The Replacement, page 9
I consider ringing Daniel, just to check they haven’t encamped back at his place. But why would it matter? I could just turn up and if they were there, tell him I wanted to see my son and daughter. My stomach turns over at the thought of it, but this is a now or never situation. I never meant it to go so far.
I shower and pull on black leggings and a black light fleece. I put on my cycling gloves and a beanie hat, tucking my hair in carefully. My cross-body bag is hanging on a brass hook behind the door, and I pull out the contents onto the kitchen worktop. I grab a pin hammer from the bottom drawer where I keep screwdrivers and the like, and some tape. Then I feel along the back of the fridge-freezer. My hand touches the large brass key and I tug at the tape holding it in place.
Once in my bag, I tell myself that if the locks have been changed, I will go in through the window like last time. I pause for a moment and look at the photographs on the fridge. Once this is over, I will make a clean break. I will have nothing to hold me to this terrible situation. To Daniel. It will be over. Properly over, this time.
Half an hour later, I am sitting in my car on a road adjacent to The Rosarium. I can see the house through some dense bushes when the wind blows. My legs are jittery with fear, but I remember what Daniel said about staying away from here. It could mean anything, but if it means this, then I need to put it right before the police find out. My addled mind cannot work out how anyone could find out, but I am not hedging my bets. While this hangs over me, I can’t move forward. I want it done with once and for all. I know I was wrong. I want to put it right.
I have a perfect vantage point from here. If the police are watching the house – but why would they be? They don’t think Daniel is responsible for this or they would have arrested him – I would see them. Maybe he told them he was going to his mother’s. Taking his children to safety. I catch myself sneering at the thought. I ambush myself with another realisation. Daniel does things for Daniel.
I brush it away. This isn’t the time. I need to focus. I get out of the car and walk up the road towards the back of the house, retracing my footsteps from when I made this mistake in the first place. The fear is worse this time because I know what is going to happen. What I have to do.
The wrought-iron gate to the back garden squeaks loudly as I push it. This time there is a thick chain and a lock. I pull up the panel of the fence to the left of it and slide underneath – Daniel’s love of these panels, cemented-in posts but so easy to lift, has served me well when I have forgotten my keys at our first home. I’m in the garden and I see the makeshift enclosure for Pepe is still there.
I hurry over to the back door. The pristine kitchen looks dull without the spotlights on. I peer through and see the light of a burglar alarm and panic. But it’s green. It’s the same alarm I have. Of course it is. Daniel likes things to be the same, I am quickly discovering. Green means not set. Red means set. Unless he has changed it.
There is movement. A slight flash of white. Then gone again. I hear my pulse banging as I try the key in the door. I jump back as it opens and Pepe comes running out, yapping. Shit. The dog’s here. Why would he leave the dog here if he was going to his mum’s? Pepe sniffs around me and stops barking as he recognises me. I stand completely still and look into the house. I would be able to see any lights on from here – downstairs is open plan and has an open staircase.
There are no lights, so I go inside, shutting the door behind me. I reach up onto the kitchen cupboard and tug at the thin camera tube. It is firm but comes away easily. One down, three to go. My heart lifts as I realise this is possible. It won’t take long at all. I move into the lounge. Her signature is on this room with a huge Biba style rose on the feature wall. There are framed photographs in silver casings everywhere, glinting even in dull light through the window.
I am mesmerised. Family snaps, almost identical to the snaps we had in our home. Except she is in my place, her hands on my children’s shoulders. I almost forget she is missing and could be in danger and hate her again. I check myself. I need to keep my focus.
I reach up and pull at the second camera. The cupboard underneath it opens, and papers fall out. It’s not as neat in there as you would imagine. I scramble to pick them up and push them back inside. This is turning into a nightmare. At least I remembered the gloves. I push the door and it clicks shut. I have the second camera. I feel a slight thrill. I am halfway through. I sit on the pink and white sofa gently to collect my breath.
Now I am in here, I am hypnotised. I look around. This is where Daniel lives. One of Jem’s pink sweaters is folded neatly on the edge of the sofa. I pull it on. It still smells of her perfume. It fits, and I am surprised. I hug my arms and wish I was her. I wish I was living in this house with Daniel and my children. It’s mad, I know. Just being here is mad. But this is how it has me at times. Something takes over and I am crazy with envy.
But this is Jem’s territory, and I can only borrow a tiny part of it. It’s so different from the dark wood of our former home, and the red of the lounge in my house that we designed together. I am surprised he would like this. But again, I realise that there are so many things I don’t know about Daniel. I had been tied up with small children and my job. So busy. No time to pay attention to feature walls or the particular sheen on the kitchen units.
A memory catches me unawares and I feel tears rise. Angel had been sick on our old sofa and Daniel had arrived home with swatches for a new one. I was breast feeding, and he tried to push the swatches in my face.
‘It stinks. Really stinks.’
I’d shrugged and frowned. At one time, we would have laughed at something like baby sick. When Ben was small, we were grossed out at lots of new things. But the mood soured somehow, and I had a feeling it was to do with my ever-expanding waistline. Two pregnancies on the run had not left me time to get into shape, and his critical eye and the fact that our lovemaking became routine was telling. I constantly told myself I would get to the gym, but there wasn’t time.
‘Okay, Dan. Okay. Just pick one.’
Two weeks later, it arrived. A huge purple sofa. It didn’t go with anything, and I hit the roof.
‘It’s… ridiculous. I’ll never get anything to cover it. We’ll have to keep the plastic on.’
My baby brain was ticking over and only a year previous, he would have rolled his eyes and ignored me. But he dug his heels in.
‘Don’t be silly. We’ll redecorate.’
I’d laughed, a high, pretend roar. ‘Yeah. Redecorate. I hardly know my own name, Dan. I’m so tired. It’s not the time.’
He’d stared at me for ages.
‘It never is, though, is it? This place is a tip. It needs a woman’s touch.’
I’d stopped stroking my baby’s head.
‘I am a woman, Dan. In case you hadn’t noticed.’
I was shocked. I looked at him for reassurance, but his expression said one thing. A proper woman. I knew what that meant. Someone who cooks and cleans and who doesn’t work. He told me I didn’t need to work. He would take care of things. But that made me afraid.
Now, in this room, with the family photos and the neatness and attention to detail, I feel even less. Jem is a proper woman. Even if she burnt the pie, she is more of a woman than me. I concede. He wants her, not me.
I need to get out of here. This is doing me no good whatsoever and I need to finish this. I pad up the plush stair carpet. There are huge canvases of Ben and Angel hung on the double drop landing. This house is small but the extensive use of stark white and its open-plan layout makes it look bigger. I reach the top of the stairs and locate the third camera.
I turn around and catch my breath. The bathroom door is open, and I see myself in a full-length mirror. Then I see it isn’t me. It’s her. She is naked, back to me, looking over her shoulder. I duck back and peep around the corner. She doesn’t move. Because she is a photograph. A huge, naked Jem. Made to look like a mirror reflection.
It shakes me to my core. The fact I thought the image registered as me is disturbing enough. But my second concern is that Ben and Angel have seen the picture. Who would do that? Then I see there is another door leading to their bedroom. It’s en suite. I scope the layout and see a door at the end of the landing that says, ‘family bathroom’. It’s cramped and no real space for two bathrooms. I am overthinking this. My children were safe here, but I had to know for sure.
But why? Why don’t I trust Daniel? I blamed it on her, but with every passing moment I am starting to understand that things were bad before she arrived on the scene. And every time Daniel was in the firing line, Belinda appeared.
There was a particular time that he had had some trouble with a car and some guys had come to the door of our old house. They were swarthy and tough-looking and when I told them Daniel wasn’t in, they looked past me. They eventually left, but sat waiting in a car outside our house.
I called Daniel and an hour later Belinda arrived.
‘He’s had to go on a job, so he sent me. So you’ll feel safe.’
I believed her. She was a little bit posh and straight talking. All an illusion, of course, but most people bought it. She stood at the door, arms folded, until dusk when the men drove away. Then she settled on the sofa and watched TV. Silent. Waiting. Waiting to protect Daniel.
I stare out of the window at the top of Jem and Daniel’s stairs, over the garden. She protected him lots of times. She was always turning up when things got rowdy or when there was trouble, rolling up her cashmere sleeves and claiming to want to help.
So, what was she helping with now? How was she helping Daniel now?
I hear a door slam and laughter. A woman.
‘Daniel!’
She’s giggling. Pepe runs past me and downstairs. He isn’t barking. He knows them. It’s them. Jem and Daniel.
Half of me is relieved that she must be okay, and half of me is terrified. I back slowly into the room behind me and shut the door as quietly as possible.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I turn around and, in a split second, I scan the room. Pink. Not rose pink, a lot paler than that. There is a pair of angel wings on the wall, and on the wall opposite a panel of framed photographs. Two smiling people. All white teeth and blonde and red hair. Huddled together. Another one of them with the angel wings behind them. Jem and Angel.
A smaller photograph of her and Ben and Angel, again, laughing. I look around. The room is beautiful. This is where my daughter sleeps. I brush my hand over the soft quilt cover and open a jewellery box on the bedside table. There are some beads in there we made together. Her red shoes are neatly placed together under the white dressing table. My heart feels like it is breaking, but I can’t let the tears come yet. Not yet.
I hear voices outside and more laughter. I blink into the sunlight as I strain to see the cars outside. Daniel’s is there and a red convertible beside it. That isn’t Jem’s car. I listen at the door. Daniel is talking, but I can’t hear what he is saying. The door opposite opens and shuts. Then I hear footsteps. One set. Going downstairs.
My forehead is damp and my heart pounding. My hand is on the door handle, but I can’t. I can’t risk it. What if whoever it was came back? Then the door opens again.
‘Dan? Dan. Fetch the hamper as well.’
Footsteps.
‘Here.’
Glass clinks and she giggles. Then a muffled noise. I am sick to my stomach. He goes back downstairs.
‘Fetch some plates, too.’
I hear Daniel tread the staircase heavily.
‘Hungry, baby?’
Baby? I cringe. That’s not the Daniel I lived with. And who the hell is she? I absolutely dare not try to escape yet. I sit on the pink bed gently. I open my phone and stare at it. The app is still on there, but deactivated. I scroll and go to my archive. I need to know when it’s safe. That’s all this is. I just need to know when I can leave.
I check myself. What am I doing? I have broken into my ex’s house, and I am hiding in my daughter’s bedroom. I hold the nightdress that lies across her pillowcase to my face. It smells of my little Angel. It’s clear she is safe here. My heart almost cracks in two as I admit to myself that Jem is fond of Angel. She loves her. The photographs are natural, and Angel and Ben look happy. This isn’t what I thought it was. My children are content here. With Jem and their father. Isn’t that what I want?
I am shaking. I locate the app and click the icon. It installs and I watch the spinning screen. It tells me it is locating the signal and then the screen starts to open. I am transfixed as the bedroom opposite opens up before me, the fisheye of the camera capturing everything. Daniel is pouring champagne and a thin woman with long dark hair is lying on his bed in purple underwear. His and Jem’s bed.
I want to look away, but I can’t. He brings the glasses over and sets them on the bedside table next to a vase of pink roses. Then he sits on the bed and, starting at her chin, traces a line down to her cleavage. I can feel his fingers on my skin as he does it, hardly touching yet velvet soft. I lean forward as he leans forward and kisses her gently while reaching around to unfasten her bra. He gently takes it off and kisses her breasts, first one and then the other.
I can feel it, all right. I can feel it because this is exactly what he did with me. To me. He liked me to lie on the bed so he could see me. In our most intimate moments, he was a man of routine. He wanted me to do the same things in the same order – it turned him on and he told me it was ours. Our thing.
I know what will happen next. He will lean over her and press his body on her, whispering in her ear that this is theirs only, just for her and him. And he does. Right on cue.
But it isn’t just hers. It’s mine. And it’s Jem’s. And God knows who else. I am drained. The wafer-thin bottom of my world that was still intact just fell through as I realise Daniel’s duplicity. His lies. I was never special. All his words were meaningless. Just a repertoire that he performed over and over.
I feel sick. As if this on its own isn’t bad enough, I can see the huge picture of him, Jem and the kids looking down on them. How could he? I hold down the vomit and try to breathe. My fingers automatically turn off the app – I don’t need to see any more of this scene; I have seen it repeatedly. It was the one thing that kept me going through all the bad times. The times I hit the depths because his eyes followed another woman across a room as she side glanced him. The times I sat with our children as he went out, night after night. All the times I had to put up with his bloody mother backing him up and mollycoddling him.
He might have been absent quite a lot, but when we were alone, he was always attentive. He was always loving and just the right amount of bad. If I am completely honest, he still thrills me. But now I know a large part of it was because I thought it was ours. Even with two small children, there was still something just for me and him. And as the kids grew, he took more of an interest in them and even when time was short and we were both working or tired, it was still the same.
It was still the same right up to the day before he left. People say that you always know when your bloke is playing around. I didn’t. I had suspected, but Daniel was always home at the time he said he would be. And we were still sleeping together. So how could things be so wrong?
The real question is, how could I have got it so wrong? How many women had he had in our bed? Jem is missing, and he is here with someone else. I search my soul for a reason he would do this. A good reason that he would leave our children with his mother and bring another woman here, to his and Jem’s bed. I am horrified that I am suddenly siding with her. But I empathise. I really do. Except Jem isn’t here to see this, is she? She isn’t here to walk in on them.
My lip trembles as tears threaten. The pit of my stomach feels empty, and I need to get out of here. Daniel is a bastard. He has always been a bastard. I roll back a year and wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t walked in that day. Would he have stayed and played me? Carried on sleeping with me while he was with Jem. My skin crawls. The reality of it cuts me and the pain is almost unbearable. Almost.
But even now, as I hide in Daniel’s home as he makes love to his mistress, I know that deep down this will make it right. I know it’s the catalyst I needed to shake myself out of whatever delusion I was under. I can already feel the spark of recognition that there is a way forward.
I check I haven’t left anything, and I listen at the door. Daniel’s girlfriend is moaning loudly, and I think I can guess where they are up to. I try to laugh, but the pain is too great. But not too great to make a run for it. I open the door and Pepe sits outside wagging his tail. I scoop him up and take him downstairs. The same Mulberry bag I spotted the other day is in the same place on the worktop.
I quickly feed him – that piece of shit won’t be thinking about that – and I open the back door. I stand outside for a moment and watch as Pepe runs around in the garden. It’s enclosed, so I leave the back door wide open.
He will never suspect it is me. He is too wrapped up in his lies. I hurry to the fence and flip it up and climb through. My stomach wobbles at the thought of that fourth camera, but what is done is done. I can never go back there now. I run along the lane and reach my car. I sit inside and it is only then I can think about what this means.
The shock of it all, the shock of being in my daughter’s bedroom that I had never even seen before, and she was too scared to describe to me for fear of hurting my feelings. The shock of seeing, for the second time, my husband with another woman. I grip the steering wheel. I shouldn’t have to put up with this. How he makes me feel. What he makes me do. It’s only then I realise I’m still wearing her sweater.
I should never have had to endure Daniel’s hold over me. It wasn’t a tight grip, but it was enough. I had no voice. His calmness was control in itself; he never showed anger, and I always wondered why. Now I know. Because none of it mattered. There was always another woman waiting in the wings. Just in case.
All the times I had that sense of him scanning the room. Looking for his “type” before he could spot them and distracting him by being overattentive and charming. I almost hate myself for it, my simpering and stroking and laughing a little too loud. But not quite. Somewhere in my psyche, I knew I was doing it and reserved a small place of forgiveness – I wanted to keep my husband. I would do anything. Anything.
