The One You Fear (2 page)

‘You think he does deserve it, though?’ Emma said.

‘Oh, yes, of course I do. He deserves to go to jail for what he did.’

Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief. Although she could certainly see where Dan was coming from, it was still uncomfortable hearing him say supportive things about Peter Myers. It reminded her of so-called Stockholm syndrome, where captives began to empathise with and even support their captors.

‘Anyway, you didn’t answer my original question,’ Dan added. ‘About how you slept. I’m worried about you, too, you know.’

‘I had another nightmare,’ Emma revealed.

Dan looked concerned. ‘About Stephen Myers?’

Emma nodded. ‘It was the same dream, the wedding.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said.

‘Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault.’

‘Maybe it is.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, it was my idea to postpone the wedding for a few months. Maybe that’s why you keep dreaming about it.’

‘It was for the best,’ Emma replied. ‘We agreed.’

‘I know, but I wonder whether I pushed you into it. Maybe we should have just gone ahead and got married as soon as we could.’

Emma shook her head. ‘No. It was the right thing to do. Yes, of course I want to be married to you, right now. That’s how it was supposed to be. But I want it to be right, Dan. I didn’t want to get married when there are still all these things going on. Richard is still recuperating, Dad is worried sick about the court case, and the rest of us – you, me, Will and Lizzy – we’re all still coming to terms with what happened. That’s not a good time to get married, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Dan agreed. ‘But I am worried about you, Em. These dreams about Stephen Myers, I don’t like them at all. It’s like he’s back, stalking you.’

‘He’s dead,’ Emma stated. ‘It’s my imagination, that’s all.’

‘Like yesterday at the services?’

Emma nodded. En route to Cornwall they had stopped at services in Exeter to grab some lunch and stretch their legs. The place had been packed with tourists, many of whom were heading for Cornwall to enjoy the Indian summer England had been basking in. After a disappointing July and August, temperatures in September had climbed to the mid-seventies. The car park was filled with all manner of vehicles, loaded with surfboards, walking gear, and camping equipment. It was as she exited the toilets that Emma saw the man. He was standing with his back to her, on the other side of the atrium, near the slot machines. And then he had turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and appeared to look straight at her. She caught her breath at the sight of his face.

It was Stephen Myers.

Except it wasn’t. Because Stephen Myers was dead.

Instinctively she had looked away, for a split second. When she turned back, he had gone.

‘It did shake me up,’ Emma said.

Of course, she knew that it had just been her mind playing tricks on her. The person had looked like Stephen Myers, or how she remembered him. But it felt as if, for that moment, he had been there, living and breathing. Not dead, but alive.

‘I can imagine,’ Dan replied. ‘I’m glad you told me about it.’

Emma had considered not doing so, but Dan had spotted straight away that something was wrong. And it had helped to talk things through. It hadn’t been the first time she thought she’d seen Stephen Myers. A week earlier, while out shopping with Lizzy on Oxford Street, a man had brushed past her in a department store. She’d caught only the briefest of glimpses and, as at the services, her initial reaction had been that it was him. But of course it couldn’t have been.

She exhaled. ‘I’m starting to think I’m going mad.’

‘It’s just a natural reaction to an amazingly stressful situation,’ Dan said. ‘You’re not crazy.’

‘Hopefully not. I think it’s just all been getting too much. That’s why this holiday was such a great idea – it gives us a chance to really get away from everything and clear our heads.’

‘Definitely,’ Dan agreed. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about any of this while we’re here. Just pretend that it never happened, and enjoy the next few days.’

Emma smiled. ‘As man and wife?’

‘Why not? Mr and Mrs Carlton, on their honeymoon.’

‘Sounds like a fantastic idea.’

‘It’s because it is,’ Dan said.

‘So what’s the plan for today, Mr Carlton?’

‘Well, Mrs Carlton. Shall we go over there?’ he said, pointing towards St. Ives. ‘I’ve heard there are some seriously good places to eat, drink, and shop.’

‘Sounds great,’ Emma said, planting a kiss on Dan’s cheek.

***

Dan sat back in the chair and finished the coffee, which by now was cold. Emma had gone to shower, and he’d promised to prepare breakfast. But he felt paralysed, unable to banish the worries from his mind. Looking out at the sparkling seascape he searched for some release.

He should tell her.

He
wanted
to tell her.

To admit to her what he feared the most.

2

Miranda was making breakfast when she heard Edward’s raised voice echoing across the house from the study. At first she tried to ignore it, concentrating on preparing the food – a continental platter of croissants and other delights. But after a couple of minutes, she moved out of the kitchen and up the stairs. By the time she reached the closed study door, he had quietened down again. She knocked. It was the only room in the house, apart from the bathroom, of course, in which she felt such formality was needed. Edward’s study was his bolthole, and Miranda knew he didn’t welcome intrusions, least of all unannounced ones.

‘Come in.’

He was sitting at his desk, clutching his mobile phone. Miranda tried a smile, but he didn’t return it. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been happy. ‘Are you okay?’

Edward nodded, although he looked anything but.

She moved towards him and cupped a hand around his shoulder. ‘Were you shouting on the phone?’

‘A little,’ he said, looking down to his right.

‘With a client?’

Edward snorted. ‘An ex-client.’

‘Oh.’

He looked up. ‘Oh indeed.’

‘That’s the…’

‘Third client to leave me in two weeks,’ he finished, placing the mobile phone down on the desk. ‘That was Clive Monroe. Fifteen years I’ve been doing his books.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Oh, same old story – really sorry, but times are hard, gone with an accountancy firm that was offering an introductory deal.’

‘Maybe that’s the truth.’

Edward shook his head. ‘Funny how people don’t want to be associated with someone who has been charged with possessing an unlicensed gun and inflicting grievous bodily harm.’

‘It could be a coincidence.’

‘Miranda, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it really is so bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right; it was obvious. Since the news had come out that Edward had been charged – his appearance at the Magistrates’ Court had been reported in the newspaper – he had been fighting a constant battle to hold onto his clients. Many had wobbled but had been convinced to stay (for now), but the danger was clear. His accountancy business relied on his character as much as, if not more, than his accounting skills. And what had happened had blown a hole in how people once viewed him.

‘I’m worried about you, Edward.’

He stood up, shrugging off her hold, and paced to the window. ‘You should be worried about yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

He turned around. ‘You should be worried about how you and the baby are going to survive when I’m either in prison, bankrupt, or both.’

‘Edward, don’t, it won’t come to that.’

‘Won’t it? I could go to jail for what I did.’

‘But there were mitigating circumstances,’ Miranda protested. ‘Your lawyer said that, didn’t he? You were under extreme stress. You weren’t thinking straight. It was totally out of character – anyone can see that.’

‘I
am
guilty though. I pleaded guilty, stood up there in front of the magistrate and admitted it. So I’ll be punished by the court, just like I’m being punished by my clients.’

‘But the mitigating circumstances, they’ll take those into account.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe they’ll decide to make an example of me.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t know!’ Edward shouted. He checked himself as Miranda shrank back, seeming almost physically wounded by his actions. ‘I’m sorry, Miranda, really sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just…’

‘It’s just that you’re shutting me out, as usual,’ Miranda said. ‘You’re trying to deal with this on your own, and cutting me off. You lock yourself away for hours at a time in this room, you don’t talk to me about things when you do come out, and the only things I get to know are snippets I overhear from your shouting matches with clients. Well, Edward, I’m sick of it. You might behave like no one else in the world but you is affected by this situation, but you’re not on your own.’

‘I know,’ he acknowledged. ‘I just, I didn’t want to worry you, not in your condition.’

‘I’m pregnant, Edward, not sick. I don’t need protecting, even if that were possible, which it isn’t. Do you really think you can stop me from worrying, from thinking about what could happen, about what all this might mean for our family?’

Edward closed his eyes and grimaced as if in pain. ‘You’d have been much better off not meeting me. You could have met someone your own age, had a family with them, and lived a good life.’

Miranda shook her head in disbelief and anger. ‘You selfish, selfish man! Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying I’d be better off if this never happened. That
this
never happened.’ She gestured at her swollen abdomen.

‘I… I didn’t mean it like that,’ he backtracked.
‘Miranda, I’m sorry.’

But she was past hearing apologies. ‘Is this just about the court case, or is it about the baby too?’

Edward looked shocked.
‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘Well, you weren’t that overjoyed at the news,’ Miranda found herself saying. ‘Oh, you said you were happy, but did you look it? I’m not so sure.’

He took a step towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Of course I’m happy, Miranda. It was a shock at first, yes, but I
am
happy. Once I got used to the idea of being a father again, it felt good.’

Miranda’s anger settled and she regretted what she had said, even though she’d meant it. ‘Well, Edward,’ she said softly, ‘you have to show that you’re happy, not just say it.’

‘I know, I know.’ He pulled her towards him and kissed her hair. ‘I’m really sorry for everything. I promise I’ll try to make things better, for all of us, I truly promise that, whatever happens. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

***

Before leaving her apartment, Lizzy gazed in the mirror for the last time, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. She looked tired. The past few weeks had been difficult, trying to get over her experience while also continuing her lead role in the musical. They had given her a couple of weeks off, and offered her more, but she’d insisted on returning. It wouldn’t do her any good to have too much time to think about events. It was much better to carry on as normal. So two weeks ago she had returned to the lead role. It had felt good, but it was exhausting. It didn’t help that she wasn’t sleeping well. Usually she had no trouble in that department – she could fall asleep anywhere – on top of a pinhead, her mother had once said. But it hadn’t been like that recently. Many times she’d woken in a panic, thinking that she was still in Peter Myers’ house, blindfolded and tied to a chair. She’d taken up the offer of counselling, and that was helping. But she knew it would take time, even for someone as strong as her. It was the same for all of them: Emma, Dan, Richard, Will. They were all going through the same thing, in one form or another.

But there was the one thing in particular that gnawed at her – what Peter Myers had told her during the first few hours of her imprisonment.

She exited the apartment and paced towards the bus stop. It was a beautiful day and she wished she’d remembered her sunglasses, which had been away in a drawer for most of the summer. The bus travelling towards the West End was crowded, but there was a free seat towards the back. A man who had also been waiting at the stop – he’d arrived just after she had – sat down next to her. He was in his middle to late thirties, with a receding hairline.

‘Nice day,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Lizzy replied, glancing up from her stage notes and groaning inwardly. Normally ready to talk to strangers, today she felt uncharacteristically unsociable, as she needed the time on the bus to revise. She’d been quite forgetful since returning to the stage. Only little things – a line that came out slightly wrong, or a hesitation at who was supposed to be speaking next – but she was a perfectionist, and it wasn’t acceptable, not on the London stage. Although her fellow cast members had been too polite to mention the slip-ups, the director certainly hadn’t. He’d been supportive, acknowledging that it was understandable given what she’d been through, but at the same time he made it clear that he expected her to address the issue pretty quickly, or stand aside.