She turned onto her road and saw that Martin’s car still wasn’t in the driveway as she approached the house. She wondered where he was, but realised she didn’t care, her concerns for his whereabouts were born more from habit than actual interest or worry. She wondered what Nathan was doing now.
As she entered the empty house she had an epiphany, it almost stopped her in her tracks; she suddenly felt as if she had just woken up and now understood that she had to change her circumstances no matter what. She had to forget about her infatuation with a man she hadn’t seen for fifteen years but use his reappearance as a catalyst for change. She knew Nathan had feelings for her despite his casual attitude, but if he didn’t want to be with her, if he returned to London for good, would she still leave Martin and start a new life elsewhere? The idea of changing her life completely would be a massive decision but the decision was made in an instant; she would even leave the police service if she had to. She liked what she did for a living but there was more to life than looking at death and getting smacked in the face by angry Romanians. She could move away, go somewhere Martin wouldn’t find her and maybe make a living out of photography. That would be the dream. She had the means, a joint savings account, half of which was hers but she also had her own savings, stashed in an account Martin didn’t know about. She had squirrelled small amounts of money month after month and yet never really considered why she found the need to hide it from him. And now she realised she had subconsciously been planning her escape.
The answering machine in the hallway beeped and she checked the messages. It was Martin shouting into his mobile over the noise of a crowded pub, he had gone out for drinks with his shithead work buddies and he’d be home later. At least he had the decency to let her know where he was, that was one thing. She erased the message before it finished and went upstairs. It was hot and stuffy in the house so she opened the bedroom window and went to the bathroom where she took the dressings from her bruised face and winced at the sight of her blackening eyes, her damaged nose and split lips, she looked awful and could do nothing but try her best to ignore it. She ran a cool shower, and held her pained face under it and gently cleaned it in the refreshing spray.
She was alone and she felt freed, the silence was glorious and peaceful after the onslaught of the past few days. She climbed into bed bruised and naked, the sheets were cool and crisp and the mattress let her melt into it, she may have been sore but she couldn’t remember being so comfortable.
She had been asleep when vibration of an engine and the thud of a car door through the open bedroom window woke her. She looked at the clock and saw it was gone midnight. Martin was home. She listened to the front door slam and then tracked his movements by the crashing and thumping as he moved from hallway to kitchen and then onto the staircase.
Simone positioned herself with her back to his side of the bed and pretended to be asleep. She was very tired and hoped she might actually manage to get back to sleep before he got into bed.
The bedroom door opened quietly but over swung and bumped against the chest of drawers behind it. He said, ‘Oops,’ in the darkness and made a shushing noise to himself. At least he was trying to be quiet she thought. He crossed the room and crept into the bathroom, the light clicked on and spilled across the floor. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol in the air. Urine splashed noisily in the bowl and the toilet flushed. The light clicked off and he swore to himself. He stood in the bedroom and mumbled something about not being able to see anything and then whispered her name. She ignored him but he persisted from the other side of the room, whispering louder this time, ‘Simone, are you awake?’
She had no choice other than to reply. ‘Yes.’
‘Turn your light on, I can’t fucking see anything.’
‘Be quick.’ She stuck out an arm and flicked her bedside light on, waited with her eyes closed until she felt him get into bed and flicked it off again.
His arm came around her and a hand cupped her breast. She said, ‘You’ve been smoking.’
‘Only a couple.’
His hand roughly massaged her breast and then slipped down her belly; it was the same hand that punched her there before. She put her hand on his and tried to stop him, she wanted to say: Get off me, you make me feel sick, but she didn’t she just said, ‘It’s late and I’m tired.’
He was breathing in her ear and began to kiss the nape of her neck. He whispered, ‘Go on.’ She could feel his erection press against her buttocks so she arched her back and presented herself to him. He fumbled around as he tried to anoint himself but found it a struggle in his drunken state. He tutted to himself and she could sense him becoming frustrated so she reached around and helped him penetrate her with his doughy penis. For a while he moved against her as she lay still, the side of her face was sore from the bruising and every time his weight rocked her into the pillow the pain was a constant reminder of what he did to her barely hours before. He roughly pawed her breasts and pinched her nipples and breathed hot stale breath onto the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes and thought of Nathan, she didn’t feel guilty. She wondered what Martin would say if he knew Nathan was back and she was working with him. It would be better if he didn’t find out.
She felt the movement from behind slow, stop and start again, he was drunk, clumsy and out of rhythm. The movement stopped again and she lay still listening to his breathing. He started to snore and she lay like that for a while and then slowly moved his hand away from her breast, the snoring remained constant so she moved away from him, repulsed at the feeling of him slide out of her. She rolled onto her back and put her hand between her legs - cupping herself for protection in case he woke up and tried again while she was asleep.
Only one man’s name was on her mind as she drifted back to sleep.
The following morning Simone was in the bathroom when the phone rang. It was early; too early for social calls, the intermittent ring seemed amplified and the sound made her heart leap in her chest. She wanted to rush out and answer it, silence it, but knew she couldn’t, all she could do was listen in silence as Martin answered it and hope it wasn’t Nathan.
But it was. She just knew it.
The sounds from the bedroom created images in her head: the incessant ringing made Martin moan as it drilled at his hangover, he swore and snatched at the receiver. All this she saw in her mind’s eye as she looked at herself in the mirror.
Muffled through the bathroom door she heard Martin say, ‘Yeah?’ then there was silence, pure, deathly silence and she knew for sure. Thoughts spun in her head; what was Nathan calling her at home for? Something must have happened.
Martin said, ‘I’ll get her for you.’ It was her queue; she opened the bathroom door and casually stood in the doorway. Fire burned in Martin’s eyes as he held the receiver towards her and said, ‘It’s Detective West.’
She walked towards the bed, forcing herself not to look guilty – to not look like she had been keeping secrets from him. She reached for the phone and Martin dropped it onto the bed. It was a childish thing to do and Martin managed to define his entire persona in that one tiny action. Simone shot a glance him and put the phone to her ear. She was going to have to explain this and Martin was going to rage but she kept her voice level.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘A woman was attacked two weeks ago but she got away. We need to go see her; it could be our man.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll pick you up and twenty minutes. Be ready.’
Her instinct was to ask him to meet her at the station but the game was up - Martin knew Nathan was back in town so she acquiesced.
‘Twenty minutes,’ she said and hung up. She dropped the receiver back onto the bed and turned towards the bathroom without even looking at Martin or trying to offer explanation. She could feel his stare crawling across her back and for a split second she thought she was going to make it into the bathroom before the impending argument began.
‘Why
didn’t you tell me Smokey was back?’ he said.
She turned to him. ‘It didn’t occur to me.’
‘Liar.’
‘Listen, he lives in London, he’s back because his father is in hospital, he has cancer, and while he’s been here there was a murder and they pulled him onto the case.’
‘What’s it got to do with you? You’re just plod nothing more than a bobby.’
‘I’m working on the case too.’ It was hard not to keep the pride out of her voice and he noticed, he snorted at her sarcastically. She said, ‘I have to get ready, I’m getting picked up.’
‘I thought you were making more of an effort in the old make-up and hair department.’
‘I don’t have much choice, look at my face.’
‘I have, and what a state it is too,’ he said. ‘Fucking punchy faced bitch.’ He laughed nastily and climbed out of bed. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth a twisted snarl. ‘Punchy and Smokey, strutting around town like fucking Starsky and Hutch.’ She watched his paunch and flaccid penis wobble as he spoke. He pointed at her. ‘It’s pathetic.’
She looked him up and down. ‘My thoughts exactly,’ she said and hopped into the bathroom before he could respond. She knew he wouldn’t touch her this morning no matter how angry he was. He was too hung-over to make the effort and she was about to go to work, fresh bruises, blood and tears would be an all too obvious sign of domestic abuse.
Martin was downstairs when she came out of the bathroom. She dressed quickly and then watched out of the bedroom window for Nathan to arrive. When his car pulled up she went downstairs, gathered her keys and bag and walked straight out of the front door without saying goodbye to Martin.
In the car she wondered if she would pay for the argument later, her home life was quickly falling apart and yet she couldn’t find one aspect worth fighting for. She sighed to herself and tried to put it to the back of her mind and concentrate on the day ahead.
Simone looked out of the side window as they drove and silently summoned the effort to enquire, she said, ‘Tell me about the woman.’
West ignored the question and used the broken silence as a way of explaining his actions. ‘I got your numbers from the station; home and mobile and I rang your mobile first but got no answer so I rang the home phone.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘My mobile was downstairs in my bag. I didn’t hear it go off.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ll live.’
‘You hadn’t told him I was back had you?’
‘I didn’t get round to it.’ She was lying to both of them now and the realisation that she had put herself between her husband and the man she loved hit home, it was a road she was unprepared to travel. Nathan wanted to help but he didn’t want to pry. She still felt shaken from the argument with Martin and not yet in tune with the day but soon it would be time for honesty; and she was kidding herself if she thought Nathan hadn’t noticed she was unhappy. If she was going to confide in anyone Nathan was the one she could to talk to. Her marriage had eroded her self-esteem and she had lost confidence in others as well as herself. She didn’t feel close enough to anyone to trust them with her burden until Nathan walked back into her life like a beacon in the darkness.
She knew Nathan’s secrets; she had kept them with her for years. He trusted her and she knew she could trust him; maybe it was time to ease the weight. Not now but soon, the right time would come.
He said, ‘I know I’m not exactly his favourite person but I had no choice, it was the only way to get in touch with you.’
‘It’s fine. He had to find out you were back sometime.’
‘It was that or just come straight round and knock on your door, and I thought that would go down like a ton of bricks.’
‘You did the right thing – if you need to contact me then contact me. Martin hates you and we both know it.’ For some reason it felt strange to use his name in front of Nathan. ‘I didn’t tell him you were back because I couldn’t be bothered with being on the receiving end of another one of his jealous rages, but now he knows you’re here and he’s going to have to deal with it.’ As she spoke it felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest.
‘It sounds like he hasn’t changed at all.’
‘He tries.’ She found herself lying again – Martin had never openly acknowledged his problem. Why was she was defending him again? She silently cursed herself and realised that denial was all part of the complexity of disguise – the illusion of normality was a mask she had worn for years. She always felt that the only thing worse than being in an abusive relationship was the embarrassment of having people find out about it and wondering what sort of person allows something like that to happen to them, she didn’t want to appear weak or be thought of as a victim, especially by people she had feelings for.
‘Enough now,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the woman before we get there.’
‘I got the call first thing this morning. Hannah Zaragoza was attacked in her home two weeks ago but she fought back and got away.’
‘Did she report it at the time?’
He nodded. ‘The duty officer dispatched some uniforms who conducted an interview, she saw the news last night and reported it again, I think she wanted to make sure that it didn’t get lost in the system.’
‘It may not be related.’
‘I know, but it’s promising, especially if she got a look at him.’
‘Hannah’s in the back garden,’ said Christine Moody as she led them through the house. She had opened the door clutching a limp and docile looking child to her breast and introduced herself as Hannah Zaragoza’s sister. ‘We know it happened a few weeks ago now,’ she continued as they joined Hannah at a shaded wooden table, ‘but I told her to call the police again and remind them what happened when I saw the news about that girl.’ They sat down and Christine continued. ‘I’ve been coming round here most days because you’re still not comfortable when you’re alone are you?’
Hannah looked slightly embarrassed and said, ‘Not really.’
Simone addressed Hannah, ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘I was getting on with my life but when I heard about that girl I stared to freak out all over again.’ Even though she was sitting down her athletic build was clearly apparent to both West and Simone. She wore a vest top and shorts and her deep African skin shined in the sun and complimented the defined muscles in her arms and legs.
‘I know you’ve been through this already but can you talk us through what happened that evening?’
‘It happened a couple of weeks ago, on the fourteenth, I went for a run at about eight-thirty, got back at about ten and had a shower. I’d eaten earlier so after my shower I just watched some TV and went online for a bit - the usual stuff. I called it a night at about eleven and went to bed.
‘I always have trouble sleeping when I run so close to bedtime.’
‘Me too,’ said Simone, ‘You’d think it would be the other way around.’
‘I wrote an article on it last year, it’s to do with a raise in core body temperature and the fact that most people feel more energised after a run. It’s not the same for everyone though.’
‘Do you always run so late at night?’
‘Only in the summer, it’s so hot at the moment I prefer to wait until it cools down.’
‘How often do you run?’
‘Every other night; I go a little crazy if I miss a session.’
‘Do you run professionally? You look like you are in great shape,’ said Simone.
‘Not professionally, but I feel like I run for a living; I’m a writer, and I freelance for Runners World; I review sports wear and do a couple of half-marathons a month.’
‘She puts me to shame,’ said Christine.
Hannah said, ‘Anyway, it was a hot evening and my bedroom was uncomfortable even with the windows open. I couldn’t sleep which was frustrating but, like I said, it wasn’t unusual. I heard the church b
ell chime at two in the morning and shortly after that I heard my bedroom door slowly open. Or at least I thought I did. You know how your mind can play tricks on you in the middle of the night?
‘Anyway, I think I’d been drifting in and out of sleep, it was confusing but I sat up and saw a figure standing in the room. For a split second I didn’t think it was real but then he came at me in the darkness and I reacted and kicked out at him; I was only sleeping under a sheet so I was pretty free to fight back. My blow knocked him back but he jumped at me and tried to put something over my face; a rag or a cloth, it had a vaporous, sickly smell that was almost fruity but rotten at the same time. It was horrible and I couldn’t help but breathe some of it in. He was obviously trying to knock me unconscious but I can’t have inhaled enough for it to work.
‘I just started throwing punches at him; I aimed at his head and I definitely got his nose, he yelped and I managed to push him away. As soon as he was off me I jumped up and ran out of the bedroom; I was down the stairs and out of the house in a flash. As soon as I got into the street I just ran as fast as I could and I was fast, really fast, there was no way he was going to catch me and I don’t think he even tried. I called the police from the only phone box in the village and I hid in the darkness until they arrived. When we went back into the house he was gone.
‘You didn’t see him when you were hiding?’
‘No I just crouched down behind a hedge shivering and hoped no one saw me. I was naked and in shock.’
Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Page 7
