The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

more sense again suddenly, and I remind myself to get his number from Mum. And then I think about the face at the window again and a shiver runs down my back.

‘Or maybe someone broke in,’ I say lamely. ‘Someone who wanted to … to mess with me.’

That is still a possibility, but I can’t explain any further without telling them about Lucy, and now they’re both looking at me with sceptical expressions.

‘But why would anyone want to do that?’ Ruth says. ‘I can understand you suspecting Robin – I mean, you’ve had a few issues with her – but why would anyone else want to hurt you like this? What have you ever done to anyone? That doesn’t make sense, sweetheart.’

She says the words soothingly, like a mother trying to calm a child having a tantrum, and I give up. There’s no point in having this conversation, not with either of them, not when I can’t tell them what I really think’s going on here. And anyway, Ruth’s looking at her watch now, jumping off her stool, and saying she’s going to be late for afternoon surgery and that she’ll call me soon.

‘Rest, OK? Make the most of this time to yourself. You look knackered.’

She gives me another hug and then she’s gone. Mum kisses my cheek and tells me to go and relax and she’ll bring me some lunch shortly – fresh mushroom soup and sourdough bread that she picked up on the way home from yoga. I thank her and wander aimlessly back upstairs and into my room, where I stand by the window gazing down at the quiet street, at my neat paved driveway, flanked on either side by Brenda’s and Barbara’s. I think about them, the two women I thought were my friends, and feel a little wave of sadness. I remember the early days, just after we’d all moved in, the way we hit it off immediately and how lucky I’d felt to have neighbours like them. And then I remember something else, something which strikes me with such force that I gasp. Something I’d totally forgotten about.

I take a deep, jagged breath.

It would have been easy for Brenda or Barbara to nip in and install those cameras after all. To remove them again too. All they’d have to do is watch the house and make sure it was empty while they did it. Because what I’ve suddenly remembered is that back at the beginning, back when we first became friends, we all decided it made sense, as we lived next door to each other, to exchange door keys, just for emergencies. We’ve never needed to use them, and so I’d forgotten all about it. In fact, I’m not even sure where their keys are now – probably in one of the kitchen drawers. But the fact remains: I have keys to both Brenda and Barbara’s houses.

And, more importantly, they have keys to mine.

Chapter 30

I dreamed about Jacob last night. He was here, in my bedroom, and he had a tool kit with him. He was over there by the mirror, screwing something into the wooden frame. I called out to ask what he was doing, but he didn’t hear me.

I woke with a start, in a panic, jumping out of bed and running to the mirror to check, but of course there was nothing there; there was no tiny camera blinking at me. It was just a dream. And yet, as I crawled back under the duvet, I began to wonder again. Did I have this all wrong? The fact that I’d now remembered that Barbara and Brenda have keys to my house seemed to have blown everything open again. My trust in everyone except, probably, my mother and Ruth, was trickling away. Was it so ludicrous to think that Jacob might have been involved in this? I’d already wondered if he’d written the anonymous letter, and he was always popping up and down to the kids’ bedrooms when he was here – Crystal too, on occasion. Could it have been him, or her, who’d fitted those cameras? He’d seemed so furious, so disgusted, about the video, but what if he had a grand plan? What if they were scheming all along to take the kids away from me permanently? To make me seem like an unfit parent would surely strengthen their case hugely. But the thought that this misery, this hell I’m going through, could have been brought about by Jacob, the man with whom I spent so many happy years, the man I still, until recently, had such a good relationship with, made me feel ill. And Crystal is a barrister, for goodness’ sake. She wouldn’t, would she? Somehow, I convinced myself I was being ridiculous and fell back into a fitful sleep. But now, as I spread butter on a slice of toast in the quiet kitchen – Mum’s already gone out for a walk – the doubts are sneaking back, wriggling their way into my thoughts even as I try to bar them entry.

I don’t want this to be anything to do with Jacob, I think, as I pull out a stool and sit down, flicking the TV on to catch the end of BBC Breakfast.

I don’t want it to be anything to do with anyone I know because how do I move on from that?

I’m starting to think it doesn’t even matter who’s behind it all. The damage is done, and all I can do now is hope things turn around, hope that whoever is trying to hurt me feels they’ve done enough now, finally. Hope that those pictures, which may have had tens of thousands of views by now for all I know, will eventually be taken down. Hope that I’ll be allowed to go back to work. Hope that this nightmare will soon be over.

For now, I have this period off work, unwanted though it may be. I need to be constructive with it,