The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘Oh yes!… No! Let me get that.’ I fumbled for my bag and found my purse, ‘It was Black Sheep, you said?’

  ‘Sure was. You’ll have one with me though, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t…’

  There was a clatter as the barmaid collected a clutch of glasses from the next table. ‘I wouldn’t think about going out there if I were you. Brrrr! Orrible!’ She grinned at both of us. ‘I’d stay here in the warm.’

  I paused. ‘Okay then… Thanks.’

  ‘What are you thanking me for, I thought you were buying?’ He arched a look and his face went from unconventional to attractive, all in the space of a grin.

  ‘I’ll go and find a table a bit closer to the fire, shall I? There’s a good one over there. I can hang myself over it and have a quiet steam,’ he winked at me but I pretended I hadn’t seen it as I made my way to the bar. Despite my embarrassment I felt a bit fuzzy and giggly. He was a nice guy actually: funny, I could tell he was comfortable taking the piss out of me and I liked that. I smiled as I chanced a look round. He’d found a seat in a corner nook and, with a shock, I realised why this place had made me think of Dan. I’d been in this pub before.

  With him.

  A squeeze of something sour churned in my stomach. I suddenly recognised the wooden settle and the sepia photographs of the aproned coopers, arms folded, flat caps staring unsmiling into the camera lens. I’d not only been here, I’d sat in that exact seat.

  Oh God.

  I took a breath.

  You never say no to seeing me. I remembered that teasing lift at the corner of his mouth. I loved his mouth.

  Why would I? I’d said. I love seeing you… I love you, in fact.

  The words had left my lips without me wanting them to. I remembered the deep burn and thrill of having spoken them out loud.

  That’s all a bit full-on, isn’t it Lucy? Don’t spoil it. Things are good as they are, there’s no need to mess it up.

  The pain had twisted like a razor-sharp barb. I watched his beautiful mouth articulating each syllable. I learned to hate his mouth. I learned to hate what came out of it.

  ‘Yes, love, what would you like?’ The barmaid shocked me back.

  I ordered the drinks and paid for them feeling acutely self-conscious. My heart was racing inexplicably, and I was aware that my jacket must be all crushed at the back and then wondering why the hell I was bothered. I carried the glasses over.

  ‘So,’ Paul went to take his pint. ‘What were you doing at the nick?’

  I nearly toppled both drinks. ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘Ooops! You okay there?’ He rescued his glass from my clutches and sucked the drips from his fingers. ‘I was visiting and I thought I might’ve seen you leaving the wing. Have I got that all wrong?’

  ‘You were visiting?’

  He laughed. ‘Ah, yes, sorry. No. I have to come up on occasions and supervise some of the clinical interviews. I even do one or two occasionally. I’m the senior psychologist now, although I used to work in prisons full-time.’ He sipped his pint as things began to fall into place.

  ‘Ahh!… The infamous Dr Webb!’

  He blinked in surprise. ‘Hell, am I famous?’ he looked at me over the rim of his glass.

  I shook my head and laughed. ‘No… Well, maybe… In the right circles.’ I resisted all impulse to mention the Simon Gould case. I didn’t even want to think of it.

  ‘And how about you?’

  I picked up my glass. I shook my head while swallowing. ‘Just a paltry Probation Officer. Your name crops up a lot in the reports I read – mostly prisoners in the London nicks though.’

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘I’m based at Head Office, but I travel all over the country dealing with some of the interesting cases.’

  Interesting. I felt a tiny itch of irritation.

  ‘So tell me then, who did you say you were seeing in Ravensmoor?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ I was suddenly aware that might sound abrupt, and blushed.

  ‘Gould. Pre-release interview.’

  ‘Ah yes, Gould. I’ve spent a lot of time with Gould. He’s a fascinating case.’

  ‘To some I suppose.’ Why the hell had I just said that?

  I detected a smile at the corner of his lips. I felt a hole begin to open up in front of me.

  ‘But I see you don’t.’ He picked up a beer mat and ran a thumbnail down one edge.

  I swallowed. Right now, I could not afford to start challenging a senior psychologist, particularly one I’d only just met. Even I knew that.

  ‘No, not really.’ The itch moved into my spine.

  His grey eyes searched mine. ‘I can see why. I would think Gould found you threatening. You’ll have scared him a bit.’

  He peeled a thin top layer of card. It lay curled on the table.

  ‘He’d be aware that you had all the control, and he wouldn’t like that. He would immediately want to find ways to undermine you. He’s a very astute individual. But it’s a feral intelligence. It’s instinctive: like an animal. He can smell vulnerability. But of course—’ the ruined mat landed on the table. ‘I can tell he wouldn’t have got anywhere with you,’ He picked up his drink, sipping a little off the top.

  ‘But you supported his release?’ The words came out before I could stop them and he paused, clearly a little shocked.

  ‘Me? Christ, no.’

  ‘But I thought—?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I’ve made it quite clear to Gould, to the parole board, and to anyone else that would listen that I still believe him to be a danger; that’s why I’ve advised very stringent release conditions. I want him on a tight leash, and I can see by your face that you do too.’

  I watched his face: so impassioned, so alive, so clear. I smiled and put my glass down.

  ‘Let’s not talk about work stuff anymore, shall we?’

  ‘You know what, you’re absolutely right!’ He slapped his hands on the table. ‘Did you want another?… Vodka, was it?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I glanced down to find my glass was empty. ‘Oh!’

  He had stood up and was moving towards the bar before I could answer. I realised that I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime and the alcohol was already going to my head. I took a surreptitious glance at him while he was waiting to be served. He was leaning on one elbow and his crumpled cuff had shunted back. It showed his watch and the breadth of his wrist. His hand briefly touched his neck. The fingers were beautiful: square and slightly tanned. I immediately looked away, scared in case he caught me staring.

  He came back with the drinks, settled himself and then winced a bit sheepishly. ‘Sorry about all that… before…’ He scratched his chin. ‘I have a tendency to put people on the spot a bit. I’m a tad inquisitorial by nature…’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Just tell me when I’m doing it and I’ll back off. So, come on then. Tell me all about you. Your accent for instance – where’s that from?’

  ‘Oh, round here – but I’m based in London now.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Highbury,’ I smiled. ‘But I work in Hackney.’

  ‘Ah, Highbury, I know bits of it.’ He smiled back. ‘Nice. I’m in Belsize Park. Do you have family?’

  ‘A mum and sister. Mam’s ill. Dementia.’

  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’ He looked genuinely concerned. ‘You know you said “Mam” not “Mum’. It’s nice.’

  ‘So how about you?’ I deftly changed the subject. ‘Where are you from?’

  He sat back a little and put down his glass. ‘My family are from Hertfordshire originally, that’s where I grew up. But they’re all gone now, I’m afraid. I never had any siblings, and no cousins, even – None that I’m aware of anyway. I’m afraid I don’t come from very long-lived stock… Oh! And talking of not living very long… Are you starving? I am. Do you fancy dinner or something? I wonder what they do here?’ He squinted up at the board on the wall behind.

&nb
sp; I could barely keep up with him.

  I laughed and he looked back at me expectantly.

  ‘I could eat a horse between two bread vans,’ I drawled in broad Yorkshire.

  ‘Ah, I do like a woman with a bit of class.’ He pronounced it with the short ‘a’.

  ‘You’re funny,’ I thought I might be flirting, but after more vodkas than was good for me, I’d stopped caring.

  ‘Am I?’ He regarded me, his head tipped on one side.

  ‘Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar, though?’ I gave him a quizzical look. ‘That’s the important question.’

  ‘Probably a bit of both,’ he chuckled back. ‘I hope so anyway.’

  * * *

  I can’t remember what we ate, or even what we talked about. I was aware of the time passing, the massive logs on the fire turning black and jewel red, the heat pulsing as the jostling bodies around the bar swam by in shapes and colours. I wasn’t paying proper attention, I knew that. I also knew that despite my previous reservation, I was enjoying myself. I really was. I was finding this unusual man attractive; he made me laugh, he was intelligent and considerate and attentive and I deserved a bit of care and attention. Emma had been right. Why the hell shouldn’t I?

  I said something cheeky and he laughed. The lights from the bar caught his face and his eyes sparkled. I was aware of how close we’d got: how our cramped elbows had slid across the table, making us tight in our own circle. I was drinking too much, I knew that too. I was letting loose, making things inevitable. There was his mouth, soft, moving in front of me like a pale crescent moon, laughing suddenly; his lips moving with underwater slowness, shaping words that I wasn’t sure had any meaning, but it didn’t seem to matter. I lifted my glass and saw an endless snowflake pattern of fingermarks, quite perfect, and his odd face, right there, and me not understanding why I had ever thought it odd and not strangely beautiful. I was aware of all my nerve-endings: they felt suddenly alive; every breath was light and new and felt clean and sharp.

  He’s probably done this before.

  Don’t be stupid; of course he has, the voice in my head said. He’s confident and at ease. It’s bloody obvious.

  He laughed right into my eyes and I knew he was keen, and his keenness made me feel confident too. I knew the game, I wasn’t daft. I looked smilingly into his face. If I stayed right where I was he might lean forward, tip his head and kiss me. I felt it. Caught. We gazed, bright and engaging, into each other’s eyes: a direct stare that didn’t need words to tell us what we were both thinking, and then suddenly he looked away. He concentrated on a little ring of water on the table and I immediately felt ridiculous, sitting there so rapt and eager. He half-smiled, casually drawing his finger through the circle. It made a little squealing sound. Someone dropped a glass behind the bar and I took a breath as the real world thumped back into place.

  He glanced around. ‘What time is it?’ He looked down at his watch. ‘Ten past nine. What do you think? It might’ve stopped raining. Should we make a run for it?’

  ‘Yeah. Great. Good idea.’

  I managed the words clumsily, pushing my chair back, licking and biting my lips to get the feeling back into them, leaning down to grab my bag. The table edge loomed horribly close. He stood and moved with me, guiding me towards the door. I felt a prickle of intimacy as the heat of his hand hovered around the small of my back, the sensation tickling my spine as we stepped out onto the pavement. Dark clouds were roiling in overhead and a fine rain was slanting through the streetlights, making the world look patchy and phosphorescent. We fell in step with that uncomfortable tension of not holding hands: a couple yet not a couple, but knowing we were only a hair’s breadth away from being just that.

  We walked side by side in silence for a few moments. I was concentrating on my feet and we bumped shoulders as he went to cross the road.

  He chuckled. ‘Hey, careful! Which way are you going?’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I wasn’t watching.’

  He stopped and looked at me. ‘No, I meant which way? Do you want a lift?’ He nodded to a white Audi.

  ‘But you’ve been drinking.’ I felt the road moving slightly beneath my feet.

  ‘Actually, you’ve been drinking, I stopped hours ago.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t realise…’ I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say, my mouth feeling sticky and clumsy with drink, my face a stiff mask with me sitting stupidly behind it.

  ‘Let me take you to where you’re staying at least?’

  ‘No. Really. I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘A cab, then.’ He looked round. ‘You can’t be out here, in—’ He paused. I thought he was going to say ‘this state,’ and I felt a rush of annoyance. ‘— this weather,’ he added.

  I drew myself up and staggered slightly. ‘I’ll be perfectly fine, thank you,’

  ‘Would you like to exchange numbers?’ he looked amused and patted his pocket.

  ‘Why not?’

  The words didn’t come out as I wanted them to; I knew I sounded off-hand and aloof. He was signalling that the evening was over; part of me wanted it to be, and then another part of me… I distracted myself by scrabbling in my bag for my phone and then fumbled as I tried to turn it on, but the screen only flashed and died.

  ‘Oh shit! The battery’s gone.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He grabbed my hand and turned it over. ‘Here.’ He pulled a biro from his pocket and began to stroke black numbers onto my palm. The ink felt cold and tickled a sensation right through my belly. I felt myself sway a little, watching his face as he worked. This isn’t you, that little voice inside me said. You don’t meet men in pubs and think what it would be like to… be like to… We were so close I could smell his skin. His lips twitched a little with concentration. He ended with an ostentatious full stop, smiling, but didn’t let go of my hand.

  ‘There.’ He blinked up at me.

  I hesitated. He didn’t move. I knew what I was going to do. I leaned forward and kissed him: gently at first, but then with an urgency and a passion, letting go of my reserve, my fear, my self-consciousness. I kissed him until there was no breath left in either of us.

  ‘Fuck…’ he said.

  I could feel his erection against my hip. I pulled back slightly and slipped my hand down his fly to squeeze it.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Yes. Let’s,’ I laughed. This man didn’t know me. I could be anyone I wanted to be. With him, I felt liberated. Desire flooded through me in a wave, buoying me up; the sheer thrill of it; I was in control. He pulled me to him again but I pushed him off. ‘But not quite yet,’ I said flirting outrageously now. ‘Come on.’ I offered him my hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’

  I was surprised when he took it meekly like a child. I only smiled. ‘Somewhere.’

  ‘What do you mean, somewhere? Where’s somewhere?’

  But I didn’t answer. I led him, a tad unsteadily, across the road. ‘This one?’ I gestured to the Audi.

  He fumbled for the keys, the immobiliser flashing into the darkness. I stalked round to the passenger side and yanked the door open. He paused for a moment to pull his shirt out of his trousers to cover his embarrassment. The power rushed through me.

  He looked across the roof at me. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay?’

  ‘I’m faa-bulous,’ my lips caught on my teeth. ‘How ’bout you?’

  ‘Okay. Fabulous, so where are we going?’ He turned to look at me. I couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘Just drive and I’ll tell you.’ I waved at the road.

  He didn’t argue, just started the engine and glanced in the mirror. I didn’t look at him. The streets skimmed by. I was minutely aware of every movement he made, the length of his thigh, the turn of his cheek, the back of his hand on the steering wheel. I began to feel a little more sober. What the hell was I doing?

  ‘Just follow the main road out of York and then the signs for Bilbrough.’ My voice sounded almost nor
mal. A small tickle of trepidation slid quickly into excitement. I was doing this. I really was.

  He didn’t ask me any more questions. The windscreen wipers squealed a little in protest on the half-dry glass, smearing the road-view, laying it out there in front of us, long and empty. We drove, silently. The sky overhead was dark, black almost, the roads lined with trees that were silvered into sentinels. He peered at the lit road signs. ‘How far are we actually going?’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, already knowing this was completely barmy.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Ask questions. Turn off here.’ I remembered something.

  ‘Here? You’re sure about this?’ He glanced at me.

  We’d come here as kids. I knew this place almost as though I’d dreamt it.

  The road straightened out with bleak fields on either side. His phone rang and he ignored it.

  ‘I have no idea where we are.’ He looked around, anxiously. ‘What if you’re one of those female serial killers?’

  ‘Then you won’t have to worry about finding your way home, will you?’

  He roared with laughter. I could see he liked the fact I was off-beat and outrageous; this was really me, I told myself, but where had this me come from?

  We passed signs for the town centre. The fields became scattered houses and barns and then a school and a pub and then the streets narrowed, with collapsing red-brick Georgian houses and shop fronts. The pale square tower of a Norman church rose up from behind the trees.

  ‘Pull up over there.’

  He squeezed in under a low overhang of branches just as his phone rang and he dragged it from his pocket and switched it off.

  ‘Someone wants you.’

  He didn’t answer. ‘Where now?’

  I inched out of the passenger side and walked away up the path next to the church, knowing instinctively he would follow.

  He looked round. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Keep going.’

  We walked along the gravel path down through the churchyard, past the ragged black tombstones, picking our way over slides of mud and puddles. The wind picked up as we rounded the walls of the church.