Page 33 of My Husband's Wife
I shrug. ‘She’s just not who I thought she was. She called me up the other night, drunk, saying that I can’t trust her and that I can’t trust him.’
‘Him, who?’ Sonia scrunches her brows.
‘I don’t know but because of all this I all but accused my husband of having a thing with her.’ I reach for the back of my head and dig my nails under my hairpiece and begin pulling and picking. ‘I can’t help thinking that he’s the man from her past.’
‘I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this but I like you and I hate to see a friend of mine lied to in this way.’ Sonia steps back from her nan and speaks in a hushed voice. ‘Before you moved here, I remember seeing her looking all cosy at the pub with Zach.’
Twenty-Six
So Zach had been seeing Nicole before I moved in. It’s not my imagination running wild. Sonia could see that. My lack of sleep is written all over my face and the nightmares aren’t helping. I keep waking up in a sweat after dreaming that Theo is in the house, doing all he can to play with my mind. One moment I see him, the next he isn’t there, like some elusive shadow that refuses to be defined. Mum has started to go on at me again to see the doctor. She thinks I’m going downhill fast. Maybe I am. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Maybe I didn’t even see footprints in the rain the other week. The dog could have been barking at a fox. I’m scared that I’m seeing things that aren’t there, and the words ‘stress-related psychosis’ gnaw at me. Am I looking at Theo while wanting to see Hugo? I want to scream or hit something until my hands bleed, at least blood is real.
As soon as I got home from the playground, I told Mum I felt sick and went straight up to bed. Before school, Caiden kept asking when he could see Aaron again, and he keeps walking around talking to that damn toy raven. Sometimes he’s whittering on to Emily and other times he’s whispering to his dad. I ask him to talk to me and he keeps saying he can only talk about it to Aaron because only Aaron understands. In all this, I’m losing my son too.
I pull the photo of the two babies from under my pillow and take in their poorly looking premature faces and closed eyes. Something isn’t quite right but I can’t put my finger on it. The baby on the left looks just like Caiden, especially the nose. Tears fill my eyes. How could I forget what my beautiful little Emily looked like? For so long I’ve buried the pain of losing her. Emily was stillborn but Caiden made it. I can still feel the pain of having to eventually let her go. I don’t remember this photo being taken but then again, I don’t remember much from that night. All I remember is the dark cloak of depression that I hid under for months followed by my inability to cope with day-to-day life. Unable to nourish my body to feed my baby boy – my first failure. I couldn’t tend to him, leaving Hugo and Mum at the helm.
My heart bangs like I’m the lamb behind the door that the wolf is jumping at. It will stop at nothing to get in and I will stop at nothing to get to the bottom of this confusing chaos that is taking over my life again. I can’t be ill. My experiences feel so real.
I stand up and pace, banging my palm on the side of my head. I want my brain to work but it’s like it’s not mine. I don’t feel like me anymore. I could call Hugo’s mum or his sister. I think of how cold they were, how they thought I wasn’t good enough for their well-educated son with prospects, how disappointed they were when we got married and I got pregnant. I have to tell them about my concerns. It’s not like they can come here and force me to go to hospital. They don’t even know where I live.
I grab my phone and call Hugo’s mum, and she answers. ‘Hello, Eva.’
‘Cynthia.’
‘What can I help you with?’
She didn’t even ask how Caiden was. I imagine her wearing her cream wide-leg trousers with a white blouse, done up to the neck, stylishly fitted – the only clothes I’ve ever seen her wearing. ‘I err…’ How the hell do I word this? ‘I saw Hugo.’
‘Hugo’s dead. Are you all right, Eva?’
‘Yes,’ I snap. ‘He lives in Devon and he’s getting remarried. It’s him. I think I’d know my own husband. He’s got the same mole.’ I don’t mention his different eye colour. He could easily disguise that with contact lenses.
She sighs. ‘Are you ill again?’
‘No, I’m not ill. I saw him. He is alive and well.’
After a short spell of silence, she continues, ‘Just like he was dead when he was alive?’
She’s mocking me now, taking me to a place I don’t care to revisit. ‘That was different.’
‘Was it, really?’
‘Yes, because I was mistaken. I was ill.’
‘And it sounds like you’re ill again now.’ Her voice is patronising and it’s winding me up. ‘Please see a doctor, Eva, for Caiden’s sake.’
Only now she cares about Caiden. Hugo’s family have never made an effort to have any kind of relationship with him. ‘Look, I saw Hugo. He’s alive. I don’t know how he did it but he did. He did not die in that accident.’ I can’t bear to call it a suicide. She hasn’t said anything for at least a minute so I continue. ‘I can prove it.’
‘Eva, just leave it. Please.’
‘Leave what?’
‘Leave it all.’ She hiccups a sob. ‘Go back to your life, look after your son and stop this nonsense.’
‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? You never cared about Hugo. You never got the baby photos out like a normal parent would. How could you be so cold towards your own son?’
‘I did my best for him. I knew Hugo better than you ever could.’
I’m floored by that comment. Now I know she’s keeping something important from me. ‘What’s going on, Cynthia?’ I flinch at the bang. I’m guessing that she’s lashed out at something.
