Just Like a Woman

by Madeleine Clark

  God, she loved watching him with other women. It didn’t matter how much she denied not liking him, he knew she did deep down, and one day she would see it. If she didn’t like him, she wouldn’t keep coming back to him; keep coming back to this house. She couldn’t keep away. She would never love him, he accepted that, but she needed him.

  Oh sod the swim, he wanted something to eat. Fuck it why shouldn’t he wake Terry after all.

  Turning back to the hall, he yelled

  ‘Terry, Terry, come on I need you.’ He stood waiting. She was used to his strange hours. After a few moments and not hearing any sounds from upstairs, he yelled again. ‘Terry, you fucking dyke, get up, I need something to eat. I don’t pay you to lie about in bed when I’m hungry!’ He listened for a door to open. But only silence.

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at? Terry!’ He screamed as he took the stairs two at a time. ‘Get the fuck out of that room if you want to stay living here.’

  He banged on her door, ‘Get up now!’ Turning the handle he went in, and reaching to the side, flicked the light switch.

  The room was spotless. It didn’t look as if anyone lived in it. No clothes to be seen, no personal effects anywhere. Robert didn’t think he had ever been in this room before, because it didn’t look familiar. And Terry wasn’t there. She must be downstairs.

  ‘Terry? Terry? Where are you?’ He left the room and went back downstairs. He went to the kitchen, all the time calling her name. He suddenly noticed, none of the washing up from the previous night had been done. In fact the kitchen was a fucking mess. That fucking bitch. What was he paying her for? Panic was beginning to take hold. The house was far too quiet. He might hate her, but he needed her. What would he do without her? He ran around the house; searched every room. When there was still no sign of her, he went back to her room, maybe she was in the shower, and he just hadn’t heard it?

  When he entered the room for the second time, he noticed the bed. By the look of it, no one had slept in it. She wouldn’t have got up and made the bed already. Would she? He had no idea if she kept her room this tidy. No she looked and dressed like a messy person. He walked to the bathroom door and listened, but he could hear nothing. He pushed the door open; it was empty. Looking around he noticed there was nothing in it. He opened the cabinet above the sink. Nothing. No toothbrush, no flannel, no toothpaste, not even a towel. Nothing. A sinking feeling was starting in his stomach with the realization she had left him.

  What was going on? He ran down stairs, still calling her name, then ran out to the studio. Trying the door he felt calmed; it was locked. She couldn’t be in there. But when had she left? And why? He felt sick, not sure if it was due to hunger or fear. Running back to the house, he grabbed his keys then ran back to the studio again. He needed to be sure.

  Crunching back through the frost, sweat tickled his back, soaking into his dressing gown; more sweat mingled with the stickiness of recent sex on the inside of his legs and made it awkward to keep running across the courtyard. Breathless he fumbled with the keys trying to unlock the studio door. Throwing the door open he flicked on the light switch.

  Obviously she wouldn’t be out here in the dark and everything looked ok. But he needed to make sure. He walked through, up to the dark room door and his private office. His chest gripped with anxiety he stood still and took a deep breath. Testing the door handle he was relieved it was also still locked. Sliding the key in the door, he unlocked it and turned on the light. His papers were as he left them.

  The sense of foreboding was unbearable. Why did he think she would have come in here? She didn’t have a key. He walked towards the desk then unlocked the drawer. Pulling it open slowly Becky’s face came into view. Taking out the photos, he looked through them. They appeared to all be there. He started to breathe again. After looking through all the photos of Becky, he opened the next drawer down to check the other pictures. Ones he had discarded, the ones after they had posed with the dress on. He shuffled through them. They appeared to all be there. He breathed slowly, letting his heart rate return to normal. Stupid idiot. As if she could get in here. As if she knew, anyway. He always made sure the fans were never alone with her. Well, except Becky, of course. But Becky was different. Becky adored him. He turned and walked out, locking all the doors carefully behind him.

  So where the fuck was she? He walked slowly back to the house. She had gone, without saying anything. Just left. Left him, just like that. Well good fucking riddance, he didn’t need her. He was fucking glad she had gone, now he didn’t have to think of an excuse why he wouldn’t be taking her to Japan.

  Back in the house, he stood in the hallway. He didn’t know what to do. It had been such a long time since he had to think for himself, or do anything for himself. He was hungry, but he wanted a swim. If he had a swim he would be even hungrier and tired and then have to make something to eat. He didn’t know what food was in the fridge or the cupboards. Fucking bitch, why did she just leave? Why couldn’t she have told him, so he could find someone else? Fucking selfish bitch. Robert went into the lounge, flung himself on the settee and stared up at the painting of Bob Dylan. Then he leant forward picked up the disgusting onyx lighter he hated, and threw it as hard as he could across the room.

  .

  Chapter Six

  Waking on Christmas morning Sarah had to throw herself out of bed and run to the bathroom. She could not remember ever feeling so bad. Even when she was little and her mother had been at her worst, she could not remember feeling as bad as this. All those Christmases with her mother. She remembered the bruises, the burns, being locked in her bedroom, being so hungry. But none of them had left her feeling as bad as this. It was the worst feeling ever.

  For five days she had thought of nothing else, but what happened that night. There had been a couple of phone calls since, which she had ignored. She didn’t know what to say to him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say to her. This morning had been the worst. All the magazines said things got better with time, but she was getting worse. This morning she woke up feeling sick and only just made it to the bathroom in time. There was no food to come up, just bile in her mouth. Her body shook with the revolting taste and she spat out the yellow fluid, the memory of being in Robert’s bathroom caused her to heave again.

  He should have been with her today. She knew how they would spend their day together. The house was decorated; a beautiful tree was erected in the lounge, sturdy in its stand, decorated with the prettiest angel she had ever seen; a porcelain angel, with a gold frilled skirt and gold filigree wings. So beautiful and he wasn’t going to see it. She heaved, she was going to be sick again; it really was the worst feeling, and it wasn’t getting better with time. Those magazines lied. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to wake up tomorrow morning. What would she do if she did? Feel like this all over again? There was still a little of that beautiful amber liquid left. She would never feel good again. How could she? Robert had betrayed her.

  Under the tree lay Robert’s present, wrapped in old fashioned wrapping paper; depicting Victorian scenes; a chubby grey haired, pink cheeked Santa Claus, snow covered Christmas tree, little boys in knickerbockers chasing a whipping wheel. She had chosen it specially, visiting several shops before finding what she wanted. All the time imaging his delight when receiving it.

  It wasn’t really Robert who had betrayed her, was it? Her body and mind kept telling her it was Stephanie. Stephanie betrayed her. She had pretended to be her friend, just so she could be with Robert. She was in love with Robert herself. But Robert didn’t like Stephanie. He liked her, Sarah. He wanted to be with her. Not Stephanie. But Stephanie wouldn’t leave him alone. Wouldn’t leave them alone. The small package for Stephanie, wrapped in silver paper with a matching silver bow, lay next to Robert’s under the tree.

  Sarah reran the phone conversation in her head. Robert was just trying to be nice to Stephanie. He was pretending he wanted to be with her. She walked into the kitc
hen, put the kettle on, and looked in the fridge. Seeing the raw chicken, her stomach turned and she quickly closed the fridge door. Just a cup of tea for now. Maybe she would feel like eating later. Thinking back while she poured the boiling water into the pot, she realized she hadn’t eaten a meal since she had last been into work, and the surgery had been closed for two days. She poured tea into the cup and then added milk.

  ‘I love you,’ he had whispered. She wrapped her arms around her body. He did love her. Taking her cup of tea into the lounge she turned on the TV. She could sit and watch all the Christmas programmes this year, without being interrupted. Some music programme was on, she flicked through the channels; Christmas cartoons and some black and white film she didn’t recognise. She flicked back to the music. While two presenters screamed alternately at each other and then at the camera Sarah stared at the tree she had so carefully decorated, and the two presents she had chosen with such care.

  ‘I don’t want her, I want you back.’ The words screamed inside her head.

  She had misheard them. That wasn’t what he said. She couldn’t hear properly, he must have been too far away from the phone for her to hear what he really said. But as she stared at the presents an image of him on top of her came into her mind.

  ‘I love you’ his voice whispered, but when she closed her eyes to hear him she could see his head turned away from her, following his gaze she saw Stephanie. He hadn’t been talking to her at all. Keeping her eyes closed Sarah replayed the evening in her mind, all the conversations they had had. Stephanie’s behaviour in Robert’s house. She knew where things were. She felt comfortable getting the water from the kitchen and leading Sarah from one room to another. She really was Robert’s wife. Ex-wife.

  The two of them were no better than her mother.

  They were worse than her mother. Her mother had never pretended to like her. Her mother had been honest. Her mother hated her, she had never been so cruel to pretend she liked her. Her mother was better than them. In fact possibly in her own way her mother had loved her. She had hurt her, but she had never been cruel.

  So she had pushed her down the stairs. But that was just because she was angry. It wasn’t an act of cruelty. Sarah remembered her pushing her, and leaving her there. She remembered finding that lovely doctor, he had been so kind and so gentle. He assumed she had been beaten up by her boyfriend. He even insisted on taking photographs. She tried to say no, but had felt too weak to resist. He must still have the photographs.

  Sarah turned her attention back to the TV. The music programme was coming to an end. Everyone was laughing and joking, making so much noise. Tinsel was wrapped around their heads and as a band started to play silver confetti was sprayed all over them. Everyone was so happy. Everyone was having such a good time.

  Robert would be at home now. Who would he be with? Stephanie? Friends? They would be having one of their parties; they would be happy with all their friends around them; oblivious to what she was doing and how she felt.

  Sarah had not been allowed to express anger, she was unaware of how the sensation affected her body. Her mother had beaten it out of her. Now, sitting watching the credits for the programme roll up, an idea began forming in her mind. The doctor had assumed it was her boyfriend who beat her up.

  She walked into the hallway and picked up the phone book. The number must be in there somewhere. Looking through the front pages, she found the number she wanted, and dialled.

  ‘Ferndown Police Station, can I help you?’

  Sarah heard the woman’s voice and then spoke quietly into the phone.

  ‘I’m not sure, I don’t know how to do this, but I want to report something. My boyfriend beat me up a few weeks ago, and I don’t know what I should do about it.’ She paused and took a deep breath and added. ‘Last week, I think he raped me.’

  .

  Chapter Seven

  Robert stood in the doorway watching Andy and his son playing with the new remote control car. When he told Andy about Terry leaving, Andy mentioned it to his wife and they insisted he should come to them for Christmas Day. But in the end Andy had brought his family to Robert’s house as they had arranged, after all he had the heated swimming pool, but Teresa, Andy’s wife was relegated to the kitchen, cooking and clearing up. She wasn’t the best cook, certainly not as good as Terry. But he felt sated. He wanted a cigarette, but Teresa requested he didn’t smoke in front of her children. Fucking cheek, not even allowed to smoke in his own house. They came and stayed in his house, the kids used his pool and he was not allowed to smoke. Fucking bitch. He’d go outside in a moment, when she brought him the coffee she had promised. He thought of going to remind her, but decided to wait. She was Andy’s wife after all, and not Terry.

  He hadn’t told Andy the whole story about Terry. He didn’t mention how two days after she left, he received a brown envelope containing copies of some photographs. They weren’t photographs he recognised as his own, but he did recognise his handiwork. They were pictures of Becky. Becky naked on his bed. Becky naked on his bed, and tied up. There were just three photos. Two taken of her whole torso and one, a close up. A close up of Becky’s face and breasts. His teeth marks clearly visible.

  After looking at the photographs, he looked inside the envelope, but there was nothing else. No note. He wasn’t sure what she was after. And he had heard nothing more. They had to be from Terry, no one else would have been able to take the photos. He wasn’t sure how she managed it. Was he in the house when they did it? In his own bathroom while they took them? On close inspection the bites looked fresh. But he knew well enough photos could be manipulated.

  He thought of phoning Stephanie, but when he had told her about Terry leaving, she had been less than sympathetic. In fact she had been a bit odd. She hadn’t even asked if he had arranged a party with Andy yet; she didn’t mention Sarah at all. Something was wrong with her, but when he asked, she brushed it off, and as he had his own problems at the moment, he hadn’t pursued it. He’d call her tomorrow. She said she was busy today. Must be with her mother. Thank god he didn’t speak to his family.

  If only he could tell Andy. But he wasn’t sure if Andy would understand. Andy had an idea of what Robert got up to, but they had never discussed it openly. Andy may cheat on his wife with her sister, but Robert knew he would never hurt her. He wasn’t the physical sort, like him.

  It must be money they were after. The silence was to make him nervous and prepared to pay out more. It was working. At first he was furious. He wasn’t going to pay anything. The photos could easily have been taken when he was out of the house. They couldn’t prove anything. But the two days he had to think about it, the more he knew they would have other ways of proving the photos. He’d have to pay up, otherwise his career was finished. He wished they would just get on with it. Call him and say what it was they wanted. It was going to be extortionate, fucking bitches. Fucking fucking bitches. And the bitch Sarah hadn’t answered his calls. What the fuck was wrong with her? She’d come to collect her car, but didn’t knock or leave a message.

  Where was that coffee? Looking at his watch, he saw the film would be starting soon. He’d have to go and get the coffee himself, if he wanted a quick fag before it started. Turning from the doorway, he walked through the hall to the kitchen. Teresa had her back to him, standing at the sink.

  ‘How’s the coff….’

  He didn’t finish the sentence. The door bell rang.

  ‘Who the fuck is that?’

  ‘Language!’ Teresa called out.

  Robert stared at her, she didn’t leave the sink. He would have to answer the door, but as he turned he heard running footsteps. One of Andy’s sons ran to answer the door. As Robert got to the door, the little boy opened it. Two policemen stood looking down at him.

  ‘What d’you want?’ Robert asked over the boys head.

  ‘Mr. White, Michael White?’

  The little boy laughed, ‘He’s not Michael, I am. His name’s Robert,’
r />   The policeman who had spoken looked down at him.

  ‘Good evening sir. We’re looking for a Mr. Michael White?’

  ‘What for?’ Robert’s heart was beating in his ears. Fucking bitch. She’d gone to the police. It wasn’t money after all.

  ‘Are you Michael White?’

  ‘My name is Robert D’Lyn, but I was known as Michael White, yes. Look what the fuck is all this about. It’s Christmas Day you know, and there’s a film about to start I want to watch.’

  ‘Please don’t use that language sir. May we come in?’

  Robert noticed he had his foot inside the door.

  ‘Please do. Mike, go back into the lounge now.’ Robert opened the door to let the two men in, and the little boy skipped off to the lounge. After closing the door behind them Robert asked, ‘what is all this about?’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, sir?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  They followed him to the games room. ‘Now what the fuck is all this about.’

  ‘I’ll ask you again, sir, please refrain from that language.’ He paused and removed a notebook from his pocket. While he was doing this, Robert took out his cigarettes and lit one up. To hell with Teresa. He needed one. It was his fucking house. Fuck Teresa.

  ‘Do you know a young woman by the name of Sarah Colwyn-Smyth?’

  ‘I know a girl called Sarah. Yes, but not sure what the fu… what her surname is.’

  ‘Did you and Miss Colwyn Smyth go to the White Heather on 15th November for a meal?’