Apple of My Eye: The gripping psychological thriller from the USA Today bestseller

She nods, and leans towards the note. Her eyes widen and I see her hand go to her chest, to finger the gold crucifix she always wears. I watch as she inhales and turns to me, puts her hand on my knee.

‘This doesn’t mean anything, Eli. None of this. You’re not to be annoying yourself about it.’

I almost laugh. She’s trying to tell me this is nothing while we sit in a house that’s been broken into, talking to two police officers.

‘This puts a different slant on things,’ Dawson says. ‘Multiple letters.’

‘Two is hardly multiple,’ I hear my mother interject.

I ignore her, nod to Dawson.

‘I don’t understand why anyone would do this,’ I say.

‘Sheer malice,’ my mother says. ‘Some people have so little to bother them that they put a pregnant woman through this ordeal.’

‘We’ll see what we can find out. Check for any CCTV close by, see if we can pick up the car on it. There are a number of avenues we can look at,’ Dawson says, his expression sympathetic.

Deirdre walks back in. ‘I’ve spoken to your husband. He’s obviously concerned about you.’

‘I’ll call him soon,’ I say, thinking there are one or two questions I need to ask him myself.

She looks at her colleague. ‘Mr Hughes says he can’t think of anyone who may hold a grudge and says there is no truth at all to the allegations in the note. I’ve asked him to come and see us on Tuesday when he arrives home.’

‘There’s a second note,’ Dawson says. ‘Similar kind of thing. I’ll just bag it here for evidence.’ He takes a small plastic bag from his pocket and slips the note in, sealing it afterwards and handing it Deirdre. She reads it through the clear plastic and looks back at me, sympathy written all over her face. I imagine she thinks I’m deluded too.

‘That’s your crime reference number. You’ll need that when you contact your insurance company. My number’s there, but obviously I’m on night shifts at the moment, so you won’t be able to reach me during the day. I’ll get a colleague to call you in the morning, or they might come out with SOCO,’ Dawson says.

I nod.

‘It’s entirely up to you if you want to stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘But obviously we’d advise you to make sure the property’s as secure as possible.’

I glance down at my swollen stomach and to my mother, who looks stunned by everything. I wonder how exactly we’re supposed to ‘secure the property’.

‘Maybe we should go to a hotel,’ I say to my mother.

‘And leave the house open to anyone?’ she says. ‘No, Eliana. We’ll stay here and we’ll not let whoever this spiteful creature is win.’

‘We can help secure the property for you,’ Dawson says. ‘It’ll be a bit of a make-shift job but it will do until morning?’

‘That would be great,’ my mother says.

‘Good, if you have some bin bags or an old sheet, and some masking tape or something similar?’ he asks. My mother nods and sets about gathering what he has asked for. It all still seems very surreal to me.

‘If you can think of anything at all that might help, or of anyone who we should talk to, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m very sorry you’ve had this upset,’ he says, as he waits. ‘And it probably goes without saying that if you receive any more notes from this person, or if you feel in danger at all, that you contact us immediately. Use 999 if necessary, we’ll have this address flagged with first responders so that any call from here will be prioritised.’

I nod. By this stage I’m exhausted. I just want them to go. I want to sit down. Close my eyes. Pretend none of this is happening. I want to speak to Martin, but what do I say? Do I ask him outright if he’s having an affair? Do I go in all guns blazing? Do I start packing his bags, throw them out into the drive to languish in the rain until he returns? Do I leave? Do I stay and believe him and live in fear of the next note, or the next rock through a window, or the next whatever? Martin, my Martin – romantic walks. Dates. With someone else. I want to scream. This must be what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under you.

My mother arrives back with a roll of bin bags, some masking tape and a dustpan and brush to lift the broken glass. I offer to help, but both police officers insist that my mother and I sit down. They can manage. I can only imagine they feel sorry for us – this heavily pregnant woman whose husband might be cheating, and this older lady wandering about in her nightie and dressing gown.

I’m relieved when they finally finish their task and leave, sympathetic smiles on their faces, and I finally give in to the tears that have been threatening for the last hour.

‘Eliana, why on earth did you not tell me about this note?’ Mum’s voice cuts through my thoughts, jolts me into the now. ‘I knew there was something you weren’t telling me – some reason you’d asked me to come down early.’

‘There wasn’t really anything to tell,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know it was about Martin. I didn’t think it could be about Martin. Oh! Mum, what am I going to do?’

‘You’re going to talk to him. You’re going to ask him to come home and you’re going to talk about this face-to-face.’

I nod. I start to cry and she’s beside me, hugging me.

‘Wait until you talk to him, Eli,’ she soothes. ‘He’s a good man. Now, how about we try to get some sleep? This will all seem less insurmountable in the morning. Go to bed, darling. Call Martin just to let him hear your voice and just for you to hear his, but then tell him you need him home. You need to talk. I’m sure he’ll come.’

‘But his work …’ I say, even though at this moment I don’t care about his work.

‘His work will still be there the day after tomorrow,’ she says and kisses my head. ‘Now, young lady,’ she adds softly, ‘go to bed.’

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_974814b8-7380-5447-a5ad-1473f84f0a0c)

Louise (#ulink_974814b8-7380-5447-a5ad-1473f84f0a0c)

The next time I saw her she looked like a ghost. Her skin was so pale. Her hair lank. I was sure she’d lost weight. She didn’t seem to want to eat. She wasn’t even making an effort with the cup of tea in front of her.

I remember that feeling. After.

I felt as if I were see-through. As if I were floating and no one else could see me. Because if they did, they wouldn’t have laughed and joked with each other. They wouldn’t have huddled together to gossip. They wouldn’t have smiled at me and wished me good morning.

That man? Well, he wouldn’t have said ‘Cheer up, love. It might never happen.’

I wasn’t one for violence, but I relished the feeling of the bare skin of my palm as it struck his face, the bristles of his beard stinging. The look of shock in his eyes. I’ll remember that, just as I’m sure he’ll remember the look of anger in mine.

‘What would you know?’ I asked him before walking off.

He could’ve come after me, of course. He could’ve hit me back. He could’ve called the police. To be completely honest, I didn’t care. Nothing was right or fair in the world any more and I didn’t give a damn about whether or not I hurt other people.

They didn’t care that I was hurting.

That woman, sitting with her moping face over the cup of weak tea she had yet to touch, didn’t care that I was hurting. She wouldn’t want to think about what had happened to me. Even if I sat down opposite her and opened my heart to her, she would’ve backed away. She would’ve covered her ears.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her, why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t she understand how lucky she was? She was going to be a mother. I wonder, has she ever considered what it would’ve been like to have been told that was something she’d never be?

‘Everything okay for you?’ I asked instead with false smile.

She looked at me and offered me a weak smile back. ‘Yes, thank you.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the tea. I wondered what she saw reflected in it that made it so interesting.

‘Is this your first?’ I asked.

She blinked back at me. I nodded towards her stomach.

‘Yes. My first.’