He Will Find You: A nail-biting and emotional psychological suspense for 2018. Diane Jeffrey
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Alex will change his mind. He has been very worried about the baby, and I’m convinced he’ll phone for a taxi instead of going through with his suggestion. But after breakfast, we arrange to leave our suitcases at the hotel and set off for home on foot.
As we walk, Alex chats about the weather and about his mum. I’m not sure if he’s excited or wired, or merely trying to avoid an awkward silence. He doesn’t seem to need much input from me, so I tune out and try to sift through my thoughts.
I wonder if Alex reacts badly to alcohol. Some people lose their temper or their self-control when they’ve been drinking. At least Alex wasn’t violent. I try to imagine everything that happened from his point of view. He’d probably been pleased with himself for buying me that present. Perhaps he’d put a lot of thought into it and the red heart was deliberate rather than a coincidence. If that was the case, then he must have been hurt to see that I wasn’t wearing it.
The fact that we didn’t make love on our wedding night shouldn’t matter to me, should it? It would have seemed inappropriate after our row and, anyway, the idea that I had in my head all through the night – that our marriage hadn’t been consummated – is an old-fashioned concept. It belongs to a time when people didn’t have sex before marriage. I glance down at my tummy. We did, and look what happened. And Alex stepped up to the occasion. He asked me to move in with him and marry him so that we could be a family.
‘Any ideas?’
His question interrupts my thoughts. I haven’t got a clue what he has been talking about. I give him a blank stare. ‘Sorry. I was miles—’
‘I was thinking “Leo” or “Liam” if it’s a boy.’
He wants to discuss baby names. I’m not keen on Leo. ‘I like both of those,’ I say.
‘Liam is an Irish name. It would go well with yours. Kaitlyn and Liam. And mine, come to think of it! Liam Riley!’
I smile, a little wistfully. ‘My mum would have liked that. Her Irish heritage passed down to her grandson.’
‘Oh God, he might have ginger hair, the poor thing,’ he says, elbowing me in jest.
I don’t find it funny, but I smile, a little tightly. He’s right, though. Louisa and I got teased at school – even bullied a few times – just because of our hair colour.
‘What about girls’ names?’ he asks.
‘I love the name “Chloe,”’ I say.
‘I do, too,’ Alex says. He takes my hand.
Well, that was easy. Alex is back to himself this morning. So, why do I feel the need to weigh up every word I say before I speak? Why do I get the impression I’m walking on eggshells with him?
‘Do you still want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?’ Alex asks.
Why is he asking me that? I look at him, trying to second-guess what’s going on in his head, but his expression is inscrutable. When I’d gone for the first scan, alone at the Musgrove Park Hospital in Taunton, it had been too early to tell the baby’s sex. When Alex and I went together for the second scan at Helme Chase Maternity Unit in Kendal, Alex was adamant that he didn’t want to know. I did. I needed our baby to have an identity. I wanted our baby to have a name. I dreamt of buying suitable baby clothes and not having to settle for neutral greys, yellows and whites.
But Alex said he needed some time. He didn’t want to consider a baby girl as a replacement for Poppy and Violet, or as a second chance at happiness when things had gone so badly with his ex-wife Melanie that he could now no longer see his daughters. He argued that as he’d already had two baby girls, he also had to get used to the idea that this baby might be a boy.
We went in for the scan, without having come to an agreement, about a month ago now. In the end, it turned out the baby was in a position that made it difficult for the sonographer to be sure of its sex anyway. And that solved the problem.
‘It’s too late now,’ I say. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘A bit,’ he admits. ‘I’m ready now. Either way.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ I say, as we stop walking for Alex to tie up his shoelace, ‘and now we know we’re expecting a Chloe or a Liam.’
Rydal Water stretches along to our left and the views as we walk are so spectacular that any anxiety I’m feeling soon dissipates. Alex holds my hand for most of the way, swinging my arm from time to time or lifting my hand to his lips to kiss it.
When we get home, Alex opens the front door, but Jet bounds towards him, barking and growling with his hairs standing up in a ridge along his back. Alex quickly closes the door again and we wait in the porch until Dad has calmed the dog down.
We find Hannah and Julie in the kitchen making lunch. There are dirty frying pans and utensils stacked up next to the draining board and the tiled floor is filthy. I sneak a peek at Alex, biting my lip. I know how much he likes everything to be tidy, but if the chaos in his kitchen annoys him, he doesn’t show it.
Jet, who seconds ago didn’t want to let Alex into his own house, is now trying to earn his forgiveness by licking the skin off his hand. Alex pats him on the head.
‘What a nice surprise,’ he says to Hannah and Julie. ‘What can I do to help, ladies?’
Without waiting for a reply, he washes his hands and dries them on the tea towel, which has been draped over the back of a kitchen chair. As he hangs up the tea towel in its place on the hook next to the fridge, he flashes his winning smile at my sister, who is soon issuing him with instructions to chop the onions and set the table.
I sit down at the table next to my dad, who, half-moon glasses at the end of his nose and pen in hand, is doing the crossword in the newspaper. I observe Alex, Hannah and Julie as they chat and laugh amiably while preparing the meal. I wish I could be as cheerful. All morning, I’ve been feeling as if there’s a snake uncoiling in my stomach somewhere behind Chloe or Liam, its writhing eclipsing the baby’s kicking. For now at least, the snake is dormant. The baby seems to be asleep, too. I haven’t felt it move for a few hours now.
But last night’s events are still replaying on a confusing loop in my head. I want to discuss what happened with Hannah and Julie. I get my chance after the meal while Oscar, Archie and Daniel are playing football in the garden and my dad is dozing in an armchair in the living room. Alex has gone to pick up our stuff from the hotel, and Julie, Hannah and I are clearing up in the kitchen.
‘So, how was last night?’ Hannah asks with an attempt at a lascivious wink.
‘Not too much info, please,’ Julie says. ‘You’re my little sister and I’d rather you didn’t fill me in on the details!’
When I don’t join in their banter, Hannah says, ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Well, yes. When we got up to our bedroom, Alex had a kind of … meltdown.’
‘What do you mean?’ Julie asks, the smile vanishing from her face.
‘He got really angry about the necklace I lost.’
Only now do I realise I can’t tell them the whole story. The necklace Julie lent me is broken. I can’t tell her that.
‘Maybe that’s understandable,’ my sister says. She puts the dishcloth down and turns to face me.
‘Yeah, I’m sure he was tired after such an emotional day,’ Hannah agrees.
If anyone uses the word ‘emotional’ again, I might throw a tantrum myself. I can feel my head moving up and down automatically like one of those toy dogs on the rear shelf of a car. I sit down on a wooden chair.
‘What did he say?’ Julie asks.
‘I can’t remember his exact words,’ I say, furrowing my brow. ‘He was very upset that I’d lost it and embarrassed that I’d roped you all into searching the house