The toddler grins. Snuffles. Sticks his thumb in his mouth.
Evan grins back. The sweets are hot and sticky in his palm.
Then a telephone rings. Shrill and loud. Cutting through the still, humid air.
‘Grandma’ll just get that,’ Evan hears, followed by hurried footsteps.
‘Lenny pway…’ the toddler says quietly, his thumb connecting a string of drool to his mouth. His cherry-red lips are parted as he crouches down at the gap in the hedge, peering through. His azure eyes search around, lighting up when they catch sight of Evan’s face. The kid lets out an excited squeal.
‘Shhh…’ Evan whispers, placing a finger over his mouth.
The toddler mimics him, spraying spit.
‘Want one?’ Evan whispers, holding out the wine gum packet.
The little boy eyes it as though it’s treasure, his face lighting up. He shuffles closer to the gap, waddling in a squat, his nappy hanging between his thighs as it bulges from his towelling shorts.
‘Lenny want…’ he says, reaching out his little fist, the fingers clenching and unclenching. Then he points to the other packet of sweets Evan is holding. ‘Dat.’
‘Love Heart?’ Evan whispers.
The toddler nods eagerly, muttering to himself as he clambers into the thicket of hedge to get closer.
‘Come on, then,’ Evan says quietly. ‘That’s a good boy. Come and get a sweetie.’ He takes a pink, powdery Love Heart from the packet and holds it out to the kid, shuffling back a pace to tempt him through.
‘Lenny want…’ The toddler makes little grunting sounds and drops the plastic shovel he’s holding in order to use his hands to get through the remainder of the hedge. When he reaches the point where it’s easier to go through than back, he lets out a little squeal as a thorn catches his arm. He rubs at it, but his eyes are still on the Love Heart sweet.
‘There’s a good boy,’ Evan croons. ‘Come and get your sweetie.’ He listens out for the grandmother coming as the toddler emerges through the opening. He stands up straight and beams a smile.
‘Dat…’ the toddler says, pointing at Evan’s hand.
‘Take it, then,’ Evan says, stepping back a little more.
The boy toddles forward a few small paces, his feet splayed out in his plastic jelly sandals. Evan notices his toenails. Tiny.
‘Good boy,’ Evan whispers, handing the sweet over. The kid pops it in his mouth, making a face when it goes in. ‘Want another one?’
The toddler nods.
‘Come with me, then,’ Evan says, holding out his hand. The kid takes it and waddles off alongside, but it’s slow progress. Evan knows he only has a few more seconds before the grandmother will come back out and realise the little boy is gone. So he bends down and scoops up the toddler onto his hip, bribing him into silence by taking another Love Heart from the packet.
Evan smells the child’s sickly-sweet breath as he carries him, kicking up his pace into a jog along the rough track. It does something to him, as though all his senses have been brought to life. His entire body tingles as the pressure inside him builds. It’s glorious, blissful, like nothing he’s ever experienced before. The toddler’s hand reaches for the sweet that Evan holds out like a carrot on a stick, and it’s only when the kid starts whining that he gives it to him.
It’s as he shoves it in his mouth that Evan sees ‘Be Mine’ written on it in powdery pink lettering – just at the same time he hears, in the far distance now, the old bat’s piercing scream.
Thirty-Eight
Now
Jen
I leave Kieran to get ready for the party and stumble out of his bedroom in a daze.
Jeremy and Caitlin…
Somehow I make it into my room and stand there, staring at Scott’s clothes dumped on my bed. It takes a moment to build – but something begins to simmer, to swell, the pressure inside me increasing with every breath I take. Instead of screaming, which is what I want to do, I lunge at the stuff on my bed and hurl it all onto the floor, the rage burning deep inside my throat as the anger comes out. Part of the anger. With Kieran in the house, I have to keep a lid on it. But as soon as he’s out the door, God help me for what I might do.
Then I hear the front door open downstairs, but I don’t care. I pull and rip at Scott’s clothes, tearing shirts and jackets off their hangers and stamping on them underfoot. Then, in my bathroom, I swipe all his stuff off my shelf, sending his aftershave bottle smashing onto the tiled floor. The spicy scent fills the bathroom, invading my senses. Making me feel on fire.
I splay my hands out on the tiled wall either side of the mirror above the sink. I gasp for air, my chest heaving in and out, tears streaming down my face as I try to piece together the horror of what I just saw. No wonder Kieran has been acting strange. The girl he’s been trying to build up the courage to ask out for so long has been… I shake my head, unable to hold the image in my mind any longer. It’s as though I never knew my husband.
‘Fucking disgusting bastard,’ I say, looking into the mirror, spit flying out of my mouth. A woman I don’t recognise stares back – drawn, hollow-eyed, thin and gaunt.
And that’s when I see Scott appear behind me in the mirror, his hands coming down on my shoulders, either side of my neck… his fingers slowly reaching around my throat. I cough, feeling my pulse thrumming in my temples, staring into my own eyes in the mirror as his fingers tighten.
His hands were around my throat as my head hit the wall… We’d been drinking, laughing, staggering, drinking some more… and the lights. Blinded by the dance-floor lights. Broken memories all mixed up… One minute the bar… then the next, my hotel room, the slap… Then the bar again, the crowds, the noise… Then I was on my back, my wrists restrained… my clothes ripped off, my legs forced apart.
I didn’t know where I was. Time meant nothing, as though I was everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all. I wasn’t me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t say no.
I screamed. I remember screaming, though nothing came out. I heard it in my head, but not in the room around me. I had no air in my lungs to make a sound. I just wanted someone to hear me, to save me.
I thrashed my head from side to side, frantically trying to breathe as I slapped at his shoulders. That’s when he released my throat and grabbed my wrists. I sucked in a lungful of air, gasping, choking, feeling the oxygen return to my brain.
Then I saw the scar… a six-inch scar running diagonally across his chest, concealed within his sandy hair. I focused on it, making sure it was the only thing I could see, the only thing that existed while my body endured the horror of what he was doing.
God, you’re handsome, I’d thought as the pain had ripped me in two. Convincing myself that he was, that he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I told myself I wanted him, that I needed this, that it was OK for him to be forcing his way in. I told myself that I loved him. That it made it all OK.
The warmth of his skin shrouding me… the scent of his spicy cologne pervading the air.
He loomed over me, my wrists pinned either side of my head. It wasn’t a grin on his face, rather some kind of twisted smile – a smile that drilled into me.
Focus… focus on the scar. Nothing else. Just the scar.
He made noises, resonating deep from within his chest, as though he’d just arrived in a place he’d always dreamt of going.
The rhythm… the steady beat of him… slow, fast, hard, soft… I hated that my body responded. I couldn’t help it, the feelings growing as he knew exactly what to do.
‘Your… your scar…’ I’d said, my voice jumping in time with his movements – a ridiculous thing to ask as he forced himself on me. ‘What happened?’ I needed to know.
He stopped, his body frozen above me. He took his time answering, his lips moving in slow motion as I stared up at them. There was a delay, a time lag, before the words hit my ears. It sounded as though I was underwater, drowning, seeing his lips move through the glassy surface above m
e.
And then, just for a second, it became clear. As though everything was in focus, everything falling into place.
Then the blackness as I passed out… perhaps from shock, perhaps from the drugs, perhaps from self-preservation. It felt as though I’d left my body. Finally, I felt free.
I grab Scott’s wrists, yanking his hands off my neck, grunting with effort. I see a woman staring out of the bathroom mirror – her eyes bulging with fear, her body shaking, veins protruding.
‘Hey, hey…’ Scott says, backing off, his hands raised. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK. You’re so jumpy. I just thought you could use a shoulder rub. Bad day?’
I swing round, staring up at him. I force my breathing to slow as my hand comes up to my throat, gently touching where his hands had been.
You tried to strangle me… I want to say, but it won’t come out. I don’t know if I’m talking about now or then.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Scott says matter-of-factly, heading into my bedroom. ‘Though…’ He stands with his hands on his hips, staring at his clothes thrown everywhere. ‘I didn’t leave it quite this bad. I was going to hang them up, but I went to collect more things from the storage unit before they closed. I picked us up some nice food for dinner.’ He grins
Focus on the scar…
‘I’m sorry…’ I find myself saying. ‘I had a shock. I shouldn’t have thrown your clothes on the floor.’ Then I’m on my knees, fighting back the tears as I grab shirts and trousers and jackets, hooking them back onto hangers, shoving some of them into my wardrobe. ‘There’s space, look,’ I say, turning, grinning. I must look like a madwoman. ‘Plenty of room for your things too.’ I need to placate him until I figure out what to do.
‘Jennifer…?’ Scott says. His voice is questioning, as though he doesn’t trust what I’m doing. If he saw inside my head, could read my thoughts, he’d be right.
‘What did you get for dinner? I’m starving,’ I tell him from the floor as I gather up underwear and socks, stuffing an armful into my lingerie drawer. It doesn’t close properly so I leave it half open, overflowing. ‘Kieran’s off to a party tonight, so we’ll… we’ll have the house to ourselves.’ I push my fingers through my hair, trying to straighten it out, and wipe a finger under my eye, cleaning up my smudged mascara.
Scott stands there staring at me, a doubting look on his face. His mouth opens then closes again.
‘Why don’t you have a shower, get freshened up?’ I suggest. ‘Then I’ll open a bottle of wine for you, put some music on. We can cook together. It’ll be lovely.’
He looks at me, his head tilted, his eyes narrowing briefly. Then he glances at the bathroom. ‘Looks like it’s a mess in there too.’
Within seconds, I’m on my hands and knees on the tiles, unravelling toilet paper as fast as I can to gather up the broken glass and mop up the spilt liquid.
‘Ouch…’ I cry, silencing myself as I grab my palm, watching the bead of blood ooze from the fleshy part. Scott is standing over me, waiting. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say, sucking it and then gathering up the bundle of mess and dropping it into the bathroom bin. ‘There.’ I stand up. ‘Have a nice shower. There are some clean towels on the shelf.’
Scott nods, watching as I leave the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I lean back against it for a second, taking a deep breath before heading to Kieran’s room, praying he didn’t hear the commotion through his music. I let out a gasp as he opens his door just as I’m about to knock, taken by surprise.
Focus on the scar…
‘Sorry… sorry, love.’ My voice is broken and shaky. I clutch my head.
‘You OK, Mum?’ my son says, pulling out his earphones.
‘How dapper do you look?’ I say, trying to sound normal. And he does. A white shirt, dark jeans, his nice tan shoes. And he’s put something in his hair so his curls glisten, just like Jeremy’s used to.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he says, slinging on his padded jacket. ‘Chris texted. He’s outside. He’s taking me.’
I nod. ‘Right, OK. Good. You’re staying over?’ I follow him downstairs, wrapping my arms around my body, hugging my long cardigan around me.
‘Is that OK?’ He glances back over his shoulder.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll fetch you in the morning.’
The morning… My head, oh God my throbbing head. The wine glasses… lipstick… underwear… that feeling inside – not warm and comforting as I’d convinced myself, but rather the feeling of shame, of emptiness, of violation. I was lying alone, silently weeping… though I didn’t know that by then, there were already two of us.
A car horn toots outside and Kieran turns to give me a quick peck on the cheek. He’s about to head out but he stops.
‘I really love her, you know. Caitlin. Stupid, right?’ He hangs his head. ‘How could he, Mum? How could Dad do that?’ Kieran’s voice wobbles and croaks, like he’s thirteen again. ‘Those photos of girls in my room last summer? They were Dad’s. I found them in a compartment of his bag when I went to borrow his earphones.’
I drop my head, feeling another surge of pain. Then I pull him in for a hug, tight and warm and safe. ‘I don’t have answers, love,’ I whisper in his ear. ‘I don’t know how he could do any of it, but we’ll get through this, OK? You and I. Talk to Caitlin if you can. Be there for her.’ I hold him out at arm’s length. He’s a good boy. My son. My beautiful son, who doesn’t deserve any of this. ‘But mainly, go and have fun at the party. For God’s sake, have a few drinks and make a fool of yourself dancing.’ I feel tears prickling in my eyes, see the same in Kieran’s.
We both burst out laughing.
‘Love you, Mum,’ he says, wiping the corner of his eye.
‘Love you too, Kier. Now, off with you,’ I say, patting him on the shoulder. He turns and jogs off to Chris’s waiting car. In the passenger seat, I can just make out Caitlin’s face breaking into a nervous smile as Kieran gets into the car.
I shut the door, my heart thumping. And that’s when I see the jacket on the floor – one of Scott’s that has fallen off the oak bench in the hallway, alongside several boxes of stuff he’s brought back from his storage unit.
I bend down and pick it up, resigned to my fate for now. I’m freezing, shivering, so on a whim, I put the jacket on – a navy-blue, infantry-style garment with buttons and plain epaulettes and a grey check lining. The cuffs hang down over my hands as I pad barefoot into the kitchen to open the wine, knowing what I must do. I clutch my arms around my body, trying to get warm.
I take a bottle of Chablis from the fridge, carefully peeling off the foil top, and dig the corkscrew into its neck – winding, winding until I’m deep enough. Then I lever out the cork until it makes a satisfying but dull pop. Then the creamy glug-glug as I pour a full glass.
I take it over to the island unit and sit down on a stool – my handbag on the one beside me. I stare at it before reaching inside, digging out the slightly crumpled medicine packet. It’s not the done thing to self-prescribe, but loads of GPs do it, and the local pharmacist turned a blind eye, as ever. I open the box with shaking hands, glancing towards the door, listening. I hear the tick-tick of the water pipes, telling me Scott has started his shower.
Good. It gives me time.
I take out the blister pack containing the two pills. That’s all it will take to end someone’s life – just the two.
I feel tears filling my eyes, prickling and stinging as I press my nail against the foil ready to take out the first tablet. The glass of wine is there, all ready. Tempting and fresh, chilled and dry. My eyes blur so that I can’t see anything, a tear rolling down my cheek. I put the pills down and fetch some kitchen paper to wipe my face. I’ve got to appear normal, as though nothing untoward is happening.
I sit down again, resting my head in my hands, screwing up my eyes. All I can see is his scar, how I focused on it that night, not allowing myself to think of anything else. I studied every fibrous strand of it, every inch of the faded keloid ridge
as he raped me, the hot tears flowing from the corners of my eyes. The pain inside me is still there, almost as though the blade that had slashed across Scott’s chest was now sticking into me.
I gasp, opening my eyes as the memory makes my body jolt.
They said I had it coming, someone like me…
With shaking hands, I pick up the pill packet and remove the tablet, holding it between my shaking fingers. With my other hand, I pick up the glass and take a long, slow, delicious sip of wine, swallowing it, wetting my throat. Then I put the tablet in my mouth. Mifepristone – the first of a two-step process to terminate my pregnancy. I hold the pill on my tongue, ready to wash it down. But first, I pull the collar of Scott’s jacket up around my face, closing my eyes, imagining that he’s here with me, telling me it’s OK, that I’m doing what’s right for me and Kieran. That once I’ve done this, he’ll go away, he’ll leave us alone forever.
I bury my face in the fabric, breathing in Scott’s scent as though he’s holding me, encouraging me to do it, telling me to swallow the pill, that the nightmare will soon be over. That once the baby is gone, then he will be too.
Something cold and hard catches on my cheek, something metal.
I open my eyes, holding the fabric of the coat away from me, staring down at the lapel. And that’s when I see it. Pinned to the collar of his jacket. A badge – a shiny gold eagle against a red crescent background. I don’t even need to spit out the pill because my mouth falls open and the tablet drops onto the floor.
Thirty-Nine
Jen
I grab the wine glass, taking three large glugs to calm my nerves, choking them down as my eyes stay fixed on the badge – an enamel and gold military-style emblem that makes me melt with fear from the inside out. I remember this badge. I remember him wearing it at school, parading it around as though it meant he was special. No one would ever have guessed from the way I acted, but I was quite scared of him really.
The Trapped Wife: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a mind-blowing twist Page 25
