But every now and again, when I ask the wrong question – especially about the past – he gets like this. Defensive, wearing an expression that is warning me off. No. It’s worse than a warning. It’s like it’s not my Ed at all.
And I know it’s completely hypocritical of me to push, given that I hate people doing that to me, but this is different. This is about Gemma.
‘Is there something wrong, Ed? Something beyond this, I mean.’ I glance at Gemma in the bed. ‘Something we need to talk about. Outside?’ I signal to the door but he doesn’t answer. Just looks at the floor.
OK. So here’s the truth. After I caught that really odd woman staring at me through the kitchen window, I had this flutter of suspicion that maybe Ed was having an affair. That maybe he had had enough of me flouncing off to the kitchen whenever we had a little upset; that the woman was his mistress and was checking me out. I tried to tell myself not to be so stupid but the whole thing got worse. This suspicion grew and grew because I caught her watching me on two more occasions. The second time was at the hairdresser’s about a week later. I had a head full of foil for my highlights so couldn’t go out on to the street to confront her, but it was definitely the same woman and she was watching me specifically through the window again. And the third and final time, I was just out in town window-shopping. I fancied a new coat in the sales and was just strolling from shop to shop when I caught her reflection in one of the windows. She was standing behind me, just staring again.
This time I’d had enough so I called out to her. Who are you? And why are you following me? She stepped forward then and leaned towards me to say something really odd.
He’s not who he says he is. I have to warn you. He’s not who he says he is.
So here’s the embarrassing confession. After that, I completely freaked out. There was no way I was having this out with Ed directly – he’d only lie – so instead I hired a private investigator to see if Ed was having an affair with her. The thing is, I started asking Ed where he’d been and what he’d been doing and if everything was alright with the marriage. If he would ever lie to me. He got quite defensive – and I read in a magazine that can be a sign of infidelity.
My suspicions just sort of spiralled and I found the PI online. I’m ashamed now because the private investigator charged quite a lot of money but found absolutely nothing. You have a faithful husband, Mrs Hartley.
‘Our daughter has been shot and you want to start this all up again? Questioning me? Navel contemplating? Picking at the marriage?’ He’s whispering, still looking at the floor.
‘No, Ed. I just feel a bit guilty that I find it hard . . .’ I pause. ‘Well, you know. That I find it so hard to talk about difficult stuff. But we need to be there for each other.’
‘I am here for you.’
‘Yes.’ I pause and take in a deep, slow breath, feeling even more guilty. ‘You are.’
I turn to look at our daughter, her skin pale and her eyes firmly closed. Can she hear this – even when we’re whispering?
For just a second, I drift away again. I can hear my father’s voice booming from the kitchen. I can hear plates and glasses smashing . . .
I am standing in the doorway, just a little girl, and I can see my mother’s eyes glaring at me.
Go to your room, Rachel. Go now!
I told Ed and Gemma too that I had a happy childhood, that my parents’ split was amicable . . .
I listen again to the smashing sounds from the kitchen all those years ago and I remember covering my ears and looking down at my rabbit slippers.
‘We really mustn’t squabble in front of Gemma. We should go outside.’
‘Oh, Rachel. For heaven’s sake. We can’t go outside every time we need to talk. It’s ridiculous. I’m sure she can’t hear whispering.’
I keep quiet for a while, just looking at Gemma, watching her chest rise and fall ever so gently. I can feel this tightening in my stomach, pushing away all the pictures from the past . . .
‘You know how much I love you both? Isn’t that enough?’ Ed’s tone is really strange.
‘I’m sorry, Ed. It’s the strain and the lack of sleep.’
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘The police want me to go and meet with them again, Rachel. I said I’d go to the station; I know it upsets you when they come here.’
I spin my head to look him in the eye. ‘But what do they want? Do they have a lead? Is it to do with Alex? Shouldn’t they be talking to both of us together?’