FIVE
KARLA
As it’s Saturday, and Jason was so late to bed after seeing to Josh, I left him to lie in for a while. Hearing him stirring now overhead, I flick the coffee machine on. I make it strong, thinking we could both use it after a stressful night.
‘Holly, Josh!’ I call, hoping to entice the kids to eat something rather than squabble about CBBC’s The Playlist and which episode was cool.
‘I’m not watching that one.’ Holly’s voice drifts huffily from the lounge. ‘Alessia Cara’s playlist is way cooler.’
‘Well, go and watch it on your iPad then,’ Josh retorts. ‘I bagsied the TV first.’
‘No, you did not, you little toad. I’ve been down here ages. You’re not even dressed yet. And anyway, I’m older than you, so I get to choose.’
‘No, you do not. Geddoff! Mum, tell her,’ Josh cries. ‘She’s snatching the remote off me again.’
‘Telltale,’ Holly mutters. ‘Weedy little—’
‘Holly!’ I cut her short, skidding into the hall. ‘Kitchen. Now! Both of you.’ Wearing my no-nonsense face, I wait while my little darlings slope past me – Josh sulkily, Holly mumbling and looking po-faced.
‘Stop picking on him, Holly,’ I say, behind her. ‘Repeating what the other children say at school is not clever.’
‘What? I’m not.’ Holly splays her hands innocently. ‘Anyway, he started it.’
‘Did not,’ Josh mumbles from the kitchen. ‘You did.’
‘Enough, you two,’ I warn them, ‘or no more TV today and no allowance.’ Sighing exasperatedly, I follow them, and almost collide with Jason, who’s hurrying down the stairs, wearing his work clothes and carrying his laptop bag and mobile, I notice, surprised.
‘You’re going into the office?’ I ask him, trying not to sound peeved that he’s working again at the weekend. I feel awful about him sleeping in the spare room. And, judging by the shadows under his eyes, which seem to grow darker every day, he doesn’t look as if he’s actually slept much. I wish I hadn’t turned him down in bed last night. That would have been so humiliating for him, given how dejected he must already have been feeling. He probably assumed I was upset about his refusal to approach my father for financial help. I was, but it was more the things he’d said about Dad that got to me. I just couldn’t push them away this time – the memories, the empty loneliness I’d felt after Sarah had gone. My mother hardly ever talks about her, and my father… It’s as if he’s forgotten she existed. How does a person do that? Forget about their own flesh and blood?
I watched him as a child sometimes, willing him to look at me with some acknowledgement of the unbearable guilt I was carrying. He did occasionally, but his eyes always held a warning. As time went on, I stopped believing his threats that terrible things would happen if I told what had happened on the day Sarah died. But I never did tell, for my Mum’s sake. I tried to bury it instead. As I watch my father through adult eyes, though, I wonder, does he realise the psychological damage he’s caused me? I don’t think I’ll ever sleep soundly again. I will always have this knot of anger curled tight inside me. Sometimes, when something reminds me and my mind plays it over, I want to scream, to release the anger – and shut out Sarah’s voice, which is always there, constantly whispering in my head. I never do. My acting skills allow me to switch off, to be somewhere else.
Last night at the party, I channelled my emotions into the dance, feeling blissfully carefree for a while. I still can’t quite believe Jason was jealous of the toy boy, though I understand why he would have been, having been made to feel useless by my father. I feel bad for him. Yet, when we came home, I turned on him. Or that’s how it must have seemed to Jason. I wish he would believe that my loyalties lie with him, that I believe in him. If only he could believe in himself. Yes, I want him to do something that goes against his principles, but only because accepting a loan from my father will allow his business to survive; allow us to move house eventually, and get him out of our lives.
Jason doesn’t appear to have heard me speaking to him. Looking preoccupied, he dumps his computer bag and his mobile on the hall table and searches through his pockets. ‘Haven’t seen my wallet, have you?’ he asks, a frown crossing his face.
‘On the dressing table,’ I supply. ‘I found it in the bathroom this morning. You must have left it in there last night.’
‘Oh, right. Cheers,’ Jason says distractedly, and turns back to the stairs.
‘Are you going into the office?’ I ask him again, as he bounds up them.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Jason calls back. ‘Mark’s made some headway with the software problem. I’m hoping we’ll be able to video link with the client later. Are you okay with that?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I assure him, hiding my disappointment and mentally crossing my fingers for him. ‘You did say you would go to the park and play football with the kids, but I’m sure they won’t mind me as a substitute.’
‘Damn!’ Jason turns at the top of the stairs. ‘I forgot.’ He shrugs guiltily. ‘Do you mind?’
‘No problem.’ I smile. I’m determined to make sure Holly and Josh do stuff that doesn’t involve looking at a screen: outdoor things, preferably – everything from planting a bulb and watching it grow to flying a kite. Jason will probably be glad to be off the hook. As the park backs onto Mum and Dad’s house, I usually drop in whenever we go, and I know Jason would hate every minute.
‘Apart from the fact that Mum can’t play football,’ Holly pipes up from the kitchen.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Holly.’ I sigh and eye the ceiling. ‘I was going to suggest we make an afternoon of it and go to Coffee and Cupcakes, but I’m not sure you deserve cupcakes now.’
‘But she’s brilliant in goal,’ Holly adds hastily.
Shaking his head, Jason laughs. ‘Good move, Holly,’ he says. ‘You’re sure?’ he asks me. Even from the foot of the stairs, I can see his dark, all-telling eyes are clouded with concern. I’m grateful that, after last night, he still cares. Glad he’s still fighting.
‘Of course. They are my children, for my sins.’ Urging him on, I turn towards the kitchen, aiming to grab him a couple of cereal bars, since he won’t have eaten. And then I step back as the landline rings.
‘I’ve got it,’ Jason shouts.
Hearing him saying hello to his sister on the phone in the bedroom, I head onwards, only to stop again as his mobile beeps atop the hall table. Mark calling with a progress report, I wonder. My gaze flicking to the stairs, I hesitate for a second and then pick it up to check his messages – and my stomach turns over. Too stunned even to breathe, I stare – confused, at first, and then disbelieving at what I glean is a profile photograph. A sexually explicit photograph: a near-naked, voluptuous woman with her breasts spilling out. On my husband’s phone? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it, and then work to control the explosion of bewildered emotion inside me.
It’s a mistake, I tell myself. Some random message sent by… Who? Why? My mouth dry, I check the stairs again, and then brace myself to thumb up through the preceding messages.
Fill me in tomorrow, Jason’s last text reads. Cheers for your efforts, mate. I owe you.
My hands trembling, my senses reeling, I scroll up to the next.
And my heart stops dead. Lucky git. Has she got a sister? Jason had asked.
My blood turns to ice as I realise he’s actually scored her. Ten out of ten. Nausea churning my stomach, I squeeze my eyes closed. Dimly, I register Jason ending his phone call upstairs.
‘I’ll drop by next week,’ he tells Hannah. ‘Sorry I can’t stop. I’m due in the office.’
Is he? I swallow back the parched lump in my throat. Is it really his office he’s so eager to get to? Where he’s been going all these weekends? Is it even his actual sister he’s talking to?
It is. I heard him. ‘Hi, Hannah,’ he’d greeted her. They talk occasionally on the phone but don’t see each other often enough. They drifted apart after
the family split up. I’m reminded of the fact that Jason’s childhood wasn’t a good one. That his adoptive parents stayed together until being together became intolerable. That they were both unhappy, his mother desperately so, because his father cheated. My father cheats. Do all men fucking well cheat? My fury surfaces, white-hot, rising inside me.
Breathing in hard through my nostrils, I try to dampen it down. I have to stay in control. Inhaling another long breath, I exit his messages and place the phone back.
Attempting some level of outward calm, I fix my smile in place and, though the strength seems to have drained from my body, force myself on to the kitchen. He hasn’t done anything, I try to reassure myself, other than indulge in immature chat. Yet. My sluggish heartbeat drums a prophetic warning in my chest. He’s toying with the idea though, isn’t he?
SIX
JASON
His lack of sleep catching up with him, Jason yawned widely, and then almost had heart failure as he realised he hadn’t checked for traffic at a roundabout before entering. Crap! Pressing his foot down on the accelerator, he drove on, leaving a cacophony of horns blaring behind him. Christ. That was a close shave. Swiping a hand shakily over his face, he glimpsed in his rear-view mirror and breathed a considerable sigh of relief when he established that none of the drivers he’d cut up had pursued him. He wouldn’t have blamed them.
He’d been miles away, running through the glitch in the computer software and hoping that Mark really had made some headway with it. It was the only way they stood a chance of keeping their key client, and thereby securing referrals. Selling stylish gym wear to fashion-conscious gym-goers, the client’s company had revenues in excess of £6 million. Jason needed this deal, but, as much as the client loved the sales package they’d put together for him, he doubted he would maintain his turnover if the site crashed before his customers had hit purchase. He hadn’t sounded majorly impressed when they’d last spoken.
Jason had to rescue this. Or else throw in the towel. Wouldn’t his father-in-law just love that? No matter what he said, Fenton didn’t want him to succeed, but Karla couldn’t see it. He wanted him to go under, left with nothing to offer Karla. He wanted him out of her life, regardless of the fact that they’d now been married twelve years and had two children. Children they would never have had if Robert Fenton had had his way.
And whose lives they would ruin if they kept constantly arguing, he thought soberly. Jason had been there, a casualty of parents who chose to stay together for the sake of their children. They’d believed they were providing stability for him and his sister. The reality was that their tangible unhappiness created the very kind of atmosphere that was emotionally toxic to a child.
He needed to turn this around. Somehow. Opening his window, Jason took a gulp of bracing air and tried to concentrate on the road. He could have killed someone back there. Been seriously injured or killed himself, leaving his kids without a father. He pictured Holly, who, for all her sassy eleven-year-old attitude, still wouldn’t go to bed without her Pink Cuddles Build-A-Bear; Josh, his skinny, sensitive son, who was trying to act ‘cool’, while quietly worrying his parents were going to split up, Jason swallowed back a tight lump in his throat.
Karla had been fine that morning, despite their argument last night. Everything was seemingly back to normal. She hadn’t seemed to mind him coming in to work on a Saturday – again – even though his efforts were surely doomed to failure without the dubious help of her father. There’d been a troubled look in her eyes though, he’d noticed, when he’d leaned in to kiss her cheek before leaving.
‘It is only the office you’re going to?’ she’d asked him.
Noting her expression, which had been almost guarded, Jason had looked at her, puzzled. ‘Yes,’ he’d answered. Where else would she think he was going? He’d long since abandoned playing rugby at the weekend, and he barely had time to see the inside of the gym. His life had been all work and not a lot of pleasure lately. ‘Why?’
‘No reason,’ she’d said, searching his face. ‘I just wondered.’
‘I’ll be there all day,’ he’d assured her. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need me to pick anything up from the shops.’
Karla had nodded, her gaze flicking briefly down. Jason had felt his chest constrict for a second as she’d looked uncertainly back at him, something akin to fear flitting across her eyes. She’d dismissed it when he’d asked her if she was all right, mustering up a smile and saying she was fine. Jason hadn’t been convinced. She was as worried as he was. Obviously she would be, with things the way they were.
Was he being selfish? He pondered it as he parked up and walked towards his office. He desperately didn’t want to be beholden to her father; the thought of him being involved in his business, having access to his employees, one of whom was female, young and pretty – exactly the sort Robert Fenton liked to prey on – was intolerable. Then there was the small matter of his pride, which wouldn’t allow it. Was he prepared to risk his marriage, though, his family’s future, for the sake of his dignity? He had his kids to think about, their education, as did Karla. Didn’t she have some say in this, when all was said and done?
Feeling conflicted, as he permanently seemed to lately, Jason let himself through the security door and headed for the main office rather than his own small office, where he found Mark already seated at his PC. Jason was surprised. He’d expected him to come in later, given that he’d hinted his hot date might be an all-nighter.
‘How did it go?’ he asked him, dropping his laptop on the desk facing Mark’s and shrugging out of his jacket.
‘Phenomenally.’ Mark blinked blearily at his screen, one hand groping for the paracetamol to his side.
Jason smiled wryly as Mark popped two pills and reached for his mug of black coffee. ‘That good, hey?’
‘A ten, definitely,’ Mark said with a wink, and then winced and washed his painkillers down. ‘What’s more, I have another date.’
‘Better stock up on the pills then,’ Jason suggested, eyeing his friend amusedly. He doubted whether it would actually get past two dates. Mark had been married once. It had lasted approximately a year, before he’d discovered his wife wasn’t fully committed. This much he’d gleaned when he found her in bed with her ex-boyfriend. Mark had decided to play the field after that sobering experience. And he was obviously playing hard.
‘I might need to. The little blue variety.’ Mark yawned, leaning back in his chair and stretching wearily. ‘The woman’s insatiable. Sorry, mate – no sister, I’m afraid.’
‘More’s the pity.’ Jason sighed, turned to plug in his laptop and then seated himself in front of it.
Mark eyed him thoughtfully for a second. He’d gathered Jason was having problems, here and at home, but was diplomatic enough not to comment. ‘So,’ he said, looking back to his screen, ‘how did the mother-in-law’s party go? Has the self-made man thawed yet?’
Jason’s laugh was scornful. ‘You must be joking. There’s not a snowball in hell’s chance of that happening. I “got his daughter pregnant”, remember?’
‘Twelve-odd years ago,’ Mark reminded him. ‘That’s a long time to bear a grudge.’
‘Yeah.’ Jason was well aware of that. He doubted the man would warm to him, whatever he did. Turning his company around wouldn’t do it. Robert Fenton’s grudge went deeper, Jason was sure of it. It was more than him simply being protective of his daughter. Though if protective was what he was trying to be, it was laughable anyway, bearing in mind the man’s proclivity to sexually harass women Karla’s age and younger. He just wished he knew what the hell his problem was. Maybe he thought no man would ever be good enough for her. Jason definitely wasn’t.
He sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes, I wonder whether Karla does too,’ he admitted. ‘Bear a grudge, I mean. Being married to a loser wasn’t quite what she had in mind when she walked down the aisle.’
She had been so optimistic, that day. Looking radiant, wit
h her long blonde hair sweeping her bare shoulders, her eyes shining, she’d been positive they were doing the right thing. They were going to get married anyway, she’d told her mother. They were just doing it a little sooner than planned, for the sake of the baby. She’d been positive about their future together, determined that their home together would be a happy one, built on love. At twenty-two, and working part-time while completing his final year in computer science, Jason’s income had been a pittance. He hadn’t quite worked out how they were going to build this house of love. Enter Robert Fenton, the great benefactor. He’d never let Jason forget that they had a roof over their heads thanks to him. God help him if he found out he’d taken out a mortgage against it to shore up their finances. Karla falling pregnant with Josh not long after having Holly had put paid to her going back to RADA. She’d remained bubbly though, enthusiastic enough for both of them, still determined that they could get through whatever life threw at them, provided they loved each other.
Jason was pondering that when Mark asked, ‘Do you still love her?’ as if reading his mind.
‘She’s the mother of my children,’ Jason answered. He’d never questioned his love for her. Lately, though, there seemed to be a hell of a lot more anger between them than affection.
‘Because if you don’t—’
‘Shall we take a look at the software package?’ Jason changed the subject.
‘I’m just saying that if you’re as miserable as your face has been telling me lately, maybe you should think about parenting your kids separately.’
So much for diplomacy. Jason was about to tell him the subject was closed when the office phone rang. Saved by the bell, he thought, twirling his chair around to answer it.
‘Tara might not have a sister, but there are plenty of other women out there looking for what I imagine is lacking in your life,’ Mark imparted, as Jason picked up the phone. ‘Plenty of other dating apps, too, if you’re looking for more than a quick hook-up.’
The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Page 4
