The Woman Before Me (24 page)

She sat on the bed, gazing out of the window. “To be honest, we haven’t used any contraception since Luke was born, and nothing’s happened.”

There it was. She was trying for another baby, when Luke was just a few months old. I wondered what would become of me if she wanted the same man to father it.

We heard Luke cry out, ready for a feed. Emma looked at the final pile of clothes with a sigh. “I’ll just go get him.”

Luke’s nursery was next door to Emma’s room, and in seconds she was back with him in her arms. He was flushed from recent sleep, rubbing a fist against an eye, but he raised a smile for me.

“Oh no, Luke, you’ve got a really smelly bottom. You need a new nappy.”

“Do you want me to do it, Emma? I don’t mind.”

She hesitated, and I knew she wanted to say yes but didn’t have the cheek. “It’s okay Rose. I’ll do it.”

“If you’re sure,” I told her, “I’ll finish folding this pile of washing.”

“Thanks.” She was pleased with me, with my kindness, and I heard her chatter to Luke in the bathroom, heard his gurgling reply.

Alone in the bedroom I saw it properly for the first time. The room where you had betrayed me, the bed where you fucked her.

It was a masculine room, dark red walls and heavy damask curtains. The second drawer in the mahogany chest was slightly open and I went towards it. I could hear Emma saying, “oh Luke, it’s gone everywhere. Hold still, will you?”

I slid my hand into the drawer. My fingers touched cotton and the firm arch of an underwired bra. Her underwear. The drawer was wide enough for my hand, my wrist, but not my forearm and I pulled at the drawer, heaving it wider, lifting it so it was silent, a trick I learnt at The Grand. Inside was an assortment of cotton knickers in a rainbow of colours, and a couple of white bras. There was a box, the type used for expensive lingerie, and I lifted the lid. Sure enough, inside was something silky. I pulled at it, and saw a scarlet red camisole. Underneath were some matching French knickers. Touching them, I could feel the slip of silk, the rough lace, and then something underneath: something she had hidden.

It was a long glossy envelope, the kind you get photographs from the chemist in. I slid it out and opened the flap, thinking they would be photos of Luke. But they weren’t.

The photos, Jason, were of you.

In the first photo you were young and nervous, wearing a dark morning suit. And by your side, her willowy dancer’s body lightly covered in white silk, was Emma. You made a beautiful couple. Emma was holding a simple posy of pink carnations, and you had one in your lapel, probably taken from her bunch. Your hand was around her tiny waist, your heads close together. You gazed at her with puppy-dog devotion and she looked beautiful. Younger, fresher, full of hope for the future. I wondered what her husband would say if he knew she still kept the photos of her first wedding day.

I heard Emma’s steps on the landing, coming back to the room, and just a few feet away. I fumbled with the photos and dropped the envelope. One photo slipped out and disappeared under the chest. I frantically picked the rest up, tossing them back into the lingerie box. I didn’t have time to close the drawer before darting to the window just as she walked in, Luke in her arms. She stopped when she saw me.

“Rose?”

She had found me out.

I started to cry; it was so hard, seeing those pictures of your wedding day, seeing you together. And her knowing that I had been snooping – how could we be friends now? I would have to admit that my lover was her ex-husband. And, worse of all, she would stop me from coming to see Luke. I couldn’t bear that. My tears came freely.

She rushed over to me. “Oh God, Rose, how could I have been so stupid. It was callous of me, asking you to put away baby clothes. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t do that for the world.” And then she put her arm around me, Luke snuggled in the other. We stood, a close trio, and I knew that it was okay. That I had been lucky. I had got away with it.

Later, when we were all downstairs, I pretended that I needed to use the loo. I went back to the bedroom and took the red camisole, slipping it into my pocket. I also took the photo from under the chest.

You and she were kissing under a snow of confetti.

39

Black Book Entry

“Oh, Rose. Thank God.” When Emma opened the door with Luke in her arms she looked petrified. Her relief at seeing me gave way to tears.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He had his MMR an hour ago. Oh God, what if he’s having a reaction? What about that doctor who said it caused autism? What if he was right?”

Emma became panicky, but that was nothing new. She often over-reacted, saying she’d been pacing for hours in the night, trying to calm him with a dummy, which he would suck twice and spit out. She was often unable to deal with him, and would get hysterical, making him cry more. But this time he really was unwell. His cry was sharper, spiky with pain.

“Rose, he’s got a temperature. Feel his head, he’s burning.”

I put my hand to Luke’s cheek. It was fiery red. His head was clammy, hair slick with sweat. She was holding him tightly, afraid to let go.

I tried to calm her. “He’s hot, Emma, but I don’t think it’s too much to worry about. I read somewhere that it’s quite common after injections. He’ll be fine. Why don’t you give him some Calpol? Something to take his temperature down.”

“I’ve run out!” She still looked desperate; “I’ll go to the chemist now. I’ll take him in the car.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Leave him here, Emma. It’ll be quicker that way. Give him to me.”

She hesitated. She’d never left him before, not even for half an hour. Thinking that she might resist if I gave her the opportunity, I took him from her, holding him gently and rocking slightly to soothe him. In my more relaxed grip his crying abated, and Emma’s panic to get to the chemist overrode her reluctance to leave him.

I was relieved when I heard her car speed away from the house. We were alone at last. All those weeks of coveting him, stealing kisses when she left the room, and now I had him to myself for at least 20 minutes. Can you imagine how wonderful that felt? And then the reason his crying had eased was clear; he was rooting. He had found out my secret, could smell my milk, and was snuffling into my shirt, making a wet circle of moisture where his mouth nuzzled. It was his need rather than mine that made me unbutton my shirt.

Although I had never suckled a baby, my breasts were heavy with milk. When Joel was born he was too sick to feed from anything other than a plastic tube and, on good days, a bottle of expressed milk.

After he died, when I was back at home, I still expressed my milk. I’d been given tablets to dry up my supply, but taking them would have been the final proof that I was no longer a mother. So I carried on siphoning off the bluish white milk, and tipping it down the drain. It became something I did without thinking, a secret part of my life. I hid Daisy Mark 2 in the nursery. I always slept in a bra, in case I leaked. Since leaving the hospital you’d tried to comfort me at night, but when I stopped you removing my top you didn’t pressurise me.

It was as though a wall had been built between us, down the middle of the bed, and I didn’t have the energy or inclination to climb over it. When you reached for me I tried to respond, but I just couldn’t do it. That was difficult for you, I know.

Breastfeeding wasn’t as easy as I had thought it would be. I wasn’t sure how to position him and he was still upset. He took some time to find my nipple, which was frustrating for us both. After a lot of fumbling, I felt the grip of his mouth and knew we were joined. The tug in my breast as he sucked the milk was uncomfortable at first, but delicious. I felt, finally, that I had a purpose. That my redundant body was able to comfort a child, even if it couldn’t comfort a man. That I could heal Luke, as I’d never been able to heal Joel.

He fed for long, precious minutes and I stroked his precious golden hair, watching his half-closed eyes watching me. I will always remember the sight of his little fist resting on my exposed breast. It was so natural, so right. I didn’t want it to end, but eventually his mouth slackened, eyes closed and he slept. He had never looked more like you, Jason, and I had never felt such love.

Emma found us like that, me in the armchair, Luke sound asleep in my arms. She was brandishing a bottle of Calpol, but his fever had already passed. She was relieved he was peaceful. Rousing him, she spooned the pink sticky syrup into Luke’s mouth, but the real medicine had been my milk.

40

It took Cate a few moments to realise she was being talked about. She had just taken a seat in the canteen, her internal navigation directing her to the far corner away from a where a huddle of officers were guffawing and joking, when she noticed the hush.

Biting into the sandwich Rose had just prepared she looked up to see several pairs of eyes assessing her. Dave Callahan and Deborah Holley and a red faced Mark Burgess.
Oh shit. He’s told them about the party.
Cate glanced to the serving hatch, and saw Rose was also aware that something was going on. Mark looked away first but Callahan swaggered up from his chair, collecting a rolled-up newspaper from the table.
Oh no, he’s coming this way.

Cate swallowed her food. “Hello Dave.”

“Hello yourself, sweetheart. How’re you settling in?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Seems like you’ve settled in real
easy.
” From the officer’s table Holley sniggered.

Callahan tapped Cate on the arm with his newspaper, “Just remember to find a more mature fella next time, when you’ve had your fill of that kid.” Laughing at his own humour Callahan left.

Officer Holley checked her watch, dabbed her lips, and collected her tray. Walking out of the canteen she shot Cate a contemptuous glance. Mark was quickly stacking his empty wrappers on his tray, still red in the face, when Cate marched over to his table.

“What have you told Callahan?”

Mark’s fingers slipped on his can of drink, sloshing it onto the tray. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing. Have you told them we slept together?”

He didn’t answer. She was aware of Rose listening and lowered her voice.

“Mark, I know I shouldn’t have come back to your house and I’m sorry I got sick. But telling people we slept together isn’t fair. I’m new here and I don’t want that rumour going round. You’ll have to tell them the truth.”

Mark looked directly into Cate’s face. She was shocked by the anger she saw in his eyes.

“Tell you what isn’t fair. It’s you leading me on.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. I was drunk.”

“Yeah, well so was I. Or I’d never have looked twice at you.”

He stood, knocking his chair back on the floor and left the canteen in a hot hurry, leaving Cate alone at the table.

Rose came from behind the serving counter. Without saying a word she cleared up Mark’s spilt drink and tray. She then fetched Cate’s half-eaten sandwich from the other table and brought it to her.

“Eat that, Miss. I’ll get you a cup of tea to go with it.” She brought the drink to Cate, spooning in two sugars.

Cate picked up her drink but couldn’t swallow anything, her throat was so tight. Rose’s kindness made her want to cry.

Cate barged into her tiny office to discover Janie trying to get a smear of peanut butter off the computer mouse. Hearing the door open, she jumped out of her skin. “Oh Miss, you frightened me!”

“Hello Janie. How did you get in here?”

“One of the officers let me in, Miss. They do that if I need to clean a room and the person’s not there. I didn’t take nothing.”

“I know that, Janie. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

She wiped the cloth over the mouse for a final time. “There. As good as new.”

“Thank you. You’ve done a great job.”

Expecting her to leave, Cate was surprised when Janie hesitated, twisting the cloth in her hand. “Miss? Can I ask you something? About Rose?”

“What about Rose?”

At her sharp tone Janie shrank back. “I know I shouldn’t be saying nothing, it’s just I don’t know what I’ll do if she leaves here. Rose looks out for me. I don’t think I’d cope without her.”

Cate saw Janie become the kid in the corner of the playground, the one with no friends who attracts bullies. She felt sorry for her. “Are you worried about Rose getting parole? You know I can’t tell you anything confidential. Are you saying you don’t want her to be released?”

“Oh no, Miss. That wouldn’t be fair. It’s just… going to be hard without her.” Janie forced a smile. “But Rose is my best friend. I want her to be happy. I want her to get her parole. She deserves it. It’s just…”

“What?”

“No. Nothing.”

“You’ll be released soon yourself. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“What are your plans?”

“I’d like to live in Ipswich, Miss. To be near Rose. And also carry on with my studies.”

“Ah, yes, at the local college. How’s that going?”

Janie’s face warmed under her attention. “Really well. My teacher is a lovely lady.”

“Well, that’s great. I really hope it works out for you.” When Janie had gone and Cate was alone in her office, she tried to push all thoughts of Burgess from her mind as she opened Rose Wilks’ case file. She was visiting Emma and Dominic Hatcher later, but first she would read their statements.

Statement of Emma Hatcher Age – Over 18
On the night of the fire I had gone to bed at the usual time, checking that Luke was asleep. My husband had gone out. He’s the deputy head at the local boarding school and does one sleeping duty week. I had deadlocked the front door. We’d had an argument earlier, and I was a bit upset so I took a sleeping tablet, and then went to bed. I awoke at 3a.m. to the smell of smoke. Then I saw smoke coming from under the door of my bedroom. I always leave the door open, in case Luke wakes up, so I was shocked to find it closed.