‘Uh-huh,’ Ollie said, grabbing hold of the hand she offered him. ‘They’re making a space so we can ride our bikes. Can I ride my bike, Mummy?’ he asked with a little jig as they walked back to the car. ‘Can I?’
‘We have to get you a bike first, don’t we?’ Sarah laughed. She’d promised him a new one as a belated birthday present. It looked as if he was keen to seal the deal.
Chattering away to himself all the way home about which bike he wanted, he was still trying to decide between the inevitable Spider-Man model and the fire chief one they’d seen online as they walked through the front door.
Her attention on her son, Sarah didn’t realise anything was amiss until they went into the lounge. When she did, her heart turned over. ‘Ollie! Leave it!’ she screamed, the desecration that greeted her scorching itself on her eyes as she dragged him physically away from the carnage and back to the hall.
Forty-One
Joe
Having knocked on Courtney’s door several times, Joe was debating what to do. Her car was in the car park, so she was presumably here. Why the hell wasn’t she answering? Dammit. His gut tightening, he found the key he still had and let himself in. ‘Courtney?’ he called. Getting no answer, he checked the kitchen and lounge area, and then, his heart slowing to a dull thud in his chest, he walked towards the bedroom, queasiness gripping him as he considered the balcony beyond it.
His hand shook visibly as he pressed down the door handle, sweat wetting his forehead as his mind painted a graphic image of what he might find inside. His eyes darting from the bed to the large patio windows, relief crashed through him. Nothing. She wasn’t here. No sign of her on the balcony, though he headed that way anyway to double-check. Wiping a hand over his face, his eyes flicked again to the bed. He couldn’t help thinking of the nights he’d spent in it, the long sleepless nights, wondering whether she’d been with the hotshot the night before, that evening, that day. It served to remind him why he couldn’t allow his undoubted sympathy for her to cloud his judgement. The same went for the lingerie discarded arbitrarily over the bed, placed almost artistically, he couldn’t help noticing. Immediately he reprimanded himself for reading something into it. She would have been trying it on; she might well be self-conscious about her body after all she’d been through.
As he walked back out, his gaze fell on a note on the dressing table. Out with a friend, it read. Speak soon. It didn’t have his name on, but he guessed it was meant for him. Why would she leave it in the bedroom? Why not the kitchen, the most obvious place, or the hall?
Christ, he was becoming paranoid. Reminding himself that he didn’t need to feel that way any more, that it didn’t matter where she was or who she was with, he headed back to the hall and opened the front door, sucking in a breath as he stepped into the corridor. Her perfume was cloying. Everything about her had been cloying, he remembered. Their whole relationship had been about her and her needs. Granted, the sex had been difficult to walk away from. It had been spectacular, but it had been just that: sex. No affection. No love. He wasn’t sure she actually knew what love was. For her it was more about possession. Everything had to be done her way or no way. He had no doubt it had been her pulling the strings in her relationship with the hotshot, had the man but known it. He’d obviously woken up to that fact, just as Joe had. She was beautiful, undeniably, potent – and lethal.
Taking the stairs in favour of the lift, which took forever to arrive, he tugged his ringing mobile from his pocket. It was Courtney. He rejected the call. He would get back to her at some point. Meanwhile, if it was urgent, he guessed she’d ring again. He needed not to be at her beck and call, he’d decided, for her sake and definitely for his own. He was about to pocket the phone when it beeped with a text. He checked it and stopped dead. Someone’s broken into the house, he read.
Fuck! Racing to his car, he yanked the door open, threw himself inside and immediately called Sarah back. ‘When?’ he asked as soon as she picked up.
‘While I was out at work,’ she answered shakily. ‘I’ve just picked Ollie up from nursery and …’ She stopped, a sob catching in her throat.
Christ. Joe breathed in hard. ‘Have you called the police?’
‘I’m calling you, Joe,’ she answered, her voice strained. She was trying hard to hold back the tears. ‘I didn’t know what I should do. I wasn’t sure they would come straight away and … I’m scared, Joe.’
‘I’ll call it in now,’ he said. ‘Don’t touch anything. Stay wherever you are and … No, don’t.’ Had she checked all the rooms? There was a possibility someone might still be there, though he tried to reassure himself it was unlikely. ‘Go round to one of your neighbours,’ he instructed, working to keep the panic from his voice. ‘Stay there until I get there. I won’t be long.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Joe,’ she said, her voice small.
Gunning the engine, Joe cursed liberally, wishing to God he could get hold of the bastard who’d done this to her. He’d rip their fucking head off. What the hell was he doing here? Yes, Courtney had needed support. He didn’t doubt that. But his priority should be Sarah. Was Sarah. And he was never bloody there when she needed him.
Forty-Two
Laura
‘Where were you?’ Steve asked the second Laura walked through the front door.
Her heart sank in despair. He was constantly on tenterhooks around her, watching her all the time, treating her as if she were made of glass. Truthfully, she felt as if she was. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror sometimes, it seemed distorted. As if the glass had been shattered and she’d been put back together with part of her missing.
‘Just out walking. I needed some space,’ she answered vaguely. Then, noting his worried frown, she grew irritated. ‘I can’t be answerable for my every move, Steve,’ she snapped. ‘I am capable of looking after myself, you know. I don’t need a bloody chaperone.’
He looked shocked for a second, then he sighed wearily. ‘I never thought you weren’t capable of looking after yourself. I was concerned about you, that’s all.’
‘But why would you be concerned?’ she asked him. Why wasn’t he angry? His life was turning into a catastrophe, and still he tried to be the soul of understanding. What was the matter with him? Did he honestly think he could fix things for her? That in monitoring her moods and her every move, he could make things right? Did he imagine that he could somehow mediate between her and her mother? He couldn’t fix this. Didn’t he see?
‘Why are you so caring, Steve? I mean, don’t you sometimes feel frustrated with all of this?’ She eyed him uncomprehendingly. If he would only vent his frustration occasionally, it might allow her to vent hers. Didn’t he realise that?
‘Yes, I’m frustrated,’ he answered, his tone calm. She saw a flash of humiliation in his eyes, though, and that just made her feel worse. He was doing his best, she knew he was, but she couldn’t deal with being constantly watched, frightened to put a step out of place lest he start believing the lies her mother had been feeding him. She couldn’t breathe. ‘I’m not sure it would help the situation if I gave in to it, though, are you?’