The Missing Husband Page 27

  When Jo was eventually released from her sister’s clutches, she followed the smell of toast that cut through the scent of disinfectant in the kitchen.

  ‘Rule number one,’ Jo said as she took in the scene of chaos that Lauren had created in a matter of minutes. ‘You leave the kitchen as you found it.’

  Lauren sighed heavily as she put the lid back on the jar of marmalade and returned it to the cupboard, albeit on the wrong shelf and with the label facing inwards. Jo frowned and drew her gaze away from the cupboard and towards the dusting of crumbs covering what had been a pristine countertop. Sensing her aunt’s disapproval, Lauren gave a tut before stuffing half a piece of toast in her mouth and then swiping the crumbs off the counter and on to the floor.

  Jo raised her hands in submission and said, ‘You win! I’ll clear up if you take your bags up to the nursery.’

  Lauren smiled. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to make you some toast first?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Jo said and let her niece enjoy the sense of victory for a moment before she added, ‘There’s an inflatable bed to blow up while you’re up there and when you’ve done that you can take the piece of paper on the dresser in the hallway and write down the real name and address of the “friend” you’ll be visiting tonight.’

  Lauren had sworn on her grandmother’s grave that she would text Jo before ten to get her to come pick her up. Jo had to remind her that both her grandmothers were alive and kicking but nevertheless was still willing to put her trust in her niece. She held on to that thought as she settled down into an armchair with a hot cup of cocoa. It was nine o’clock and the next hour, or God forbid longer, was going to be a real test of nerves, despite telling herself that this wasn’t history repeating itself. Lauren would be coming home, Jo knew this, and she also knew that she wouldn’t hesitate when the time came to go out and pick her up: she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. While the rest of Jo’s body fidgeted, she kept her breathing steady and her gaze fixed on an empty spot on the wall above the mantelpiece. Although it had been smashed to pieces, the ghost of the starburst clock still taunted her.

  Jo’s phone beeped and vibrated on her lap and she picked it up expecting a text from Steph but it was Lauren asking Jo to pick her up right away, with two exclamation marks. Jo was still typing the reply as she bounded out the door and within ten minutes she pulled up outside the address Lauren had given her. She exhaled slowly and deeply but the relief was short-lived when Lauren tumbled out of the house and into the car.

  ‘Can we go?’ Lauren asked when Jo made the mistake of asking if she’d had a nice time.

  Jo didn’t say another word until they were back in the house and Lauren was halfway up the stairs, heading for bed.

  ‘I was having a cup of cocoa before you texted. Do you want one?’

  Lauren’s step faltered. ‘No, thanks,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’ll bring one up for you in two minutes,’ Jo insisted.

  With two steaming hot cups, Jo crept into the nursery a few minutes later. Lauren had switched on the lamp and was sitting cross-legged on the inflatable bed as she feverishly tapped away on her phone. Clearly thinking Jo’s eyesight had a zoom function, she turned her body away to shield the screen. Her body language told Jo she wanted to be left alone but Jo had no intention of backing away. There was something almost liberating about seeing someone else in trouble and feeling able to help. She set the mugs down on the floor before dropping so heavily on the mattress that her niece almost bounced off.

  ‘Man trouble?’ she asked when Lauren’s muted mutterings had ebbed into silence.

  ‘I hate him!’

  Jo handed her a mug of cocoa. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Lauren blew away a cloud of warm, chocolate-flavoured steam and took a sip. When she lifted her heavily made-up eyes to Jo, there was a glimpse of the little girl she hadn’t quite outgrown. She had a chocolate moustache on her upper lip. ‘He wanted sex.’

  It was Jo’s turn to stop herself from falling off the inflatable bed.

  ‘I said no,’ Lauren added.

  ‘And then what?’ Jo asked, her unsettled mind already thinking up all possible scenarios, none of which she wanted to dwell on too long.

  ‘He sulked like a child.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Sixteen next month. He thought he could wine and dine me and then get me into bed, but I told him right from the start that if he loved me as much as he said he did then he would have to wait. I’m not jail bait,’ said the child who was doing her best imitation of the kind of sophisticated woman she would one day become.

  ‘And where were his parents while all this was going on?’

  ‘They’ve gone away for the weekend.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me, Lauren! If I’d known what was going on then I would never have let you put yourself in that kind of situation. Anything could have happened. Apart from the fact that you were out drinking … What if he hadn’t taken no for an answer?’ Jo ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to free her mind from the images that were stampeding across it. In her other hand, her mug was slopping chocolate on to her legs. ‘My God, Lauren, didn’t you stop to think?’

  Lauren took Jo’s drink from her shaking hand and set both mugs down on the floor. ‘It’s all right, Jo. I’m fine. I had half a glass of red wine which was disgusting – and I know how to kick a man in the balls if I have to.’

  Jo wanted to tell her that it wasn’t always that easy, that it didn’t matter how much you trusted someone, there was always a chance they would hurt you one day, but she chose to say nothing and accepted the hug her niece offered.

  ‘I thought I was the one who was supposed to be consoling you?’ Jo said when she finally released Lauren. ‘I’m sorry he turned out to be such a scumbag. You won’t be seeing him again, will you?’

  ‘He’s texted me to say he’s sorry.’

  Jo released a scornful laugh. ‘That was very decent of him. And what did you say?’

  ‘I haven’t replied yet. I want to give him some time to think about what he’s done.’

  Jo let a smile break free. ‘You’re beginning to sound like your mum.’ The thought set another in motion. ‘Will you tell her?’

  ‘Can’t we just keep it between ourselves?’

  ‘I’m not your mum, Lauren. She’s the one you should be having awkward conversations with about sex and, God forbid, contraception.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You should talk to your mum.’ When Lauren looked as if she was about to follow her boyfriend’s lead and begin to sulk, Jo felt obliged to add, ‘But I’m here for advice any time you need it – and if you want my advice now, then you can do better than this guy.’

  ‘Can I? Who else is going to be interested in a fat, ugly ginger minger?’

  ‘You’re not fat and you’re not ugly! You are a beautiful young woman with an amazing figure and stunning red hair.’

  Lauren looked unimpressed. ‘Funny, that’s not what other people see.’

  ‘What people?’

  ‘My boyfriend, for one. That’s what he called me.’

  ‘He called you a fat, ugly, ginger minger?’

  Lauren nodded.

  ‘Then I have two issues,’ Jo said. She could feel the fight rising in her and it made her feel more alive than she had in a very long time. ‘Firstly, he’s your ex-boyfriend, and secondly, he’s the ugly one, not you.’ Jo tried to wipe away the chocolate on Lauren’s face. ‘So, what am I going to have to do to make you feel better about yourself?’

  Jo didn’t quite know how it had happened. One minute they were planning on spending Sunday safely inside, slouching around watching soppy films and wearing mud masks and the next it was late afternoon and Steph was at the door with a look of absolute horror on her face.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Please don’t say that’s real!’

  Unable to look at her a minute longer, Steph stormed pas
t her daughter and into the house. She was searching for Jo and didn’t have to look far. Her sister was peering around the living room door. ‘It could have been worse. She wanted to bleach her hair,’ Jo said meekly.

  ‘You mean you went along with this?’ Steph asked when she recognized the look of guilt that had been absent from her daughter’s face but was painfully apparent on Jo’s. ‘She knows I would never allow her to get it done, not in a million years! You really thought I’d be OK with this, Jo? A nose stud! Really?’

  Steph’s eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and anger. Jo wanted to take a step towards her but withdrew further into the living room. ‘I know it’s drastic but she needed to feel good about herself; she needed to realize how beautiful she is.’

  ‘And mutilating her body is doing that exactly how?’

  ‘I took some convincing too, but I can see how it will make her feel more confident about herself.’

  ‘Jo was only trying to help.’

  Steph turned on her daughter. ‘Go and get your things, now! We’re going home!’ she snapped.

  As Lauren stomped upstairs, Jo tried to calm Steph down again. ‘She’s going through a tough time at the moment. She needs our support.’

  ‘Really? You’re in the best position to offer advice now, are you?’ Steph waved a hand in front of her face as if to bat away thoughts. ‘I’d better go before I say something I regret.’

  ‘Like what, Steph? Am I not competent enough to offer an opinion? Do you think I’m so dysfunctional that I can’t help Lauren?’

  ‘Dysfunctional enough to let her get her nose pierced, yes!’

  ‘It’s not permanent, for goodness’ sake! Look, I don’t know what it must be like for you in your perfect world with your charmed existence, but some of us don’t have it so easy! I hope Lauren inherits your luck, really I do, but if she doesn’t then I want to do my damnedest to make sure she doesn’t end up all alone like me!’ As her voice rose, Jo could hear Lauren sobbing her way down the stairs but her eyes remained levelled on her sister.

  Steph was shaking her head. ‘I’m not even going to try talking to you while you’re like this. Maybe you should spend less time trying to sort out Lauren’s life and concentrate on your own child. Why is he with Irene, Jo? What else is going on in that—’

  When she broke off, Jo finished Steph’s sentence for her. ‘In that twisted mind of mine?’ she asked. ‘You really want to know? I couldn’t do it, Steph! I couldn’t make myself go over to Irene’s and pick him up. I stood by the door with my coat on and the car keys in my hand. All I had to do was get to the car but the more I thought about it the more I froze. I’m terrified in case David is out there watching me, judging me like everyone else seems to do! And after ten minutes, I just thought … What’s the point? What is the point in bringing Archie back here? What do I have to offer him? Will I be sending him off to school in a few years’ time hoping I’ll still have the courage at the end of the day to pick him up again? Or do I keep him trapped in the house with me? That’s if I still have a house, which isn’t likely if I can’t get myself to work!’

  The barrage of questions had come thick and fast, Jo’s voice rising higher and higher. Steph blinked in response to each but couldn’t answer a single one. Jo made a strangled sound in her throat. ‘I’ve tried, I swear I’ve tried, but every time I take a step forward, I’m pushed back another two. Helping Lauren helped me, Steph! But yet again I’m being pushed back and back and back!’ she cried, only stopping when she ran out of breath.

  ‘Let’s talk about this,’ Steph said, suddenly much calmer.

  ‘No, you were right first time,’ Jo said calmly and coldly. ‘I think you had better go.’

  In a repeat of Friday morning, Jo found herself ordering someone else out of the house. After closing the front door, she didn’t dare give herself time to think so set to work tidying up, starting with the barely visible crumbs in the kitchen and working her way upwards. When she reached the nursery, Jo’s first job was to wrestle with the mattress, which Lauren had deflated but not put away. She made a poor attempt at flicking it so she could lay it flat on the floor before rolling it up but in her eagerness she knocked the table and lamp over. By some miracle, the lamp didn’t smash and she righted the table and placed the lamp back on top. She was about to replace the stuffed giraffe on the shelf beneath when something caught her eye. The table had a small backboard and poking out at the bottom was a piece of cream paper. She tugged at it – and pulled out the missing birth certificate.

  It trembled in her hand as she stared at it. It must have slipped off the table, lifted perhaps by a draught as she closed the nursery door, before becoming wedged between the shelf and backboard. David hadn’t been in the house, and maybe, just maybe, that meant he hadn’t ever been watching her at all? And why would he? She was a pitiful excuse for a wife, a mother and, as Steph would agree, a sister and aunt.

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Jo left the mattress on the floor and went into the study to put the certificate away safely with all the other important documents. Then she went downstairs to the kitchen where she stood staring blankly at an open cupboard and a box of pills. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to throw them in the bin, take one – or take every last one of them.

  She hated who she had become and it was that self-loathing that forced her to face her worst fears. What if she had been jumping to the wrong conclusions all along? What if, as well as not being out there watching her, her husband wasn’t anywhere? What if David was dead? What if she had been learning to hate and fear a man who had remained the devoted husband and father to the last? How would she be able to live with herself? What would be the point in carrying on simply to endure the pain of getting through one day to the next?

  Standing motionless, Jo felt every last connection with her husband being severed, including the fear that had driven her to breaking point. It surprised her how much she didn’t want to let it go. It was perverse, she knew that, but the fear of being watched had been a way – the only way – of keeping him in her life. He could still be out there, couldn’t he? There was still the police evidence that he was alive. No, no – she wasn’t ready to let him go.

  And then suddenly he was there, standing behind her. She could feel the warmth from his body when he slipped his arms around her waist and she leaned into him and allowed herself to reconnect with the one person who could give her life meaning again. An image came unbidden to her mind of a little boy laughing and giggling. It wasn’t a memory of Luke, this time, but a tantalising glimpse of Archie and the joy to come if only she was brave enough to fight for his love, to fight for the little boy with the dimple in his chin that was the last tenuous link to her husband.

  When Jo was ready, she didn’t pick the box of pills. She picked up the phone instead.

  25

  Jo’s hands burned. It was a painful and yet comforting sensation, a complete contrast to the tingling she felt in her fingers when an anxiety attack ripped control from her grasp. She had spent all of Monday cleaning the house and the smell of bleach as she scrubbed the kitchen cupboards had stung the back of her nose as well as her bare hands. She should have worn gloves, she should have opened windows but she had thrived on the intensity of her chores, which overpowered any other feelings or thoughts including the temptation to go to Irene’s and collect Archie before she was ready.

  She was no nearer knowing where David was or what had happened to him, and even though she was starting to accept that he wasn’t lurking in every shadow, her anxiety disorder wasn’t going to release her from her fears without a fight.

  Occasionally, the sound of a phone ringing intruded upon her endeavours but she refused to be distracted. It was only when the doorbell rang at six o’clock that evening that Jo was ready to consider allowing a little of the outside world in.

  ‘Reporting for duty, ma’am,’ Heather chirped but her confidence dissipated as soon as she stepped into the house. ‘I t
hink you’d better tell me exactly what’s been going on, including why this house is full of fumes. I can hardly breathe.’

  Jo led Heather into the living room where the smell of cleaning products was marginally less overpowering. Heather pulled a face and squeezed her nose. ‘Well?’ she asked.

  Jo looked at her perfectly presented friend in her tailored suit with something akin to nostalgia. ‘I need your help,’ Jo began. ‘I’m ill, Heather, and I’m sick of it.’

  ‘Do we need to get your mum back here?’

  ‘No, or at least not for the moment. If she comes back then she’ll only mother me. I thought I was making progress but I was just following where she led. What I need is someone who can help me work things out for myself – and that’s where you come in. Heather, you’re the most straight-talking woman I know, please help me fight this.’

  Of all the people who had been watching Jo’s life unravelling, Heather was the only one who refused to treat her with kid gloves. The Jo she knew was confident and controlled so it was almost implausible to her that her friend’s fears and obsessions could ever control her, and it was Heather’s belief in her that Jo intended to use to her advantage. Heather was going to help her mend her broken mind by treating her normally and reminding her of the person she had been so Jo could see a way back.

  ‘I should have come home from Portsmouth last night when you phoned. Have you actually been to bed or have you been cleaning the house for the last twenty-four hours?’

  ‘It makes me feel better,’ Jo tried.

  ‘How are you ever going to pull yourself together, Jo if you’re high on fumes?’

  Jo was smoothing out the folds of her T-shirt as if she could straighten out the crumpled shell of a person sitting in her living room, occupying her place in the world. ‘OK, Heather, let’s get one thing straight. I have a mental illness. This isn’t going to be a matter of “pulling myself together”.’

  ‘I know,’ Heather said, ‘but if you want some advice, stop cleaning like a lunatic.’