by A J McDine
‘Very funny. It’s a 10k, which I’m told is six miles. So, I’m looking for a personal trainer and I wondered if you knew anyone?’
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. ‘You’ve heard Danny’s back,’ he said.
‘Juliet may have mentioned it, yes. Is he staying at yours?’
Another pause. ‘For now. He’s looking for somewhere more permanent.’
I bet he is. ‘Do you think he’d be interested?’
‘In what?’
‘Helping me train for my 10k?’
‘He is looking for new clients, although it’s a bit out of your way, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’ I gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘But if I’m going to make a show of myself, I’d rather do it in front of a friend than a stranger.’
‘A friend?’ John’s voice rang with disbelief.
‘OK, someone I know,’ I said. ‘But I’m happy to catch the train up a couple of times a week. Perhaps we could use the gym at your place? It has running machines, doesn’t it? And weights and things?’
‘Erm, it’s a gym, Rose. Of course there are running machines and weights and things.’
‘Excellent. Tell him I’ll be at yours at eleven o’clock on Friday.’
I ended the call before John had the chance to reply.
On Friday morning I sat on the London-bound train, clutching a sports holdall on my lap and feeling self-conscious in a purple nylon tracksuit I’d found at the charity shop, paired with the Dunlop Green Flash trainers I’d worn for PE at school. As the train chugged towards Victoria, I rehearsed what I would say.
‘If you truly loved Juliet, you would end it now, before you broke her heart. If you don’t love her, you should end it now anyway, because leading her on would be cruel.’
It seemed straightforward enough to me, although I doubted Danny would see it that way.
As for Juliet, she was aware I was using Danny’s services as a personal trainer, but she had no idea I knew they were back together. She greeted my suggestion that the four of us went for a drink for old times’ sake with apathy bordering on indifference, and her careless duplicity was like a stab between my eyes.
I was panting by the time I climbed the stairs to John’s flat just before eleven. I took a moment to catch my breath, then smoothed my hair and rang the bell.
‘Fuck me, if it isn’t Jimmy Savile himself,’ Danny said, holding the door open. ‘Nice shell suit, Rose.’
I smiled tightly and strode past him into the flat. He sat on one end of John’s black leather sofa and beckoned me to do the same.
‘I need to run through a few questions with you before we start, so I can find out how I can help you and what you’re hoping to achieve from our sessions,’ he said.
‘My, aren’t you the professional?’ I mocked, sitting at the other end of the sofa.
‘Yeah, well, I’m not the same person I was at university. I’ve done a bit of growing up since then.’
I studied him as he picked up a clipboard from the coffee table. He was wearing a white sleeveless sports vest, navy shorts, fluffy white socks and navy Reebok trainers. On his left wrist was the Tag Heuer watch I’d found under Juliet’s bed. Not that I’d ever been in doubt it was his.
Danny was leaner than he used to be, more athlete than bodybuilder these days, and his skin was the colour of a Werther’s Original. There was a smattering of stubble on his cheeks and laughter lines fanned out from his eyes. The years had rubbed off some of the cocky swagger and even I could see how women might find him attractive.
‘Do you have any medical conditions or injuries I should be aware of?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘Are you taking any medication?’
‘No,’ I said, because my vitamins were none of his business.
My mind wandered as he quizzed me on my diet and sleep patterns, whether I smoked and if there was any family history of high cholesterol or heart disease.
‘Why did you come back?’ I blurted.
‘My visa ran out,’ he said, not looking up from his clipboard.
‘It wasn’t for Juliet?’
He looked at me then. ‘Jules? No.’
‘But you’re back together,’ I said. A statement, not a question.
He shrugged. ‘So what if we are?’
‘What are your long-term plans?’ I said, leaning forwards, my elbows on my knees.
‘You know me. I go with the flow. I don’t have long-term plans.’
‘But you and Juliet…’
‘… are having a bit of fun. Is there anything wrong with that?’ He smirked. ‘You should try it some time.’
And that’s when I knew for sure. He might have a bit more polish, a certain Aussie allure, but beneath that craggy exterior he hadn’t changed a bit. Not one iota. He was still a self-serving bastard who would break Juliet’s heart without a moment’s thought.
Because a leopard never changed its spots.
I pulled the holdall closer to me, my fingers encircling the handle and squeezing hard.
‘We should get back to the questions,’ Danny said, tapping the clipboard with his pen. ‘What are your short and long-term goals?’
I smiled coolly. ‘I’ve only ever had one goal,’ I said. ‘And that’s Juliet.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was a note from Eloise on the kitchen table, propped up against the fruit bowl. Gone for a walk. Won’t be long. I let out the breath I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding. I loved having Eloise to stay but projecting the best version of myself at all times was exhausting and it was a relief to drop the act, if only for an hour or so.
After unpacking the shopping, I headed upstairs, trying to hold on to the sense of resolve I’d felt in the pillbox. Letting myself into my mother’s room, I made a beeline for the locked mirrored cabinet above the sink. I ran my hands along the top, feeling for the key, smiling with satisfaction as my fingers closed around it.
The key turned smoothly in the lock, and I peered inside. It was a veritable candy store of drugs that I’d been meaning to get rid of for years. Now I was glad I hadn’t.
Paracetamol, co-codamol, ibuprofen. Methotrexate for my mother’s rheumatoid arthritis and tramadol to blunt the constant pain she was in. Warfarin tablets to thin her blood and diuretics for her high blood pressure. All potential killers in the wrong hands.
Food for thought.
Downstairs, the back door slammed. I closed the medicine cabinet, slipped the key into my pocket and, feeling more positive than I had for days, went in search of my goddaughter.
I found Eloise in the front room, lighting the log burner. She was still wearing my coat and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. I felt a rush of affection for her and smiled.
‘Nice walk?’
‘Bracing.’ She dusted off her hands and stood. ‘I’ve been fantasising about tea and crumpets in front of the fire for the last half an hour.’
‘Coming up,’ I said, making for the door.
‘No, you sit down,’ she said. ‘You do enough for me. Let me spoil you for a change.’
She returned a few minutes later with two mugs in one hand and a plate of buttered crumpets in the other. We munched away for a while, then I said, ‘Is it me or does it smell in here?’
‘Smell?’
‘Something dead, like a shrew or mouse or something. Dinah’s always bringing them in and leaving them to die.’ I noticed Eloise’s troubled expression and corrected myself. ‘Sorry, I mean she used to. Perhaps she brought one in before she died. A last supper.’
‘I can’t smell anything.’
I sniffed again. It was definitely there: the unmistakable odour of decay. Pungent, rotting flesh, overpowering the smell of beeswax polish and smouldering logs. I sprang from the chair and peered under it. Nothing other than a couple of dust bunnies. I knelt beside the bookcase and squinted under that, too. More dust. No rodents, dead or otherwise.
‘We’re in trouble if it
crawled behind the skirting,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to take the whole bloody thing off.’
‘It doesn’t smell, Rose,’ Eloise said firmly. ‘Now why don’t you drink your tea, have another crumpet, then go upstairs for a nap while I make dinner? You look knackered.’
The prospect of surrendering to a dreamless torpor for a couple of hours was appealing. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night, what with the break in and everything,’ I admitted.
‘Then that’s exactly what you’re going to do. No arguments,’ she said, waggling her finger at me, and I nodded meekly, while inside I glowed with happiness because, for the first time since I could remember, someone gave a damn about me.
And in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do. And the thought of it didn’t faze me at all, because I was doing it for the one person I loved. I was doing it for Eloise.
I came downstairs at seven, showered and rested and feeling better than I had for days.
‘It smells delicious,’ I said, peering into the saucepan on the hob. Meatballs bubbled away in a rich, glossy tomato sauce. My stomach rumbled.
‘Did you manage to sleep?’ Eloise asked. She was at the sink, up to her elbows in soap suds. I picked up a tea towel and began drying the dishes.
‘I did,’ I said, still surprised that I’d fallen asleep the moment my head touched the pillow. When I woke almost three hours later, I was furry of mouth and stiff of neck, but I felt human again.
‘I’ve opened a bottle of red. I needed it for the sauce. I hope that’s all right?’ Eloise said.
‘You don’t need to ask.’ I smiled at her. ‘And we can drink the rest with dinner.’
We ate at the kitchen table. The meatballs were as delicious as they looked, and we polished off the lot. Replete, we retired to the front room, taking a second bottle of wine with us. We sat either side of the Scrabble board, the fire warming our cheeks and the red wine warming our bellies.
‘Z,’ I sighed, showing her my tile. ‘You’d better kick off.’
We were quiet for a while as we picked our letters and played around with them, the click clack of the tiles on our racks as we switched and swapped them reminding me of the Saturday night games Juliet and I used to play. It was a companionable silence, and after a while I felt able to ask, ‘What was care like for you, El?’
She took a while to answer, and I worried I’d overstepped the mark, but then she put her rack of letters down. ‘You really want to know?’
I nodded.
‘It was shit. Not all of it, but most of it. Some bits were more shit than others. Or should that be shittier, I don’t know.’
‘More shit, probably,’ I said.
‘More shit it is.’ Eloise gave the ghost of a smile. ‘The first foster home I had was all right, I suppose, apart from the fact that the couple were used to having toddlers and didn’t know how to deal with an eleven-year-old girl who’d just lost her mum.’ She went quiet again.
‘How long were you there?’ I prompted.
‘A couple of months? I can’t remember. It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. The children’s homes were the worst. I counted down the days until my eighteenth birthday. I mean, literally counted them down. I Blu-tacked a piece of paper on the wall by my pillow and marked every day off, like that bloke on the desert island.’
‘Robinson Crusoe?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’
‘That you had to grow up in care. Do you…’ I broke off.
‘Do I what?’
‘Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if social services had let you come and live with me?’
‘Do you?’ Eloise hit back.
I shuffled the letters on my rack around, then met her gaze. ‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘But I do now.’
Later, when Eloise had beaten me by a creditable thirty-two points and the fire in the log burner was little more than an orange glow, she drained the last of her wine and said, ‘Who d’you think’s behind everything that’s been happening to you: the dead girl’s dad or the woman at work?’
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees, and I pulled my cardigan tighter around me. ‘Oh,’ I said with a self-conscious laugh. ‘I was trying to forget about all that.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘Roy Matthews, I suppose,’ I said after a while. ‘He has a stronger motive than Rhona, or should I say he thinks he does.’
‘Want me to have a word with him?’ Eloise asked.
I thought she was joking until I realised her expression was deadly serious.
‘Thanks, but you’re good. I can fight my own battles.’
She studied me for a minute or two, then smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JUNE 1999
* * *
Danny frowned.
‘John said you were training for a 10k.’
‘Oh, that,’ I said. ‘I don’t actually think I can be arsed.’
‘So why are you here?’
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘Because I need to find out what your intentions are regarding Juliet.’
‘My intentions regarding Juliet?’ He spluttered with laughter. ‘Have I fallen asleep and woken up in a Jane fucking Austen novel?’
‘I won’t stand by and let you break her heart again,’ I said.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just a bit of fun. Juliet knows that.’
‘Just a bit of fun?’ A white hot rage coursed through my body and I could feel my cotton T-shirt sticking to my back. I unzipped my tracksuit top, wrenched it off, and flung it on the sofa between us. ‘My God, you really are more stupid than I gave you credit for. Juliet doesn’t think it’s a bit of fun. For some inexplicable reason, she thinks you’re the love of her life.’
‘So, you don’t want a personal training session?’ Danny said, puzzled.
‘I’d rather eat my own entrails.’
His expression hardened. ‘I turned down a one-to-one with a new client for this,’ he said, slamming the clipboard on the coffee table with a crack that made me jump. ‘John said you needed my help. I should have known it was all bullshit.’
I laced my hands together on my lap. My palms were damp with sweat. ‘You can’t keep treating Juliet like a piece of meat,’ I said.
‘Like it’s any of your fucking business.’
‘The thing you don’t seem to understand is that Juliet is the most precious thing in the world to me. She is my life.’
‘I always thought you had the hots for her. Fuckin’ lezzer.’ His mouth curled into a sneer. ‘Perhaps it’s time I showed you what you’re missing.’
I looked him up and down and shook my head dismissively. ‘It’s OK, I’ll give it a miss, thanks.’
A muscle in Danny’s cheek twitched. ‘You think you’re so fucking clever.’
‘At least I don’t think with my dick.’
His hands curled into fists. ‘How fucking dare you.’
I picked up my tracksuit top and folded it carefully. ‘As delightful as it’s been to see you, I must take my leave. I have a train to catch.’
It was as if he hadn’t heard me. He was staring at me with a peculiar expression on his face, his hands still balled into fists by his side. I unzipped the holdall, pushed the tracksuit top inside and was about to stand when he lunged forwards, grabbed my shoulders and shoved me onto the sofa with a force that took my breath away. I twisted and turned, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but the more I struggled, the tighter his hold became.
‘Get off me!’ I shrieked, bucking and kicking beneath him.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ he snarled as he pinned me down with one forearm and clamped his other hand over my mouth. I threw my head from side to side, but again his grip tightened until my head was jammed against the arm of the sofa and my breaths were hard and fast.
He le
ered over me, his face inches from mine and his knee at my crotch.
‘Wanna know how Juliet likes it, lezzer?’ he whispered in my ear.
I shook my head, my eyes pleading no.
‘You’d never guess looking at her, but she likes it rough.’ Danny reached for the waistband of his shorts and laughed. ‘The rougher the better.’
Pinned underneath him, I couldn’t move. I tensed my muscles, willing my body to fight back, to claw and scratch until he let me go, but it was as if I was paralysed from the neck down. My stomach turned to liquid as the realisation hit me. Danny wasn’t fooling around. He was about to rape me on the sofa in John’s swanky apartment overlooking the Thames, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
I turned my head, closed my eyes and retreated to a place even Danny Reeves couldn’t reach.
A crushing weight on my chest.
Wheezy, rasping breaths hot against my neck.
A knee pushing my legs apart.
Wheezy breaths.
I forced my eyes open. Danny, still looming over me, wasn’t just breathing heavily, he was wheezing. His vice-like hold loosened a fraction as he sneezed twice in quick succession. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his features, so fleeting I wondered if I’d imagined it. He sneezed again, spraying my face with tiny droplets that I longed to wipe away. I risked another look at his face. His eyes were dark and expressionless, and his mouth had fallen slightly open, the tip of his tongue protruding from his teeth like some obscene invertebrate on a David Attenborough wildlife documentary.
‘Please, Danny,’ I begged. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘Shut up,’ he snarled.
‘Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.’
He opened his mouth to speak but was gripped by a sudden storm of coughing. As his body convulsed, I wriggled out from beneath him and jumped to my feet. His hand shot out to clasp my wrist, but I was too quick for him, ducking out of his reach and sprinting for the door.
