The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 2

  Amber tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It feels thin and greasy, reminding her that she hasn’t washed it for several days and probably won’t have time this morning. Sadly, her old beauty routine for nails, skin and hair – both the wanted and unwanted variety – is a thing of the past.

  She hopes George isn’t expecting them to make love tonight. The signs are worrying. He’s booked a luxury suite at a boutique hotel in the middle of nowhere with its own Michelin-starred restaurant. If the website photos are to be believed, their room has an enormous four-poster bed and a deep free-standing bath surrounded by furry white rugs. It’s too flashy for her taste and the bath looks especially provocative, daring guests to splash about together having wild, passionate sex.

  Their last attempt at lovemaking was months ago and ended in failure. Amber insisted on turning the lights off and burrowed under the duvet like a shy animal, her confidence completely deserting her. She still can’t bear to look at herself naked, let alone parade in front of George – not with those silvery-white stretch marks on her thighs and the folds of papery flesh around her stomach. She felt so beautiful when she was pregnant, her bump as firm and shiny as a conker, but since giving birth, everything has collapsed. George is being very patient, but as her mother says, men have needs. If she isn’t careful, he’ll leave her for somebody else. There are plenty of attractive girls at the gym where he works who’d be delighted to take him off her hands – staff and clients. Amber loves George and doesn’t want to lose him, but right now it’s the thought of being a single parent that frightens her most. She saw her mother struggle after Dad died when Ruby was a baby. She knows she won’t be able to cope with Mabel on her own.

  Yes, she thinks as she wipes down the kitchen surfaces, George will be hopeful of some sex tonight, and in theory, she wants to please him. It’s important at least to try. If she gets drunk, perhaps she’ll feel less inhibited and might even enjoy it. She can drink alcohol now that she’s given up breastfeeding – another failure to add to the list.

  ‘That bath wore her out,’ says George, entering the kitchen and interrupting the latest round of self-deprecating thoughts. ‘She fell asleep before she was even dry. Made it a lot easier to get her dressed, though.’

  Amber grimaces. ‘You shouldn’t have let her sleep; she hasn’t had her morning feed yet. Now she’ll be all out of sync for Ruby.’

  ‘She’ll catch up.’ He goes over to the window and winds up the blind.

  ‘Don’t do that, it’s still dark outside.’

  ‘We can watch the sunrise together,’ he says. ‘It’s coming up over the rooftops.’ She looks at him blankly. ‘Or do you want to go back to bed?’

  ‘Can’t, can I? Got to get ready for this stupid trip.’ Amber can feel the panic rising. ‘The place is a tip. I need to hoover the stairs, make up the bottles, change the sheets so that Ruby can have our bed, put some more washing on and write out some instructions or she won’t have a clue.’

  ‘It’s okay, babe, we’ll sort it,’ he soothes. ‘Rubes won’t care if it’s a mess. It’s not like it’s your mum babysitting …’

  ‘Why did you have to choose such a posh hotel?’ she continues, her voice laced with anxiety. ‘I’ve nothing suitable to wear, nothing that fits anyway. I’m so fat. And don’t say go out and buy something, because there isn’t TIME!’ The last sentence explodes in tears, and she covers her face with her hands.

  George sighs heavily. ‘What are you saying? That you don’t want to go?’

  ‘Of course I want to go,’ she replies from behind her fingers. ‘But I haven’t had a chance to prepare – I’m not ready, not in a fit state …’

  ‘I don’t care how you look or what you wear.’ He tries to put his arms around her, but she backs off, unable to bear his touch. ‘You can have dinner in your pyjamas for all I care. We’ll order room service.’

  ‘No, I want to go to the restaurant. We haven’t eaten out in ages.’

  ‘Great, we’ll do that then.’

  ‘But I don’t want to let you down. I look so hideous.’

  ‘You never look hideous. You’re beautiful.’

  ‘No I’m not. My hair needs cutting and I’m fat!’

  ‘You’re not fat, and even if you were, it wouldn’t stop me loving you.’ He moves forward again and this time she allows him to hold her lightly. ‘I’ll tidy up and make some notes for Ruby. You concentrate on getting yourself ready.’

  ‘Okay … thanks. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You need this weekend. We both do. We’re going to have a wonderful time, I promise.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she murmurs. ‘I do want to go – I’ve been looking forward to it. And Mabel will be all right without us, won’t she? She loves her Auntie Ruby.’

  ‘Mabel will be absolutely fine,’ he assures her. ‘In any case, it’s only one night away.’

  Chapter Three

  The weekend before

  Ruby wheels her bike off the train and onto the platform. She intended to cycle the whole way but overslept and ran out of time. Lifting it onto her shoulder, she walks slowly down the steps, then swipes through the ticket barrier. It’s downhill all the way to Amber’s house – the ride won’t take more than five minutes.

  Fastening the strap of her helmet, she pushes off down the high street, making sure to keep to the cycle lane wherever possible. There’s a lot of traffic about, as always, and she needs to stay alert for jaywalkers. She relaxes her leg muscles as the bike gathers pace. The weather’s cold but the sun is starting to break through the clouds. Luckily, it’s not raining. She’ll take Mabel to the park this afternoon to feed the ducks.

  She feels both excited and nervous about looking after Mabel on her own overnight. At least it isn’t for a whole week, as she originally offered, rather rashly. She’s surprised that Amber and George have agreed to go away at all. Until now, she hasn’t been trusted to babysit for more than about half an hour while Amber pops to the shops or has a bath. She tried several times to persuade her to leave Mabel for longer, to meet up with the girls from the antenatal class or have a drink with friends from work, go for a swim or watch a film – anything – but until now she always refused. It’s as if taking a break is a mark of failure, and Amber doesn’t do failure.

  Her sister is a high achiever, always has been, ever since she was a little girl – probably since the day she was born. Naturally, Amber assumed she would be as brilliant at motherhood as she was at everything else. All it required was research and preparation. As soon as she became pregnant, she embarked on a programme of self-directed study, reading numerous books and online articles until she was an expert in current parenting theories. But none of them can account for the mighty force of nature that is Mabel Rosebud Walker.

  Ruby loves her only niece, admiring her feisty spirit and determination to get her own way. If Mabel isn’t happy, she’ll sure as hell let you know about it. Perhaps she’ll be more contented now she’s being bottle-fed, thinks Ruby as she waits to cross the main road. Poor Amber, she tried so hard, but Mabel was a hungry bunny and Amber couldn’t seem to produce enough milk. Ruby suspects the problem was stress-related. She’s no expert, but it’s clear that her sister is suffering from postnatal depression. Amber, usually the first to google symptoms and pronounce a diagnosis, is in denial. Or rather, she knows full well what the matter is but doesn’t want to do anything about it.

  Mum doesn’t help. She can’t believe that her top-of-the-class daughter could possibly be failing, whereas if it was Ruby who’d gone to pieces, she wouldn’t bat an eyelid, because it’s Ruby’s role in the family to mess up.

  After years of resentment, she’s come to accept this label and even turn it to her advantage. Her mother’s expectations of her are so low it gives her full rein to explore and experiment. Since leaving university, she’s tried her hand at documentary film-making, selling jewellery made from recycled drinks cans and starting a vegan ice-cream business. When her brave plans fail – as they u
sually do – her mother just rolls her eyes in that told-you-so way. Now Ruby is working odd shifts at an escape room in Shoreditch, a job she would like to escape from herself.

  She chains her bike and helmet against the park railings opposite and, after ringing the bell twice to no effect, knocks loudly with her fist. Eventually she hears the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and George opens the door. A gust of wind instantly blows dry leaves into the hallway.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I was making up feeds; I thought Amber was getting it.’

  ‘No worries.’ She follows him back up the stairs and shrugs off her coat, hanging it over the top banister. Mabel is in the kitchen, strapped into her high chair. She looks up as Ruby enters and gives her a big smile.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous!’ Ruby bends down. ‘Is that another tooth I can see?’

  ‘Yes,’ answers George on Mabel’s behalf. ‘She was very grumpy while it was coming through, but the last couple of nights she’s slept for five hours straight.’

  ‘Clever girl! Please do the same tonight for Auntie Ruby.’ She plants a kiss on the top of Mabel’s head. Her wispy hair – as red as her mother’s – smells of mashed banana.

  ‘I’ve written it all down,’ George says, nodding towards a piece of paper on the table. ‘Don’t feel you have to stick to the times; it’s just a guide. She hasn’t had any fresh air yet today, so if you want to take her for a spin around the park …’

  ‘I’d already thought of that.’ Ruby goes to the window and looks out. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

  ‘But only seven degrees,’ Amber points out, entering the room. ‘Wrap her up properly. Hat and mittens, no arguments.’

  ‘Lovely to see you too,’ says Ruby, unable to resist the dig.

  ‘You know what you’re like. You’ll forget.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Amber shrugs, picking up the list of instructions and scrutinising it for omissions and mistakes. Unable to find any, she puts it back on the table.

  ‘I’ll follow it faithfully. Promise.’ Ruby offers a pacifying smile. ‘Please don’t worry. Just forget about us and have fun.’

  ‘Thanks, we really appreciate this, don’t we?’ George looks at Amber. She nods, but Ruby can tell that her sister is putting on an act. At least she’s made a bit of an effort to spruce herself up. Her shoulder-length hair looks as if it’s been attacked by a hairdryer, and she’s wearing make-up for the first time in months. Amber has classic Celtic looks – bright auburn hair, pale skin that turns pink at the merest exposure to sun, freckles sprinkled across her face like a dusting of demerara sugar. Ruby has the same pale skin, but she’s dark-haired, with not a freckle in sight. Amber has their father’s height, while Ruby is short like their mother. They couldn’t look more unlike each other and are consequently never taken for sisters.

  ‘You look great,’ says Ruby.

  ‘Do I? Really? You’re not just saying that?’

  ‘No! I like that eyeshadow. Suits you.’

  ‘I’d almost forgotten how to put it on.’ Amber looks down at herself critically. ‘Does this skirt look okay with these boots?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘It needs an iron.’

  ‘Nah, it’s fine. You’ll be sitting in the car for ages, so there’s no point.’

  Amber bends down to Mabel. She puts the back of her hand against her forehead and frowns. ‘George … she feels a bit hot.’

  ‘She’s fine, just excited because Auntie Ruby has come to play.’

  ‘Did you leave the thermometer out, like I asked?’

  ‘You didn’t ask, but I’ll do it now.’

  ‘I did ask.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, I definitely remember mentioning it.’

  George bangs the bottle of formula down and walks out of the room. Amber closes her eyes, as if enduring real pain.

  ‘I’m sure I won’t need it,’ says Ruby.

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  George returns with the thermometer, which is shaped like a dragon, and puts it on the table next to the spare key. ‘Shall we get going? I was hoping we’d be there in time for lunch, but that’s not going to happen now. We’ll have to find somewhere to stop on the way.’

  Amber huffs. ‘I can’t get ready any quicker. I’m so tired, I feel like a zombie.’ She turns to her sister. ‘We’ve been up since five.’

  Ruby grins. ‘I only had four hours’ sleep myself, if that makes you feel any better.’

  ‘But you were out clubbing, I expect. We had no choice.’

  ‘I know, I was just—’

  ‘Will Lewis be joining you later?’ asks George, trying to change the subject.

  ‘No,’ says Ruby. ‘He woke up with a sore throat and didn’t want to pass any germs on to Mabel.’

  ‘Very considerate,’ says Amber approvingly. Ruby nods, remembering the cross words she and Lewis exchanged that morning. She doesn’t believe the sore throat story; there’s always some excuse. Lewis hasn’t seen Mabel for months, and Ruby’s starting to wonder if he’s sending out a subtle message to the effect that he doesn’t want children. Not that they’ve ever discussed having a baby – they’re too young for a start, and have only been together two years. She loves being Auntie Ruby, but Lewis reacted quite negatively to being called Uncle. Maybe he doesn’t feel entitled because they aren’t married. He can be old-fashioned like that.

  Amber’s voice cuts into her thoughts. ‘Don’t forget to turn on the baby monitor. Don’t let her sleep in the bed. If she wakes up, just go into the nursery and talk to her calmly. You can lay a hand on her tummy but don’t pick her up. If she gets really hysterical, let her have some water from her beaker. Filtered only, from the jug in the fridge, but don’t give it to her freezing cold. Use the dummy only as a last resort. With a bit of luck, she’ll sleep from about midnight to five.’

  ‘Yes thanks, got it,’ Ruby replies, not really listening. ‘Honestly, we’ll be fine.’

  It’s another twenty minutes before they’re ready to leave. Amber gives her daughter a last cuddle and starts to cry, but Mabel doesn’t seem to care. She’s too busy playing peekaboo with Auntie Ruby and a tea towel.

  Ruby hears the front door slam and immediately breathes out. ‘Right, Mabel Rosebud,’ she says. ‘I don’t care what it says in the instructions. We’re going to see the ducks.’

  She puts a thick jumper over Mabel’s sleepsuit, then stuffs her into her waterproof all-in-one. The poor child looks like a sumo wrestler. Ruby lifts her up and carries her downstairs to the narrow hallway, where the buggy’s waiting.

  Mabel does not want to wear her hat or mittens, nor does she appreciate being made to lie flat. Ruby wins with the hat but loses with the mittens. She fiddles with the levers until the seat swings into a more upright position. Strapping her niece in carefully, she then leaps back upstairs to get her coat and bag. She’s halfway down before she remembers the door key and has to go back again.

  ‘How does your mummy manage it?’ she says, pulling a bobble hat from her pocket. ‘I’m worn out already.’ She has to drag the buggy away from the door, then squeeze past so that she can open it. Cursing at the sheer awkwardness of it all, she finally manages to exit the house.

  The sun is still shining – just about – but wintry grey clouds are gathering and it feels colder than before. They’ve missed the best of the weather, but Ruby is undaunted. She has to get outside, regardless of Mabel’s schedule. The flat, perfect for a working couple, is too small for a family. You can’t move without tripping over some item of baby equipment, the windows are constantly steamed up from the wet washing draped over the radiators, and it’s full of dubious smells. It’s a far cry from the cool, glassy office where Amber used to work as a management consultant. Is it any wonder she’s not coping?

  She crosses the road and heads into Lilac Park. It’s lunchtime, and the place is heaving with families. Feeling a sudden pang of hunger, she steers the buggy towards the
so-called farmers’ market by the far entrance. It’s no more than a few stalls selling incredibly overpriced bread and gluten-free cakes, craft cheeses, pasties filled with exotic ingredients and some rather limp-looking vegetables. She buys a spicy Moroccan wrap and a vegan chocolate brownie, then finds a bench. She puts the brake on the buggy and sits down.

  Mabel is awake and alert. Her bright-eyed gaze follows the parade of pushchairs, scooters, bikes and marauding toddlers. There are lots of people about – joggers, couples, family groups, grandparents. Everyone seems in a good weekend mood and several people smile at her as they walk past.

  Mabel suddenly gets excited when a pigeon tries to eat the crumbs from Ruby’s lunch, flapping her arms until it flies away.

  ‘Nasty things, pigeons,’ advises Ruby. She’s not sure whether Mabel is allowed chocolate – probably not – but she can’t resist popping a teeny-tiny morsel of brownie into her mouth. Her eyes widen as her tongue explores the taste, making Ruby think this is probably her first time.

  ‘You loved that, didn’t you?’ she says. ‘Sorry, but I daren’t give you any more.’ She wraps up the remaining brownie and puts it in its paper bag.

  They go to find the ducks, although Ruby has forgotten to bring any bread to feed them with. Not that it matters, because when they reach the pond, there’s a sign saying that the ducks should only be fed with special food available at the park café. She looks at the long queue snaking out of the door and decides she can’t be bothered to join it. Besides, Mabel has lost interest in the ducks and is starting to squirm uncomfortably in her seat. Either she’s tired or she’s done a poo. A quick sniff confirms it’s the latter.

  ‘Oh Mabel! That’s a real stinker,’ Ruby says, laughing. ‘And in public too!’ She spins the buggy around and pushes it in the direction of the house.