our little patch. Maggie. She’s going to be devastated, especially as it’s now too late in the year for us to even try and fix things and grow something else.

      A shadow falls in front of me and I look up to see you sneering down at me.

      ‘You didn’t actually think you could get away with it all, did you?’

      ‘What? Get away with what? Taking Maggie to the beach? Giving her a little bit of freedom from here? From you?’ I am so angry I am past caring about the consequences of losing my temper with you.

      ‘That’s it, Sal. Lying, going behind my back, leaving my car in a fucking state. Leaving СКАЧАТЬ