Page 59 of My Husband's Wife
‘And you took Emily. Don’t you know how dangerous that could have been if there was someone out there?’
After exhaling slowly to try and calm her jitters down, she replies, ‘I should have left Emily in the house but she’d been unsettled. What if something had happened to her? I tried to call you but you wouldn’t answer.’
‘I told you. Mum knocked back a few shorts and I had to deal with her. I had enough on my plate last night, without you putting yourself and our daughter in danger.’ His fists are clenched and she’s never felt his breath hot on her face while he shouts at her. That’s a first. ‘I had a look at that hair by the way, the so-called mystery hair you found in Emily’s hand. It’s yours.’
‘It’s not. My hair’s red.’
‘Do I have to go and get it?’
She sits up in bed, arms folded and bottom lip over her top lip, like a child who’s been told off.
He storms down the stairs and comes back up with a small rolled-up clump of hair, then he throws it at her.
It’s red. She picks it up and stares with furrowed brows. It had been brown. She’d taken a photo on her phone, knowing how dippy she’d been lately. Reaching around, she grabs the device and scrolls through her photos. It’s gone, just like the message. She’s going mad and there’s nothing she can do about it. Huge ugly sobs escape from her mouth.
Theo sits beside her and pulls her close. ‘I’m sorry I shouted. I’m so sorry. I can see that you’re not well. You’ve always been here for me and helped me with my problems. I’m here for you now. I’ll do everything I can to get you the help you need.’
His warm kiss reaches her head, and she sinks into him. She can’t believe he’s being so understanding after everything she’s put him through. There is one thing she can’t let lie, though. It doesn’t matter how much he hugs and kisses her, and tells her that he’ll look after her. ‘Theo, I love you and I know I’m going through something but can you humour me and take me to the shed? I need to see inside the locked drawer.’
‘Promise me you’ll start trusting me if I open the drawer?’
She nods. Theo carries Emily as they trudge back to the shed. He unlocks the door and they enter. He stops the camera from recording, pulls a key from inside a tin on the bookshelf and opens the drawer. ‘This is all I keep in it.’
The two lenses make the drawer look almost empty. ‘I came in here the other day. There was an old newspaper clipping, a picture of a boy. Who is he?’
He shrugs. ‘I used to have a lot of newspapers in here at one point, to line hedgehog houses with. It was probably just torn newspaper.’
‘It was cut, not torn.’ Without telling Theo that she took a photo of it, she checks her phone to see if it’s still there but it’s gone.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Just seeing if Camille has messaged.’ She kneels on the wooden floor and peers under the desk. There is no sign of the clipping.
‘Can we go now? We have a lot to do and it’s our big day tomorrow. I can’t wait to marry you, Madison. In sickness and in health. I am yours forever.’ He helps her back up onto her feet. From behind his glasses, his brown eyes meet hers. ‘I think we both need a new start. Being here isn’t good for you so I put the deposit on that house. I had a word with Orla and Tammy and they’re happy to keep everything ticking along at the salon until the sale goes through. This place is playing with your mind, Madison. You need to be on a lovely estate with other parents and neighbours. We’re too isolated here. I’m going to take you away from all this and I’m going to look after you.’
She goes to protest but she can’t speak. Her chest tightens and she can’t breathe. It’s all too much. It’s moving too fast and she doesn’t even know her own mind anymore. As she collapses, he’s there to catch her fall with his spare arm. She looks up at him, mouth gaping. She’s never noticed the faint blue rim of his iris. The person she’s seeing isn’t the man she met. She doesn’t know Theo anymore.
Fifty
Panic had overwhelmed her last night, so Theo had given her something he’d been prescribed for his anxiety, and she’d fallen into a deep nightmarish sleep. She now found herself staring at her made-up face and wedding hair in a mirror at the Clifton House Hotel with not much recollection of how she arrived.
She was getting married. Her heart juddered away.
‘It’s okay to be nervous…’ Orla places the hairspray down. ‘You look beautiful.’
The dress gapes under the arms but who cares? She might as well get married in the slip she’s wearing, the one that’s meant to go underneath her clothes. Her head is woozy, like she’s had too much to drink. The wedding planner takes her from Orla and leads her to the bridal suite. It’s as if everything is just happening and she has no say in it. As she enters, everyone cheers and a glass of champagne is thrust into her hand. She thinks of Emily and the fact that she can no longer feed her, then she gulps the drink down. Camille holds Emily. Instead of a joyful look on her face, Camille looks worried, like she’s pasting a smile on. Madison knows she shouldn’t have mentioned the deposit on the other house.
Her three cousins and her mother begin to pop another bottle. One of them starts playing a Black Eyed Peas song at full blast, which almost knocks Madison off her feet. Soon she is swept into the frivolity as Francesca starts doing a cute dance while holding Madison’s hand. She holds the tears back, knowing that if she goes along with what Theo wants, she might only see her little niece once a year.
There is a knock at the door.
‘Must be the wedding planner again.’ Camille rolls her eyes as she opens the door.
‘Who is it?’ Madison calls, barely able to think or hear. A wave of giddiness comes over her. She makes her way to the door, glass in hand. It can’t be… she clicks her fingers, hoping that Eva will magically disappear, but she doesn’t. ‘Er, Eva from the Sea Horse?’ Eva shouldn’t be here.
‘I need to talk to you. It’s important,’ she yells.
The base thuds through Madison’s feet. She’s confused enough without Eva turning up. Madison’s hair is coming slightly loose and dangling around her shoulders.
