The Stranger Within (26 page)

I have only been home for ten minutes when someone raps on the door. I immediately assume it’s a deliveryman, as they are the only people who don’t seem to bother pressing the doorbell.

So when I open the door a fraction and see Rhys standing on the step, my stomach sinks. He is dressed in his school clothes and swings his rucksack in his hand.

Instinctively I start to close the door but he thrusts his arm out to stop me. “Please, Callie, can we talk? Just for a minute.”

              I release my hold on the door but don’t open it any wider. “You shouldn’t be here. Please, just go.”

              He shakes his head. “No. I’ll sit out here until Dillon gets home if you don’t let me in.”

I think of Mrs Simmons, how she is probably watching us at this very second. If I let Rhys in at least I could say he needed to pick up something that he left here, but how could I explain him sitting outside on the doorstep for hours while I am inside? “Five minutes, Rhys. That’s it, okay?”

              He traipses in, his usual bounce conspicuously absent. I have done this to him. I lead him into the lounge rather than the kitchen, so I won’t need to offer him a drink. I want him to leave as quickly as possible.

              He plonks himself onto the sofa and rests his head in his hands. “I thought you might text me.”

“Rhys, it’s better this way. Better if we don’t contact each other.”

              “I’m eighteen in two weeks.”

              “I know.”

              “Doesn’t that make a difference? Any kind of difference?”

              I move towards him but still don’t sit down. “Look, Rhys, I’ve said all this before, it’s not about your age. I love James. He’s my husband.”

              He looks up finally. “But if you love him how could you sleep with me?” He has used this argument before and it highlights his naivety. But I don’t have the time or energy to explain it to him. In time, after a few more girlfriends, he might come to realise how things can be this way.

              It is tempting to tell him it was a mistake. Perhaps I have been too nice about the whole thing. It is true that sometimes cruelty is necessary in order to be kind. “Things aren’t always black and white, Rhys. James and I were…having issues.”

              He looks up at me and his eyes are red but dry. Perhaps he is more angry than upset. “So you used me? Is that it?”

              I wonder if this is true. “No. I really liked you. Like you. It just can’t work. It’s not right.”

              He doesn’t say anything for a moment but shakes his head. “I love you, Callie. I can’t just walk away and forget about us. How can you?”

              I sit then, making sure there is space between us. “Because sometimes we have to do things that hurt. There’s no future for us, Rhys, surely you can see that. I’m a married woman and the stepmother of your best friend. It’s too complicated.”

              “Why do you even care about all that? Dillon hates you anyway. His feelings shouldn’t matter.”

              I think about this for a moment and wonder why I do care. “
Your
feelings matter. Your friendship with him. Women…girls…should never come between you.”

              My words seem to make Rhys even more agitated. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Give us a chance. Please, Callie.”

              “I think you should go now. Just go.” I stand up and head towards the living room door. Within seconds he is behind me, grabbing my arm and forcing me to face him.

              “Callie, will you just meet up with me one more time? If I ever meant anything to you. Just once, that’s all I’m asking. Kind of like a goodbye. Nothing has to happen, we can just talk.” He is desperate now, trying everything he can to delay the end.

              “I don’t –”

              “Please just think about it? That’s all I’m asking.”

              And then I find myself nodding, even though I have no intention of meeting up with him. I only want him to leave.

              “Thank you.” He pulls me towards him and kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair and my cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, leaning into my neck. I pull away before he has a chance to try anything else

And then I look up and my stomach sinks for the second time. Behind him, at the window, Mrs Simmons stares at us, her mouth hanging open.

              “Fuck!” I run out to the hall, leaving Rhys with no explanation, and fling open the front door. Mrs Simmons has already gone. I rush down the path but there is no sign of her. For a second I wonder if I imagined seeing her – isn’t this what happens to Dad? – because it seems impossible she could have got back inside her house so quickly. But then I hear her front door click. This is real. And now I have an even bigger problem.

              Rhys joins me on the path but I push him back inside. “Callie? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

              I can barely speak and my whole body is shaking. “My neighbour…Mrs Simmons…she saw us through the window. She was looking right at us!”

              He frowns. “What? But I didn’t see anyone.”

              “Rhys, I’m not making this up for the hell of it! She was right there at the window. She saw us! You had your back to her.”

              “That’s so weird, why would she do that? But we weren’t doing anything.”

              “You were hugging me! And from that angle it could have looked like more. Just you being here is bad enough! Don’t you get it? She already hates me.”

              “Well, shouldn’t you find out if she
did see anything before you panic?” Rhys says. Only a few seconds ago he was the one in a state, but now it is me who needs calming down. Like Dad. And as I look at him, at the way he manages to remain so relaxed, I know I am on my own with this.

              “I have to go and talk to her. Now. You need to go.” Back in the hall, I fling open the front door again.

              Rhys follows me, lifting his rucksack onto his back. “Callie, you’ll still meet up with me, won’t you? Like you promised?”

              “Just go,” I say, forcing him outside. “Quick.” I haven’t got the space in my head to deal with this right now.

              “Let me know what she says,” he calls as he heads off. Now I am left to clear up this mess, and I have no idea how I will do it.

              I check my watch. It’s nearly half past three so I don’t have long before Dillon and Luke are due home. I grab my keys from the phone table and head next door. Rather than stepping over the flowerbed separating our two gardens, I use the path, just in case she is watching. There is already enough for her to accuse me of so I won’t let ruining her roses be one more thing.

              Rapping on the door, I take a deep breath and wait to see the shape of her head through the glass. Seconds pass. I knock again. Minutes. But still no sign of her. Knocking yet again, I turn to look at the street. All is quiet; not many people on our road are home at this time of day.

              “What do you want? Go away!” I spin around and there she is, concealed behind her half-closed door, shouting.

              “Please, Mrs Simmons, can we talk for a minute?” My words echo Rhys’ earlier; now it is my turn to beg.

              “I’ve got nothing to say to you. I’ll be talking to James as soon as he gets home.” She closes the door but I pound on it. I am desperate now.

              “Please. Just for one minute. Let me explain. Please, Mrs Simmons. The boys will be home soon.” I don’t know why I say this. Perhaps I am trying to appeal to her humane side; surely she won’t want Dillon and Luke to come home to find me banging on her door.

              It works. She slowly opens the door, her head peering around the narrow crack. “You are a worse person than I imagined. I just don’t know what to say to you.” There is disgust in her eyes.

              “Can I come inside for a minute? Or you come next door? I can explain everything.”

              She doesn’t move and for a moment I think she will slam the door in my face, just like I tried to do to Rhys earlier. Like I should have done. But then she opens it wider. “I know what I saw.”

              Anger wells inside me; she shouldn’t have been standing in my garden, staring through my window, invading my privacy.
You nosy, senile bitch. Always interfering.
The words nearly escape before I remind myself it’s better to try and put this right peacefully.

I edge forward. “No, you’ve got it all wrong,” I say.

She turns around and I waste no time stepping into the hall and closing her door behind me. It would not be good for anyone else to hear this conversation. Mrs Simmons shuffles into the kitchen and I follow her, grateful she isn’t screaming at me to leave.

Without inviting me to sit down, she eases herself into a chair and rests an elbow on the table, shaking her head. She can barely look at me. Being here reminds me of Rhys but I try to shake off the memory of what we did in this house.

I am about to deliver my latest lie but Mrs Simmons speaks first. “You’re disgusting. That was a
boy.
I’m calling the police.”

I try to stay calm. “Mrs Simmons, that was Dillon’s friend, Rhys. You must have seen him around?” She doesn’t say anything so I continue. “He’s eighteen, by the way. He just came over to wait for Dillon, but then he got upset – something about his parents – and had to leave.”

“Stop!” Her voice is a shriek and takes me by surprise. “Just don’t say another word.” Her mouth begins to tremble and despite how much I detest her, I actually feel sorry for her. She won’t be able to express half the anger she feels because it will take too much of her energy. “I saw you. You were kissing. I saw clearly. Don’t try and lie. Like you lied about hitting Luke with the car. You’re…” She gasps for breath and I can see she is trembling.

“Mrs Simmons, please calm down. Don’t get worked up, it’s not good for –”

“Don’t you dare pretend you care about my wellbeing. You only care about yourself. I don’t want you in my house!” She tries to push herself up but her arms, weak from shaking, can’t support her weight and she drops back onto the chair.

I watch her for a moment, a jumble of thoughts whirring through my head. This was inevitable, wasn’t it? I had to get caught eventually. The irony is that things with Rhys are over and nothing was going on when she found us. And looking at her now, how much frailer she seems to have become in the last few minutes, I feel as if I will suffocate. And then I am crying. Not out of sympathy, or to manipulate her, but because it is all too much. My chest heaves and I can’t control the flood, but neither can I look at her. She will only tell me my tears aren’t real.

She stays silent, her breathing slower now, as if her anxiety has transferred directly to me, and lets me cry for what seems like ages. And finally, when I am drained, she opens her mouth to speak.

“What have you done?” she says. Her voice is not angry, but wary.

I give no thought to what I say next. I have no control. The words want to come out, to release themselves, and so I let them. I am numb again, living in the second, much as I was during every moment with Rhys.

“You’ve been right about me all along. I’m a terrible mother. I don’t deserve James or the boys.”

When I look up I expect to see satisfaction on her face. Pleasure that she has won. But there is only disappointment. And then something else. Hatred.

“I have no words for what you are,” she says, her voice stronger now. “All I know is this. Out of respect for James, I’m giving you until tomorrow evening to tell him everything or I’ll do it myself. And either way, I think we both know what that means for your marriage. Now get out of my house or I will call the police.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It is three a.m. and once again I haven’t slept. Beside me, James mumbles something indecipherable in his sleep. My mind replays everything that happened yesterday, repeating the events over and over. How I was walking down Mrs Simmons’ front path when the boys suddenly appeared. How Dillon eyed me suspiciously but didn’t say a word. And how I sat down to a late dinner with James and kept my mouth shut. There was no way I could utter those words of betrayal. The act was bad enough, but speaking it out loud is unthinkable.

              There is always another way.

              I receive a text from Rhys – he too is clearly suffering from insomnia – and I have no choice but to reply. I need him on my side to back up my story that Mrs Simmons has got it wrong. If it comes to that.

              He asks me what she said and I reply briefly.
It’s fine. I convinced her there was nothing going on.
He questions me more after this but I ignore his pleas for answers, hoping he’ll assume I have fallen asleep.

              It is muggy in our bedroom tonight, despite the open window, and I pull the duvet lower so that it only covers my knees, but it makes no difference. I will not sleep tonight. Three a.m. is a strange hour. A dead hour. It is neither last night nor this morning, just a no-man’s land of loneliness.