Try Not to Breathe (11 page)

A few more noises dotted the house. A little way up the street a car door slammed, and a cat shrieked as gears crunched and tires drove away.

Two hours passed, with Alex dry-eyed and sweating. Finally, having braved a trip to the bathroom and finding no harm on the journey, she was able to fall back into a just-below-the-surface slumber.

The morning found Alex red-eyed and agitated. Since her mid-twenties, she’d lost the ability to lie-in and felt a strong pull to the thick black coffee her kitchen offered.

Her bed was dry, but the bedding still smelt bittersweet. Out of habit, Alex stripped it all off and padded downstairs. As she set the coffee machine off with a sigh, something caught her eye.

Her Moleskine notepad was closed. She was sure she’d left it open on the first blank page, weighted by her pen. Now it was tightly shut.

The sudden sound of blood in her temples drowned out clear thought as Alex thundered back up the stairs and into the bathroom, locking the door as quickly as her shaking fingers could manage.

Was she imagining it? It had been a heavy night. Could she have returned to her notes before bed, thumbing through and then closing the notepad tight? It was all possible but it didn’t feel right.

Alex stepped into the scorching shower. Nothing added up, but she was an unreliable witness. Supper was a blur and she definitely didn’t remember going to bed. She couldn’t be sure of anything. Fuck.

As the thick steam and the sharp, citrus zing of the shampoo cleared her sinuses, Alex’s heart rate slowed and she became more sure that she must have been the night crawler. Thinking logically, there really was nothing else to suggest anything undue had happened. The pen could even have rolled out and the notepad snapped closed all by itself.

Leaving her hair wet in the Indian summer heat, Alex threw on knickers, sweatpants and a vest.

Back in the kitchen the coffee was ready, the rich chicory fragrance turning Alex’s delicate stomach almost as much as it comforted her. She needed food and started to make toast when something else caught her eye and made her stop dead, butter knife in hand.

When Alex had inherited the house, she had remodeled the kitchen and the bathroom. She’d stripped the floors herself, painted every inch of wall and replaced the front door. She’d had enough money left to replace the windows at the front of the house and keep a little cash in the kitty.

The back windows were the old sash variety, thick wood with a brass hook and catch. No one could see them from the street so she’d left them as they were, a distant plan to update them at some point.

She never opened her kitchen window. Never. But her kitchen window was open. It was definitely open.

The little garden at the back of Alex’s house had been untouched for years. It was really just a yard, with a few dead sprigs of once-were-plants and a lopsided whirligig dripping with cobwebs.

Still reeling at the window, Alex jumped as the toast popped up, spinning around instinctively. There was no denying it, the window was definitely open. She fumbled in the “stuff drawer” by the sink for the back-door key.

The lock was stiff but once outside she could see that the back gate was shut at least, and the catch was down.

She tiptoed closer, her eyes focused on the bolt. With the laughter of neighbors’ children in the near distance, Alex inched forward. The bolt had clearly been pulled back, a spider’s home broken in the process. But when?

She didn’t dare open the gate but instead yanked the bolt back across and ran straight into her kitchen. She slammed the door, locked it and reached for the wireless phone, unsure who to call.

It didn’t look like anything had been taken. Her laptop was on the sofa, her TV was where it always was and she had precious little jewelry anyway. She ran upstairs to check it, but everything was present and correct, even her engagement and wedding rings lay where they had long lived, in the mirrored box on her nightstand.

She had to get her head together. It was a long time since she’d felt so vulnerable and violated. But nothing had been taken, and she’d not been touched. As far as she remembered.

As she scrabbled for the back page of her Moleskine and that number in thick, black writing, she knew she was making a mistake.

Alex dialed with shaking hands and walked into the kitchen to pour another strong black coffee.

She lifted the mug to her lips just as Matt answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Matt, it’s Alex.”

“I know, your number came up on my screen again. What’s up?”

“Matt, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” she started, her wobbly voice barely more than a whine.

“Oh God, Alex,” Matt hissed. “It’s eight in the morning, what’s wrong with you?”

“No, no I’ve not been drinking, I’m not…I…look, I don’t know what to do, I think someone’s broken into my house.”

She heard a sigh.

“Alex, if you think someone’s broken into your house then you need to call the police. Your local police. They’ll send someone round.”

“No, Matt, you don’t understand, nothing’s been taken. I know they won’t believe me because nothing’s been stolen, but the kitchen window was open and the bolt on the back gate has been moved.”

“Nothing’s been taken?”

“Well, no, but I’d left my notepad open last night and it was closed this morning…” She trailed off.

“Alex, no one has broken into your house. What you’re saying is your back gate’s unlocked, just like most of your neighbors’ back gates are probably unlocked, and your kitchen window isn’t closed. It’s still warm at night, you probably opened the window yourself and forgot.”

Alex was as certain as she could be that she’d not opened her own window, she’d never opened that window, to prevent this precise scenario. She was petrified about forgetting and going to bed with the outside able to get in.

“The police won’t be interested unless you’ve had something stolen or there’s actual evidence that someone’s been in.”

Matt’s measured tone only loosely disguised his annoyance. It was breakfast time at the weekend, he’d probably had to leave his fiancée and step outside of the room, she’d put him in a difficult spot.

“I’m sorry, Matt, I thought you’d understand but—”

“Alex, enough. We’re not married anymore, and I thought you’d finally got to grips with that. I’m not the one you call now. I was very understanding when you asked me to help with this wild-goose chase, I’ve helped you more than I should have because I felt sorry for you. And if I’m honest, I knew that nothing would ever come of it, but—”

“Why not? Why would nothing come of it?” Alex squeaked down the phone.

“Why? Because you haven’t seen anything through in years, Alex. Look at yourself.”

“Matt, there’s no need to be cruel, I just didn’t—”

“Alex,” he hissed. “I thought we’d stopped all this, I hoped you’d sorted yourself out.”

A pause. A breath.

“You drank away your career, you drank away our marriage, you drank away—you know what you drank away—and now it looks like you’ve drank away your fucking sanity. Do yourself a favor and get some help before it’s too late. You have to move on. Like I have.”

“Like you have,” Alex repeated.

She’d just started to apologize, as the phone clicked. He’d gone. Again.

Alex tore out the page with his number on it, screwed it into a ball and ran it under a blast of cold water until it stuck together in a clump. She threw it into the bin with the cold toast, too embarrassed to acknowledge to herself what had just happened, ignoring the chill creeping up her chest.

J
acob knew from the flash in Fiona’s eyes that he was in deep trouble. Not just “forgetting to put the bins out” trouble, but something genuine. At least to her.

He remembered the first time he’d seen that flash. They’d been together for nearly six months, no longer “dating,” just always with each other. Her toothbrush was in his bathroom and her underwear was in his laundry basket. She hadn’t moved in officially, but she had one foot in the door and he liked the way that felt.

Until that point his visits to the hospital had been sporadic, maybe once every couple of months. But the tighter he felt bound to Fiona, the stronger he felt a sense of duty to Amy.

He’d arranged to go to work late one day so he could have a lie-in and then visit the ward for a little longer. He wanted to tell Amy that he had found someone and that he was sorry. Just in case she was in there somewhere, waiting for him. He wasn’t going to drop her, like everyone else had, but he was going to level with her.

Jacob had waited until long after Fiona had left for the print shop, snoozing his alarm and sleeping fitfully. He’d spent the rest of the morning in the ward, sitting with Amy and trying to build up the courage to tell her he had moved on in a way she couldn’t. He’d stared at her face. She was still wired up back then and her body frequently rejected its drip, convulsing with an automatic determination at odds with her passive condition.

As a result Amy had been incredibly thin. Her beauty hidden behind razor blade cheekbones and dark dips under her eyes. He’d held her hand in lieu of her gaze then bottled out. Rather than tell her he was moving on, Jacob had committed to coming back to visit sooner next time—imagining a glimmer of eye movement as he whispered his promises.

When he’d been back at work for a couple of hours, Jacob had realized that he’d forgotten to switch his phone back on. As soon as it sprang to life he found several texts and voicemails. He’d called Fiona straight back but got no response.

That night he saw the flash in her dark eyes for the first time. “Where were you today?” she’d asked.

“I was at work, why?”

“I called and you weren’t there.”

“When, this morning?”

“Yeah.”

Jacob paused for just a split second. The truth, as it stood, was half-finished and did no one any favors.

“I was visiting a client.”

“You said you had loads of paperwork to catch up on.”

“I did, I still do, but I had to go out to Sussex at the last minute, why?”

The fire in her eyes had cooled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m acting like a crazy person.”

That time they’d laughed about it. When it happened again a few months later, again due to a clandestine hospital visit and a number of missed calls, the fire had taken longer to put out. They’d channeled it into bed, not knowing what else to do with the friction.

“I’m sorry, J,” Fiona had said afterward, lying in his nook and staring up at the ceiling. Hair had been stuck to her forehead and clothes lay strewn on the floor.

“Dan was such a fuckwit for this kind of thing. I felt like a real mug when I found out he’d been cheating on me. And it wasn’t just once or twice. I can’t handle the thought of that happening again. That’s not fair on you though, I know you’re not him.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I’m being an idiot. It’s a stupid trap that everyone falls into, isn’t it? Bringing old relationships into new ones.”

He hadn’t said a word.

“Except you,” she’d teased. “Look at me, taming a stud!”

“Oh, Fiona,” he’d laughed.

“You know those girls you
think
were just flings probably didn’t see you that way. You probably broke their hearts.” Fiona’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Oh God, stop. Actually, carry on. No, I mean stop.” He’d smiled.

“You really didn’t have any proper girlfriends at Uni or college?”

“No, not really, just the odd thing that fizzled out.”

“So I’m your first proper girlfriend, really?”

“Yes, for the fifty-millionth time, you’re my first proper girlfriend
since school,
” he’d said.

“School doesn’t count, that’s a fact. So I’m your first proper girlfriend. La, la, la, look at me,” she’d sung. “Your first proper girlfriend. The one you ditched your womanizing ways for.” He’d pulled her into him and kissed her, laughing. “You’re so silly.”

Other times she would ask him about his university affairs, only to stop him the moment he started to cobble a description together.

“Actually, don’t tell me anything. I don’t like thinking of you with other girls.”

“You’re my number one girl,” he’d say, and kiss her with relief.

Jacob hated to see that flash in her eyes, and he’d seen it more and more in pregnancy. He was meticulous about doctor’s appointments, midwife checkups, antenatal classes, ultrasounds and everything else marked in thick pen on the kitchen calendar. He’d never missed a single meeting with his son or daughter.

It wasn’t their wedding anniversary, her birthday or any other important date. Everything had been fine when she’d kissed him good night and gone to bed, but this morning Fiona wouldn’t even meet his gaze.

“Do you have any plans today?” he asked, trying to sound light.

“No.”

“Are you doing anything at lunchtime? Meeting any friends?”

“No.”

“How do you fancy having a nice lunch somewhere, then? Maybe we could drive down to Rye?”

“Why?”

“No, Rye.” He’d smiled, trying to crack her mood, but she had just glared harder.

“Okay, because you’re my wife and I love you and we don’t have much time left for long lunches on our own.”

“Hmn.”

“Okay, Fi, I give up. What’s wrong?”

“Ha!” The snort-come-laugh sent a chill through him; ordinarily she was spilling words when she had a problem.

“What is it? You’re worrying me now.”

“I’m worrying you, am I? I’m worrying you? That’s rich, Jacob, that’s fucking rich.”

“I have no idea what I’ve done, so why don’t you just tell me?”

Fiona sat down heavily, sinking into the oatmeal armchair. Gesturing to her belly, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m nearly eight months pregnant, Jacob, pregnant with
your child,
and I have to pee a lot.”

And with that, the tears came in gulping fat sobs.

Jacob knelt by his wife and gently placed one hand on her shoulder, and one hand on the enormous bump.

“There’s no need to be upset. I know your body’s changing and that must be weird for you, it’s weird for me too, but—”

Fiona brushed his hand from her stomach, lifting a face black with yesterday’s mascara.

“Jacob, you really are stupid sometimes. I’m thirty-five weeks pregnant and I have to pee all day and all bloody night.”

She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve as she staggered to her feet. He reeled back from kneeling, steadying himself with a hand.

“I had to get up and pee in the early hours last night and you weren’t in our bed. I checked downstairs in case you’d fallen asleep on the sofa, but you weren’t there. I checked the whole fucking house, J, and then I checked your car and it was gone.”

She drew a quick breath, hands on hips. “Where the fuck were you?”

“I didn’t know you’d woken up.”

“Where the fuck were you?”

“I was just driving around.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“You’re lying. You think you can just lie to me now and it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s not true. I just drove around for a bit. I wanted to clear my head, I was feeling stressed about stuff, about work, about the baby, I just wanted to get out for a bit.”

“At half-one in the morning?”

“Yes, at half-one in the morning! I thought you were fast asleep, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“So where did you go, then?”

“I just drove around.”

“Where did you drive around?”

“I don’t know really, just around town.”

“So you stayed in Tunbridge Wells, you only drove around Tunbridge Wells?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yes, totally then, I just drove around Tunbridge Wells.”

“Did you stop anywhere?”

“Did I stop anywhere?”

“Stop repeating what I’m saying and answer the flaming question. Did you stop anywhere?”

“No, I didn’t stop anywhere.”

“You didn’t pick up any petrol, or maybe a snack, or maybe another fucking woman?”

Fiona’s body sagged but her eyes were ablaze.

“Oh for God’s sake, Fiona, I just drove around.”

“I give you the benefit of the doubt so much, Jacob, but you’ve just rammed it in my face this time—”

“Jesus Christ, this is so unnecessary! You don’t give me the benefit of the doubt, you interrogate me like you’re doing now. I’d never have gone for a drive if I’d realized the trouble it would cause, I just really needed to get out.”

“Do you know what, Jacob? Fucking snap, that’s what. I just need to get out.”

With a sputter of energy and still wearing her maternity pajamas and slipper boots, Fiona stormed out of the house, snatching her car keys off the hall table as she went. And with a door slam and a shriek of revs she was gone.

Jacob had nowhere to go and nothing to do. He sat on the stairs and stared at the front door. Who was there that he could call, really? University friends he’d spent the three years of his degree avoiding? Marc from work? Barely above an acquaintance.

Jacob thought of his younger brother, Tom, so far away. Who did he call? He’d been popular as a kid, there were usually one or two friends back to play from primary school. Tom usually had a little cluster around him during break times at the grammar. But Jacob didn’t see him for his last years of school and didn’t remember anyone coming to call. All he remembered was the dyed hair and the dark music and a permanently shut bedroom door.

The last time Jacob had seen Tom was the wedding, where he’d been painfully quiet, blending into the background and hovering around their mother.

Did that same shy man have a ferocious social life that kept him from thoughts of home? Was it really just about work? And his other brother, Simon, what did he do in his “down time”?

With a threesome of boys, it was probably to their parents’ credit that no one was piggy in the middle—there were no serious fights. Simon, the spit of his father in so many ways, had also shared his interests and demeanor. They would pair off, playing tennis, running errands or sitting quietly, frowning slightly as they read or watched television. Tom would hover nearby, desperate to join in. Copying expressions he’d heard Simon say, or making up reasons to knock on his bedroom door. But most of the time, Tom and Jacob would be left to bob around together, jostling and playing. They were pals, both young for their years, making dens, wrestling and building LEGO constructions far longer than was credible.

Until Amy came on the scene. Then Jacob would close his door quietly but resolutely if she was over to see him, leaving Tom to his Game Boy and the sound of LEGOs tipping onto the floor. And then afterward. What did Tom do after Amy’s attack, when Jacob retreated even more? When both of his older brothers had abandoned him. Was Tom taken under his father’s wing while Jacob lay alone on his bed, staring into space for those long months? It was a blur, and one he didn’t really want to explore.

Taking his keys from the hall table, Jacob slammed the door on the silent house and opted instead for the loud music and growling engine of his car. With nowhere specific to go, he went where he increasingly headed in spare moments, to the snug red brick terraces of Axminster Road.