‘No. I say I want children because you’re meant to want them, aren’t you? If you don’t, who’s going to visit you in the care home when you’re old? I’m still taking the pill and he has no idea.’
Yes, little sister, it’s true. I am. After the false pregnancy, then trying and failing when he was ready, I realised I didn’t want children with him at all.
I waited for the judgement from Jennifer, the horror, the shock. It didn’t come. She just sipped her champagne and motioned for me to continue.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ I told Jennifer. ‘You’re going to tell me to be honest with my husband, and that’s fair, but I’ve tried before, and if I tell him I’m taking precautions when he thinks I’m not, he’ll leave me, and I’ll be thirty-three and all alone. I know I should set him free but—’
‘Or do it for you,’ she interrupted. ‘Set yourself free. Being unhappy with your husband isn’t the happiest you’ll ever feel. Not if you take control of the situation.’
Jennifer’s words stayed with me all afternoon, whirling around my head even as I slid into the taxi with Mum to go home hours later. Being unhappy with my husband isn’t the happiest I’ll ever feel.
Mum was staying with me again because Dad had decided to go fishing, and she didn’t want to be alone. I offered her a tea when we got in, but she turned it down. I suppose I should’ve seen the problem then. When has Mum ever turned down tea? But I was so wrapped up in Ethan and the children we don’t have, I didn’t pay it the attention it deserved. It was only 7 p.m. when I told her I was going up to bed. I wanted to think. So, I left her. I left her all alone downstairs. And I went up to bed. With Ethan in his office, I snuck to my sock drawer and pulled out my contraceptive pill. My secret. I hadn’t even put it in my mouth when I heard the crash. Shoving the packet back in the drawer, I padded into the hallway. I didn’t hurry. I should’ve, but I had no idea what had happened. The large wooden clock in the dining room is always falling off the wall and making an almighty racket. But it wasn’t the clock, Ellie-Bee.
In the dining room, I saw blood. Saw her crumpled body on the floor. Then I started bleating, like she did when we walked into your house and realised something terrible had happened, ‘Mum! Mum! Mum!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
31 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
I’m locked in the house. Jack has been gone for days and the key I have to the front door doesn’t work. I can’t get out. Can’t leave. At first, I’m confused, but soon, fury bubbles and blisters beneath the surface of me. Jack’s done this on purpose. He must’ve. He knows I want to go home, so he locked me in. I’m sure of it.
Fighting down panic, I reach for the phone in the hallway. I promised I’d never call Jack in case the police were checking phone records but what choice do I have?
The phone is dead.
And though the lights are working, none of the TVs are.
Frantic, I go through every drawer and pot, looking for another key. The windows are locked too, all except the attic-room balcony, but I’d have to be mad to try and break out of Wisteria that way. Eventually, rage and desperation turn into sickening anxiety. Time bleeds. It pours from my wrists and soaks into the floorboards. I watch shadows move across the soft cream walls. There’s nothing left to do. Beneath a throw on the sofa, I shake like an abandoned dog. If Jack isn’t back by morning, I’ll have to smash a ground-floor window to get out. I’ve tried to avoid this because, if someone notices before I can get to Jack, and they report a break-in, the police could dust Wisteria for fingerprints and then we’ll both have to explain.
I must’ve fallen asleep because I’m woken by a hand on my shoulder. I jump, my heart slamming against my ribs.
‘It’s me,’ says Jack.
I blink up at him through the soft glow of the table lamp. My stiff muscles flare to life as I sit up. He hugs me; the cold still clings to his skin, his coat. ‘I wanted to come sooner,’ he tells me, ‘but the police asked me to put out an appeal for your safe return.’
Hope beats its wings inside my chest. ‘They don’t suspect you anymore?’
‘Don’t think so. I guess they couldn’t find any evidence. Makes sense since there isn’t any.’
‘Great.’ I get to my feet. ‘I can go home then.’
‘Once I’ve filmed the appeal. It helps my credibility. If they see I’m actively trying to get you back, it should shake them off for good. How’s your arm?’