Page 43 of The Temp

I cock my head and listen, mouth drying. Nothing, apart from the click of the kettle and white noise coming from the TV in the lounge. I inch closer, straining my ears but am met with silence. Surely, there’s no one out there. No, of course not. I’m overreacting, that’s all. It was probably an animal looking for food. I rub my forehead, what is wrong with me? Frank isn’t hiding in our garden. I’m about to walk away when I catch sight of a fleeting shadow outside. That was definitely no animal. Adrenalin soars through my blood as I lurch forward and fumble with the lock. The door flies open. A gust of wind sweeps into the house.

I step into the night, cold seeping through my skin, chilling my bones. The wind has picked up and it’s whistling in my ears. ‘Hello?’ I cry, rubbing my arms and wishing I’d kept my tights on. Trees shiver in the gust, casting shadows on the rattan furniture besides the fluttering parasol. I take a few tentative steps forward. ‘Is anyone there?’ I gulp, voice trembling. But my words are swallowed into the darkness.

‘Frank?’ My cold breath plumes. ‘Frank, is that you?’ What am I doing? Frank won’t answer, even if he’s here. He wants revenge. He’s going to hunt us all down one by one and make us pay. I mean, I know it sounds farfetched but he did try to strangle my sister. What’s to stop him from murdering me in cold blood right now? My daughter will be motherless. Tom will be a widower.

A fox screams nearby and my stomach spasms. I need protection. My eyes race around the patio, pausing on a brick that is weighted on the feet of a metal solar chicken light. Tom put it there to stop the wind from blowing it away. The sound of squeaking and juddering catches my attention, forcing me to spin round.

Without thinking, I tiptoe along the patio, grit and cold pinching my bare feet, and peer over the wall. A wooden door swings in the whistling wind. My body sags with relief. It isn’t Frank. It’s Maureen and Stewart’s back gate. It’s been left open. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maureen has banned Alex, their twenty-four-year-old son, from bringing his muddy boots into the house after rugby practice. He now has to leave them in the garden until they’ve been cleaned. Sometimes, after a few drinks with the lads, Alex forgets to put the latch back on before going inside.

Securing their gate on the latch, I berate myself for being so paranoid. Frank isn’t a serial killer. He’s probably sunning himself somewhere on the Mediterranean coast this very moment, cocktail in hand. Get a bloody grip, woman, and sort your mess out before you lose everything.

Chapter 41

The moment I walk into the lounge, Tom flicks a finger over his phone and places it next to him on the sofa, folds his arms across his chest and frowns intently at the 55-inch screen. It was his photos app. I saw a blur of faces, probably an old photo of us.

‘Good match?’ I ask, sitting down heavily next to him, fingers warm from the hot mug in my hand. I peer at him as he stares at the TV screen. The lust and urgency to get me into bed has clearly gone.

‘Bit boring, to be honest.’ Tom yawns, stretching his arms above his head. I follow his gaze to his phone as the light dims and goes out. ‘Left a review online.’ Leaning forward, he picks up a coaster and places it in front of me, and I place my mug down. ‘For The Stage,’ he clarifies, throwing me a smile.

Right, I decide very quickly to ask him about Mrs Anderson before I broach the subject of Liam. I scratch my neck as a player misses a goal and the crowd groans. ‘I was meaning to ask you,’ I say. ‘You know that couple you were talking to outside the restaurant.’ Reaching over, I pick up my mug of tea. Tom frowns, grabs the remote. ‘Well, the woman actually.’ I take a slurp, and Tom throws me an annoying glance as he turns up the volume. He hates the sound of slurping and chewing. He passed on one of his patients to Samantha once because the poor man was breathing too loudly during his eye test.

‘What the one with Lawrence?’ he says, as if Lawrence is an old friend of mine.

‘Yes,’ I trill, then lower my voice. ‘Do you know her?’

Tom shakes his head, goes a bit red. Is it the heat? It is quite hot in here. I touch the radiator behind the sofa. It’s still warm. ‘Not really.’ How can you not really know someone? You either do, or you don’t. ‘I’ve seen her a couple of times recently, picking Lawrence up from the golf club.’

Chewing my thumbnail, I give my husband a sideward glance. His eyes don’t leave the TV. Lawrence loops in my mind. I remember Tom mentioning him now – good handicap. Could’ve been a pro. Bit smug, if my memory serves me correctly. Has a son who’s a golf coach. Mrs Anderson must’ve just started dating Lawrence on the rebound. I hope Lawrence doesn’t take advantage of her.

‘You’ll never guess who she is,’ I say, excitedly. Ignoring me, Tom leaps to the edge of his seat, eyes wide, fist clenched on his knee, and then he covers his hands over his face as another goal is missed. I nudge him with my knee. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Sorry, love. Who who is?’

‘That woman with Lawrence.’ Tom waits, poker-faced, then does a jittery shrug as if to say, well, are you going to tell me or not? ‘She’s Daisy’s auntie,’ I exclaim.

Tom’s face pales as a roar from the television explodes into the room. A goal has been scored and he missed it. ‘No way,’ he says, lowering the volume.

Finally, a reaction. I do a little nod, sucking my cheeks in smugly. ‘She’s the client who recommended her on that Friday, remember? I photographed her house. Small world, eh?’

‘Seriously?’ He shoves a hand through his hair and leaves it there. ‘I can’t believe it. What were the odds of that?’

‘I know,’ I say, staring absently at the TV as footballers pile on top of each other.

‘Gah, we lost.’ Tom starts flicking through the channels. ‘Daisy’s auntie, eh? Why didn’t you come over and say hello?’

‘I was about to when they got into the cab. I don’t think she recognised me.’ I squint at the family photograph of the three of us above the fireplace. Mum took it two years ago on the balcony of her lovely home, which overlooks the golf course. It was such a beautiful picture that we got it printed on canvas. ‘Probably too loved up with Lawrence. She was standing right next to me in the pub loos, applying lippy in the mirror. Maybe she’s long-sighted,’ I muse.

‘Wow, what a coincidence.’ Tom leans back on the sofa and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. ‘To be fair, I don’t know Lawrence that well. He’s not part of our group.’

‘Oh, I thought he was,’ I say, stroking his cheek. It’s stubbly but soft.

‘Nah. It’s always small talk with him. I see him at the club sometimes and the Christmas dos.’ Picking up the remote, Tom lowers the volume, turns to me and fixes me with a stare. ‘I really enjoyed our date night. Just me and you. Like old times.’ I wouldn’t go as far as that, Tom, I got pregnant almost immediately. We hardly had any fun nights out at all. ‘You and Georgia are everything to me,’ he breathes, ‘I know I don’t say it often enough. But if you ever…’ he falters. ‘I want you to know that I’m your best friend as well as your partner.’ I think Linda would object to that. ‘What I’m trying to say is.’ He exhales through his nostrils. ‘I’m here if you need me. If you ever want to talk. About anything. Anything at all.’ He looks at me carefully. ‘If you’re in any kind of trouble.’ A knot forms in my stomach. Does he know about Frank? But no, how could he? ‘In sickness and…’

I press my fingers against his lips to silence him. ‘Tom, there is something.’ He frowns, narrowing his eyes. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading. My heart thumps hard, cascading to my stomach. I take a breath and then I blurt, ‘I haven’t been completely honest with you, and I know I should’ve told you this a long time ago, but I…’ I glance at the ceiling, fiddling with my wedding ring. ‘There’s no excuses. I’ve been an idiot. So much could’ve been avoided. If only I’d…’

‘Just tell me, Bella.’ Picking up the remote control, he switches the TV off. The screen blackens in synchronisation with my heart.

‘It’s about Liam,’ I utter. Tom’s face darkens immediately. This is going to be painful. It will crush him. I will hurt him. But sometimes we’ve got to do what’s right and not what’s best for us. ‘I met up with him. Once. Well, actually it was twice.’ Tom looks at me, wordless, then gets to his feet and shoves a hand into his trouser pocket. ‘It’s not what you think, Tommy.’ He starts pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. I slide to the edge of the seat. ‘I shouldn’t have answered his message that time. I should’ve deleted it. I shouldn’t have let my curiosity get the better of me. I know that now.’ I look up at him pleadingly. ‘But it wasn’t a date.’ My eyes close. ‘I had to meet him because…’

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