Mack. A happy couple.
It was all I’d ever wanted. To give our marriage a second chance. I wasn’t like him. I never cared about the insurance money. He could keep it. It could pay for him to write poetry all day, if that was what he wanted. All I needed was already right here.
I pulled his new phone from my pocket and considered it. It lay hard and solid in my hand. He used the same number code for everything. If there were secrets stored inside, they were mine for the taking.
I hesitated. I’d learned not to spy on Ralph. Never to read late-night texts that popped up on his phone. Not to look at emails if he left them open. I’d schooled myself to look the other way. It wasn’t worth the hurt.
Now, if I was going to give up my old friends, my old life for him and become Mrs Mack, if I was going to force Anna to do the same, I needed to know the truth. I needed to know if he was finally being honest with me.
I was just afraid of what I might find.
Fifty-Two
It didn’t take me long to find the messages.
He hadn’t made any effort to delete them. It was almost as if he enjoyed the danger. As if the risk of being caught was part of the thrill.
The texts had been sent in the last few weeks. After Laura Dixon’s overdose. After he’d moved up here to start preparing our new home together. After he’d promised on his life never to betray me again.
Run as far as you like, princess. You’ll never escape me.
Then, a few days later:
Can you feel me? I’m right here. Waiting. We’re not done yet. Not until I say so.
Just two days ago:
Still here. Miss me?
There were no replies.
I shook my head, imagining their impact on Laura Dixon. She’d know it was him, of course she would, even if she didn’t recognise his new number. What was he playing at? She was damaged enough. She didn’t need this.
I read them again. The tone was menacing. The words of a man threatening revenge because his pride had been hurt. I didn’t understand. Why was he doing this, trying to needle her? He’d tried to kill her. Now he wanted her back?
I thought about the slip of paper Miss Abbott had given me with Laura Dixon’s address and phone number. I put Ralph’s phone aside and went in search of my old smartphone, hidden in the pocket of a bag, then pulled up the scan I’d taken of her details.
I frowned, confused, then looked again at Ralph’s menacing messages. It wasn’t her number. Unless she had a second, secret phone? I shrugged. It was possible but…
Run as far as you like, princess.
I stared again at the number on Ralph’s phone. There was something about it that felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I felt suddenly hot, my hairline prickling. I moved to my contacts list and started to trawl through it, looking for a match.
The screen blurred. I sat, struggling to understand. I could barely focus. My mind whirled as I stared, in disbelief, at the number.
Oh, Ralph.
Megan, with her long-limbs and beautiful eyes, her quick intelligence. The star of Ralph’s English class.
Clara’s big sister. My best friend’s daughter.
A searing pain in my stomach. I bent double, struggling to breathe.
No, please not her.
She was only seventeen. She was still a child.
A memory fell into place. No wonder she’d seemed so subdued, so embarrassed when she came to see me just before she left for her big travelling adventure, funded by the cheque I’d given her. My thank you for coming over to the house that night at zero notice to sit with Anna. Thank you for sending the text messages that covered my tracks. Our tracks.
Ralph, how could you?
I eased myself sideways to the floor, my knees drawn up.
Megan. Ralph, giving her extra coaching at lunchtimes because she was such a promising pupil. Helping her read more widely, to extend her knowledge, before her university interviews. Ralph’s boyish excitement when Megan started writing her own poetry and sharing it with him.
He’d seen her after school. I’d sanctioned it. I’d even been pleased when he asked if I thought it would be okay to include her in one of his staff poetry events, just to make her feel respected, to feel like an adult.
‘I’d give her a lift home,’ he’d said. ‘I’d look after her. Ask Bea if that’s okay,