Page 16 of The Psychopath Next Door

‘I’ll have one afterwards.’

As she passed me to leave the kitchen I said, ‘Do you want a hug?’ – spreading my arms, hoping she would step into my embrace, but she evaded me.

‘I stink.’

‘No you don’t. Besides, I like it when you’re a bit smelly.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t be gross. And if you really think I’m going to be in the mood now, after what we just witnessed ...’

‘What? I was just trying to give you a hug. To comfort you.’

‘Okay. Whatever. If that’s true, I’m sorry.’

It was true. I really had been offering her comfort, nothing more, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. More miscommunication, more tension caused by sex. It was the elephant in our bedroom, and had been since The Incident.

‘Go and have your bath,’ I said.

I finished making coffee, then sat at the kitchen table, not hungry enough to want breakfast, thinking about how I’d lied to Fiona about my and Emma’s night out. It hadn’t gone how I’d hoped, and I knew it was because I’d had this perfect image of what the evening would be like – relaxed and fun and like the old days – and when it wasn’t I had driven Emma crazy by repeatedly asking her if she was all right, which had eventually led her to snap at me, telling me to chill out or she’d go home.

We had stood and watched the band with this terrible atmosphere between us, the volume making it impossible to talk until, six or seven songs in, Emma told me she was going to the loo and didn’t come back. I went looking for her and eventually found her waiting outside the venue, saying it was too loud and crowded and someonehad spilled beer on her. I accused her of deliberately spoiling our night out and the young bouncers watched us with smirks, this middle-aged couple bickering as the middle-aged band played inside. Finally, I persuaded her to come into the nearest pub so we could talk.

‘What do you want to do?’ I asked.

‘Go home. Go to bed.’

‘I mean about us. Do you want a divorce?’ I had to speak quietly so the couple at the table next to ours couldn’t hear. Meanwhile, I was almost shaking with stress.

‘Please. Not this again. I can’t have this conversation again tonight.’

‘But . . .’

‘I don’t want a divorce, Ethan. I’m just exhausted and on my period and not in the mood to see a band, and I’m sorry I’ve ruined our night out, okay? I’m really sorry.’

When we arrived home, thank God, Fiona didn’t want to hang around to chat. Emma went straight upstairs to check on the kids. Rose was asleep but Dylan was still awake, playing games with his friends, headphones on. We pretended to him that the gig had been amazing and then Emma went to bed.

Earlier, before the argument, I had hoped the evening might end with sex, which would have been the first time in months, but I knew there was no hope of that happening now. I sat downstairs and watched something on Netflix, Lola snoozing beside me on the sofa, until I knew Emma would be asleep, then went up.

Sitting at the kitchen table now, I finished my coffee. Told myself to be more positive, to stop being so bloody self-pitying. At least our children were healthy and happy. Unlike that poor boy across the road.

I got up and looked across the street at their empty house. It was a sunny morning, vapour trails looking pretty against a bluesky. From upstairs I could hear footsteps, Rose walking around her room. I knew I ought to have a word with her when she came down. That smile.Yes, those boys were horrible to you, I would say.But one should never take pleasure in others’ misfortune.

I was saved from having to make a decision by the dog. Lola came into the room, wagging her tail expectantly.

‘Is it that time, eh?’

She trotted over and sat at my feet, then gave me her paw.

‘Come on then.’

I put her lead on and we went up the footpath towards the fields. It always tickled me how Lola could do the same walk daily but seem just as excited every time. The footpath was smooth, tarmacked at the same time they built the estate. In autumn it would be crunchy or soggy with leaves, but now it was relatively clear, slightly warm from the sun that made its way through the branches.

Halfway up the path, I stopped. The boys’ dirt bike was still here, lying on its side between two trees, the front tyre visibly flat. I crouched for a closer look and saw the rubber was shredded, like it had gone over something viciously sharp. I squinted at the path, looking for glass or a nail, but couldn’t see anything. Could it have just burst on its own? Maybe, I supposed, though I couldn’t imagine why it would. Being careful, in case there was glass hidden on the path, I steered Lola around the tree closest to the bike’s front wheel. There was a dark mark on the trunk and I realised, with a lurch in my gut, that it was blood.

I shivered in the sunshine, glad it hadn’t been one of my children. But also thinking again about how Rose had smiled, before my thoughts lurched on to the memory of what Fiona had said about me being not just a dad and husband. The way she’d looked me up and down.

Jesus, what a morning.

‘Let’s go, Lola,’ I said. Dogs were easy, uncomplicated. We walked on.

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