by J. A. Baker
She receives a message almost immediately.
Sure doll. How about tonight at The Tavern? Nice and quiet in there. See you at 7.
A bolt of electricity darts through her, waking her up, shaking her brain into motion, forcing some life back into her tired old bones. Sod Anthony and his low aspirations. She will make sure somebody puts this family first and if it means abandoning her morals and integrity to do just that then so be it. She may even have a little fun while she’s at it. God knows she could do with injecting some humour and cheer back into her life. The kids can manage just fine without her while she does it, and Anthony – well she feels sure Anthony will barely notice her absence. Most evenings he has his head stuck in a book or some pamphlet or other while she watches TV alone. They are living separate lives, passing one another silently, the ghost of their marriage rapidly fading until it disappears altogether.
Buoyed up by the sudden response, she showers and tidies the bedroom. It’s so hard to find places to store things in this shoebox of a house. Her clothes are crammed into a tiny wardrobe and her make-up and jewellery are stuffed into boxes that fill every surface of the bedroom. Doing her best to remain upbeat she cleans the bathroom, tidies upstairs and curls her hair ready for later on tonight.
The rest of the day is a blur of housework and cooking. She cleans the kitchen, the living room, the children’s bedrooms, making sure it’s presentable for when everyone returns from school and work. It may even help put her in a better light, let them see she isn’t just some miserable old soak who sits about the house all day painting her nails.
She knows how she is viewed by her husband and children and knows also that she drinks too much and that they want her to stop. Misery has pushed her into a rut. She is trying to climb back out of it but it isn’t easy. In fact, it’s very bloody hard. Some days, a blackness descends and it feels as if she is suffocating, every last pocket of air being pushed out of her lungs. Perhaps tonight will help lift that blackness. She hopes so. She deserves this time, this slither of happiness. She needs it.
The Tavern is perfect she thinks – tucked away at the bottom of a lane, frequented mainly by locals, none of whom will know her – she will be able to relax, be herself and not be the uptight individual she has become of late. The thought of it makes her blood fizz with excitement. Her skin tingles as she visualises his face, the way his eyes shine whenever he glances her way. She can’t remember the last time Anthony looked at her the way he does. She shouldn’t get too attached to him, she knows that and will do her utmost to keep a healthy distance from him but she cannot be held responsible for what happens when her marriage is falling apart and her husband is a cold individual who hardly notices whether she is dead or alive. It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. A way of reminding herself that she’s still breathing, that she is still here and in need of some love and affection. She is more than just somebody’s wife, somebody’s mother. She is a person in her own right and is worthy of being treated as such.
By the time Jocelyn and Alexander arrive home, she is floating on air, happier than she has been for many weeks. Trying to keep her new-found enthusiasm under wraps, Kate keeps her make-up to a bare minimum and dresses conservatively, telling Anthony she is meeting another of her friends from her yoga classes, telling him that Sylvia will also be there and that it’s an informal get-together and she won’t be late back. He seems relieved to see her happy, even giving her a peck on the cheek as she leaves. Maybe he prefers it when we’re apart, she thinks as she slips out of the door and into the night.
She drives there, keen to take the car, to stop herself from drinking too much. It’s midweek. She needs to stay alert, keep her wits about her, not get carried away by the moment. Besides, last night’s alcohol is possibly still swilling around in her bloodstream. Two bottles. Or was it three. She has a memory of searching for a fourth. Or maybe not. Perhaps that was the previous evening. Or the one before that. Her face burns, shame creeping under her skin. Driving is better. She needs to dry out.
‘You look stunning.’ In the corner of the pub, he sits, half hidden in the shadows. He stands to greet her, his green eyes twinkling, sending a dart of desire through her. God, that smile. And those eyes.
A vision of Anthony pushes into her mind, his expression as she left, the fact he attempted to say something which she brushed off as she grabbed at her jacket and closed the door behind her, the dull click of it making her head thump. She ignores it. He has had his chance to make good the bad things in their life. Now it’s her turn to grasp at this small goblet of happiness, to take it and drink it down greedily like a woman dying of thirst.
A glass of wine is placed in front of her. ‘I’m driving,’ she manages to say, her voice husky.
‘It’s a white wine spritzer. Just the one and you’ll be fine.’
She nods, takes a sip, savouring its slightly acidic taste, and smiles at him. ‘I can’t stay out late. Anthony thinks I’m with the girls from my yoga class.’
He gives her a knowing smile and takes a slug of his beer. ‘Always running away from me.’
‘No. Not running,’ she replies softly. ‘Just cautious.’
The pub is almost empty save for a few stragglers at the bar, locals who pay no attention to the couple in the corner. Relief finally settles in her bones, softening her sharp demeanour. She can do this. It’s just possible that a small amount of happiness is within her grasp.
He is evaluating her every move. She feels excitement mingled with fear as he reaches over and places his hand over hers. His skin is warm and reassuring against her cold clammy flesh. ‘This place has rooms. I took the liberty…’
It’s wrong, she knows that but she can’t remember the last time she felt so alive. She can’t remember the last time anybody paid her this much attention, caressing her bare skin, kissing her body, murmuring her name over and over until she feels like she might explode.
His lovemaking is a slow and sensuous affair. Not what she expected from him. This is another side of the man she thought she knew. This is his gentler side, his tender self that is reserved solely for her.
‘I have to go. It’s getting late.’ She attempts to sit up. He begins to knead her breasts, his fingers moving over her naked body with the softest of touches.
‘Like I said, always running away from me.’
‘No, like I said earlier. Just cautious. We both have a lot to lose if anybody ever found out about us.’
‘They won’t. Come on, just ten more minutes and then we’ll leave.’ His voice is so seductive, it takes her all of her strength to drag herself out of the bed and slip into her underwear.
‘You’re a tease, Kate. I need to see you again.’
She mentally rakes through the week ahead. Could she really manage another night like this without Anthony getting suspicious? She wants to, dear God, every inch of her wants to. Her skin is burning with desire, her nerve endings tingling and tight with desire and lust, but she also knows that she has to be careful here. Getting caught is unthinkable.
‘How about tomorrow during the day? Everyone will be out. We could meet here again. Or somewhere else.’
He watches her as she gets dressed. ‘I hope you’re not messing me about, Kate.’ There is a sliver of ice in his voice. ‘I hope you’re not about to cut me off. I don’t like being cut off before this has even started.’
She hears the coldness in his tone. She hears it, dismisses it. He’s a man, driven by sex and power. They all have it within them to suddenly turn, their moods dipping and changing as they intimidate people to get what they want out of life. She knows that. It excites her, fires up her deadened senses. Anthony is a shadow of the man he used to be; a dispassionate being who no longer makes her feel alive. And she wants to feel alive. Dear God, she wants it so much it’s a constant gnawing sensation that sits deep in her guts.
She shivers and throws on her jacket, buttoning it up against the sudden blast of cold air that is running through her. �
��No, not at all. I’m just being careful, trying to avoid being seen.’
He nods and she surreptitiously lets out a breath that has been compacted deep in her chest. She can’t lose this before it’s begun. Besides the amazing sex, this man has exactly what she needs – money. Getting him to allow Anthony to manage some of his finances could be their lucky break.
‘You’ll have to tell me about your property portfolio.’ She hopes she hasn’t overstepped the mark, making him think she’s only interested in his wealth. She is, but not in the way he might imagine.
‘Course I will. Got some amazing developments on the go at the minute. A new set of office blocks right in the centre of town that should be going up next year. Just need to get the planning department to not be so fucking anal and get them on our side and we’re good to go.’
She smiles, knowing she’s on safe and steady ground here. He likes nothing better than talking about himself and his achievements and future developments. Rob is motivated by money which is why introducing him to Anthony could work well in their favour. Even Rob isn’t so dense as to mention their affair. He doesn’t want to lose half of everything he owns any more than she does. It’s all about the money with him. She knows how he thinks – cash is king.
‘Well, if ever you need any assistance with the financial side of things, Anthony could always help you out. He’s an experienced hedge fund manager, really knows his stuff.’ Her words appear to fall on deaf ears as Rob reaches across and grabs at his phone, scrolling through it with the interest she wishes he would show towards her suggestion. ‘And he also has contacts in the planning department that could benefit you.’ She has no idea why she is saying such a thing. Anthony has a friend who used to work in the planning department and whether or not he holds a position of authority is debatable but she had to find a way in, to get Rob to listen to her.
He sits up straight and throws his phone to one side. He’s listening now, his eyes gleaming with longing. ‘Who? Have you got a name?’ His voice is suddenly loud, rich with interest, his words coming out in an unstoppable stream. Gone is the gentle demure tone he used with her only moments ago in bed. The Rob Bowron of old is back – loud, brash, demanding.
‘No. Sorry, but I can get Anthony to contact you if you like? Maybe he can also give you advice on your investments. He’s one of the best.’
Rob is shaking his head, his interest now honed back in on his phone which he snatches up and reads, his eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Got an adviser, thanks. Don’t need another one.’
Disappointment and resentment bristles within her. Rob needs Anthony. He needs his expertise and knowledge to increase his wealth. He just doesn’t know it yet. One more meeting to try and persuade him, that’s all she needs. Then she can back off, cool her ardour and they can all get down to business. The business of improving her life, her wealth, her status. The business of getting her old life back.
‘Tomorrow?’ She says with a wink, leaning over and kissing him softly on the lips. ‘Same place?’
The sun is a distant memory, the moon silvering the ground as she crosses the car park and slips into her vehicle, failure nestling and unfurling in her abdomen. He just needs more time to come round to her way of thinking, that’s all it is. The way he made love to her, so gently, so tenderly, that’s how she knows that she will eventually win him over, get him to consider taking her up on her offer. Her body, her female charm; she will use it to her advantage and get exactly what she wants.
It’s just a matter of time.
22
Dominic’s day passes quickly but not without incident. The memory of that girl, her fixed gaze, the way she turned her head – it causes him to stop and take stock of everything. It’s that look that she has, the curve of her mouth, the colour of her skin. The skittish way she acts when her name is called out in class, as if she has been caught out doing something untoward – it reminds him so much of her – his Clara. Except she isn’t Clara and he needs to remember that, to stay focused in her presence, not get bogged down in thoughts and recollections that tug at his heartstrings, knocking him off-kilter.
Clara is gone, even the scent of her no more than a distant memory. He knows that. Clara chose a life without him.
This Jocelyn child is just that – a child. A child in a woman’s body with the wily ways of somebody much older and wiser.
Clara definitely wasn’t the same sort of person that this Jocelyn is – troublesome, brash, overconfident – and yet there is something about her that evokes images from his past, stirring acid and bile in his gut and forcing him to mislay his sensibilities when he is around her. Last week, he had to speak to Jocelyn about her behaviour in class, how she was losing focus and not contributing to the lesson in a positive manner.
His eyes mist over, a pebble-sized lump lodging in his throat as he thinks back to that day, the way she moved closer to him, as if she could read his thoughts, his innermost needs and desires. It unnerved him, made him uncomfortable, wanting to jump out of his own skin. He told her to leave the room, his tone sharp and unaccommodating. She and her friend left, both full of sniggers and sarcasm. A sense of impending doom sat in his gut for hours afterwards.
Dominic snaps back to the present, shaking off all thoughts of Jocelyn, of Clara, of a time when he felt sure life would go his way and didn’t.
Alexander is sitting at the back of the room. Dominic evades his gaze, can feel the boy’s eyes on him as he addresses the class, telling them their learning objective for the next hour. In the corner is the other miscreant, Dane Bowron; the boy who is destined to follow the same route as his father, his path in life already mapped out, its trajectory deeply embedded in the boy’s DNA. There is no escaping his father’s genes; his loutish ways, his fixed opinions, his dismissal of education.
‘Why spend weeks and months stuck in college when he can be out there earning money?’ was Rob Bowron’s cry when he made a rare appearance at a parental consultation evening one time. Dominic had spoken honestly, telling Dane’s parents that he feared for the boy’s future if he didn’t start applying himself and putting more effort into his schoolwork. ‘Learning how to make things that people want to buy, that’s the key to success, not sitting here reciting bloody poetry or spouting off a load of Shakespeare. It’s all bollocks anyway.’ Rob had laughed at his own statement before telling his wife to get up, that he had heard enough and it was time for them to move on. ‘Problem with you education types is, you’ve never been out there in the big wide world. You’ve got no idea what makes people tick. I can tell you this much – it ain’t Shakespeare and Dickens that will earn the boy good money, it’s a solid day’s graft.’
‘He’s a capable young man and could go far but not if he doesn’t produce the work and study hard,’ Dominic had said, hoping for some sort of recognition at his words. The mother had sat quietly; a submissive creature with features that reminded Dominic of a frightened rabbit startled by an oncoming vehicle, too scared to move or react before shifting in her seat and standing up. She had given Dominic a meek smile and moved away, her feet clicking on the tiled floor as she hurried to catch up with her brute of a husband.
You never can tell, thinks Dominic as he stands in front of the board and asks the class to open their books at page 115, how these youngsters will turn out later in life. Some of them do surprising things, breaking out of their mould and taking flight away from their often impoverished upbringing. But Dane Bowron’s future is as predictable as the passing of time. There is no doubt whatsoever in Dominic’s mind that that boy will go the way of his dad. You can love your children, educate them, teach them right from wrong, but in the end, the genes will out. That boy is destined for a life of delinquency.
The next hour passes quickly with only the odd sarcastic remark when Dominic mispronounces a word and has to quickly correct himself.
He asks everyone to finish the sentence they’re writing and prepare to leave. Should he ask the two lads to stay back? H
e considers it but wonders what will be achieved by such a decision. There will be no other witnesses to what he is about to say, only two resentful teenagers who would vouch for one another should things turn sour. After the last time, when Alex’s worldly-wise sister, a girl who thinks herself advanced for her years, did her damnedest to get close to him, making his muscles twitch and his head ache, he decides to let them go, dismissing the class and reminding them to complete their homework in time for the next lesson.
Packing up his bag and tidying his desk, Dominic ruminates over the thoughts that passed through his head in the early hours of the morning, how close he came to doing untold damage to his reputation. Perhaps it was a rare flash of madness, events of late becoming too much for him; recurring memories, moments of doubt and terror coupled with an invasion of his personal space. They all crowded his mind, nearly sending him toppling over the edge into the dark gaping mouth of insanity.
Despite the warmth of the room, he feels cold, a chill brushing over his flesh. He shuffles on his jacket, pushes his chair under his desk. His battered old briefcase dangles from his fingertips, its weight digging into his skin.
It’s time for him to go home. It may have been a positive day today and the learning that took place has given him a buzz. It’s a long time since he felt that sensation. But he now needs to get out of this place, to feel the sun on his face, see the azure sky. But more than anything, he wants to shut off his mind, close his eyes and simply forget.
She is sitting in the bedroom chair when he arrives home. Today he didn’t make it back at lunchtime to check up on her. It worried him, the thought of her being stuck here on her own. Her head is dipped to one side, her eyes closed against the thin slant of watery sunlight that filters through the blinds. He wonders what goes through her head. Does she still think about him? Is she even aware of where she is? Who he is?
