My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller (26 page)

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The kid didn’t just randomly go wandering out of that flat. He left the flat because he went looking for his mother.’

‘That’s not possible.’ This must be some kind of cruel prank or trick.

‘Jenny saw it all. She was there that day because she’d heard a place might be coming up for rent. She’d gone to have a scout around, but she approached the building the wrong way, through the back entrance. She’s on her way in and she passes a woman, arguing with some bloke. It was a hot day and he didn’t have his shirt on. She said he had a tattoo. A tree. Covered his whole back.’

Danny. Jason said Vicky had broken things off with him that morning. That afterwards he’d kept calling her all day, that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

‘Jenny carries on into the building. She climbs the stairs for a bit of a look around and then this little boy appears. He’s crying. He wants his mummy.’

The room seemed to reel and turn. No wonder Vicky wanted to come clean, no wonder she was so racked with guilt.

Why would Jason know any of this? He wasn’t there. What’s to say Vicky didn’t lie to him, what’s to say he doesn’t know any better? But even as I defended him, a part of me knew this wasn’t true. I thought of Jason’s earlier hesitancy, the way he seemed to weigh up what he was or wasn’t willing to share. The things he’d finally agreed to relinquish didn’t marry up with Vicky’s level of distress, with her desire to confess.

Somehow forcing all of this down, I turned to Tommy with a smile. Whatever Jason did or didn’t know about what actually happened that day, his son was alive and well and sitting here, only a few feet away. He was my priority now, this child. I had to get him away to safety.

Leaning forward, I kissed Tommy, pressing my face so hard against his that his beard chafed and scraped against my chin and cheeks. He’d invited me here because he believed his feelings for me were reciprocated. For this to work I had to maintain that illusion. His lips were dry, his tongue furred with alcohol. Still I opened my mouth wide, bringing him into me. Then, breaking away briefly to check the boy was still glued to the television, I reached for his crotch. He was hard. I began stroking him through his jeans. He moaned and so I kept going, bringing him on, judging his breathing, and as soon as I could tell he was close, I withdrew.

His eyes snapped open.

‘Don’t tease,’ he said, this voice thick with drink and desire.

‘What about Mikey?’ I said nodding at the boy.

Tommy’s eyes roamed and blinked as he struggled to locate him in the room.

‘I want you,’ I whispered, massaging his thigh, ‘but not with him here.’ I moved away, back against the cushions. ‘We’ll wait till later, when he’s gone to sleep.’

My trap set, I studied my nails, praying for him take the bait. He said nothing and as the seconds ticked, I started to panic. If this didn’t work then I was out of ideas. But then, just when I’d given up all hope, he cleared his throat and looked towards the TV.

‘Mikey!’ he shouted.

Reluctantly, the boy turned away from the cartoon.

‘I need to have a private conversation with Heidi. Can you do what you did before and wait in the bathroom? You were so good last time, so quiet,’ said Tommy. ‘Like a little mouse.’

Mikey smiled, unable to resist the praise, but then his gaze was drawn back to the screen.

‘But I’m watching
Power Rangers
.’

‘You can take your iPod Touch with you.’

‘Okaaayyy,’ he relented.

As soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut, I went over to the bed and lay down. I’d managed to get the boy as close to the exit as possible and now it was time for the next part of my plan: making Tommy drop his guard. I beckoned him towards me and he did as I asked, a little unsteady on his feet.

I tried not to think about the line I was about to cross. To go through with this I had to remain numb. If I were to let myself consider the consequences of what I was about to do for even one second, I would falter and to falter would be to fail.

He was too drunk to unbutton my blouse and so, after groping at my breasts, he turned me onto my front. I got up on all fours and, before long, I heard my tights rip and felt him pushing my skirt up around my waist.

There was the jangle of his belt buckle as he undid his jeans and then a slight dip in the mattress as he knelt behind me. Leaving my knickers in place, he placed a single finger against my gusset. Applying the tiniest pressure, he waited until he felt the cotton blot and then, very slowly, he inched it to the right. Finding the gap between the fabric and my skin he slipped his finger inside and held it there. Testing, teasing. Making me ask for it.

I held out for as long as I could and then, closing my eyes, I stretched my arms out towards the headboard and pushed back towards him, like a drowning woman reaching for shore.

Once he was done, he collapsed and we both lay there, panting. Unable to move from underneath the weight of his body, my face stayed pressed into the duvet, my ribcage crushed into the mattress. He took a few seconds to recover himself and then, after kissing the back of my neck, he rolled off onto the bed next to me.

I turned my head towards the exit, trying to plan an escape. If I could move to the edge of the bed, I might be able to get up under the pretence of wanting to put my clothes straight. Then, if that worked, I could run the three steps to the bathroom, open the door, grab the boy’s hand and pull him out to the hotel corridor.

I flattened my palms onto the quilt and tensed my shoulders. I’d yet to hear his belt buckle clink, which meant his boxer shorts and jeans were still tangled somewhere round his ankles. Hopefully, when he tried to make chase, this would slow him down considerably.

I was about to push myself upright when I felt Tommy’s arm snaking across my back. Hooking his hand around my hip, he spooned me towards him and nuzzled his face into my shoulder. I froze. But then he began making a peculiar, high-pitched whistling noise. I turned to look at him. He was snoring, his face slack with sleep. This was my chance. I waited for a few minutes and then, desperate not to wake him, I slid out from under his arm and eased myself off the bed. Pulling up my tights and pushing down my skirt, I was about to go to the bathroom when I remembered my phone. It would be useful.

Stretching my hand underneath the cabinet, I patted the carpet until my fingers brushed up against its smooth, rounded corners. Sliding it and the rest of my things into my handbag, after one last look at Tommy I crept over to the bathroom and opened the door.

Barney was sitting on the floor. I put my finger to my lips and came inside.

‘Tommy is tired and so he’s decided to have a nap,’ I whispered, bolting the lock behind me. ‘He said that while he’s asleep he wants me to take you to the shops and get you a toy. He said you deserve a special treat.’

Barney’s face lit up.

‘He did?’

‘Yep.’ I beckoned him forward. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

He got to his feet and was about to come towards me when he seemed to think better of it.

‘I don’t know. Tommy said it was important we stay in the hotel room until Mum gets here. He said I wasn’t even allowed to play in the corridor.’

‘He must have changed his mind,’ I said, lunging for his arm. I had no time for this. Tommy could wake at any moment. But I wasn’t quick enough for him. Ducking his shoulder down and away from my grasping hands, he jumped backwards, towards the loo, and crossed his arms.

‘No, thank you very much,’ he said, lowering his eyes. ‘I’m going to stay put.’

I lunged again and again he dodged away, my fingertips skimming the edge of his sleeve. Frustrated, I raised my palm to my forehead and, thinking I was going for him, he recoiled into the farthest corner of the bathroom.

Trying to signal that I’d meant him no harm, I held up my hands in surrender. But it was too late. He appraised me warily.

I thought of Tommy, asleep on the bed. How much longer before he rattled the handle on the bathroom door and shouted curses through the wood? I knew I had to make a run for it, and soon, but there was no way I was leaving without Barney.

Cutting through the panic clogging my brain, I assessed my options. Dragging him out against his will was going to be physically impossible. That meant I needed to get him to come of his own volition. I was trying to figure out how I might go about achieving this when I felt some of Tommy’s wetness seep out of me and onto my knickers.

The morning’s bran flakes rose in my throat, the milk rancid on my tongue. Trying not to vomit, I took some short shallow breaths and reached in my bag for Lauren’s compass. The second my fingers made contact with the solid metal disc my nausea began to subside. Rubbing my thumb over its thistle engraving, I popped the catch and, after opening the lid a fraction, I clicked it back shut. And then I did it again and again, the action helping to calm my jumbled thoughts. Feeling better, I was about to return it to my bag when I realised Barney was looking at me curiously. Moving slowly, so as not to startle him, I re-popped the pull-fit catch and this time I tilted the dial towards him. He watched the needle pivot on its axis, his eyes wide.

‘Ever seen one of these before?’

Nothing.

‘Would you like to hold it?’ I offered it out to him.

Twitchy with indecision, he looked from me to the compass, torn between fascination and instinct: to keep safe in the corner or to come forward for a better look?

‘It’s very old,’ I said, clicking the lid shut. ‘A hundred years ago it belonged to a sea captain.’ I twirled the small loop handle, demonstrating its ratchet-and-pawl burr. I used to tell this same story to Lauren. ‘He used it to help escape from pirates who wanted to steal his gold and whenever he got lost it would help him to find his way home.’

Uncrossing his arms, he took a few, tentative steps over to where I stood. Again, I offered it out to him. Worried this was some kind of trick, he leant forward, taking care not to get too close, and snatched it from me. Weighing it in his hand, he ran his fingers over the smooth diameter, relishing the tiny components.

‘You can have it, if you want,’ I said as he waved it around, astonished at the needle’s ability to keep pointing in the same direction.

The compass still held aloft, he stopped and looked at me, disbelieving.

‘Do you want it?’

He tipped his head, his eyes greedy.

‘OK then,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s yours to keep.’ He grasped the compass to his chest and gave his hips an excited, victory wiggle. ‘There’s just one condition. You have to come with me, now.’

‘But Tommy –’

‘Never mind that,’ I said, trying to keep him focused on the prize in hand. ‘Do you want it or not?’

He traced his finger around the edge of the glass dial. I held my breath. If this didn’t work then I was out of ideas. Keeping his gaze fixed on the compass, he gave a single nod.

‘Good,’ I said, fighting the urge to snatch it back. The compass belonged to Lauren, not Barney. I told myself I’d get it from him later, once we were safe. Herding him over to the door, I dropped my voice to a murmur.

‘We don’t want to disturb Tommy, so we need to be quiet,’ I said, bracing myself to go back into the bedroom.

Blood roaring in my ears, I curled my fingers around the handle, opened the door and peered round the corner. Tommy was still passed out on the bed where I’d left him, his penis flaccid against his thigh.

Guiding Barney out of the bathroom and over towards the main door, I pressed down on the handle and was about to usher him over the threshold when I saw him draw back his finger, ready to spin the handle on top of the compass. I tried to stop him, but I wasn’t fast enough and soon the air was filled with its clicking, metallic whir. Immediately, Tommy’s snore stuttered. I kept going, hoping we’d got away with it. But then he coughed. He was waking up. There was no time to waste.

Shoving Barney into the corridor, I grabbed his hand and ran.

‘Help!’ I shouted, hammering every hotel room door we passed. ‘Please, somebody, help us!’

With an increasingly confused Barney at my side, we were halfway down the corridor when one of the first doors I’d banged on opened and a man squinted out.

‘Thank God,’ I said, dragging Barney back towards it.

I went to go inside, but the man put out his arm, blocking my way. I looked past him, into the hotel room. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. I could make out a group of men sitting on chairs, a TV blaring in the corner. One of the men had his back to me. Wearing a striped black-and-white football shirt, he was leaning back against his chair, his hands interlaced behind his head. Gold sovereign rings covered his fingers. The action had made his football shirt rise up. I lowered my gaze to the flabby midriff, bulging out and over the back of the man’s jeans. Keith.

Barney seemed to clock him at the same time. He smiled and went to take a step forward.

‘Wrong room,’ I said, grabbing Barney’s arm and dragging him away before he could alert Keith to our presence.

‘Wait,’ he said trying to go back the way we came. ‘I want to show Keith my new compass.’

I held his arm firm and continued on down the corridor, looking back to make sure we weren’t being followed. The bloke who had answered the door was standing there watching us go, more bemused than concerned. Good. He hadn’t recognised Barney. Still, as soon as he relayed the source of the disruption to the others in the room, Keith might smell a rat. If that happened, he might try and make pursuit.

Ahead, I saw a sign for the fire exit. Ignoring Barney’s protestations, I kept guiding us forward. There was still no sign of Tommy, but as soon as he came round he’d come looking, and when that happened I didn’t want us to be waiting for the lift. The fire doors would take us down the stairs and, hopefully, out to someone I could ask for help.

We rounded the corner and were almost at the fire exit when I saw the chain. Illegally looped around the handles of the push-bar doors, it was held together with a small padlock.

I tried pushing on the doors anyway. If I could get them to open even a little then we might be able to squeeze through the gap. But it was no good. The chain held. We’d have to retrace our steps past Keith and Tommy’s rooms.

Barney stood back, watching my progress with mild curiosity. He seemed to find me amusing, if not a little eccentric. But now, as I faltered, he seemed to tire of my bizarre attempts to leave the hotel. Slumping against the wall, he retrieved the compass from his pocket, opened it up and began to waggle it around in the air.

I decided to check the coast was clear and then make a run for it, but when I peered round the corner I instantly recoiled.

Tommy.

Buckling his belt, he was moving towards the lift at the opposite end of the corridor. He was alone. My lungs seemed to squeeze and twist against my ribs. I could not let him find us here. I’d tried to steal Barney back. Now he knew where my true loyalties lay, he’d need to be sure of my silence.

I put my head up close to the wall and inched forward as far as I dared. Tommy was now stood by the lift. He reached for the call button and kept his finger there, pressing it over and over while he muttered curses about my betrayal under his breath.

On the off-chance that we might find somewhere close to wait things out, I began pushing handles on the three rooms that populated this small area of the corridor. But they were all locked. I checked back on Tommy. He was still waiting for the lift and had started to scan the nearby area.

I reappraised our options. It was through this fire exit or nothing.

I looked around for something – a fire extinguisher, a removable light fitting – anything I could use to break the padlock. But the corridor was empty, the lights all grimy halogen bulbs fitted into the yellowing ceiling. There was an old metal
NO SMOKING
sign fixed on the wall. Flat and thin, there wasn’t much to it, but right now I was willing to try anything. It was up high, just out of my reach; I jumped up and tried to dislodge it from the wall with my hand. My fingers brushed against its corner. I tried again, this time hooking my nails underneath its bottom edge, but it was stuck firm and, as I came back down to earth, I went over on my heels and fell onto my side.

Barney took a step back, uncertain but also intrigued as to what I might do next. I smiled and pulled a face, trying to make out that this was all a bizarre game. Picking myself up, I went to put my shoes back on and try again. But looking at my feet, I stopped. My stilettos. I’d worn the ones with the metal heels.

Kneeling in close to the door, I gripped the suede, upper lining part of the shoe, lifted it high in the air and bashed the heel hard onto the padlock. Moving in close to examine my handiwork, I saw I’d managed to chip some black paint away from the padlock’s metal face but nothing more. Undeterred, I brought the heel down again and this time I tried to direct the spike into the keyhole. And then I hit it again and again, with as much force as I could. Stopping to check my progress, I saw that it was starting to weaken. Emboldened, I gave it one last bash and the heel broke off the shoe, taking the lock with it. The chain slid to the floor with a clunk. Panting with the effort, I got to my feet and checked on Barney. Pressed flat against the wall, mouth agape, he couldn’t decide whether to be scared or impressed. I pushed down on the door’s metal bar. It opened to reveal a stairwell.

‘Come on,’ I said, not that much taller than him in my stockinged feet. My broken heels were now useless. ‘First one to the bottom gets a Mars Bar.’

And then we were running, taking the steps two at a time, the lights in Barney’s trainers flashing red the whole way.