‘I’ll be okay in a minute,’ I murmur, a sob catching in my throat.
‘I’m calling the doctor. You’re exhausted. Stressed.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ I try to sniff back my tears. ‘I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.’ But I’m not fine. I’m a shuddering wreck.
‘Kirstie.’ He crouches down in front of me. ‘I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment, okay? If I call the surgery as soon as they open, I’ll probably be able get you an appointment for today. You can tell them that you’re not sleeping and that you’re anxious.’
‘Don’t forget paranoid and deluded,’ I add.
He tuts. ‘I don’t think that at all. Maybe she’ll give you something to help you sleep, then you won’t feel so bad during the day.’
‘Do you really think I need to see a doctor?’
‘I don’t think it can hurt.’
‘What if I don’t want to go?’ I get to my feet once more and glare out of the bedroom window, not seeing anything.
‘Well, obviously you don’t have to go.’ Dom comes and stands by my side. ‘But honestly, Kirst, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’
I whip around to face him. ‘You don’t know how much you can…’ I trail off and shake my head.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong,’ he says, hunching his shoulders. ‘I just meant we’re both under a lot of strain with everything. And you have to admit, you haven’t been acting like yourself these past few days.’
‘That’s because there’s someone out there who’s… Oh, forget it.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Someone out there who’s what?’
‘Trying to take Daisy,’ I whisper.
‘Do you really believe that, Kirstie?’
‘Um, let’s see: the baby monitor, the flower bed, the spilt paint, the person out in the fields at night, your car being keyed, Martin’s basement, that threatening phone call… Isn’t that enough to make any parent worried for their child?’
‘I’ll admit, the phone call was odd. But honestly the other things could just be kids mucking around, or coincidences. And the fact is, Kirst, no one has actually tried to take Daisy.’
‘Fine,’ I snap, fed up with trying to justify myself. ‘Whatever. I’ll go.’
‘You’ll go? To the doctor’s? Today?’ I hear the lift in his voice and it makes me want to scream.
‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’
He puts an arm around me and kisses the side of my head as I grit my teeth. It’s all I can do not to push him away. I’m starting to feel like I don’t know my husband any more.
* * *
‘Hello, Mrs Rawlings,’ Dr Sloane says. ‘Please take a seat.’
I do as she asks and sit on the plastic chair opposite her own, a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. The room has been arranged so that there is no barrier between us. Instead, the cherry-wood veneer desk is pushed up against the wall beside her.
‘How are you today?’ she asks.
‘I’m okay,’ I say automatically, before correcting myself. ‘Actually, no, I’m not okay, but I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with.’ I bite my lip trying to stop myself from crying. What the hell is wrong with me?
‘What’s the problem?’ she gives an encouraging smile, her tired brown eyes filled with compassion, something I didn’t expect.
‘I’ve been having trouble sleeping,’ I say, my hands resting in my lap.
‘Your daughter is six months old, right? Is she keeping you up at night?’
I glance across at Daisy, who is currently asleep in her pram by my side. ‘No, she’s good as gold – sleeps through till five thirty most nights. Then goes straight back down for another few hours.’
‘That’s good to hear. So what else is keeping you awake, do you think?’
I consider the question, trying to work out how to explain the turmoil in my brain. ‘Recently, I always seem to be worrying about everything. My mind won’t switch off at night or even during the day.’
‘And what are you worried about?’
I tell her about the voices I heard in the monitor, about the flower bed and the spilt paint, and also about the threatening phone call. ‘And ever since I heard those voices, I’m scared that whoever it was might come back and snatch Daisy.’ I don’t mention Martin and his basement – it sounds too ‘out there’. I don’t want to give her any reason to doubt my sanity. I just need help sleeping at night. ‘So, you see, it’s not really a medical issue. It’s more that I’m worrying about the safety of my child.’
‘I see.’ Dr Sloane leans over to her desk and begins tapping at her computer keyboard. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a few quite traumatic experiences.’
‘And I seem to be on the verge of crying all the time. It’s not like me,’ I add.
‘Anything else out of the ordinary?’
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘Okay.’ She carries on typing.
‘I also… I also think I might have a bit of OCD,’ I blurt out, surprising myself that I’ve actually admitted to my compulsive checking. I think deep down I knew what it was, but I hadn’t said the word out loud until now.
‘Obsessive compulsive disorder?’ She stops typing for a moment and turns back to face me. ‘What makes you think you have that?’
‘I keep checking the locks on the doors and windows. To make sure no one can get in the house. But even after I’ve checked them, I worry that I’ve missed one, and so I have to start checking them all over again. I feel itchy and antsy if I can’t check them again.’ An image of Martin pops into my head and I suppress a shudder.
‘I see. Kirstie – do you mind if I call you Kirstie?’
‘Sure, that’s fine.’
‘Have you had any difficulty bonding with Daisy at all?’ she asks.
I’m surprised by her question. ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Not at all. Quite the opposite. I had three miscarriages before having Daisy, so when she came along I could hardly believe it. I love my daughter so much. I’m terrified of anything happening to her.’ I glance over at the pram again. ‘Maybe that’s why I’m always checking the house is secure. Maybe it’s not OCD. Maybe it’s just me being over-protective.’
‘You said you heard voices in the baby monitor,’ Dr Sloane says. ‘Was that an isolated incident, or have you heard any other voices?’
‘I’m not crazy, if that’s what you think.’ I give a nervous laugh. ‘I googled it and apparently it’s pretty common for older monitors to pick up other signals.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you were crazy,’ Dr Sloane says with a smile. ‘We just have to rule these things out. Hearing things can be indicative of certain conditions.’
Yeah, it can be indicative of being crazy.
A car pulls up outside the doctor’s window and a nurse gets out. She calls to someone out of my view and waves to them, a beaming smile across her face. She looks so young and happy and carefree that I experience an unexpected pang of envy.
‘What about friends and family?’ Dr Sloane asks. ‘Do you have support at home?’
‘I’ve got my husband.’ Well, I’ve got him when he’s actually at home and not flying out the door to go training every spare moment. ‘He was the one who suggested I come and see you today. But he does work long hours. He’s training for this triathlon at the moment so he’s out most weekends…’
She purses her lips. ‘Do you have any other supportive family close by? Parents? Siblings?’
‘Yeah. My mum and dad live in Wimborne – they’re always happy to help out.’ Unless they’ve got their friends round for lunch. But I know that’s not fair. They’d be round like a shot it they were free. I don’t call on them as much as I should. And I’ve barely spoken to them since all this baby-monitor business started.
‘It sounds to me like you’re an overtired mum who’s had a lot on her plate recently,’ she says.
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That’s exactly what I told my
husband.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she says with a reassuring smile. ‘Fatigue and anxiousness is all part and parcel of being a new mum. And there’s a lot you can do to help combat it. Do you exercise at all?’
‘Um, not really.’
‘Well, as a minimum, I recommend going out for a brisk walk every day. Running would be better – something to release those endorphins. The exercise and fresh air will also help you sleep. Meditation is also good, along with a healthy diet and no alcohol, especially if you’re breastfeeding. It will take time, but if you follow my advice, things should gradually improve, you’ll see. Book in an appointment to see me again in a few weeks’ time. And there are some leaflets on the side about mother and baby groups, you might find going to one of those gives you some routine to your day.’ She gets to her feet to signal that our consultation is over. ‘So, remember: exercise, meditation, healthy eating and no alcohol. Make another appointment to see me in one month, and we’ll see how you’re getting on.’
* * *
At 5 p.m. I’m standing behind the sofa staring through the lounge window, waiting for Dom to get home. He said he would leave work at four thirty today, so surely he should be home by now. Daisy is upstairs napping. She’s likely to wake up any minute so I have an ear out, listening for her cry.
I went to the doctor’s like Dom asked, but I don’t feel any different at all. I’m still exhausted and worried, and I still have to keep checking the doors and windows. I keep in mind Dr Sloane’s advice, but I already feel as though my insides are cracking, like I can’t quite keep myself intact. I wonder if I should have asked her for some medication for my nerves.
My heart gives a little leap as I see Dom’s car pull into our road. I’m looking forward to telling him about my trip to the doctor. Telling him that there’s actually nothing wrong with me other than overtiredness. But instead of driving straight ahead towards our house, Dom veers away. Where is he off to? I turn away from the window and think about sneaking outside to see. Instead, I jog upstairs to look out of our bedroom window. I can get a good view of most of the cul-de-sac from up there. I have the uneasy feeling I might know where he’s going.
Twenty-Three
I peer out past the Parkfields’ house to the Cliffords’ place. Sure enough, Dom’s car is parked right outside their house. Has he gone over there to hang out with Jimmy? Dom is getting out of his car, walking down their driveway and up to the front door. I watch as he rings the bell. The door is answered seconds later and I catch a glimpse of Rosa’s long, dark hair and her tanned legs. My husband follows her inside.
My heart beats erratically as all kinds of thoughts flash through my mind. Thoughts I would rather not be having. Jimmy’s California isn’t parked in their drive – only Rosa’s cream Beetle. He’s in there alone with Rosa. Should I go over there? Confront them? But what if it really is something completely innocent, and I end up making a total idiot of myself? I’ll wait a while, see how long he spends in her house. Am I a fool for waiting, or a fool for worrying about it?
While I stare at the Cliffords’ place, wishing I could see through walls, a movement from next door catches my eye. A boy. He stumbles out of the Parkfields’ front door, trips and falls to the ground. Not a boy, it’s Callum Carson. Behind him, Stephen Parkfield strides out of the house, shoulders back, chest puffed out, his face scarlet with rage. He’s yelling something, but I can’t make out the words through the double glazing. I turn the key in the window lock and edge it open slightly. A warm breeze floods my nostrils, heavy with the scent of burnt grass and honeysuckle.
‘I told you before,’ Parkfield’s nasal tones fly upwards, now clear as a bell, ‘come round here again and you’ll be sorry.’ He’s standing above Callum and I wonder if he’s about to hit him. Just then, another figure comes striding up their driveway – a man, but I can’t make out who it is. He bends down and helps Callum to his feet. Callum scowls and shakes the man off. The man looks up and I step back, but not before he catches my eye. It’s the builder, Rob Carson, Callum’s father. I feel embarrassed that he’s caught me spying, but it wasn’t done on purpose – I was trying to spy on my husband, not on my neighbours.
I peer back around the curtains to see Carson squaring up to Parkfield, whose body still quivers with anger.
‘Tell your son to stay off my property and away from my daughter,’ Parkfield cries.
‘Did you push him?’ Rob growls at Parkfield. He tries to put an arm around his son, but Callum shrugs him off again. ‘Did he push you, Cal?’
‘No. Leave it, Dad.’ Callum strides away up the path and heads back towards the building site.
Carson jabs Parkfield in the chest with his forefinger, but I don’t hear what he says. I just see Parkfield’s face turn white. He takes a step backwards, then turns and heads back into his house, slamming the door behind him. Carson shakes his head and stares at the ground for a moment. He looks up and catches my eye once more, giving me a long, cool look. I squirm, but I don’t duck out of sight this time, as that would be even more embarrassing. Finally, Carson turns away and leaves.
The incident must be to do with the crush Callum has on Hannah Slater. I wonder what she’s been doing while all this has been going on. Maybe she’s upstairs watching out of a bedroom window too. She’s always been a troublemaker, but I do feel a little sorry for her. It must be hard if your parents don’t approve of your friends. I was lucky – my parents always loved Dom. But then they’ve known him since he was young. Parkfield is such a snob, probably judging Callum because he’s left school.
My eyes stray once again to the Cliffords’ house. Still no sign of Dom, his car still parked outside their house. Surely, if my husband was up to no good, he wouldn’t leave his car in plain sight for everyone to see. As I lock the window, a short cry comes from the room next door. My daughter is awake.
I bring Daisy downstairs into the lounge, trying to decide how long I should leave it before marching over to number two and demanding to know just what it is my husband is doing over there. But, just as I’m gathering up my courage, I hear a key in the lock and the sound of the front door opening.
‘Hey! I’m home!’
‘In here,’ I call out, my nerves jangling.
Dom pushes open the lounge door and gives Daisy a huge grin. ‘Missed you today. How are my two favourite girls?’ He loosens his tie and opens the top button of his shirt as he comes over to give us a kiss. He’s obviously being overly nice because he made me go to the doctor’s.
‘We’re okay.’ I decide not to question him straight away. I’ll give him the opportunity to volunteer the information himself. ‘How was work?’
‘Work was fine. Have you seen my white sunglasses? The ones I use for cycling? They’re not in the car or on the hall table.’
I think for a couple of seconds. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘Sure you haven’t tidied them away somewhere?’
‘I’ll have a look in a bit.’
‘Thanks. How did you get on at the doctor’s?’ He takes Daisy from me and she giggles as he pulls a funny face for her.
‘It was okay.’ I sit on the sofa and pull a cushion onto my lap. ‘She said it’s nothing more than overtiredness.’
Dom stops gurning at Daisy and stares at me. ‘Overtiredness? Is that all?’
‘She said it’s quite normal after having a baby.’
‘Did you tell her everything?’ He comes and sits by me with Daisy on his lap. ‘About the not sleeping and the anxiety? Did you tell about checking the locks and—’
‘Yes, I told her all that,’ I snap.
‘So what did she say? Did she give you any advice?’
I give a shrug. ‘Apparently I’ve got to exercise and meditate.’
‘Right.’ He doesn’t sound too happy.
‘I’ve got to go back next month.’
‘Well that’s good,’ he says, trying to keep Daisy from flinging herself off his lap. ‘At least they can check your progress.??
?
‘Progress? It was a waste of time, Dom. My sleeplessness and anxiety are not about my health, they’re to do with the baby-monitor thing and the awful phone call I got. And Martin.’
‘I know it’s hard, but you should try and put all that stuff behind you. Concentrate on looking after yourself now. Do what the doctor said and get some exercise, find a meditation class.’
I give a murmur of assent, but when will I get time to do any of that with a baby to look after? And I honestly don’t think I’ll feel better until I know exactly what it is that Martin is hiding in his basement. A few half-formed ideas flit through my brain, but I’ll think about them later. Right now, I want Dom to tell me what he was doing at Rosa’s place.
‘Anything interesting happen today?’ I ask.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’ Dom places Daisy on the floor in her play ring then comes back to sit by me. ‘She’s such a little wriggler.’
‘I know, she’ll be on the move soon.’
‘Yeah, then you won’t have time to think about anything.’
‘Thanks for coming home early,’ I say, trying to steer the conversation back to what he was doing earlier. ‘How was the traffic?’
‘Fine.’
‘You were a bit later than you said you’d be, so I thought it must have been busy.’
‘No, traffic was fine. It just took longer than usual to finish up in the office.’
This is hopeless, he’s obviously not going to tell me, and I’m not going to torture myself for the rest of the evening wondering. ‘Was that you coming out of Jimmy and Rosa’s place earlier?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
I’m pretty sure he frowns for an instant. ‘Oh, yeah. Jimmy just asked if I could help him move a piece of furniture.’
‘How is he? Jimmy?’
‘Yeah, he’s good. Looking forward to the barbie next week.’
‘So he was there today, was he?’
‘Yeah, I just said, I helped him move some furniture.’
I want to ask Dom what piece of furniture he was moving, and why Jimmy’s van wasn’t parked outside their house. I want to know when Jimmy asked for Dom’s help, because I saw Dom drive straight over to the Cliffords’ house, so he couldn’t have just asked him – it must have been arranged beforehand. But I can’t think of a way to ask my husband without it sounding like I don’t believe him. And right at this moment, I don’t.