Page 75 of The Ex

Dear Sam,

This is probably the last thing I’ll write. The last chapter, if you like, in the story only I knew I was telling. By now our time zones will be very different. At first, I didn’t know when you’d read this letter, but now I know that it’ll be after Cheryl and Harry have told you the truth and I’m long gone where no one will ever find me. I’m writing this last bit on our honeymoon, in case you’re wondering. By the time you get to HERE, your heart will have broken a thousand times. You’ll know that I killed your precious granny, and that baby Tommy wasn’t even mine, let alone yours!

You’re such an idiot, Sam. Apart from the blue eyes and blonde hair, he looks nothing like you or me. Still, you wouldn’t be the first bloke to fall for a claim that he looks more like his grandfather on his mother’s side, his great-granny on his father’s side – that’d be Joyce; even she was fooled. So you see, I did her a favour, when you think about it. She would have been heartbroken, finding out the truth about her so-called great-grandson, the love of her life after you. It was better this way. As for you, I wanted you to hear the whole story from me so you’d understand it better.

Funny, when I started this letter, right at the beginning, that very first day I saw you, I really did intend to tell you the actual truth, but I just couldn’t. How could I? There you were looking like your life hadn’t changed one tiny bit, all fit and healthy with the wind in your hair and not a care in the world. You looked like you were doing brilliantly, Sam. Doing brilliantly without me. And there’s me with someone else’s snotty kid I’m forced to look after unless I want to actually starve, roaming around in the cold like an absolute loser. If I’d told you the truth, I’d have had to admit I’d lost my job because of some ridiculous and completely untrue claim that I was bullying other employees and taking fake sickies. I knew when I got my first warning they were jumping through hoops, trying to make it look like they’d gone through the correct procedure. They had it in for me from the start, so I left after the second written warning, because if they fired me without a reference, I’d never find a job again.

But of course there were no jobs, were there? The pandemic was an absolute nightmare. And I couldn’t even get furlough because I didn’t have a job anymore, and I was a key worker, for fuck’s sake. I was fucked, completely fucked, and that’s on you, Sam Moore, so don’t even try and say it isn’t.

If you hadn’t left, if you hadn’t been such a coward, none of this would have happened, none of it.

All I could find was some poxy babysitting job, which Jo found actually, online. At first, I was like, no way. I hate kids, as you know. But she convinced me it would be an absolute earner because it was live-in, which meant I could rent out my flat. You’ll be loaded, she said. And you only have to do it till things ease up again. So I agreed. Jo wrote it all down for me, what I had to say in the interview. She rehearsed me, helped me with the paperwork. It was her who had all the childminder qualifications, not me. Easy enough to stick a mugshot on there and pass it off as my own, especially with a couple new to the area. Not like they’re going to think, Hang on, isn’t she one of the Harpers? Best avoid. It was easy to stand out from the other mouth-breathing applicants – after all, it’s not like women in their early thirties and looking for a live-in position grow on trees, do they? Plus, I had my own car.

So yeah, Cheryl and Harry couldn’t believe their luck. As for me, it suited me down to the ground as long as I didn’t have to see anybody. Which I didn’t. Cheryl and Harry were the sweetest people, like, ever. I told them my partner had recently left and that things had been tough. I pretended I was fighting back the tears. I just want to be part of a nice family, I said, and live in a nice house with nice people. Not that I’d ever invade their space, mind, oh no. I told them I was doing an MA in child psychology – where the hell that came from, I do not know. Evenings I’d be in my room studying. They wouldn’t even know I was there. And they didn’t. Except I was watching Netflix on my laptop with my voddie and Diet Coke.

As for the flat, it was easy enough to rent out: two bedrooms, perfect for a couple of young professionals. I had it looking well funky by then. After you left, I’d painted it and ordered some cool throws online. Well, I had plenty of time, didn’t I? Stuck in day after day staring out of the window. Then when one of the tenants found another place, Jo took her room; I didn’t charge her full whack, obvs, but by then we had a whole other money-making plan going, which you now know all about. Plus, I needed her help.

So yeah, that’s the truth I couldn’t tell you that day on the beach. It was just one humiliation too many, to be honest, and I wasn’t about to let you and Joyce gloat over me and my reduced circumstances: Naomi Harper lost her job? Always knew she’d come to nothing. Skank. Loser.

And maybe that would have been it. Maybe it would have. But you had to add insult to injury, didn’t you? Typical Sam. You had to come out and ask me if the baby was yours, except you were too much of a coward to put it in actual words. You thought I’d try and pull a stunt like that? I mean, seriously? What the hell do you take me for? Actually, don’t answer that. I knew in that moment what you took me for, what you always had. I knew it before that moment really. I knew what you’d think when you saw me with baby Tommy, knew you’d put two and two together and get five, and that’s why I heard it loud and clear in the words you didn’t have the balls to say. When we were first together, I thought you saw me differently, but deep down you’re just like all the rest: the Harper girls are lowlifes, criminals, trash. That was the lowest blow ever and you didn’t even know you were striking it, did you? I couldn’t believe you had the nerve to basically ask me: Naomi, are you a monster? Are you a monster that would keep a child secret from a man who always wanted kids?

And then you were all, like, I didn’t mean to upset you, Nomes. Sorry, Nomes. Forget I said it. Too right I was upset! And no, I didn’t forget you’d said it – how could I? I knew then that your opinion of me was less than nothing, that you’d asked to meet me for your own selfish reasons that had nothing to do with loving me or missing me or thinking I looked hot when we bumped into each other. And there was me, making myself all nice because I thought, I actually thought, you wanted me back. Can you imagine what a slap in the face that was? After everything you’d already done to me? To find out that all you wanted was the fucking baby?

Oh my God, Sam. Literally though.

So I went into the toilet and I sat in that cubicle and had a little cry, and then I thought it all through. He wants a baby, I thought. Why not give him a baby? Why not have some fun for a change? Why not see how far I can take it before I bring his world crashing down like he did mine? If he thinks I’m so low, then fuck him, I’ll go even lower.

Yeah, I thought. Why not? I’ll admit, it all went a bit further than I meant it to, but we are where we are and I can’t go back. It’s not my fault. I’m not the psychopath who left his girlfriend in solitary confinement.

Anyway, I made my decision. I dried my eyes and washed my hands and came back into the pub, and I was like, yes, Sam, you were right, Sam, I’ve been an idiot, Sam, Tommy’s yours, Sam.

The look on your face! I nearly lost it, but I managed to pass it off as being upset. Laughter and tears are close, babe, you should know that by now. This is going to be too easy, I thought, and I called Jo and told her the plan and she was like, Get in. Let’s teach that bastard not to mess with the Harper girls.

Jo is literally the only person I trust in this world. I’m not even exaggerating.

After that, I just made it up as I went along. The biggest thing I remembered about you was that if I ever wanted you to do something, I had to pretend like I didn’t care if you did it or not or even that I didn’t want you to do it. I pretended I was protective of little Tommy. I couldn’t let just anyone into his life. Bingo, you wanted to be in his life even more. I didn’t trust you after what you did. We had to take it slow. Bingo, you wanted me back. I didn’t have to pretend you’d hurt me; that bit was always true. You tore out my heart when you left and didn’t give me a backward glance. But the more I held you back, the more you pushed forward. It was you who asked me to dinner, you who asked me to marry you, you who gave me Joyce’s diamond ring, which by the way I’m going to sell first chance I get, along with the shitty second-hand wedding ring. I don’t want your family’s junk, Sam. I’ve got enough junk of my own.

Knowing what you know now, you might be wondering where I got all that guff about the sleepless nights and the breastfeeding and all that stuff. You’re probably thinking, what the hell? She hasn’t even had a baby! All that came from Cheryl. She and I got quite close actually. She gave me the whole deal, warts and all, over coffee and glasses of Pinot Grigio, dontcha know. Why? Because she liked me and because I asked her. I asked her like I was interested. She thought I was so nice, such a great listener, and the funny thing is? I was nice with them, the Baxters. Part of me is gutted I had to leave them. I’ll miss them and I’ll miss the me I was with them. Funny how when you catch a break from your reputation for five sodding minutes, when people judge you only on what they can see, it’s like you’re allowed out of the sewer for a bit; you get to swim in the luxury pool where the water is all warm and clean. They were so respectful! They trusted me, and I think I just enjoyed that trust, the praise, not to mention the fluffy towels and the central heating on whenever I wanted. I felt safe, even safer than I’d felt with you.

And Tommy. I got used to his sweet little face, so I suppose I’ll miss him a bit. I’ll even miss us, Sam. Our little family. It was nice, wasn’t it? I’m thinking I might like a little family one day. Not with you, obvs. That would be mental.

I’m not sure when my idea became more like an actual path, like I was going to see it through. But Pisceans, once we decide we’re in, we’re in, you know? I think it might have been when I saw Joyce limping, after the first attempt at removing her. Maybe then, yeah, I knew that if it was going to work, I had to really make it count. No more failed attempts, no more half-arsed efforts. Killing someone is probably the most decisive thing anyone will ever do. You can’t mess about. I think I realised that the day Joyce measured her length on the stairs. So once I’d finally figured out how to remove her and get away with it, well, the rest was mine for the taking. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Mine was on ice, mate, the kind of ice that’s so cold it literally burns right through you. Plus, there was all that money to be made, enough to set me and Jo up for life.

I wonder if you’ve checked the bank account yet? I bet you haven’t. You never think about that stuff because you’ve never had to. But you might want to do that round about now. I’m wondering where you’ll be when you read this, over there in your time zone. My guess is, you’ve left Cheryl and Harry’s in a proper state. You’ve driven back to Joyce’s, but it’s not your house anymore and you’re like, shit, boohoo, what am I going to do? Maybe you’ve gone straight to that cow Miranda to blub all over her. She’d love that – you know she’s into you, don’t you? So obvious. Tell her from me she needs a haircut, will you? And some decent clothes. No wonder she’s single. No, I don’t think you’ll go there. It’ll be late at night and you’ve always had that overprivileged thing of not putting anyone to any trouble, haven’t you? Again, because you’ve never had to.

You’ve got nowhere to go, have you, Sam? No safety net to catch you now you’ve fallen. And if you have checked the Barclays account, you’ll have found it like Mother Teresa’s initials. M. T. Empty, get it? I left you a little bit, enough to tide you over, which is all I’ve ever had. Hand to mouth, mate. Stressful, isn’t it? Not having the cushion of wealth, knowing that if you mess up, no one can help you out, no one will catch you. I’m not cruel, by the way. I’m just a survivor. The Harpers are all survivors. You? You’re a spoilt little rich boy. You’ve been spoon-fed, that’s your trouble. Joyce has made a soft touch of you, her precious little grandson. You wouldn’t know you were being conned if a bloke tried to sell you a watch from the inside of his jacket. I transferred the cash while we were on our honeymoon and you didn’t even notice.

Once I’ve dropped you off at Joyce’s, the plan is to go back to Cheryl and Harry’s, bundle them out of the door and throw my bag in Jo’s boot. Not like I’m going to use my own car as a getaway vehicle, is it? I’m not stupid. Then you’ll come over, thinking you’re going to spend your first night with your new bride and your baby son… Well, you know the rest. I just wish I could be a fly on the wall when they walk in and see you there. Actual lol! They’ll be like, What the hell? And you’ll be like, What the hell? And then, if they don’t throw you out or call the police, they’ll tell you they’re Tommy’s parents! Actual. Massive. Lol.

I wonder who’s going to be most shocked, you or them. What am I even saying – you! You’ll have a heart attack, I guarantee it. Like Nonna Joyce.

By then, Jo and me will be halfway to London, if everything has gone to plan, which, if you’re reading this and weeping, I’m hoping it has. No one will find us there. We’re going to ditch the car and get a train. The biggest pain in the arse was not realising we couldn’t get the money for the house until bloody probate was granted, which in the case of a suspicious death could take over a year. A year! By then, my cover would be well blown. Still, you won’t know that when the Baxters tell you what a fool you’ve been, will you, and that’s what counts. All I really wanted was for you to feel worse than I did when you left. Much worse. And we’ve got the savings Joyce had already put in your name, plus nearly two hundred grand in cash, so that should give us time to figure out what’s next. I’m just fantasising about you walking out of the Baxters’ place completely empty-handed: no Tommy, no Naomi, no money. No gran. And until you read up to HERE, thinking you’ve got no home.

Humiliated. Abandoned. Just like I was.

Doesn’t feel great, does it, Sam?

Your ‘wife’,

Source: www.allfreenovel.com