The Stranger Within (25 page)

The drive home is a blur and I am weighed down by not just my guilt, but the pressure of keeping things hidden. I don’t feel good about any of my lies, but all I seem to do is add more. I thought Rhys reacted too calmly to my news. He knew his parents wouldn’t be gone long. He wanted us to get caught. And that was before he even knew it was over.

I’m distracted from my thoughts when I pull up to the house and see Mrs Simmons sitting in her front garden. She’s in a deck chair piled high with cushions and there is a book on her lap, but I’m sure she hasn’t been reading it because her glasses are nowhere on her body.

“Just the person,” she grunts, as I open the car door. She attempts to stand up. Her legs are shaky but she manages to pull herself up by leaning on the arms of the chair. “A word, please.”

“I’m a bit busy, Mrs Simmons,” I say, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. “Can it wait?”

She tuts. “No, it cannot.”

I walk across to her and attempt a smile. I know it won’t win her over but it’s harder for people to be angry when confronted with a smile. “Everything okay?”

“Why did you lie? What are you playing at?”

I swallow a lump in my throat, praying this is not about Rhys. I have no idea precisely what she is talking about but it is clear she has caught me out with something. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve just been chatting to James’ boy. Dillon. I thanked him for keeping an eye on the house for me but he had no idea what I was talking about. You better tell me what’s going on, right now.”

Even though she has caught me off-guard, I have become so used to lying that I instantly have an excuse ready. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Simmons. Dillon was actually grounded that week. He’s been playing up at school so his dad and I thought it best we didn’t give him any extra responsibility. So I checked on the house for you myself. Sorry I didn’t let you know.” I offer her another smile, but she continues to frown at me, her lips a tight, thin line.

“That doesn’t sound like Dillon. He’s a good boy,” she says. “Or at least he was.”

I lose my composure. I have put up with Mrs Simmons’ snide remarks for too long and I won’t let her get away with this one. “How dare you judge me? You don’t know the first thing about me.”

For a second she seems taken aback that I am shouting, but her shock quickly fades. “I know what I saw when you hit poor Luke with your car. What those poor boys tell me. Dillon’s told me how awful you are to them. How you just want them out of the way.” She folds her arms, happy with her attack, ready for me to try and challenge her.

But it is pointless to argue. She will never take my word over the boys’ and I don’t need it getting back to James that we’ve argued. “Believe what you want,” I say, forcing my voice to stay measured.

“I know what I saw,” she repeats, turning away from me and picking up her book.

I am shaking when I get inside and I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes, unable to move. When I look up, Dillon is sitting on the stairs, watching me. My head tells me to greet him, to ignore whatever he has done, to keep making an effort for James. But this is not what I do. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Telling Mrs Simmons all kinds of lies about me? You need to stop this now, Dillon.” I try to keep my voice steady but I can’t stop myself from shouting.

His eyes widen. “I haven’t lied. Everything I said is true. And this just proves it. You’re the liar. Why did you tell her we were looking after her house for her?”

“That was a misunderstanding and it’s not what I’m talking about. You’ve been treating me like dirt since I married your dad and I’ve had enough, Dillon. All the nasty comments, the ignoring, the kicking. All of it has to stop. Now.”

“Whatever. I think Dad should know about this.” He stares straight at me and raises his eyebrows, standing up so he no longer has to look up at me. Now it is I looking up at him.

“Your dad told you to give me a chance, didn’t he? He’s spoken to you and Luke so many times. Why do you insist on hurting him like this?”

Dillon shakes his head. “I can’t believe he married you. But he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. You’ll never be our mum and I wish you’d fuck off.”

He storms off and seconds later his bedroom door slams shut. Then his stereo blasts out some rock music. The song is familiar; I’m sure I’ve heard Rhys listening to it as well. But rather than being angry, I am grateful for the noise; it drowns out my heavy sobs as I collapse on the stairs and bury my head in my knees.

              When I have calmed down, I shut myself in James’ study with a cup of coffee and try to focus on studying, but it is difficult with Dillon’s music blaring from the next room. I am surprised his eardrums haven’t burst because even with the wall separating me from his speakers, the noise is making my ears ache. But he won’t care; he is doing this only for my benefit.

              Soon I have had enough and pound on his door, shouting at him to turn his music down. Instead the volume increases. Lifting my hand to bang again, I suddenly have second thoughts. There is no point making this worse. It won’t matter to Dillon that he is in the wrong here. So I give up and take my books outside to the shed. My safe place.

              Jazzy appears and pounces on my lap as soon as I sit on the floor. I still haven’t had a chance to clean in here, and dust is already coating my skirt. I lift the cat and nuzzle his neck, letting his purr once again calm me down. Even out here I can hear the thump of Dillon’s music, but at least it is less invasive.

              I study for a couple of hours until it is time to collect Luke from Harry’s. James’ last text said he’d be home before five so at least I won’t have long to be alone with the boys. It shouldn’t be like this. I should be enjoying their company.

              It is a relief not to hear from Rhys, and briefly I wonder how he is. Perhaps I have got him wrong after all and he didn’t mean for his parents to find us. He seems to be handling this well, better than I expected he would, and I admire him for being dignified about it. But selfishly, I am pleased that perhaps he is one less thing I need to worry about. I think of the horseshoe pendant he got me and wonder if I should give it back. I have only worn it when we’ve been together, and it’s still hidden in my old coat pocket. There is no way I can wear it now so it’s pointless to hang onto it. But I won’t initiate any contact with him; that would be a huge mistake.

              When I leave the shed, Jazzy follows me, trying to rub against my leg as I walk. I look up at Dillon’s window, somehow sensing he is there. And I am right. He sneers at me from behind the glass, behind the fog of his music, but I don’t look away; I meet his stare all the way to the kitchen door.

I don’t want to hate Dillon – he is James’ son, and a part of the man I love – but right now I don’t think I’d care if he disappeared forever. Trying to get through to him is like smashing my head against concrete.

I can take no more of it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Now

“So you’d reached the end of your rope with Dillon.” DS Connolly fixes his stare on me and it feels as if he can read every part of me, every flaw beneath the surface.

              “Yes, I had. I felt like I was standing on a cliff and Dillon was pushing me closer to the edge every day.”

              It is hard to read the police officer’s expression. I have dared to hope he will understand even a tiny bit of my story, but now I am convinced he can’t. Or won’t allow himself to.

              “But you were desperate to be a mum to both the boys, weren’t you, Callie?”

              I nod, filing away thoughts of my silent baby for later. “That’s all I wanted from the beginning. I think it would have been okay if it weren’t for Dillon.”

              DC Barnes chimes in. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

              “Just that Luke was different when his brother wasn’t around. Nicer. I think I could have connected with him, but Dillon was always there, influencing him. And Luke idolised his brother.” My throat begins to dry up and I glance at the water dispenser in the corner of the room.

              “Would you like some water?” DS Connolly is already standing up, grabbing my used polystyrene tea cup because there aren’t any new ones in the room.

              I down the whole cupful too quickly and it hurts my throat, but I ignore the pain and carry on. “Luke was always more easy-going than Dillon. He’s happy just to play his computer games and see his friend, Harry. But Dillon was uptight, consumed by his vendetta against me. Not willing to give me a chance, not willing to trust his dad’s judgement.”

              The officers turn to each other and I know what they’re thinking.
James got it so wrong. Dillon was right all along.

              DC Barnes leans forward. “So Dillon was a threat to you? You held him responsible for the trouble with both boys? The trouble with your marriage? I think that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Her voice is louder than I’ve heard it, any pity she may have felt for me earlier has completely gone.

              “No…Yes…I mean, not how you mean it. What I’m trying to say is
everyone
was a threat to the life I was trying to hold together.”

              “Including your neighbour, Mrs Simmons?”

              “Yes. Especially her.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When James got home last night, Dillon didn’t mention Mrs Simmons or our argument and James had already left by the time he emerged from his bedroom this morning, but that doesn’t mean he’ll keep it to himself forever. In fact, I think he enjoys flaunting the uncertainty, making me wonder when he will speak up. He knows this will get to me more. And it works. I am unable to relax, now more than ever, because there is always something or someone I need to watch out for. I know I will burn out if I keep this up – I am not sleeping and barely eating – but I have little choice.

              I am more fearful than ever of losing James. This is why I cling on so hard, why I continue to fight when everything is slipping away. I cannot lose him. Is this how Dad felt about Mum? Did he even try to fight for her? In the end he lost her anyway. To his sickness. That’s what it is. To say “illness” is to sugar-coat it. His sickness began as an infection, lurking just beneath the surface, unknown until it decided to show its face. And by that time it was too late because no one had seen it coming. Will this be my fate too?

After breakfast I visit Dad but he is not having a good day. He sits in his armchair, festering in the same clothes he was wearing when I last visited, and asks where my friend is. He forgets my birthday. He forgets what day of the week it is. But he remembers Rhys. When I tell him Rhys is busy today, that he has studying to do, Dad accuses me of lying and starts yelling that they’ve taken him away from us. Then he smashes up all the crockery in his kitchen, throwing open cupboard doors to see what else he can find to hurl at the walls.

              Almost an hour passes before I can calm him down, and even then he is still on edge, his eyes wide and alert. “I can smell burning,” he says. “In the bedroom. Check it, quick!”

I go through the motions of walking to the bedroom, opening the door, inhaling deeply and reporting back to him that it’s a false alarm. But this doesn’t stop him demanding it three more times.

Making the excuse that I need to use the bathroom, I check the cabinet to make sure Dad’s taking his pills. The packet is half-empty and I remind myself of Jenny’s promise to make sure he takes them in front of her.

              When he finally falls asleep in his chair, I clean up the mess in the kitchen and drive to Argos to replace his crockery. I choose a navy blue set of mugs, plates and bowls, because somehow the colour feels right for him: dark and calming. As I key in my credit card pin on the self-serve till, I wonder how long this set will last.

              Back at the flat, I make tea, and Dad doesn’t notice that he’s holding a new mug. It is too late for me to do any cleaning today; I have spent too much time pacifying him and replacing what he has broken. I will have to come back as soon as I can.

“Find that boy, Callie,” he says, as I’m leaving. “Don’t let them keep him.”

Once I’ve closed the door, I stand outside his flat for a moment, listening for sounds from inside. I don’t have the energy to deal with another episode but thankfully all is silent. It is hard to pull myself away and leave Dad like this and I almost turn around and go back, before I remember that sometimes it is better to leave him in peace.

              Too shaken up by the outburst to drive home straightaway, I walk around the park, following the footsteps of where Rhys and I walked that night I brought him here. I love Dad, but I know now, more than ever, that I can’t end up like him. He is a prisoner of his own mind. He has no more freedom than a criminal in a cell. In fact, he has less. Does he even realise it? If so, he never complains, never moans about his life.

              There have been other times – although not quite as severe – when Dad has been out of control, but none since James and I have been married. On those occasions I could stay the night and watch over him, just to make sure. But I can’t do that now. More pain caused by my lies. Calling Jenny, I fill her in on what’s happened and ask if she can visit Dad later. Thankfully, she agrees.