I Know Your Secret - Ruth Heald Page 0,55

clients. I think he’s coming down with flu, he’s so lethargic. I’m glad to have spent the day just holding him, watching children’s TV and switching my mind off. Thankfully he managed a few bites of dinner, and now he’s back on the sofa with me. The cold’s locked outside the window, Charlie’s still in his dressing gown, and the warmth of his little body comforts me as much as my cuddles comfort him.

I feel run-down and defeated. Run-down by looking after Charlie by myself most of the time, plus all the extra marketing in my attempt to attract new clients. And defeated by Richard, and Danielle, and the fact that I’ll have to move out soon. I’m fighting as hard as I can against my circumstances, but I can’t seem to keep my head above water.

I run my fingers through Charlie’s curly hair. I think about the bruises on his arm. No matter how many times I ask him about them he clams up, becomes irritable and refuses my hugs. He hasn’t seemed himself lately, quieter and more subdued than usual.

I hold him tighter as I think of what’s ahead of him. Us moving house. A half-sibling possibly. I wonder how he’ll cope. When I look down at him, I see he’s fallen asleep in my arms, his chest rising and falling gently. I ease off the sofa and carefully place the blanket over him. I start moving around quietly, tidying up. Nick grins at me from his picture on the side table and I take it down to look. I wonder what he’d think of me now, now my life is falling apart.

I remember when I used to tell him my worries. I talked to him about the ex who used to hit me and tell me I was worthless. I confided in him that the other teachers at school thought I was too close to the kids, that I didn’t keep an appropriate professional distance. He’d listen to me, and then take me in his arms and make everything better, his kind eyes locking with mine.

We met at the local squash group. I was lonely in suburban London, filled with couples and coffee shops and people who didn’t say hello in the street. I’d taken up squash to meet new people. Nick had taken me under his wing, teaching me how to hold the racquet and patiently knocking the ball back to me so I could practise my shots. One session, I’d burst into tears. My boyfriend had been angry that morning because I’d been too long in the shower. He’d hit me, not hard but hard enough. I’d thought I might have deserved it. Instead of playing, Nick and I had just stood on the court and talked. Afterwards he took me to a local pub and bought me a glass of wine, made me laugh, forget everything. He told me that no one should be allowed to treat me that way. That he’d help me leave him, help me with a place to stay. After I left, it wasn’t long before Nick and I were together ourselves. It was a whirlwind romance. Invigorating and intoxicating. He made me feel special. I haven’t felt the same way again since.

I pour myself some wine and raise the glass to the photo, then return it to the sideboard. I sink onto the sofa next to Charlie. An hour and a half later, he’s still in a deep sleep and I’ve polished off a second large glass of wine. I decide to carry him upstairs and put him straight to bed. I place him down gently, pulling his covers over him. His toys have fallen off the bed and rolled underneath. I pick up the penguin that he’s had since he was a baby. And then I catch sight of something else. A white plastic bottle. My pills. It’s rolled all the way under his bed. How did it get there?

Charlie’s always curious when he sees me taking my pills, but he can’t reach the bathroom cabinet. I go to the bathroom and look around. How did he get into the cabinet? It doesn’t make any sense.

Then I catch sight of Charlie’s blue step in the corner of the room. He uses it every night to climb in and out of the bath and to reach the sink. I take a sharp breath, overcome by guilt. He must have used the step to climb up onto the edge of