‘Would you like a hand with your luggage?’ the receptionist innocently asked as she handed her the keycard.
Kelly smiled and shook her head taking the card and walking quickly in the direction of the lifts. Fifth floor, she thought with relief. It felt safer, more inaccessible, to be higher up.
Reaching her room, she quickly slid the keycard down the slot, got a green light and opened the door. Closing it behind her, she collapsed against it as a sudden weakness overcame her. Just for a few minutes, she thought, I’ll give in for just a few minutes. Sliding to the floor she gave way to bitter, angry, frightened tears until exhausted she gave a soft hiccough and stopped.
She continued to sit there, desperately trying to think of a plan. A plan, she muttered to herself, she needed a plan. Her stomach churned at the thought of meeting John again. When she considered what he might demand of her in payment, for the nine thousand she still owed him, she felt her stomach churn again and, struggling quickly to her feet, she reached the bathroom in time to empty the contents of a meagre breakfast into the toilet bowl.
She stayed there, her hands grasping the ceramic bowl as dry retching followed. Finally, more than exhausted now, she got to her feet and turning on the tap washed her face with cold water. She washed her mouth out too, gargling with the water in an attempt to remove the taste of the man that still, disgustingly, lingered. She desperately wanted a shower, wanted to try and wash away the feel of his touch, the smell of him and the sour smell of her fear. Even her clothes smelt of him she thought in rising horror and was tempted to strip and use the large fluffy, white robe that hung from the back of the bathroom door but was reluctant to leave herself so vulnerable. She needed to be able to leave if she had to and she couldn’t, she wouldn’t put those clothes on again if she took them off.
A quick call to reception and she knew there was a shopping centre just five minute’s walk from the hotel.
Five minute’s walk.
Rationally, she knew John couldn’t have followed her to the hotel, could he? Was this the way she was going to live her life now, fear underlying every decision, every choice? It was only five minute’s walk away. He had no idea where she was. Had he?
She sat on the bed for a moment, gathering her thoughts, putting off making a decision.
It was a generously proportioned room she realised, looking around, then remembered the receptionist had said there were only executive rooms available. ‘Fine,’ she had said impatiently, handing over her credit card. If the receptionist had said they only had suites left she wouldn’t have cared. She wasn’t going any further, that day anyway.
Decorated in aubergine and gold, the furnishing was tastefully opulent. The king size bed, dressed in crisp white cotton with an aubergine throw folded neatly across the middle, held, she thought, an extraordinary amount of pillows. In front of the tall picture windows that gave a view over Cork two comfortable chairs nudged a small table. One wall held a large, but discreetly framed, flat screen television and the others, tasteful line drawings of Cork’s beauty spots in matching frames.
A discrete alcove caught Kelly’s eye and she rose listlessly to investigate. It held a coffee percolator, kettle, fridge and microwave with a small basket holding an assortment of teas and coffee. Even a selection of upmarket biscuits, Kelly noted, thinking she might manage some later when her stomach stopped heaving. She hadn’t eaten anything since that excuse for a breakfast earlier. She wasn’t hungry but she knew she had to eat. She might have to run again.
Restlessly she went into the bathroom where the aubergine and gold colour scheme continued, large mirrors reflecting light around the room.
They also reflected back a pale, defeated woman who reached a hand out to her reflection in distress. Her other hand felt her neck, felt the small indents his teeth had made, saw in the well-lit mirror the contusions that she knew would look worse before ever improving. Her breath caught on a hiccup and she closed her eyes, resting her face against the cool glass, and felt tears sting. She pushed away from the mirror, refusing to look in it again, too embarrassed, too humiliated to see how she had been branded.
Lifting a fluffy white towel from the pile supplied, she dried her eyes in its soft pile, taking some tiny comfort in the clean scent of it. She needed to feel clean again, to regain some sense of self that was not degraded, humiliated, debased. Eyeing the comfortably proportioned bath she thought that would be the first step. A long bath, clean clothes and a glass, or several, of wine. Decision made.
Grabbing her bag, she removed her key card and made her way down to the foyer choosing to go down the five flights by stairway rather than taking the lift. She didn’t want the lift door to open and see John standing there. Ok, I’m being ridiculous, she thought, but she wasn’t taking any more chances. She stood on the stairwell side of the double doors for a few moments and carefully parted them to look out across the foyer. It was a vision of sophisticated calm with twinkling chandeliers, plush carpets and relaxed faces.
No John waiting to claim his pound of flesh.
Kelly took a calming, deep breath, pushed through the double doors and walked slowly to the exit.
It was a lovely day, she realised as she stepped outside. It was late afternoon but the sun, though low, still had warmth. Summer had come and she hadn’t even noticed.
The shopping centre, as the receptionist had promised, was a short five minute walk away. It was a bright bustling place busy with purchasing people laden down with shopping bags. Shops were filled with summer colour; light music filled the imperceptible silences between chattering people, clattering footsteps, laughter and all the other myriad sounds of commercialism.
Kelly smiled and, infected by the colour and buzz, felt herself relax for the first time that day. Drawn by the window display in Marks and Spenser’s she wandered in, joined a throng of women looking, touching, buying. She’d intended to purchase necessities when she left the hotel but instead, swayed by the normality of it all, she indulged and bought a lot more, tempted by colour and fabric and a simple need to pamper herself, to feel good.
She passed the plain cotton underwear she had intended to purchase and chose instead a matching bra and brief set in baby blue silk and another in a soft teal satin, her fingers handling the soft material with genuine pleasure. Her hands full, she picked up a basket she put them inside swinging it almost carelessly from one hand while with the other she continued to touch and to feel various garments. A silk camisole and matching French knickers in pale rose caught her wandering eye and seeking hand, a soft ooh of pleasure coming unconsciously, and with only a second’s indecision, she picked up her size and added them to the basket. She didn’t give even the second’s pause before she added a matching robe, the material spilling from the basket in a silky rose stream. If she were going to lounge around a hotel room, she decided, she was going to do it in style.
An hour later she was ready to leave the centre with several bags dangling from her hands. She had bought, along with the lingerie, two pairs of jeans, tee shirts in white and her favourite baby blue, and, an irresistible blouse in a gossamer fabric she would probably never wear but just had to have. A quick visit to the food store had added to her purchases. Pausing at the exit, she turned the collar of her jacket up, kept her head down and looked discretely up and down the street, prepared to retreat or run if she saw him; prepared to drop all her purchases and run. The short lived peace she had felt while shopping vanished and she felt sick, her hear racing, head thumping.
Keeping her head low she made the quick walk to the hotel. It appeared before her like a sanctuary and she all but fell through its welcoming doors. The foyer was full of people, too close together to see if John were hiding among them. Kelly looked about in dismay, panic bubbling. She had to get to her room. He could be here. She pushed through the crowd with murmurs of apology, keeping to the centre of the crowd rather than the edges where she was afraid he may be lurking. Why had she left the hotel? What an idiot s
he was. The concierge, his practised eye noticing a disruption in the previously calmly bust foyer, glanced her way, watched as she made her way through the foyer while constantly looking behind her. Her anxiety transmitted to him was immediately on the alert, watching the edges of the crowd for movement, seeing none. He watched as she disappeared through the double doors to the lift and picking up the phone quickly asked security to do a sweep of the stairwell and corridors. Might be nothing, he thought, but it was always better to be sure, after all the International had a reputation to maintain.
Kelly taking the stairs to the fifth floor glanced up and down the corridor before exiting the stairwell. She was getting used to the need for this, she thought with grim humour. She slid her key card down the lock and pushed the door open with a gasp of relief, just made it to the bed, collapsing on it, her bags dropping willy-nilly on the floor around her.
She lay there, unmoving, her mind a blank; all pain and memories, all details held at bay while her mind did a quick systems check to prevent overload. Her clenched hands relaxed after a while and her ragged breathing eased. Tightly closed eyes, relaxed and opened, blinked twice and closed again. Moments later she was asleep.
She didn’t sleep long, sufficient for her mind to effect minimal repairs; she wouldn’t breakdown, not yet.
She continued to lie there, happy just to be safe and wondered how long she could stay hiding away like this. Money wasn’t a problem, she mused ironically; Simon had insisted she kept a large amount of cash in her credit card. She had around five thousand on it, she reckoned. It was enough to keep her for a while but it wouldn’t last indefinitely, not staying in executive rooms in posh hotels anyway. She’d have to move somewhere much cheaper.
Was he looking for her? Cork wasn’t a big city. If he tried every hotel, wouldn’t he find her? She closed her eyes, realising her mistake, she’d used her real name when she booked in, she should have used a false name. But her credit card...damn, she should have taken cash out and paid in cash, and then she could have used a fake name. Simon should have given her lessons, she thought bitterly. It was too late now. Or was it?
Sitting up, she rang reception. ‘Hello, my name is Kelly Johnson, I am in room 556. I am here for a rest after a very busy time and do not want to be disturbed nor do I wish my family or colleagues to know where I am staying. Can you ensure that my details are not given out, to anyone?’
Her request was met by the cool professionalism her expensive executive room paid for.
‘Ms Johnson, it is hotel policy not to give out resident’s details.’
‘Yes,’ Kelly interrupted. ‘But if someone rings looking for me?’
‘I will put an alert next to your name and room number, Mrs Johnson. If any person rings asking about you he will be told we have no resident by that name. If you wish this situation to change, please let us know. Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘No, thank you.’ Kelly lay back with a smile. Now she was safe.
She sat up and, picking her bags up from where she had dropped them she removed their contents and pulled off the sales tags. Hanging the jeans and tee shirts in the wardrobes she folded the lingerie and put it on a shelf, caressing the soft fabric absentmindedly.
She considered contacting Sergeant West again, and again discounted the idea. ‘After my running out on him again,’ she said aloud, the hint of despair that was never far away creeping back into her voice. ‘There is no way he is going to believe anything I say. He might insist I go home. And if I go back home...’ The memory of the ordeal at the train station rolled over her, followed by nausea, wave upon wave until she was, again, retching into the toilet.
She knelt there for several moments on the cool tiled floor, exhausted, until the nausea subsided. She stood shakily. Taking a flannel from the shelf, she rinsed it in cold water and wiped her face catching her reflection in the mirror again as she did so. God, she looked weary, she thought as she brushed her hair back from her face exposing her damaged neck. The bruising was more marked now and she could see the bite mark completely, almost every tooth clearly delineated. With a sad sigh she let her hair drop.
She’d feel better after a bath. Well, she couldn’t feel worse.
She stripped and put her clothes into a laundry bag provided, and, following instructions, placed the laundry bag on a hook inside a compartment in her bedroom door, from whence, according to the blurb, the hotel staff would take it, clean it and return it. Very nifty, she thought as she hung the bag on the hook and closed and locked the compartment door. There was no point in being stupid; she might need the clothes again. And anyway, she couldn’t keep throwing away clothes when something bad happened to her because that seemed to be the way her life was going and she would have no clothes left, would she?
She poured scented bath foam into the bath and turned the taps, and watched as it filled the warm, scented water bubbling and rising in a fragrant cloud. She took the bottle of wine she had put in the fridge on her return and, choosing a large glass from the selection provided, she poured and filled it almost to the brim. Placing the glass carefully on the broad rim of the bath, designed for just that purpose Kelly thought with a smile, she stepped into the waiting bubbles with a satisfied sigh, sinking down to allow the foamy water envelop her up to her neck. Blowing the foam from one hand she reached for the glass and rested the bottom of the stem on the curve of her belly for a moment before taking a long, cool mouthful.
When the glass was half empty she was able to think about her meeting with John more objectively. Simon must have stolen that money around the time I met him, she realised sadly. Stole it and used it to buy our house. Lies, from the very beginning to the very end. Not for the first time she wondered if she ever knew the man she married. Was it all just a game to him?
Thinking dispassionately now, sipping her wine, she thought that he had loved her. She remembered things he had done, things he had said. Nobody was that good a liar she reckoned.
But could she say, in all honesty, that she loved him? Knowing what she knew now, the lies, the pretence. Truth was, she admitted, finishing the glass, the man she thought she had loved, the man she had married, well, he had never existed, had he? He had listened to her to her likes and dislikes, to her dreams and fantasies, inventing himself as Simon Johnson to fit her template of the ideal man. Hadn’t she listed honesty and truthfulness among the traits she admired? Maybe not, she couldn’t remember.
God, what a fool I have been, she thought in desolation, the emptiness of her world crashing around her. Putting the slippery, empty glass back on the edge of the bath it slid on its foamy base and fell to the tiled floor with a crash, scattering shards across the bathroom floor. Kelly started to laugh and then to cry, a hysteria that increased as the water cooled around her.
‘Great,’ she screamed, looking up to the ceiling, to whatever gods continued to play such nasty tricks on her, ‘just what I needed. Thanks! I’ll probably cut my blasted foot and bleed to death.’
She pulled the plug and sat as the now cold water emptied, watching the foam settle around her curves like snowdrifts, becoming calmer.
Standing she pulled a towel from the rack and rubbed herself dry looking at the glass shards on the floor in annoyance and then gave a quick chuckle of genuine amusement. ‘Just when I think nothing else can go wrong!’ she said, turning to address her reflection in the steamed mirror. Wrapping the towel tightly around herself she gingerly stepped out onto a glass free area and, grabbing a handful of toilet paper, she bent down and swept the glass shards safely into a corner. Unrolling some more paper, she wet it and wiped the floor again. She didn’t really want to get a glass shard embedded in her foot. She’d had enough pain for one day.
Happy the floor was now safe, she unwrapped the towel and used the body cream provided to massage moisture back into her skin. The scent was pleasant and she used it liberally wincing as she touched painful areas where he had pinched and squeezed. Bruises were coming up on
her arms and breasts and stomach, tomorrow they would be multicoloured. She had always bruised easily. The steamed mirror cleared and she looked again at the teeth marks on her neck, rubbed cream over it, flinching as it stung, realising for the first time that he had broken the skin in more than one place. Wondering in horror if she would be scarred forever, a constant reminder of her ordeal at his hands. She remembered reading once that only a cat’s bite was more infectious than a human’s and looked at the marks more closely. They looked clean at the moment.
Then she sighed heavily. What could she do anyway?
Walking naked into the bedroom she took the hairdryer from a drawer and roughly dried her hair in front of the full length mirror. It reflected back a, too thin, but shapely woman, mousy brown hair just touching her shoulders. Full lips contrasted with a firm chin; eyes, usually bright and clear were tired and defeated between tear swollen eyelids.
For a brief moment the defeat in her eyes shocked Kelly. This wasn’t who she was! No way, she decided, feeling her backbone reassembling. No way is this going to defeat me. The memory of her degradation at John’s hands came back and she batted it away viciously.
‘You will not defeat me, you bastard,’ she said aloud, not knowing, as she said it, if she meant John or Simon.
Putting the hairdryer down, she faced her reflection. ‘You have a choice,’ she spoke firmly to the cowering creature in front of her. ‘You can hide away and wait to see what further humiliation they dump on you or you can be proactive and do something.’
Her reflection sneered back, unimpressed, ‘Like what?’
Kelly picked up her discarded towel and threw it over the mirror, effectively ending the conversation. ‘There’s a proactive movement,’ she grinned and, turned away.
That One May Smile Page 22
