‘I’ll be careful. I know, Mum. Love you.’
He closes the door quietly and kneels down next to me in the darkened hall. I wish someone would walk in – Alex, maybe, on his way back from the greenhouse, or Samantha, groggy from her blow to the head. Anyone. I’m so frightened of this man. I feel like I’m going to die.
‘Come on, on your feet. We’re going for a little walk, you and me.’
We head outside into the bright sunshine. The air is very hot and still and heavy. I switch my head left and right for Alex. No sign. William has let go of my wrist now and I massage it against my chest. He opens the passenger door for me and I look at him flatly.
‘I’m not getting into the car with you. You’re crazy.’
‘No, Frances, I’m not. I’m just tired of having to look after you, get you out of scrapes. It’s like having a kid. You wonder why I’ve avoided having one? It’s because I know who’ll end up looking after it. Me. You can barely look after yourself.’
‘That’s not fair—’
‘Look at Samantha. Look at how she fucked it up. She didn’t know what her own kid was doing half the time. Edie was into all kinds of shit – drugs and black magic and she was something of a known slut, if you get my drift. You think you’ve got what it takes to bring up a kid? Look at what harm you can do if you don’t get it right. Look at how you end up.’
I stare at him, open-mouthed.
‘I’d rather bring up a lively, interesting kid than someone like you.’
His face darkens, but I can’t help myself. It’s always been my problem. Spoiling for trouble.
‘Don’t, Frances.’
‘You’re a repressed, dull man with nothing to show for all his years on earth except his bank balance and a stack of dirty photos. Your mother sh—’
Crack! I hear it before I feel the sting of the slap, right across my cheekbone. It’s hard enough to make my skull shake. I look at him in horror, one hand covering my face. His lips are pressed tightly together, eyebrows drawn. He looks furious, but when he speaks his voice still has that same, flat tone.
‘Get in the car, Frances. I won’t ask you again.’
I stare at him. I could run, I think. Maybe I could outrun him. I’ve always thought of William as a desk slob, someone weak-muscled and unfit, but when he gripped my wrist earlier I felt a lean, wiry strength there that belied his physical appearance. But if I could – and it’s a very big if – where would I run? William grew up here; he knows this area like the back of his hand. I’ve no money and my phone is still in there in the kitchen, plugged in and lying on the counter. So what do you do, Frances? the voice in my head asks me. Just what are you going to do?
‘I need to pee,’ I tell him.
He stares at me. I bend a little at the waist, my hands folded into my crotch. It’s a lie, of course, but now I’ve said it the urge has suddenly become very real.
I stare at him with round eyes. ‘Please. I have to go!’
‘Jesus, Frances,’ he says with undisguised disgust, and he drags me a little way down the drive to where the hydrangea bushes line the pathway. He points. ‘Go on then. Do it on the grass. Like a dog.’
‘You’re going to stand here and watch me?’
‘Believe me, Frances, I’ve seen you do a lot worse over the years.’
My cheeks flush as I unbuckle my belt. He doesn’t trust you, that voice says again. Can you blame him? He watches me, unblinking, as I relieve myself into the earth, shuffling to avoid getting any on my shoes. I don’t look up at him again until I’m done, and when I finally lift my gaze I’m horrified to see he is holding something in his right hand. It’s a hammer. A claw-head. It’s dropped down from his sleeve like a magic trick and now it swings slightly in his hand like a pendulum slowing down. I can’t speak. I can’t take my eyes off it. My reaction is so strong I wonder if I will be sick, bile rising in my throat.
William talks to me kindly, squatting down beside me on the grass, careful to avoid the dampness beneath me. ‘It’s all right, Frances. I’m not going to use it. I just need you to do as you’re told. So no more diversions, okay? Come on. Let’s go.’
He helps me to my feet and I walk beside him slowly back to the car. In my dreams the figure chasing me with the claw hammer always changed, but the weapon remained exactly the same: a red handle wrapped around the middle with straps of black gaffer tape. Just like the one William is holding.
Samantha – Now
There is a sound like a chainsaw, something buzzing through the ridges of my skull. A deep throbbing pain in the back of my neck. If I open my eyes everything seems to slide away, like a ride at the fairground, so I keep them closed. It hurts less that way. I’m being moved in the dark. Bumped around. Something against my chest, a weight. I don’t fight. I lean into it. Tight bands restricting my breathing. God, my head. I fade in and out. A woman’s voice that I recognise, but only a little.
‘Put her over there so I can see her.’
Hello? My voice doesn’t work. I fade out. In. Out. Like my breath. A hand against the shelf of my neck. Ow.
‘There’s a pulse. You think I should throw cold water over her?’
‘Only if you want to clear up the mess it’ll make, young man.’
That woman again, so familiar. Who is it? In. Out. I’m trying to repair my memory. What happened? I was driving. I had sunglasses on, because the sun was right in my eyes. So blinding that I almost missed him. Who? The man standing by the side of the road. Who? The man in the grey sweatshirt. He was clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack. His car was skewed across the road. I was driving to – to meet someone. Who? Frances Thorn. William’s wife. William. William. I got out of my car, sliding my sunglasses up to the top of my head. I was saying are you hurt, should I call an ambulance? The sun was in my eyes, making it hard to see his features. I wasn’t looking at the way he was holding his arm behind his back. I was only looking at the way his hand was massaging his heart.
‘Help me,’ I say weakly, turning my head just a little, so the pain is muted. I wait. The chair creaks as I shift position. I prise my eyes open. Everything is a blur, prisming, smeared colours without form. Then I hear a man’s voice say, very quietly, ‘She’s awake, Mum.’
‘Help me,’ William said as I raced forward. Both our cars were blocking the road now. The lane was baking in the heat. Dragonflies rose and fell in the air. I was reaching for my phone, the other reaching out to steady him, when he struck. First the back of my head, producing a loud ringing noise in my ears that made my whole head shiver, then my shoulder. I heard something crunch beneath the impact of that, with a roaring pain that shot up my neck and across my skull. I looked up at him as black spots swam across my vision, pitching me into a hole, a blackness. A deep well.
In. Out. It’s difficult to lift my head without discomfort but the sickening see-sawing of my vision has stopped and I can see a little better now. There is a deep, angry throbbing in my shoulder and a dark stain has spread on the fabric of my T-shirt. The floor beneath my feet is deep, cream carpet. It lifts towards me and then falls away. I tilt my head and look to my left, where there are long windows, sunlight filtered by gauzy net curtains. The agony in my head recedes a little and I want to lift a hand up to the wound and feel for the damage there. I know there is blood because I can smell it, rich and coppery, tangled in my hair.