‘Sit down Tara. I have a surprise for you. It’s quite exciting news actually.’
The girl looked at him with eager anticipation. More birthday presents, she supposed, hanging on his every word.
‘The thing is Tara, a little while ago I got involved with someone else, a lady, over in England. One thing led to another and…well, the long and short of it is, you have a little brother. He’s called Aaron,’ he announced, proudly.
Her face fell and she stared at her father incredulously.
‘What are you talking about? What do you mean? How can I have a little brother? You’re with Mom….’
Her voice tailed off and she looked at her mother accusingly as he began again.
‘Yes, I’m with your Mom. But I’m also with this other lady. Things get complicated sometimes with grown-ups.’
‘What am I, five years old?’ she snapped. ‘Mom…? Did you know about this?’
‘I found out a short while ago honey. But we decided it was best that your dad to come over and tell you in person,’ she said gently.
‘And you’re okay with this?’ the girl screamed at her mother.
‘Well not really, but….’
‘God, I hate you both!’ she shouted, running out of the room and slamming the door, tears streaming down her face.
She had always been the apple of her father’s eye. His pride and joy. The little girl he doted on. His only child.
Except now, apparently she wasn’t.
Daniel remained in the kitchen and immediately opened his laptop, glad that the conversation was over and done with. He felt she had taken the news reasonably well, all things considered.
‘She’ll come round,’ he called out as Anita disappeared to console her daughter.
‘Kids are more resilient and more adaptable than people often give them credit for,’ he added, sagely.
He had already lost interest and was absorbed in checking his emails.
Tara sulked in her bedroom for most of the day but, eventually, her curiosity began to get the better of her and her father was proved right. By the time he left for the airport later that evening she was starting to get excited about the promised trip to England and she knew the story of her new-found, little brother would make her the centre of attention amongst her friends at school. She asked questions about Aaron and looked at photos of him, surprised to see how alike the two of them actually were. The plan was that they would start by Skyping each other to break the ice before they met face to face. The trip to England was scheduled for the middle of summer and her dad was going to book a lodge in Scotland for all of them to stay in together. They would be able to ride bikes and swim, visit real castles, maybe even go horse riding.
Tara decided it could be fun after all and began to make plans for milking the situation to her best advantage.
Daniel sat alone in business class on the plane home. He had only been away for a couple of days, but it had been an essential exercise in damage limitation to visit Anita in person and make sure she wasn’t planning to do anything stupid. He couldn’t risk her going off-piste in the middle of everything else. The house in Jamestown was his base in the US and he used that address for all his American bank accounts. He didn’t want any hiccups with that side of things. He had also found time to make a quick visit to the car dealer who had sold him the Ferrari and tie up any loose ends with the revised paperwork he had requested from them in Jane’s name. Best Anita knew nothing about that.
All in all, it had been a successful trip, but he didn’t dare stay away from the UK for any longer than he had to. Grace was a ticking time bomb, despite all that crap she kept churning out about being prepared to think about taking him back. He didn’t buy that for a second. It just wasn’t her style.
He was also pretty sure the conniving bitch was tracking him somehow or having him followed maybe. She suddenly knew far too much about where he was all the time and he didn’t like that at all. He had been used to operating under the radar for so many years. Now all of a sudden she was poking her nose into everything and she was hell-bent on getting considerably more out of him in a settlement than he thought she deserved. He was not sure exactly what game she was playing, but he intended to find out and stop her in her tracks.
He laughed quietly to himself as he remembered a saying he had once heard.
If you poke the bear, don’t be surprised when he turns around and bites you.
His wife would find out just how hard he could bite if she kept on pushing her luck.
The Spreadsheet
On the darkest days, when I feel inadequate, unloved and worthless, I remember whose daughter I am and I straighten my crown.
Grace
Daniel was back from America, although of course I was not supposed to know he had been there.
Welcome to his world of lies and chaos - I thought to myself.
I was quickly beginning to realise that a good memory was essential in order to be a good liar. The tracker battery was dead and so I had arranged ‘date night’ again, supposedly to discuss progress regarding a settlement out of court. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain that particular charade, with a court date for the divorce hearing already set for the end of June, just seven months after I received the email. It was now April and time was running out.
Daniel arrived at the house early, trying to catch me off guard as usual. We were deviating from the usual plan and I had offered to cook dinner for him in the house. I was also allowing him to stay overnight so that I could change the tracker while he slept upstairs. At last, this was my opportunity to get into his car and find out what golden nuggets of information he kept concealed in that bloody briefcase of his.
Making himself at home, to my intense annoyance, Daniel sat back in his chair with a glass of wine in his hand and looked at me, clearly wanting to say something. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure it was unlikely to please me. I looked back at him challengingly and waited.
‘So…,’ he began.
I said nothing.
There was a long pause while Daniel stared at me, trying to gauge my mood while seemingly wary of my volatile temper. I remained silent and stared back at him, a fake smile plastered on my face like a mask. I wondered uneasily what was coming next and braced myself as he continued, more decisively this time, apparently encouraged by my non-committal demeanour.
‘So…I did a spreadsheet on all my women and you came out top!’ he announced, proudly.
I had no words. Not in my most vivid imaginings could I have predicted that one.
There was a further pause, as he searched my face for a reaction, or more likely any sign of an imminent explosion. I assumed I was supposed to look pleased about this latest revelation, but inside I was screaming with rage.
ALL MY WOMEN!
How could that arrogant, egotistical, psychopathic bastard stand there and actually say those words to me?
My eyes darted around, lighting on the various heavy objects on the kitchen surfaces, as I fantasised about smashing them down on his head, over and over again, but I knew I had to remember the bigger picture. I had to remember why I allowed him to come to the house at all, why I was even entertaining the idea of a conversation with him. I inhaled deeply, telling myself it was simply a means to an end.
‘Yes. You scored 75%,’ he continued, completely oblivious to the effect his utterly abhorrent words were having on me.
I managed to regain my composure, ensuring my smile did not slip and attempted to reply in a light-hearted tone.
‘Seriously? Only 75%? What happened to the other 25%?’
He laughed, clearly buoyed up by my reaction.
‘Come on, you should be pleased with that. Nobody scored 100%. Honestly, Grace, I have no idea how I got myself into this mess and how I ever let things go so far. I should have just stayed with you. You were always the best one for me. This spreadsheet just proves it.’
I really had no idea why I was engaging with him o
n the subject of his spreadsheet, but I suddenly seemed unable to help myself.
‘So, what were the categories?’ I asked as if we were discussing TV awards or something. I hated myself for it, but the truth was I actually wanted to know why I was top of the class. I needed to know where I had lost marks, in the interests of future self-improvement.
‘Well…intelligence, attractiveness, weight, personal hygiene, how often you wear stockings and suspenders, how good you are in bed, cooking, laundry…,’
I homed in on the last one and interrupted his flow.
‘Sorry…what? Did you say laundry?’
I stared at him incredulously. It was so utterly ludicrous that I genuinely had to suppress the urge to laugh. Properly laugh.
‘Yes,’ he continued, apparently unperturbed. ‘That’s where you lost most of your marks.’
I realised he was deadly serious as he continued the bizarre dialogue.
‘Lorraine was like the magic laundry basket. I used to put my dirty clothes in the basket in the morning and they came out washed and ironed the same night! You, on the other hand…,’ he chuckled, warming to his subject.
My expression darkened. I utterly despised the smug, self-satisfied leer on his face and I felt a renewed urge to stab him. Repeatedly. I was really beginning to understand how a person could commit the crime of murder when pushed beyond breaking point and it had to be said that he was dangerously close to finding my breaking point.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm before responding, choosing my words carefully.
‘Do you know what? I’ll take that. I have no ambitions to be top of the class for laundry.’
My tone was measured and I glared at him defiantly.
I had to admit though that I was secretly pleased I had not lost marks for being rubbish in bed. My stupid female pride and competitiveness came to the fore every time.
I looked Daniel in the eye and knew I had to give an Oscar-winning performance if I was to have any chance of convincing him I was considering allowing him back into my life. Adam had persuaded me that it was the only way of getting him to let his guard down, the only way to find out what I needed to know about his various underhand dealings to avoid my own financial ruin. The unexpected flaw in the plan was that I actually had fleeting moments where I believed my own lies and found myself beginning to soften towards him. I could not deny the fact that there was still a little piece of me that just wanted all this to go away, to be able to wind back the clock and carry on with our life as it had been pre-email.
I reminded myself of what he had just said and abruptly pushed those ridiculous thoughts to the back of my mind, concentrating on the task in hand.
I stood with my back to the stranger in my kitchen, making him a drink, and wondering yet again how we came to this point. He was blissfully unaware that there had been a shift of power in the last few weeks, ever since I acquired the trackers. I now knew his every movement and, best of all; he hadn’t got a clue about it.
I asked him where he had been the last few days, as a kind of test. I so desperately wanted him to tell the truth, just once, so I could believe there was some hope of eternal salvation for him. But, of course, it didn’t happen. Apparently, he had been fixing a machine up in Scotland.
I knew the tracker did not lie to me and I knew he had been nowhere near Scotland. The lying, cheating, manipulative piece of shit I had married was not to be trusted an inch and it was high time I faced up to that fact.
I returned to the task in hand.
Pouring far too much Mount Gay into his glass, I surreptitiously added a crushed sleeping tablet to the mix, for good measure. For myself, just a hint of rum, lots of ice and a full glass of coke. I could not afford to be anything less than fully alert. The sleeping tablets made me slightly uneasy, in case I accidentally killed him, but I justified it by telling myself it was insurance necessary for my own safety.
I found out a while back that the doctor had prescribed Daniel with Amitriptyline, an anti-depressant/sleeping drug. I didn’t want him playing the ‘depressed’ card in the divorce court and getting one over on me, so I had taken myself off to the doctor with all the right symptoms (thank you Google) and, lo and behold, came out with my very own prescription for Amitriptyline. I had no intention of ever taking it myself, but it was certainly coming in useful that night.
As I watched the powder dissolve and disappear without a trace into the dark liquid, I felt satisfied that, should anything go wrong, it wouldn’t be the end of the world and I could certainly not be accused of murder. A court would surely rule that he had taken his own life, or simply got confused and taken too many of his own drugs by mistake. After all, who could blame him for being confused, depressed and suicidal; living with the damage he had done to so many lives? Some darker thoughts crossed my mind fleetingly.
- What if I just put some extra in his drink? As in, quite a lot extra?
- It would be so easy.
- Wouldn’t I just be doing the world a favour?
- There would be no mess, no blood, just an end to the nightmare.
I felt a sudden empathy with vigilantes and all that they stood for. I understood completely, but my conscience got the better of me and I refrained for the time being.
I handed Daniel his drink and sat down opposite him, careful to keep the kitchen table between us. I did not trust him and had no idea what he was ultimately capable of if he got wind of what I was up to.
He took a large gulp, then suddenly lurched forward across the table and grabbed my hand before I could react.
‘They should have been yours!’ he blurted out, a sob catching in his throat.
He looked genuinely distraught and for a moment I was completely wrong-footed.
‘The children,’ he clarified. ‘They should have been yours. I’m so, so sorry.’
To my horror, he actually looked like he meant it. He hung his head in shame and clutched my hand tightly, pressing it between both of his. I hated him more than words could ever express at that moment but, despite the hatred, I could not stop the tears. Nor did I pull my hand away.
Children. That was always my Achilles heel and he knew it. In a split second, I went from a position of strength and power, a feeling of being in total control, to a feeling of utter desolation and despair, as the pain flooded in once again and I felt as if I was going mad.
All of our married life, he insisted he did not want children. He liked our life the way it was, he always said, just the two of us (and the rest of his harem of course). Eventually, I had been forced to choose and make a decision, possibly the worst of my life, because that decision meant giving up on my own dreams of a family in favour of my husband.
If ever there was a case of misplaced loyalty and dedication to a marriage that was surely it. I broke down, unable to stop the tears.
‘How could you do it? How could you betray me like that? How could you be so cruel?’ I implored him piteously. ‘How could you go on telling me all those years that you didn’t want children and then go off and have them with other women behind my back?’
He had no answer to that and eventually just shrugged his shoulders awkwardly.
‘I suppose you should have just got pregnant if you wanted kids so badly. It’s true I never really wanted them, but when it happened I just had to deal with it. It seemed to turn out ok in the end and it wasn’t as bad as I thought to be honest. Ironically, I quite like being a dad.’
And there it was. The real Daniel was back in the room. His words cut through me like a knife, as he undoubtedly knew they would. The moment of weakness and vulnerability was over and I snatched my hand away. There was no place for this kind of emotion and sentimentality, especially not in front of him. I needed to toughen up and remember what this was all about. Operation car search.
I noted with satisfaction that my special cocktail of rum and Amitriptyline was beginning to have the desired effect and, after listening to a final, ludicrous gem
about how he wanted me to meet his children so that I could teach them to ride, sail and ski, he blundered his way up the two flights of stairs to the top floor and into our former marital bedroom.
My new bedroom on the middle floor was now fully and permanently equipped with a knife under the pillow and a dining chair in the corner, which I could wedge under the door handle to prevent uninvited guests. If faced with the worst-case scenario and things turned nasty, I had no intention of coming off worst.
I listened to him undressing and clumping around on the wooden floor of the bedroom then, as soon as I heard him go into the bathroom, I sprinted up the stairs two at a time and slipped silently into the bedroom to retrieve his car keys. My heart was thumping and I knew I only had a couple of minutes before he was done. He always kept the keys in his trouser pocket, but a quick rummage through all the pockets revealed nothing.
Where the hell were they?
I frantically opened the bedside drawers and my scrabbling fingers finally located them, buried under a couple of pairs of his silk boxers, stuffed towards the back of the middle drawer.
BASTARD! He had actually hidden them from me.
I knew that meant he was suspicious of me, despite his claims of wanting us to get back together. Apparently, we were both playing games, but only one of us could win and I intended to do everything I could to make sure it was me.
I snatched the keys out and straightened the boxers before closing the drawer and creeping, Pink Panther style, out of the bedroom and down to my own room. It was not long before I heard him stagger back into the bedroom and collapse on the bed, no longer able to fight off the effects of the drugs and alcohol.
I lay in bed for a while longer, fuming.
- How dare he hide his keys from me.
I played through his words in my head, again and again, delivered earlier that evening with his best ‘sincere’ face.
Twenty Years a Stranger (The Stranger Series Book 1) Page 24
