I moved from the washroom to the kitchen, which was the next room on my left. I entered, and immediately I was transported back to the endless days of gazing at the images of this room. It was exactly how it was in the photo, only so much bigger as well. I felt as though I had walked into a well-loved children’s picture book.
I looked around at the surfaces, which sparkled to perfection. I couldn’t see a speck of dust nor a tea stain; there wasn’t even a droplet of water in the sink. It was wiped completely dry.
I edged around the perimeter of the kitchen, feeling the smoothness of the surfaces with my fingertips. I stopped suddenly next to a large white fridge. My fingers itched to open it, but even before I did I felt a surge of doubt that suddenly the image I had built up in my head of the perfect Mrs Clean was about to come crashing down on me.
I put my fingers on the fridge door. Already I knew that my fingerprints would be over everything I had touched. It was no good trying to go back and cover them up. He was on his way soon anyway.
I pulled at the door and looked inside, expecting to see an empty fridge, to match the empty rooms, but instead I was as greeted with four shelves packed with clear bags, each filled with white powder.
I blew out a long breath. Either Mrs Clean was developing her own brand of talc, or this house was a drug den.
My senses were suddenly heightened and on full alert. I slowly closed the fridge door and stood statue still. I could sense it; a spectre of a human presence. There was someone else in the house. I was not alone.
38
Now
I crept out into the hallway, wondering what it was that my senses had picked up on. A smell or a noise? I could not put my finger on it.
I realised I could no longer feel any pain in my body from the fall; adrenaline had numbed me.
Every fibre of my being told me to stop, turn around and walk back out of the door. I had done what I came to do. I had suppressed the beast. But my feet overtook my mind and walked from the kitchen back along the hallway, past the basement door where I should have turned right, gone back down the stairs and left the way I had come in. Instead, I found myself at the foot of the stairs to the next floor of the house. There I stood, holding my breath and looking up. Along the walls leading up the stairs were more tiny abstract prints I recognised from other Instagram posts. I let out a breath and put a foot on the first step. I listened again to see if I could hear anything that would give me a clue whether there was anyone in the house. But there was just silence. Silence and extreme tidiness like I had never witnessed before. By the time I reached the velvet-like carpet on the landing at the top of the stairs, my heart was about ready to pound right out of my chest. There were three doors to my left, which were probably the bedrooms and a large bathroom ahead of me. Then the stairs continued to the right to a final top floor, and if I was right, this would be where lucybest65’s photograph would have been taken, from one of the highest rooms in the house. I contemplated the idea that lucybest65 was a lodger here. But why would she write such awful comments on Mrs Clean’s posts? It made no sense, and I was yearning to know the answers to it all. I ignored the urge to peep my head into any bedrooms on this floor, and instead I took myself to the foot of the next set of stairs, where I was certain I was about to find out who was living here.
39
Then
We drove in total silence. I stared out of the window for the entire journey, which took just over three hours. Just before we arrived at the new house, D said everything was going to be okay. All I needed to do was trust him and do what he asked of me. This was the best way, this was the ideal situation. Everyone would be happy. What he meant was that he would be happy. How could I ever be happy again?
There was a moment when he was in the shower the day after Baby Boy was taken that I heard him whistling. I felt a rage build inside me, I almost burst into the bathroom and pummelled his head into the glass door. In the three days since Fabrice and that woman had taken my baby, I had considered going to the police every second. But every time I went to leave the house, I would hear D’s words ringing in my ears. ‘If you try anything, I can’t control what will happen to Baby Boy.’ I knew I had no choice. If I was out of his sight for a second, he began to get very tetchy. I would hear him calling for me around the house, the tension growing thick in his tone. I would always appear at the top of the stairs or the doorway to the garden, just to reassure him that I hadn’t tried to disappear and that he didn’t have to give the signal to whoever to make sure I never saw my baby boy again.
We pulled up outside the house I would be spending my time in for the foreseeable. It was bigger than any house I had ever seen up close. D took us inside and I looked around at the space and the many rooms. He had placed my case down on
