One Bad Thing Read online

  I’ve had problem callers before on the show, people who are overly persistent, even borderline intrusive, in their attempts to get me to help them. But they’re often just desperate for someone to listen to their problems. Sometimes their close attention, bombarding me with emails and letters, trying to get my home address, can be scary, but they always drift away eventually. The important thing in dealing with them is to remain helpful and patient, but also to put in place clear boundaries.

  But when I turn into the tangle of roads off the high street and onto my narrow curved street with its stately rows of ornamental apple and Judas trees, and let myself into our house, I discover Sean standing at the kitchen island, peering at his phone with a gin and tonic in his hand.

  ‘You’ve started early,’ I tell him.

  He slugs down the last of the drink, crunching on the ice. ‘Just getting warmed up for tonight.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Sean flings his arms wide to reveal boxes of beer and wine stacked on the counter. ‘Ta-da!’

  My heart sinks. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  He comes over, doing a little dance as he moves, and beneath the overpowering smell of all the lotions, balms, hair products and the cologne he wears, I detect the tang of alcohol; he’s had more than one already, that’s for sure.

  He’s dressed smartly, too. Sean is always careful about his appearance – honestly, it’s just as well we have a bathroom and an en suite, because he can hog the mirror for hours – but this afternoon he’s catalogue-ready in a tight pale-blue cotton short-sleeved shirt that emphasizes his hard torso, ankle-length casual trousers and slip-on canvas shoes. His bouncing dark hair is carefully oiled, and his neat beard immaculately groomed.

  ‘The party starts at eight o’clock sharp. Be there…’ He strikes a Usain Bolt thunderbolt pose, forefingers pointed at the ceiling, imagining it’s somehow charming. ‘Or be square.’

  ‘No, not tonight, please.’ I dump my bag on the counter, already exhausted by the idea. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport.’ Sean takes my hands, determined to talk me around. ‘It’s to celebrate your new job!’

  The patio doors are flung open, revealing chairs placed all over the decking and lawn. Fairy lights hang from the trees, and a candle flickers on the garden table. ‘I figure most people will want to be outside in this weather,’ he explains.

  ‘Honestly, Sean, it’s a lovely thought,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. ‘But I’m shattered, and I need an early night.’

  He grimaces, no can do. ‘I’ve invited people.’

  ‘How many people?’

  Tipping his head side to side like a metronome, as if trying to add them all up, he finally settles on an infinitesimal figure; places a thumb and forefinger together. ‘This many people,’ he says, grinning. ‘Less than a few, really.’

  ‘A few,’ I repeat, because Sean’s definition of a few people is not the same as yours or mine, it’s not even in the same universe. ‘How many?’

  ‘I don’t know, a dozen.’ He winces, because he knows that I know he’s not telling the truth, and he’s probably invited every single person we know. ‘Maybe a few more.’ As a distraction, he reaches for the bottle bag and reads the gift tag. ‘Hey, it was nice of Craig to get you this.’

  ‘Seriously, Sean, call it off.’

  ‘We’ve got to celebrate,’ he insists. ‘Because you’re going to be a TV star.’

  ‘A star! That’s pushing it a bit, don’t you think? Besides, someone’s got to get up in the morning with Amber.’

  Which could be any time from five o’clock, the way our daughter has been sleeping recently, and there’s no chance Sean is going to get up if he’s sleeping off a stonking hangover. Plus, that phone call on the show has really spooked me, and I don’t think I can face people tonight.

  It’s my own fault, really. We’d spoken in a vague way about organizing a small get-together to celebrate my new gig on Morning Brew, but then I forgot all about it. I should have known that Sean, who can’t bear a quiet night in, despite the fact that he’s a father with responsibilities, would use it as an excuse to throw a massive party for our friends – and probably all his other mates – on the pretext of a celebration.

  ‘I promise I’ll get up with her.’ He shovels ice into a bucket of water, then places bottles of beer in it to chill. ‘And make sure everyone’s gone by midnight.’

  I’ve heard it all before. Once Sean is surrounded by his boozy mates, playing the perfect host, being the life and soul, he won’t want the party to stop. But there’s no point in forcing him to call it off, not this late in the day, not unless I want him to go into a massive sulk.

  It’s tiring being the sensible one, the one who always has to say, let’s call it a night. I don’t want always to have to be that person, but someone must.

  Sean and I tried so hard for a baby – we went through the slog of IVF, it was the most emotionally draining thing I’ve ever done – and thought it would never happen for us. But it did, thank God, even if we’re both in our late thirties now. We’re a family, it’s the three of us, and Sean loves Amber dearly, but he still finds it a struggle to let go of his social life. The dinner parties and restaurants and bars, the drinks in town, the mini-breaks with childless friends. The pandemic didn’t dampen his enthusiasm for staying out till all hours getting wasted, and nor has being a father. It’s not like I don’t want to have fun any more, of course I do. But every now and then, not all the time. These days I’m much happier staying home with our beautiful girl. She always comes first.

  ‘Everyone will be gone by midnight, they’ve got to be, because I’ve got a footie match tomorrow morning. And Izzy and Ollie are coming, of course.’ So at least my best friend will be here, which makes me feel better. Just in case I’m still not convinced, he places his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘Remember, always be kind.’

  ‘Get lost,’ I tell him, because he always throws that phrase back in my face when he wants his own way, and he laughs.

  Sean starts making himself another gin and tonic. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘You’re going to be drunk before anyone turns up.’ I look around for our little girl, but she’s not in the room, and I glance at the baby monitor. ‘Is Amber asleep?’

  But Sean’s attention is once again on his phone. He dabs at the screen, messaging someone. ‘Sean, where is she?’

  Just at that moment, our nanny, Siobhan, comes into the room with my baby girl in her arms. It’s a bit of a shock, because Siobhan isn’t meant to work weekends. I give Sean a look, like, what the hell, and he grins.

  ‘Here she is, here’s Mummy,’ Siobhan tells Amber quietly, and hands my eighteen-month-old to me.

  ‘Mama!’ squeals my daughter, as I take her gratefully in my arms.

  ‘Hello, baby!’ Positioning her comfortably on my hip, I press my nose to Amber’s scalp to drink in the lovely warm fragrance of her light, springy hair and skin. Her small hands reach for my face to pull me closer as she talks nineteen to the dozen. Just holding her makes me feel a hundred times better already. About today, about tonight; about everything.

  ‘She’s been as good as gold, as always,’ says Siobhan, picking up her bag.

  ‘Thank you, Siobhan, but why are you here?’

  ‘Mr Godley phoned to ask if I would come in for a couple of hours,’ she says. ‘And I’m always happy to do that if I can.’

  ‘Had to go to the supermarket.’ Sean gestures at all the boxes of beer and wine, although I’m not sure why he couldn’t have taken Amber with him. ‘It was good of you to come in on your day off, Shiv.’

  ‘No problem.’ Siobhan gives him a thin smile.

  ‘You staying for the party, Shiv?’ Sean drains his G&T. ‘You’re very welcome.’

  I tense, because I’ve always been careful to keep a professional distance from Siobhan. Also, if I’m honest with myself, there’s something abou
t her that I don’t like, and I know exactly what it is. It’s a horrible thing to admit, and I obviously wouldn’t tell her in a million years, but the way she looks, with her unruly red hair and her pale, porcelain skin and hoop earrings, the cheap jeans cinched tight with a massive buccaneer-style belt, the black plimsolls she wears… she reminds me too much of Natalie.

  When she walks into a room, all I see is my dead sister.

  ‘I’m sure Siobhan has better things to do than hang around with old farts like us,’ I tell him.

  ‘Seriously?’ Sean flings his arms out, as if to say, look at how young and fit I am! He’s being lovable funny employer guy for the benefit of our young nanny. ‘Speak for yourself!’

  But thankfully Siobhan shakes her head.

  ‘That’s very kind of you both, but I can’t tonight.’

  ‘What a shame,’ I say as she hovers at the door. ‘Have a lovely evening, Siobhan.’

  ‘Cheers, Shiv,’ says Sean, moving furniture around.

  On her way out, Siobhan closes the front door carefully. The lock is sticky and if you bang it too hard, it opens again.

  I jog Amber in my arms, talking to her, making her giggle and chatter, as I wait for Sean to finish sending another message and toss the phone down, and then I ask him, ‘Did you listen to the show?’

  I’m anxious to know whether he heard anything in my voice during Diane’s call that made him suspect there was something wrong.

  ‘Sorry, Han.’ He’s distracted by looking for a corkscrew. ‘I was at the supermarket getting the booze, so I didn’t catch the show. Go all right, did it?’

  It doesn’t matter, really, it’s not like I expected him to listen, and part of me is relieved he missed it. I’ve never told him what we did to Martin, I’ve never admitted it to a soul. Only one person in the world knows about that night, or so I thought until today, and that’s Cameron, and I don’t think he’d tell anyone either. Sean doesn’t even know about Cam, who I haven’t seen since university.

  For one fleeting moment I think I should tell him what Diane said. I’m going to make the people responsible for Martin’s death suffer.

  But I don’t, I can’t, because all these years later I’m a respected psychologist, a middle-class mother, and how do I explain why I did such a thing? Sean probably wouldn’t believe me anyway, or he’d laugh about it, which would just make me feel worse.

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘It was a lot of fun.’

  Putting down a box of wine, Sean comes over to wrap his arms around me and Amber. For a few moments, maybe for the last time, everything’s the way it should be, and the way I have always believed it would remain. The three of us stand holding each other on the cool tiles, swaying with a gentle rhythm; Sean and I, our arms entwined, Amber snug between us. He kisses us both on the forehead.

  The party is probably a good idea, I have to admit – it’ll be good to see friends, and it’ll keep my mind off that low, malicious threat.

  I’m going to make them pay.

  Sean takes Amber from me, lifting her to his chest. ‘Why don’t you relax in the bath before everyone gets here?’

  4

  And, yeah, I enjoy the party for a while.

  Sean’s right, it’s good to get dolled up in something nice and welcome people to our home, even if a lot of them are his mates rather than our mutual friends. Everyone is genuinely happy for me, and many kind visitors arrive with gifts. Not just bottles of wine, but soaps and smellies and stationery, lovely knick-knacks. It’s an unexpected opportunity to catch up with people I haven’t seen for absolutely ages, and for a brief time I forget all about the radio show and Diane’s threat.

  We’ve got a roomy double-fronted house you enter through one of those colourful stained-glass front doors I used to dream of having. There’s a spacious living room to the left of the long, wide hallway, but it’s the big kitchen on the right where everyone gathers, to drink and chat. People drift into the garden, where it’s still hot and bright, and I have to keep reminding everybody to keep the noise down, because Amber is asleep upstairs.

  ‘Don’t you worry, love,’ says Kath, enveloped in a cloud of vape smoke, before immediately screaming with laughter at someone’s joke.

  Holly, who is Sean’s PA at his marketing company, comes tottering across the white floorboards on ridiculous heels, screeching so loudly that I worry she’s going to wake up Amber; Isaac and Steve arrive with a big bouquet of flowers; Kath came straight from the pub. Claire hugs me tight, won’t let me go, and tells me again and again how proud she is of me, and that her mum wants my autograph, which she pesters me into signing on a piece of kitchen towel.

  I’m careful not to drink too much, and never stray far from the baby monitor on the kitchen island. Sean keeps turning the music up on the Wi-Fi speaker, and whenever he wanders away, I turn it back down. Minutes later, he turns up the volume so his football mates can sing along to a Queen anthem, and I have to tell him to stop. He’s very drunk by now, and flaps a hand dismissively, as if I’m being a bore.

  The doorbell rings again and again over the din of conversation in the crowded kitchen – just how many people have been invited, exactly? – and Sean welcomes the newcomers inside. The front door bumps against the stopper at the skirting, and I watch until I’m satisfied he’s closed it properly. I know it seems like I’m paranoid about the door, but we live in an inner-city area where there are a lot of burglaries, and you really don’t want to leave it wide open on a Saturday night.

  At half ten, Ollie turns up – but without Izzy.

  ‘Hey, man,’ Sean calls from outside. He’s coming down the lawn – God knows what he’s been doing at the top of the garden – and opens his arms wide to accept Ollie’s hug. There’s a lot of loud and elaborate backslapping. ‘Good to see you! Where’s the wife?’

  ‘Izzy’s not coming,’ Ollie says with a wince. ‘She didn’t want to miss it, but she’s got a bug, so she’s snuggled under the duvet on the sofa.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Sean seems even more disappointed my best friend is not here than I am. ‘We should get together soon, yeah?’

  ‘We’re meant to be meeting in town next week,’ I remind them.

  ‘Let’s get you a drink, fella.’ Sean throws an arm over Ollie’s shoulder – he gets very tactile when he’s drunk – and they march into the kitchen. ‘What you having?’

  My enthusiasm has faded now I know Izzy’s not coming, and I want to escape to bed. But the kitchen is still full, and there are a lot of people smoking and drinking in the garden; many of them I recognize from Sean’s company. Maya’s one of the account managers there, and Irene is from accounts; Julius is one of his designers. Sean’s also invited practically everyone from his Sunday morning football team. They’re meant to be playing a match tomorrow morning, so I’m amazed they’re all drinking so heavily. Sean looks absolutely wrecked, he’s been mixing drinks all night, and his eyes slop about in his head. Whenever the doorbell goes, he rushes over to drape himself all over the new arrivals, and it’s embarrassing. Standing in the kitchen, Ollie smiles at me in sympathy.

  Half an hour later, I’ve had enough, and tell Sean I’m off to bed. Most of our mutual friends have left; it’s mostly his who are left, and they’re all drunk and loud.

  ‘Hey, babes.’ Sean tries to look disappointed, but he’s so pissed that he’s leering. ‘Stay up for a little while.’

  ‘Someone’s got to get up with Amber in the morning,’ I tell him.

  He gives a heigh-ho shrug, like I’m being a spoilsport. I tense when I think I hear Amber’s voice on the monitor, but I must be mistaken.

  ‘I’ll just be a little while longer, yeah?’ Sean presses his hands together, as if his word is holy, but nobody looks like they’re planning on leaving soon. He seems jittery, the pupils of his eyes seem unnaturally wide, and when he pinches his nostrils, I wonder if he’s taken anything. Sean used to do a bit of coke when he went out of a night – at one stage it was becoming a problem –
but when Amber was born he solemnly promised that he wouldn’t touch it any more.

  ‘Please keep the music down.’ My eyes flick to the hallway. ‘And make sure the front door is shut.’

  ‘You got it.’

  As I trudge tensely upstairs, the thump of music vibrates the floorboards beneath my feet. But halfway up, the volume drops, it’s been turned down at least, and by the time I reach the landing all I can hear is mostly the low thrum of chatter.

  When I go into Amber’s bedroom, she’s blissfully asleep. It’s a sanctuary of calm in her small room. Soft light from a rotating lamp scatters warm colour across her body. She lies on her back, her arms flung wide, tiny fingers curled. Her chest rises and falls slowly in her sleepsuit.

  Stroking her soft hair, my heart pounds in my chest, because I love her so much. Eighteen months ago, against all the odds, this amazing little person came into our lives, this miracle of life, to transform my whole world.

  When Amber was born, I discovered what it means to love someone utterly and completely. My love for her is sacred, pure, absolute. She’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, or will ever happen.

  It’s tempting to climb into bed and snuggle up beside her till morning, but we’ll no doubt be getting up with the larks, so I turn off the lamp, close the window to a crack, and leave the room.

  Our bedroom is at the front of the house, and I hear another knock on the front door below. Someone has just arrived – even now, at nearly midnight – and my heart sinks when Sean bellows a greeting. Closing the shutters, I change into my pyjamas, then pad across the landing to the bathroom.

  But when the light goes on, I get a terrible shock.

  The mirror above the sink is an angry mess of thick red lines, scribbled and scrawled every which way. The entire surface is smeared with it, so that as I come closer, my own stunned reflection is almost obliterated.

  The red is a rich, dark colour – like blood. And the sight of it triggers a memory – one I’ve not had for many years. I see bed sheets and pillows, my own hands, my face and body, smeared crimson; spurts and splashes along my arms and legs, sodden red and sticky.