Every Breath You Take, page 20
I stand up and start shaking out some of the cushions, removing the indentations from where the officers sat.
Before, I didn’t want there to be a police investigation, but now I’m glad that they’re probing into Eva’s life. It paves the way for the next step in my plan: getting rid of Eva permanently so that Samuel, Riley, Alfie and I can live together happily ever after. I’m hoping that with a little further encouragement, Eva will take her own life, but if she doesn’t, a tragic drowning accident would be just perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE WIFE
I sit in the car outside the children’s school passing Samuel’s phone from one hand to the other. The phone is fully charged, which doesn’t make sense, and I wonder if Stephen has been using it for something. I punch in Samuel’s pin, except it doesn’t work. When did he change it? The same time he changed his banking code? And why? What is it that he wanted to stop me from seeing? I try a few other potential pins: the obvious ones of our birthdays and wedding anniversary, but I’m locked out. And then I wonder if I should call Stephen, demand to meet him and ask straight out why he has my husband’s phone, and why he’s decorated his spare rooms for Riley and Alfie without telling me. Except I don’t. I’ve always been just a little scared of Stephen. Years ago I assumed it was because I was in awe of my older, stronger brother, except now, I’m not so sure. He’s always had an edge of cruelty which was directed towards me. I assumed it was jealousy, the fact that I’m our parents’ biological child and he’s not, except when we were young Mum and Dad went out of their way to make sure they treated us equally. It was Stephen’s fault that he had a massive bust-up with them when Dad sold his business. He wanted a payout, arguing that he needed the money then, when he was young, not upon our parents’ deaths, when we’d be incurring huge inheritance tax bills and hopefully were settled in life. And he didn’t want Dad to inject so much money into the charity. Dad was livid, called him avaricious and not of his loins, or something equally unpleasant. He never spoke to Dad again. Mum tried so hard to reconcile our broken family, reaching out to Stephen behind Dad’s back, and they did have a relationship for a bit. But when Dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack, Stephen refused to attend his funeral. Mum was completely devastated. Against my advice, she wrote to Stephen and told him that Stephen owed his parents everything, that they rescued him from a childhood in care, that his mother was a druggie who didn’t want him. And Mum told him that she had changed her will and everything was being left to me.
I tried very hard to change Mum’s mind. Yes, Mum was really hurt by Stephen’s behaviour, but I didn’t think it was fair to cut him out completely. I still don’t think it’s right and I have every intention of giving Stephen part of my inheritance when the time comes. Having said that, he’s so proud he probably won’t accept it.
Stephen may owe his life to our parents, except he didn’t have any choice in the matter. They chose him when he was a baby. On the other hand, I really do owe Stephen my life. It’s been years since I’ve thought about how he rescued me from the river. It’s not something I like to dwell on, as it only compounds my fear of water, but I’ll never forget that horrendous afternoon. We should never have been by the river that day. It was swollen and rapid following weeks of unseasonably heavy rain, but the seclusion was too tempting for a bunch of rebellious sixth-formers with nothing else to do on a summer’s day. My recurring nightmares all stem from my near drowning in the river, yet I try to block out the terror, the voice that I think I heard, yet surely I didn’t.
‘Just leave her.’ That’s what Stephen says in my nightmares. Just leave her. Except when I came to in the derelict game keeper’s cottage, vomit on the floor next to me, a man and a woman dressed in green and white uniforms, I was so confused.
‘Hello, Eva,’ the female paramedic said to me. ‘You’re a very lucky girl. You nearly drowned in the river and it’s only thanks to your quick-thinking brother that you were saved.’
Stephen was standing next to me, his arms covered in goosebumps, his clothes sopping wet. He was looking everywhere except at me. The male paramedic handed him a silver sheet, which he wrapped around his shoulders. I tried to talk, to ask what happened, except my voice wasn’t working.
‘We’re going to take you to the hospital,’ the female paramedic said. ‘Just to get you checked out.’
As they levered me onto a stretcher and carried me towards the ambulance, I looked all around but I couldn’t see any of Stephen’s friends. They had gone.
I have never returned to that stretch of the river and I don’t think we had any family picnics after that horrendous day. But Dad was right about one thing. He sold off twenty acres of that land to a housing developer and made a small fortune. As far as I know, Mum still owns the rest of the land and the keeper’s cottage that stood just a few couple of hundred metres back from the river. I can’t imagine what state it’s in now, even if it’s still standing. Later, Stephen boasted that he lost his virginity in that cottage and it makes me wonder, does he still go there?
I telephone Mum.
‘How’s Riley doing? We had a good heart to heart.’
‘Thank you, she’s fine. Hopefully she’s made up with Autumn. I was calling to ask about the game keeper’s cottage near the river where we used to go.’
‘Where Stephen nearly got you killed, you mean,’ she interjects.
‘Was it sold off after Dad died or do you still have it?’
‘Goodness,’ she says. ‘No. I’ve done nothing with it. It’s boarded up and falling to pieces and needs knocking down. I haven’t been there for years. Why on earth are you asking about that old place?’
‘It came to me in a nightmare,’ I say.
‘Oh, Eva.’ Mum sighs. ‘I’ve been telling you for ages to go and see a shrink. This phobia of yours seems to be getting worse rather than better and it’s no good for your children.’
I do not need a lecture from Mum at this point.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Anyway, I must be going. I’ll call again soon.’
I head towards Mum’s house, recalling that the turning off to the cottage was somewhere approximately six or seven miles down a narrow country lane between the quaint villages of Wickley and Torchingham. I drive slowly, getting hooted at by impatient van drivers and almost pushed off the road by a man in a black Porsche. Every time I think I’ve found the turning, it’s a gate that leads into a field or a farmhouse set back from the road. I wonder if the track even exists anymore, the cottage only accessible on foot. Just when I’m about to give up, I see a woman wearing a waxed jacket walking a black Labrador. I indicate and pull up next to her, winding down my window.
‘Sorry to disturb you but I’m trying to find a derelict cottage somewhere around here. Have you lived here long?’
‘Coming up for fifty years. Does that qualify?’ She beams at me and then peers closer through the open window.
‘Good heavens. Are you Dorothy Winter’s wee lass?’
‘Yes, Dorothy’s my mum. Do you know her?’
‘My husband, Fred, said that you were doing up the game keeper’s cottage. Such a lovely spot up there secluded in the woods. I’m sorry to hear that your father passed away but how is your mother?’
‘Um, she’s fine,’ I say. I haven’t got a clue who this woman is or what she means about the cottage, although I am starting to wonder…
‘Your family weren’t too popular when you sold off all that land for development, but people have short memories. You’re forgiven now. If you’re spending more time here, you should pop in for a cuppa sometimes. Our place, Purnell’s Farm, is two turnings on the left, one turning beyond the track down to your place.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, relieved that this lady has inadvertently given me directions.
‘Don’t forget to stop in for a cuppa next time you’re here,’ she says, before stepping backwards and giving me a wave. I close the car window and drive away, very slowly. And there it is. A small track between two oak trees. I turn left and follow the track, driving very carefully over the potholes and mud. There are tyre tracks along here, suggesting that this narrow country track has been having regular use, but it’s uneven and the car bounces as it rocks from side to side. After a few hundred metres of driving between hedges and dodging low-hanging branches of overgrown trees, the track peters out and in front of me is a broken wooden gate set in a fence made from barbed wire. I do a three-point turn, which turns into more like a nine-point turn, and drive the car a little way back in the direction I came. To my right is a clearing between trees, so I edge the car there and park it in such a way that it’s barely visible from the track. At least I’m pointing in the right direction now, should I need to get away in a hurry.
Nerves flicker in the base of my stomach as I tug on my old wellington boots and do up my long navy parka. My boots squelch as I follow the muddy tyre tracks, keeping as far to the right as possible, under the shadows of the heavy, dark branches of oak and hornbeam trees. The old gate opens with a squeak and I see that there’s a single line in the grass where it is flattened. Someone has been walking up and down here regularly, in-between the sprawling rhododendron bushes. With a thudding heart, I continue walking. And then I see it. A thin plume of smoke rising above the trees. I tiptoe forwards. The terrifying cottage of my dreams is right here in front of me, except it doesn’t look nearly as run down as Mum portrayed it and it certainly isn’t boarded up. Some of the wooden panels on the front of the building have cracked and buckled and there are weeds growing all around it, ivy clinging around the paint-peeling window frames. There are just two windows either side of the front door and both have curtains blocking out the interior. I creep around the whole building once. It’s not much more than a shed. But someone is inside. Someone is living here. I stand to the side of the first window, trying to peek in through the tiny gap in the curtain. I can’t see a thing.
Is Samuel being held inside, kept captive by Stephen? I tiptoe the whole way around once again, my heart as loud as the singing birds. There’s no car here but that’s not surprising, as Stephen must be at work at this time of day. It’s a relief; it means I’ll be able to rescue Samuel unimpeded. For the first time in three weeks, I feel hope. I can save my husband. Frustratingly, there are no old gardening implements or pieces of wood lying around which I can use to force open the front door. I take a deep breath and walk up the short path to the front door, ready to try the handle, ready to start banging on the door. And then I freeze.
There’s the sound of a car engine. The slamming of a car door. I scud towards the side of the building but I’m too late.
‘Eva?’
I swivel around and come face to face with my brother. Stephen is holding two bulging Tesco carrier bags which he drops with a thud to the ground. He looks different somehow. Perhaps it’s the red scarf around his neck, a scarf that looks just like one that I have at home.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. ‘What’s going on?’
There’s a long pause before he replies, ‘You need to leave.’
I take a step towards him. Stephen’s face is impassive. I’ve always found it so difficult to read him, and that’s likely why he always got the upper hand in our sibling fights.
‘Have you got Samuel?’ I ask.
He just stares at me, his pupils like black pinpricks, his lips a tight straight line.
‘Stephen, talk to me,’ I say, taking a step towards him, even though I’m scared. My brother could overpower me so easily.
And then he sighs, and his face seems to soften. ‘You’re right, we need to talk. The sun is shining, so let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Who’s in the cottage?’ I ask. He steps away from the shopping bags and walks towards me. Suddenly, I feel a cold fear swim through my veins and take a step backwards, but Stephen slips his arm into mine and starts striding forwards, pulling me with him.
‘Relax!’ His laugh sounds brittle and despite him telling me to relax, there is tension in his neck and a little nerve flutters at his temple. ‘You know, I’m glad you’re here. It’ll give us time to have a heart to heart.’
‘Mum said this place is derelict,’ I say. Stephen is walking briskly and my boots slurp in puddles as I try to keep up with his long strides.
‘As you can see, I’ve done some work on it, so no, it’s not derelict. I’ve been using it as a weekend cottage, a place where I can get away from the world and have some privacy.’
‘Is there someone in the cottage with you?’ I ask.
‘So many questions, Eva. So many questions. I’ve put a bench under the willow tree. We can sit there and I’ll explain everything.’
He’s right, I have so many questions, yet it’s evident that Stephen will only answer them on his terms. It hits me how that is nothing new. He’s pacing quickly and I’m struggling to keep up with him, but his arm through mine is pulling me along. I hear the sound of the rushing river long before I see it. Fear flutters in my stomach and I stand still, tugging my arm free of his.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Stephen says, placing a heavy hand on my arm. It’s then that I see a simple gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. What does that signify? Why haven’t I seen that before? But before I can open my mouth, Stephen speaks. ‘You’re an adult now, with children, and we’re not going down to the river’s edge. This is my happy place and I want to share it with you.’
‘What?’ I scoff. ‘The spot where I nearly drowned?’
‘You’re being melodramatic. Firstly, you didn’t drown because I saved you, and secondly, you’re not going to fall into the river. It’s very beautiful there, where I like to come to think. Not everything is all about you, Eva.’
‘Just tell me what’s going on,’ I demand.
‘Nope.’ Stephen clamps his lips together and carries on walking. I have a choice. Turn back towards the cottage or follow him. Every nerve ending in my body is telling me to get away from him, but my brain is shouting, this is your brother; you need to know what he has to say. I swallow hard and hurry to catch up with him.
I don’t recognise it here, but then again I haven’t been to this place in over twenty-five years and the vegetation will be all different. Except the river is roaring and every step we take closer to the bellowing of the water, another bolt of fear drives through me. Stephen comes to a full stop. We’re high above the river and I don’t see the grassy verge or the willow tree where we used to come.
‘It looks different,’ I mutter.
Stephen takes a step forwards and stares down at the rushing water, his hands on his hips. How can he stand there and be so fearless?
‘Where’s the bench?’ I ask.
‘Over there,’ he says without gesticulating so it could be anywhere. I follow his gaze down to the swirling river and take a step backwards. The fear is choking me.
‘Have you got Samuel?’ I ask.
Stephen turns towards me very slowly and then he reaches for my hand. His palm feels icy cold and I want nothing more than to pull my flesh away from his. ‘I love Samuel,’ Stephen says, his steely eyes locked onto mine, his face bizarrely expressionless. ‘I’m sorry, but I love him. I always have done and now it’s our time to be together.’
‘What?’ I exclaim, unable to make sense of that statement.
‘You’ve taken everything from me, Eva. And you owe me every breath you take.’ And then he shoves me, so hard, so unexpectedly. I feel my feet slip from under me but instinctively I grab for whatever I can and I clutch the red scarf that is tied around Stephen’s neck. His eyes widen, reflecting my fear, and together we tumble downwards, and due to his larger size and weight, he barrels into my body, knocking me further away. I hear a scream and then I hit something. But unlike last time, my legs slam into a spider’s web of thick tree roots, my left foot catching hard so my ankle flips the wrong way, causing a bolt of pain to scream up my leg, my other foot scrambling uselessly in the mud on the side of the bank. Instinctively, I fling my arms upwards, grabbing onto the trunk of an overhanging tree. I’m just inches from the rushing water, but I’m completely dry. In that split second I feel bizarrely calm, with a deep instinctual belief that today it’s not my time.
And then I see a flash of red: Stephen’s scarf is being dragged downwards, disappearing into the swirling water, and then his head surfaces, a look of pure terror on his face, his dark hair flat against his scalp. Stephen can swim. Surely he can rescue himself? An arm reaches out towards me but he’s too far away and despite trying to lean across the river, I can’t reach him. The water is so fast and strong, he’s swept underneath it, the brown murky water surging all around until there’s no sight of any life. I watch the water with a sense of horror as I slowly absorb what has just happened; what is happening right now. Stephen pushed me. I saw such hatred in his eyes, and yet it is him who has been taken by the river. I start trembling violently and haul myself upwards. It’s hard because my left ankle is throbbing with agony and my right foot struggles to gain traction in the sheer muddy bank. My body feels so very heavy. Somehow, I crawl upwards, hauling myself towards the top by grappling with tree roots and thick blades of grass, forcing my way through the pain. All the time, in my mind’s eye, I see Samuel lying on a strange bed, a knife at his throat, and I see Riley and Alfie. If I don’t get out of here, then my children might be parentless. It’s up to me to save my family. I throw myself onto the bank of grass at the top, panting heavily, and then lever myself up to a sitting position.
Stephen. Where is he? I scan the river, the swirling, frothy water, the dark brown depths. It’s as if all trace of him has completely vanished. I try to get my breath, fumbling in my jeans pocket for my phone. My mud-covered, bleeding hands come out empty. My phone has gone. I dig into the pockets of my coat, and feel relief as my sore right palm clasps my car keys.
