£10k. Or Joshua and I will pay Amelia a visit. Bring it by the house tomorrow by 12 pm.
I reread the text message multiple times before it even started to sink in. In the space of an hour, I’d gone from being a new father to being blackmailed. Things had taken a very sinister turn. Maybe she never intended for Joshua and me to have a relationship, and this was the entire plan all along. She saw my car, asked her questions, and decided she could get some money from me. Becky was clearly struggling financially, and if she had just explained her situation and asked, I would probably have granted her request. She had been raising my child for years with no help from me, after all.
It did occur to me that I didn’t even know whether Joshua was mine or not, but in reality, it didn’t matter. Even if Amelia found out there was a hint of me having an illegitimate child, all hell would break loose. I panicked at first, but then when I realised that she barely knew who I was, she only had my first name, mother’s address, and my phone number, there wasn’t much damage she could do with that. I just had to contain this for at least a couple of months until I’d paid back the Broadheads. I heard Amelia making her way into the sitting room, and I quickly placed my phone back in my pocket. I felt it vibrate again as she started plating up the lasagne at the dining table. I went over to join her, brandishing the most realistic smile I could muster.
“I made an appointment at the clinic, by the way,” she said.
“Oh, that’s great news. When?”
“The initial consultation is Tuesday, then we go from there.”
“Do you have any idea how much it costs?”
“No, I didn’t ask. We can find out on Tuesday. Is there a problem?”
“No problem,” I lied, “just asking, that’s all.”
“I’m so nervous about it,” she said as I could feel my phone vibrating constantly in my pocket.
“Sorry, Ames, I just need to visit the little boy’s room,” I announced, standing from my seat.
I went into the bathroom and locked the door. Becky had left me three missed calls and sent two picture messages; one was a screenshot of our address she had found online using my phone number, and the second was a screenshot from Amelia’s social media account. I had no other choice but to concede, and I hoped this was the first and last time she would try this.
You will get your money.
Please, don’t contact her.
IX
TEMPERANCE
AMELIA
Take me back to the Broadheads, I thought. I’d hand him the tyre wrench myself. I felt like I’d been punched in the throat. It was closing up further every second I continued to process what I’d just heard: Harry had a secret son.
John, looking uncharacteristically uneasy, waited for my response. I didn’t give him one. I repeatedly and aggressively tugged at the passenger door handle until John finally unlocked it. I left the car and started stumbling clumsily in a straight line into the field he’d parked up next to. I dropped to my knees in the dirt and muck, digging my fingernails into the loose soil as deeply as I could. I screamed at the top of my lungs and started to beat the ground with my fists. The unanswered questions spread in me like a virus, multiplying exponentially until my head was almost at bursting point. I started this journey because I wanted to find out what had happened to Harry that night, and I’d been blindsided at every turn. The man I had married, the man I loved, was a question mark, an unsolvable, cruel riddle leaving me a breadcrumb trail of sadness and shame from beyond the grave.
It all felt like a savage wind-up. Harry had been all supportive when I couldn’t have children naturally, but the entire time, he was concealing the existence of an illegitimate son from me. I was still screaming; I just couldn’t understand what I’d done in my life to deserve to be treated this way. As pieces of information go, it was cataclysmic, but I didn’t understand what it had to do with his death. Did Harry find out about his son and then intend to take his own life out of guilt? Out of shame? I knew I wouldn’t have reacted well, but he could have found a way of telling me.
I never expected to be here in this field, probably covered in horse manure, ploughing the ground with my bare hands. I found myself starting to curse Harry for putting me in this position. I didn’t have a clue who he was anymore, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to find out anything else. Every small piece of information I revealed came with hundreds more questions attached, and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
I could feel that my heart rate had increased, and I’d started sweating. As soon as I became aware of it, a single thought popped into my head that it could very well be the start of a panic attack. The suggestion alone was enough to induce it, and I started scouring my bag for the pills before it took hold. My hands had already started going numb which didn’t make it easier, as they were transferring the filth I’d been touching to my bag. I had to rapidly inhale and exhale to keep the oxygen flowing, and I could feel the dizziness coming on. I found the tablets and shakily threw them down my throat with my soiled hands.
I’d just caught it in time, and once the attack started to recede, I’d noticed that John had left the car too and was standing behind me, waiting for me to get back up. When I turned to look at him, I could see the concern and the regret he felt for telling me anything. He was awkwardly rubbing his hands together, waiting for me to speak.
“Who was she?” I asked.
“A lass named Becky. She lives in Manchester. The lad is called Joshua, and he’s about ten years old. Yvonne knows more than I do,” he explained.
“Why didn’t Yvonne tell me? Why did Harry keep me in the dark about it?”
“He only found out shortly before he died. We only found out by accident. She’d sent a letter to the house.”
“What was he planning to do? Leave me for this, Becky?”
“Honestly, love, I’ve no idea. Come on, let’s go back, and you can speak to Yvonne.”
John was once again leading me to the car by my arm, but much more delicately this time. I couldn’t believe Harry had kept me ignorant of his secret parenthood. I didn’t know if I was misremembering it, but I thought we had the kind of marriage where we could tell each other anything. If he hadn’t been unfaithful like I initially thought, and his son was ten years old, it happened way before we met. It didn’t make me feel any differently, though. If he felt the need to conceal it, I needed to know why. I couldn't help but think he was planning to leave me for this woman when we started struggling to conceive.
And John and Yvonne knew they had no intention of ever telling me. John only told me so I would stop pursuing the Broadheads and save his own skin. I didn’t speak a word to John during the entire journey back; he didn’t deserve to be entertained with my civility. I was done. Done with this entire family. I didn’t want or need their help or their sympathy. All I ever wanted was to finally find out what kind of a man Harry was and what had happened to him. Was that too much to ask? We pulled up outside Yvonne’s house, and John cut the engine and turned to look at me again with a huff. I could tell he was almost nervous about us going inside.
“Remember the deal. Not a word of the Broadheads or what I’ve been up to. Yvonne needs to stay in the dark about all that.”
“I remember John,” I insisted.
We walked inside together, and Yvonne looked eager to find out what had happened on our little field trip.
“Well? How did it go? Did you find anything out?” Yvonne asked.
“So,” I started, sitting down at the kitchen island, “when were you going to tell me about Harry’s son?”
All the colour had drained from Yvonne’s face, and she turned to John, who was awkwardly looking in another direction. She knew that she had been exposed. She had ample opportunity to tell me about this before and after Harry died, but she chose not to.
“How did you find out?” She murmured.
“John,” I said.
