The Stranger Within (35 page)

With my stomach churning, I knock on the door, just in case he is asleep. When he doesn’t answer, I open it slowly and peer inside, squeezing my eyes shut to start with. But when I force them open I am staring into more darkness, at Dad’s empty bed. Unmade, with the duvet half-hanging on the floor.

You were convinced he was lying here dead, weren’t you? Like Rhys. It’s what you deserve.

Back in the kitchen, I dump Dad’s shopping on the worktop then rush outside to escape the stagnant air. When I’ve calmed down I realise that, although he isn’t here and I have no way of knowing where he might be, finding his flat empty is better than the alternative.

Pulling out my mobile, I scroll through my contacts until I find Jenny’s number. She answers immediately but says she hasn’t seen Dad since yesterday. “He was fine, though,” she adds, “so I’m sure he’s just gone for a walk or something.”

I check the park, just in case, but there is no sign of him there. Neither is he wandering up and down Alderman’s Hill or the high street, which I walk up and down several times, carefully checking in shops on both sides of the road.

When I get back to the car, my mobile rings. I half-expect it to be Dad, even though he would never call me and I doubt he still has my number. But this is what my mind does to me. It is James so I let it ring out; if I speak to him at this moment he’ll know something is wrong. I wait to see if he leaves a voicemail but my phone stays silent. It won’t be important then.

I check Dad’s flat one more time before I go, but it is still as empty as before. At least now I have a key.

By the time I set off it is nearly three p.m. and I have the North Circular to contend with. At least Dillon will be at home when Luke gets back from school, so I don’t have to worry about the boys. And I will come back to Palmers Green tonight to check on Dad again. I can tell James I am going to see Debbie.

I drive home in a daze, thoughts of Dad coming to harm intruding into my head, refusing to budge, no matter how much I try to focus on the road. And when I pull into our road, I barely remember how I got here. All I know is I am very late, it’s nearly five and James will be home soon. I grab the shopping bags from the boot and head inside. I don’t even bother glancing next door to see if Mrs Simmons is watching.

Sometimes it’s possible to see or feel life-changing moments before they happen. When this occurs they are easier to deal with because there is no element of surprise. Other times they creep up on you, ploughing into you with the force of an articulated lorry.

I hear James’ voice coming from the living room and assume he is talking to the boys. Leaving the bags in the hallway, I place my keys on the phone table and open the living room door, ready to tell James about my plan to see Debbie tonight.

What I am not prepared for is to see Dad sitting on the sofa, cradling a mug of tea, nodding at James. They both turn to me and the ground falls away beneath my feet.

“What the hell, Callie?” James says. His eyes flash with anger and something else. Betrayal. He has pulled me away to the kitchen while Dad drinks his tea in the living room. At least he has spared me the humiliation of having to explain myself in front of my father. “I don’t even know where to start. What to say. I don’t even want to look at you.” But he does and his eyes burn into me.

Of all the things I could say, I should not speak the words I do. “I can explain.” But how can I? There is no justification for the lies I have told James. There is no way to crawl from under this one. The least I can do is tell him the little I can. “He’s ill, James,” I continue. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you how bad it was.”

And then I tell him about Dad, how he started off an ordinary and loving father, but then began a slow descent into mental illness. For the first time I allow myself to use the official term. The label Dad has been given.
Schizophrenia
. It rolls smoothly off my tongue, the sound too light to portray what it is.

It’s hard to tell what James is thinking. He lets me speak without interrupting but flinches when I explain I’ve been visiting Dad every week. Doing his shopping and cleaning his flat. Being a daughter to him. It would be one thing if I had pretended even to myself that he didn’t exist, but the fact he has been such a big part of my life the whole time I’ve known James only makes my deceit worse.

I finish by saying what I should have started with. The fact that I am sorry.

James shakes his head, still staring at me. He is probably wondering who he is married to. “But why lie? That makes no sense. Did you think I wouldn’t help you with him? That I wouldn’t want anything to do with him? What do you take me for?” He fires these questions at me but doesn’t wait for a reply. He has already answered for himself. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I wanted to. So many times. But the more time went on, the more difficult it got. It’s not that I didn’t think you’d help me, or accept him –”

“Then what?”

“I didn’t want to burden you. Or for you to think I’d end up…” I can’t finish my sentence. Now I’ve said it out loud, to James, I realise how irrational it sounds, how far gone I must have been to believe this.

We both stare at each other, each of us realising the significance of my fear, and then James walks out without another word.

I should get back to Dad, make sure he is okay, because this will be an even bigger shock to him. He must be having a good day otherwise how would he have made it here? In fact, I can’t even think how he would have found my address, unless he looked through my bag while I was out of sight during one of my visits. I think it unlikely, but there is no other conclusion I can reach.

Forcing myself to move is not easy. I am rooted to the spot because I don’t want to face Dad or James in the other room. It is only when Dillon and Luke appear that I manage to take a step forward.

“What’s going on?” Luke asks, appearing in the doorway with his brother. “This weird man came and Dad sent us upstairs. Who is he?” Beside him, Dillon is silent but I am sure he is wondering the same thing.

“Oh, just someone I know. Why don’t you go back up and I’ll bring you some drinks in a minute?”

Neither of them says anything but they both move slowly to the door, Dillon staring back at me once Luke has disappeared. He knows I am lying.

Dad is smiling when I return to the living room. I didn’t think to ask what James has told him about us, but it’s too late now. “Caroline!” Dad calls, beckoning me over. I join him on the sofa, avoiding James’ heavy stare. “This man’s been telling me all about his photography. Sounds exciting. Was never any good at taking photos myself. Always managed to chop people’s heads off, especially your mother’s.” He laughs.

“Dad, how about I drive you home now? I’ve done your shopping. It’s at the flat.”

“In Palmers Green,” James says. So Dad has been here long enough for them to exchange these small details.

Dad slaps his knee. “Why are you trying to get me out? I’m happy here, just chatting to…sorry, what was your name again?”

I answer before James has a chance. “That’s James. And I’m not trying to get you out, it’s just that he’s got work to get on with.”

James rolls his eyes but he doesn’t disagree. He obviously wants to question me more and knows he can’t do it while Dad is here. He will also want to explain what’s going on to the boys and I know he won’t lie to them.

“James,” Dad says, trying out his name.

I stand, hoping Dad will follow, but this is all new to me. I haven’t seen him anywhere other than his flat or the park for years, so have no idea how he will react in a different environment. All I know is I need to get him home.

I turn to James, hoping he will notice my silent plea, and he pulls himself up and leans forward to shake Dad’s hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Byrne. Callie’s right, I’d better get back to work, but I hope to see you soon.”

Dad recoils from James and cowers against the back of the sofa. To his credit, James doesn’t appear surprised or offended and he stands back to let Dad have some space.

“Come on, Dad, let’s get home,” I say, although his flat is not my home, and hardly a home to Dad either.

To my relief, he rises from his seat without any fuss and we head to the door. But then he turns around and fixes a cold stare on James. “I don’t know about him, Caroline. Where’s that nice boy you brought to the flat? Your boyfriend. Rhys? Yes, that was his name. Rhys.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dad looks pleased with himself, sitting beside me in the car. He has no idea what he’s done. “How did you find me?” I ask, although I suspect the answer.

“That nice boy, of course. He came to see me a while ago, and I told him how worried I was. That you’d been taken. He gave me your address and told me exactly how to get there.” He stares straight ahead, as if what he has just said is part of an everyday conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. But then, it won’t be for him.

And then he surprises me. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you? I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you need help.”

I briefly turn to him. Is he offering me help? How can he be? And even if he is, there is no way I can burden him. “I love you, Dad,” I say, and wait for a reply that doesn’t come.

An hour and a half later I sit in the car outside Dad’s flat. I have had time to prepare for this, to plan how I will keep my marriage together if James found out, but now the moment has come I know I can’t face him. He will be sitting at home now, or rather pacing up and down, stewing over the knowledge that I have been with Rhys. And by now he will have worked out that I was with Rhys that night.

              There is no way I can go back there.

              I turn on the engine and head back onto the North Circular, away from Dad, wondering when I will see him again.

              The drive through Acton and Hammersmith is a blur, and before long I am at the top of Putney Hill, facing the roundabout. Facing a choice. If I take the second exit I will be heading home. The third one will get me onto the A3 and away from London.

              I have no idea what I will do until I find myself passing the Wimbledon exit. And then I am on the A3, ignoring the speed limit in my desperation to get away. I have nothing with me but my bag and the jeans and shirt I’m wearing. I don’t even have a jacket. But still I keep driving. A speed camera flashes at me but I don’t slow down. What difference will a speeding fine make when I am facing much worse?

              My mobile rings and I ignore it. Whoever it is can’t help me; it is too late for that. It rings again. Then three more times. I turn on the radio so I don’t have to hear it.

              As I drive I convince myself that if no car passes me, everything will be okay. James will stick by me and try to understand what has happened. We will be a family. I stay in the fast lane and when a yellow Nissan tries to overtake me, I cut in front of it. The man driving swerves into the middle lane, blaring his horn, and in the rear-view mirror I see him make an obscene gesture. This game is not only dangerous but pointless. Nothing will make things okay.

I pass a sign for Guildford and realise I have never been this way before. I have been abroad several times but in my own country have never ventured out of London. I laugh then, a loud cackling shriek that fills the car, and only stop when I think of Rhys and his plan to travel across America. And then I am crying, my view out of the windscreen blocked by a blur of tears.

And at once I know I must go back. I have to do right by Rhys.

I force my mind to focus once I’ve turned around and am heading back towards home. What will I say to James? How I can possibly explain what he has just found out? We both fell silent when Dad mentioned Rhys and when James looked at me for answers I still couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to insult him by telling him Dad is mistaken, rambling as he often does about things that don’t make sense. There is no way Dad would know anything about Rhys unless they had met. So I said nothing, only that I would explain everything when I got back. And that was hours ago. I have no idea how he will have spent this time, but I can’t put him through any more. I should make things easy for him and pack up my things the minute I get back, but I won’t run away like a coward. And I don’t want to leave him. The choice must be his.

              When I get to the house I pull up outside but leave the engine running. Faced with what lies ahead, I freeze, unable to step outside. It is one thing to imagine doing the right thing, but actually going through with it is another matter. Could there still be a chance to salvage this? I don’t have to tell James everything. There is always a way to keep things hidden. But I have done this for far too long now and it’s eaten away at me. I need freedom.

              The house is silent and bathed in darkness, making me wonder if James has left. It is possible he has taken the boys away, as far from me as he can. How could I blame him if this is the case?

              But then he appears at the top of the stairs, and I take a deep breath. He descends slowly, clutching the banister, each step making a heavy clomp. Without a word he passes me and disappears into the kitchen. I don’t know what this means, or what he wants, but I follow him in and head straight for the sink. I need a glass of water to stifle my growing nausea. There is a dirty glass on the side and I don’t know whose it is but I grab it and fill it with tap water.