‘Nonsense. Jason couldn’t hate you if he tried,’ Mum says, discernible agitation in her voice as she tries to reassure me. ‘You’re overreacting.’
That’s exactly what I’ve done. My father is the one full of hatred, for Jason, for reasons I will never understand. He hinted that there might be evidence of my husband cheating on me on his laptop and I leapt on it. Evidence that might even have been planted there by him. I don’t know whether my father would sink that low, but I’m not sure I believe Mark’s claim to have been using Jason’s laptop either. Isn’t it more likely that, realising Jason needed help getting out of a hole, he was covering his friend’s back? Regardless, I can’t believe Jason would do such a thing. Yet I hurled accusations at him, loudly, in front of his staff. And all this after he’d come from a meeting with my father that had clearly been soul-destroying. Jason should hate me, but he could never hate me as much as I hate myself right now.
‘He found me in his office,’ I confide miserably, as Mum wraps an arm around me and steers me firmly towards the kitchen. ‘He came back from seeing Dad to find me checking his internet history.’
‘His internet history?’ Mum’s step falters. ‘But… Why?’
‘Because of Dad,’ I say, as she stares at me, astonished. ‘Why is he doing this, Mum? What does he have against him? I don’t understand.’ The tears come in earnest then. ‘Please… make him stop.’
NINETEEN
DIANA
Hearing Robert’s key in the lock, Diana placed the last of her grandchildren’s dinner dishes in the dishwasher and braced herself to go and speak to him. She rarely talked to him about anything meaningful, mainly because, being the opinionated person that he was, Robert rarely listened. But she needed to now. She had to establish what had gone on between him and Jason earlier that day. Karla was worried to death, and she couldn’t believe Robert was so oblivious to that fact that he would continue these ridiculous attempts to drive Jason from her life. He and Karla were together, married with two children, for goodness’ sake. It was time Robert damn well accepted it.
‘Evening,’ he called shortly from the hall.
Diana didn’t answer. That would be far too happy-couple-ish. They hadn’t been that in a very long time. They rubbed along, he doing his thing, she doing hers, but that was all. She was content to do so. If he rocked the boat, though… She had assets now, and wouldn’t hesitate to leave him clinging to the wreckage on his own.
She waited a moment while Robert flicked through his mail before going to the lounge for his pre-dinner drink – he was a creature of habit, and she was wise to it, though little did he know it – and then followed him in.
His glass half full of whisky, Robert arched an eyebrow as she walked through the door. He would be surprised, she supposed. She normally retired to the orangery to read, leaving him to microwave his meal once he’d had his aperitif – often more than one. As Robert rarely read, and was therefore disinclined to join her, it was the only place she really felt able to relax.
‘Want one?’ Robert pointed his glass in her direction.
Diana shook her head. ‘Not yet, no.’ She would have one later, when Robert was out, which she had no doubt he would be, and she was free to talk to Michael without fear of him overhearing.
‘Good day?’ he asked her, taking a large gulp of his own drink and turning away.
‘Average,’ Diana answered. ‘You?’ she asked him, out of civility.
‘The usual. Firefighting, thanks to incompetent staff.’ Robert sighed, tipping his glass back again. ‘Dealing with morons.’
Diana watched him loosen his tie, looking suitably harassed and work-worn – for her benefit, she’d no doubt. He never failed to remind her that he worked his fingers to the bone day after day to provide her a luxurious lifestyle. A lifestyle she wouldn’t have if she wasn’t with him, as he’d also reminded her over the years. Little did he know that, in the absence of any funds from him other than those he deemed necessary, Diana had made provision of her own.
‘I gather you had a meeting with Jason today?’ she asked him. ‘Karla mentioned it,’ she supplied, when he glanced enquiringly in her direction.
‘I did,’ he said, with another discernible sigh. ‘Complete waste of time.’
‘I see,’ Diana said. ‘Why do you hate him so much, Robert?’ she asked him, wanting to catch him off guard.
She had, clearly. Turning back to her, Robert searched her face warily. ‘I don’t hate him,’ he refuted. ‘I don’t rate him, but I don’t hate him.’
‘You disliked him from the moment you set eyes on him,’ Diana reminded him scornfully.
‘He got our daughter pregnant, Diana. Is your memory that short?’
‘No, Robert, it’s not,’ Diana replied, pointedly holding his gaze. She remembered very well the events of twelve years ago: Robert’s shock and outrage to the news that Karla was pregnant, his determination to try to persuade her not to have the child. Diana often wondered whether, on seeing Holly grow from a tiny baby into the beautiful young girl she was, he might have any regrets about such a suggestion. She very much doubted it. Robert never had regrets. His philosophy in life was to look to the future. He never looked back, possibly for fear of seeing the casualties he’d left in his wake. Herself being one of them. Her dear friend another.
Upon learning exactly what kind of man Robert was, in the early days of their marriage, she’d thought that perhaps they deserved each other. She’d made her bed, and so she would lie in it. The ‘luxurious lifestyle’ made it tolerable.
She should have left him after losing Sarah. She would have, but for the fact that she hadn’t been emotionally strong. After suffering a double bereavement – her mother had also passed away – just getting through a single day had seemed an unsurmountable task. She’d functioned, but she hadn’t felt anything very much. She felt now though.
It had taken a while for her anger to surface after Sarah died. When it had, she’d subdued it, deciding to stay until Karla built a life of her own. And then she’d fallen into a routine, she supposed, once the grandchildren had come along. Seeing Robert’s continual attempts to destroy Karla’s marriage, though, had rekindled her simmering hatred for this bully of a man who would lie about his child’s death. The thing Diana could least forgive was that he’d simply carried on, doing exactly as he’d always done, running his business, controlling people. Still, he continued to think he was untouchable. But one day his past was going to catch up with him. The pity was, Diana wouldn’t be around to see his downfall.
‘So, what did she say?’ Robert asked as Diana studied him, looking for the usual signs of his lies. Was he aware, she wondered, that she could see his mind ticking over. The way he smoothed his hand along the drinks table or the coffee table, examining it for non-existent dust, or his tendency to fiddle with a shirt cuff or his watch strap – those were the little things he did when the cogs were going around, formulating explanations to account for his contemptible actions.
‘Nothing much. She was too upset,’ Diana supplied. ‘I gather you’ve refused to back his business. Why, Robert? Jason didn’t come to you easily. Karla had to practically beg him. Why would you arrange a meeting with him and then turn him down?’
Robert’s expression was one of surprise. Was it genuine? Diana thought it actually was. ‘I did no such thing,’ he blustered, walking back to the drinks table to slosh a considerable measure of whisky into his glass. ‘What did he tell her?’
‘I’m not entirely sure.’ Diana continued to study him as he took another hefty gulp. He was agitated, but knowing Karla would find out, she didn’t think he would lie about something like this. ‘Karla thought it was something to do with his accounts.’
‘That’s absolute rubbish.’ Robert was adamant. ‘I offered him the loan. A considerable amount, in fact.’ Shaking his head, he drained his glass. ‘I told Karla from outset, the man’s a loser, hanging on in there, determined to make his business succeed even thou
gh he knows it’s doomed to failure without the right backing behind it.’
‘Determination is no bad trait though, is it?’ Diana suggested. ‘He’s a lot like you in some ways.’
Robert’s gaze shot to hers. ‘He’s nothing like me,’ he replied sharply.
TWENTY
JASON
Jason guessed he’d be here at some point this evening. Contempt thick in his throat, he waited while his father-in-law drove into the car park of the golf club. Counselling himself not to do what he very much wanted to, he stayed put in his own car until he had parked in his designated space, and then climbed out.
Fenton got the shock of his life when he climbed out of his car and turned around to find Jason standing behind it. ‘Jason,’ he said, collecting himself and offering him that short, derisory smile of his. ‘Am I to assume you’ve reconsidered the offer I made you? Because, if so, this isn’t quite the place to—’
‘Don’t,’ Jason warned him, his throat tight, his gut twisting with a mixture of burning anger and sheer disbelief.
Fenton clearly got the message, appraising him silently for a second, and then looking away to close his car door. ‘I’m not sure what this is about,’ he said, his gaze coming back to his, ‘but you should know there are security cameras overlooking the car park.’
‘Fortunately for you,’ Jason said, fighting back the temptation to floor the bastard anyway. To hurt him badly. It would be worth doing time for.
Sighing demonstrably, Fenton shook his head and walked towards him.
Jason made no move to let him pass by, causing his step to falter.
Fenton kneaded his forehead agitatedly, glanced down and then back at him. ‘What is it you want, Jason?’ he asked him, his expression one of impatience. The man was scared though. Jason noted the nervousness in his eyes as they pivoted towards the building. It gave him no satisfaction. Seeing the man beg for his life just might.
‘Apart from to break your neck…’ he said, and paused, and watched as a slow swallow slid down Fenton’s throat, ‘from you, nothing, Fenton, other than to substantiate the bullshit you’ve been spouting – which is all you really have, isn’t it, at the end of the day: nothing?’
‘I’m going inside,’ Fenton muttered, attempting to push past him.
Jason didn’t budge. ‘A DNA test, is all,’ he said. ‘There isn’t anything else I want from you, Robert, trust me.’
Fenton looked at him in bemusement, and then spat out a derisory laugh. ‘Do you honestly think I wouldn’t have already taken steps to establish whether this nightmare was true?’ he asked him. ‘I’ve done the test,’ he went on, with another despairing shake of his head. ‘As soon as I learned Karla was pregnant, I did the test.’
When Karla was…? Jason felt as if someone had just punched him. Winded, physically, he stared incredulously at him, trying to understand what would drive someone to do the despicable things he did. Failing. ‘Why the fucking hell didn’t you say something?’ he yelled.
‘Say what?’ Fenton growled back. ‘When, precisely? I tried everything to dissuade her from having the baby. I begged her. She was adamant she was going to go through with it. Was I supposed to tell her after she’d given birth? When the child reached her first birthday? When?’
The child? Anger kicking ferociously inside him, Jason almost reeled where he stood.
‘She claimed she loved you. What in God’s name was I supposed to do?’ Fenton continued, actually imagining his actions were defensible? The man was inhuman. Jason squinted hard at him.
‘Of course, assuming you had any traits that were worthwhile, I considered you might at least provide for the child.’ Fenton’s laugh this time was a derogatory sneer. ‘You soon dispelled that hope, didn’t you?’
‘You’re talking about your grandchild,’ Jason could barely get the words out. ‘Your daughter.’
Fenton said nothing, merely held his gaze for a long, cold moment. Then, ‘I have the paperwork. I’ll email you a copy,’ he said, adjusting his shirt cuffs, and then continuing on past him.
Jason didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t dare touch him. If he did, he would kill him.
‘Oh.’ Fenton turned back from a safe distance off. ‘Note I said, ‘loved’. Not present tense, Jason.’ He smiled again, a gloating smile. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing Karla and her mother talking in the kitchen one evening. Karla was upset, as she often is lately. It was most telling, I thought, that when Diana asked her if she loved you, Karla said, she did… once.’
Pulling his gaze away, he walked on. ‘They were discussing the merits of the young man Karla was dancing with at Diana’s party versus yours afterwards,’ he imparted, over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t interrupt. Girl-talk. More than I dare do.’
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Jason watched him swagger on towards the golf club entrance. Tried to assimilate. Breathing hard, he stayed where he was for several seconds, acrid grief crashing through him as he felt his world crumbling around him.
He felt hollow inside as he walked back to his car, numb from the inside out. He barely flinched as his passenger wing hit one of the bollards at the exit as he trod on the accelerator and screeched out of the car park.
Arriving at his office a couple of hours later, Jason placed the bottle of whisky he’d purchased on the desk, plunged his hands into his pockets and stared down at his laptop. It was still in the same position as when he’d walked out, yanked around to face the doorway. It was strange how, despite his whole life being turned upside down, his innards being ripped out, everything looked exactly the same as it had yesterday and the day before that. He felt almost as if he could simply push the hands of the clock back and make all the shit go away. But he couldn’t, could he? It just kept on coming.
He’d always wondered about his roots. And now he knew. He’d been spawned by an abomination of a man. Born to a woman he could only suppose had been on the receiving end of Fenton’s abusive behaviour. He should never have happened. Karla and him, they should never have happened.
His kids…
Jesus. Swaying slightly on his feet, Jason pressed a hand against the back of his neck and glanced up at the ceiling. No point looking up there, he supposed. He must have done something beyond abhorrent in another life. He looked back to the whisky. After downing several beers with whisky chasers at the pub, he’d splashed out and bought a bottle of the good stuff: 18 year old Glenfiddich. If he was going to drink himself to death, he was going to do it in style.
Might as well live up to his reputation, he’d decided, and be the loser he obviously was – a cheating, lying failure and obviously a complete bastard. He hadn’t needed Karla to confirm that. Smiling cynically, Jason picked up the bottle, twirled his computer around, negotiated his way unsteadily to his chair and dropped heavily down into it.
So, what sites had he been browsing, he wondered? And had he found anyone worth dating? Maybe he had. Unscrewing the cap, he tipped his head back and drank straight from the bottle. Maybe he’d been sleep-dating, fucking any and all available women he could find, which was obviously why he didn’t remember doing it.
Perhaps he should remind himself? He took another large gulp of whisky and swallowed it back, getting no comfort from it as it burned its way down his oesophagus. Why not go out with a bang, hey? He had nothing to lose, after all.
Wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he fired up the laptop and… voila! Up came his internet history, as accessed by Karla behind his back. He had no doubt her father had put her up to that. And he was sure that Robert had accessed his laptop while he and Karla had been in the kitchen. Why, Jason had no clue. Because he’d still been debating the wisdom of delivering the news he had, and this was his fallback plan? Because he’d wanted to make sure Karla would want nothing to do with him, whether or not he delivered the news? Whatever his reasoning, he’d succeeded in his aim. As far as Fenton was concerned, it was mission accomplished.
Karla had clearly
already grown disillusioned with him. According to Fenton, he reminded himself. Did he believe it? Had he really been mistaking what he thought he saw in Karla’s eyes? Jason wasn’t sure. It didn’t much matter whether she loved him or not now, though, did it, he also reminded himself.
His heart feeling as if it was turning inside out inside him, he reached for his keyboard and scrolled down through the history. ‘Shit.’ He drew in a breath as he noted the sites listed there: Match.com, Zoosk, Flirt, FlirtEasy, QuickFlirt and more. It was no wonder Karla had been so upset. Taking another slug of his whisky, he nearly choked when he came to the BeNaughty and LocalNaughties sites. Sobering up, briefly, he almost closed his laptop down – and then thought, stuff it. If he was going to be accused of the deed, he might as well take a look. After all, he was going to have to stop thinking of himself as a married man now, wasn’t he? Although, actually, it probably hadn’t ever been legal anyway.
Swallowing back an overwhelming sense of loss, Jason opened up one of the sites. He wasn’t certain how good an idea it was when he read the overview, which stated that everyone on the site had the same goal: to find people with similar interests who were looking for casual and erotic relationships. He wasn’t sure that fit his preferred criteria. He would need either a lot less whisky or a hell of a lot more to go there, no matter how frustrated and lonely he was feeling.
The next site offered much the same: casual dating and hook-ups. Jason supposed ‘hook-ups’ were what he had in mind. But then again, maybe not. Though he definitely wasn’t looking for what some of the other sites claimed he would find: a relationship or his ‘special someone’. He’d already found her. He was probably more up for something in between a one-night stand and a relationship, conversation definitely being one of his ‘search criteria’.
Christ, he needed someone to talk to.
Sipping steadily from his bottle, he browsed a few more sites, finally clicking on one that made him want to continue reading – or rather squinting at. It offered email and IM chatting, and also had a facility to switch between searching for ‘love’ or ‘flirting’, which might allow him to tread the middle ground.
The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Page 11
