by Sibel Hodge
Untouchable
Sibel Hodge
Dedicated to survivors everywhere…
Table of Contents
PART ONE - THE BIG HOUSE Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
PART 2 - UNTOUCHABLE Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
PART 3 - SELLING THE LIE Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Also by Sibel Hodge
PART ONE
THE BIG HOUSE
“There is something so very dreadful, so satanic in tormenting those who have never harmed us, and who cannot defend themselves, who are utterly in our power, who have weapons neither of offence nor defense, that none but very hardened persons can endure the thought of it.”
~ Cardinal John Henry Newman
MAYA
Chapter 1
Today is going to be a great day.
That was the first thought I had when I woke up.
I stretched, listening to the sounds of Jamie clattering around downstairs. It had been six months since I’d moved in with him, and the excitement still hadn’t worn off.
Today was our two-year anniversary, and Jamie had told me yesterday that he had a surprise for me. Something important he wanted to ask me. Well, we’d done the moving-in-together thing, so what else could there be? He was going to propose, I was sure of it. I grinned stupidly to myself as I imagined the scene later, just after I’d cooked a romantic dinner. Candles. Wine. Soft music. The works. Would he get down on one knee or hide the ring in a gift, cunningly disguised as something else so he could see the ecstatic surprise on my face when he thought he’d fooled me? Maybe it was clichéd, but I didn’t care.
Jamie’s footsteps plodded up the stairs and headed towards the bedroom. He pushed open the door with his elbow, a tray in his hand with a mug of tea and two slices of toast on it. Two little dishes held some strawberry jam and butter. A vase in the middle had one deliciously lush red rose in it.
All my life I’d been drawn to the wrong relationships, the bad boys who’d cheated on me or were only after one thing. Now I’d hit the jackpot, and I was lapping up the romance, clichéd or not. Jamie was the real deal. Sweet, gentle, caring, thoughtful. A fresh burst of love and happiness rippled through me.
A smile lit up his face when he realised I was awake. ‘Hey, gorgeous.’ He put the tray on the bedside table. ‘Happy anniversary.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed me. Slow, soft, sexy. Even a kiss from Jamie made me melt.
‘Maybe we should forget about breakfast. How much time have you got before you need to be at work?’ I raised an eyebrow and patted his side of the bed.
He placed a hand on my cheek, a naughty half smile on his face. ‘Don’t tempt me. I’m already going to be late for a meeting this morning. But we’ll have plenty of time after work to celebrate properly.’ He nuzzled into my neck and kissed me lightly behind the ear.
It sent shockwaves detonating inside. I groaned and pulled him tighter. Kissed him harder.
‘I love you, Maya,’ he whispered.
‘Love you, too.’
He pulled back.
I groaned again, but this time it was with frustration. ‘You haven’t got ten minutes to spare?’ I ran my fingers down his shirted chest, lower to the buckle on his belt. ‘It is our anniversary, after all.’
He chuckled, removed my hand, and kissed the palm. ‘Seriously, I’m already late. We’ll have all the time in the world later.’
I feigned pouty annoyance for a moment. ‘And what time will you be back from work?’
‘About six. What are you cooking?’
I shook my head. ‘Not telling. It’s a surprise. But I guarantee you’ll love it.’
‘You’ll love what happens after dinner.’ He grinned.
‘Oh, I will, will I?’ I joked. ‘Why don’t you tell me your surprise now?’ That tingle of excited apprehension was back. I was going to say yes. Of course I was. I pictured myself squealing with delight at the ring. Throwing my arms around his neck. Planning the big day together.
‘Nice try. Later.’ He kissed me on the cheek and stood up.
I watched his retreating back as he walked to the door, wondering if this time tonight we would really be engaged.
As I ate my breakfast and got dressed for work, I gave Jamie’s surname a test drive. Mrs Maya Taylor. Maya Taylor. Mrs Jamie Taylor. Any of them sounded pretty damn good to me.
I walked the fifteen minutes to work. Actually, I bounced. I smiled and said good morning to everyone I passed, breaking the stuffy British early morning rush hour etiquette. They gave me odd looks, probably thinking I was mad, but what did I care? I was in love. I was the happiest I’d been in a long time, and I wanted that to rub off on all the other grumpy-looking commuters walking to work or heading to the station.
When I arrived at Customer Solutions, I got in the lift with a woman in her early twenties who I’d seen before and who worked for a travel company on the next floor up. I wondered whether I should ask her where the most romantic honeymoon destinations were.
‘I love your scarf,’ I said to her with a grin.
She looked down at it. ‘Thanks.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘The market. There’s a stall right at the end that sells them.’
‘Yeah, it really suits you.’ I smiled as the lift doors pinged open on my floor. ‘Have a great day!’ I breezed through the open-plan call centre floor, the steady hum of conversation and clattering keyboards in the air.
I’d worked there for eight years, and the company provided outsourced contact centre services for some of the UK’s most successful companies and brands. If the office marketing brochures were to be believed, we provided award-winning people solutions that helped our clients provide number-one service and allowed them to expand their customer base. I’d worked my way up from being on the call centre floor to managing the department that was responsible for one of our biggest insurance clients, and now I looked after a team of twenty-five people. I said hello to all the staff who weren’t on the phone, giving insurance quotes to customers or dealing with claims enquiries, and walked into my office. It was appraisal time, and I still had several to finish, so I pulled out a pile and got to work. Usually, I loved
my job, but every ten minutes or so, I was watching the clock. I wanted today to be over so I could be at home. With Jamie. Planning our new life together.
My phone rang as I was staring out of the window, daydreaming about where we’d go for our honeymoon. Antigua or Barbados? Prague or Barcelona?
‘Maya Morgan speaking,’ I said.
‘Hi, Maya,’ Rachel, one of my team, said. ‘I’ve got a someone on the line who wants to talk to a manager.’
‘Okay, what’s the problem?’
‘He’s received a letter regarding his insurance claim, and he wants to complain about it.’
‘All right, bring it on.’ I laughed. Ranting people definitely weren’t going to spoil my good mood today.
A burst of music came on the line as she connected him.
‘Hi, I’m Maya Morgan. How can I help you?’
‘I’ve just received a letter about the accident I had, and I’m not happy. My car was legally parked before I reversed into the car behind! Why should I be penalised for that? The parking spaces shouldn’t be there at all if you can’t reverse! It’s the council’s fault.’
I tried not to laugh, but some of the excuses people used for insurance claims were priceless. Ten minutes later, I’d talked him around and put the phone down. Crisis averted. Another satisfied customer.
Despite my clock watching, the day whizzed by, and at 5.00 p.m. I headed into town to pick up the bits and pieces for dinner. I was cheating slightly and not making it all from scratch, but the crispy Peking duck from Marks & Spencer was to die for. All I had to do was pop it in the oven, heat up the little pancake thingies in the microwave, and chop up some spring onions and cucumber. Marks & Spencer were so thoughtful that they even included a generous helping of hoisin sauce. How handy was that? And it was Jamie’s favourite so…no contest. I grabbed another couple of bottles of Prosecco—we obviously couldn’t have too much of the stuff if it was going to turn into an even bigger celebration—and headed to the checkout before going home.
We lived in a two-bedroomed detached house in a quiet cul-de-sac with eight other houses that backed onto a park. Three on one side of the road, four on the other, and our house at the dead end. Actually, it was Jamie’s house. It had made sense for me to move from my poky flat into his place. There was more room, for starters. Plus, it was cosy and homely. And a big bonus was that Jamie had already paid the mortgage off.
Twenty minutes later, as I slid my key into the front door and opened it, I was struck by a weird sensation.
The house was quiet and still. Jamie wasn’t back yet because his Jeep wasn’t on the drive. But there was…I didn’t know what it was exactly. Something felt odd, as if the air had changed somehow. I could smell something different. Out of place. I sniffed and got a vague hint of cigarettes—that stale smell I got when I’d been in the company of smokers and the scent lingered on my clothes. Neither Jamie nor I smoked, but maybe he’d been back here with a colleague during the day. Or had one of the neighbours been having a bonfire?
I shook my head, kicked off my shoes by the front door, and carried the bags of shopping into the kitchen.
After a quick shower, I changed into a vintage tea dress. It was low on the cleavage, cinched in at the waist, and sleeveless. I whacked the heating up to compensate for the lack of clothing—it was January, after all—but I knew Jamie loved the outfit so, hey, why not suffer a little chill? It wasn’t every day I got proposed to, and I’d want to remember in years to come that I’d worn something special. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be wearing it that long, anyway, if things went to plan.
I went downstairs to start on dinner, barely containing my excitement. He’d be here soon. I turned on my iPod and picked out something smooth and romantic. Might as well get into the theme of things, even if I was there on my own.
I looked at the clock as I slid the duck into the oven. It was dead on six thirty. He was late.
I sang loudly along with the music as I chopped spring onions and cucumber. At seven, I poured a glass of chilled Prosecco and put the pancakes onto a plate, ready to zap in the microwave. I sipped slowly, staring at the clock, until I forced myself to stop watching it and set the table in the kitchen-slash-diner. I rattled off a quick text to Jamie: Are you nearly home? Dinner won’t be long! Love you xx.
I lit strawberry-scented candles and put the vase with the rose Jamie had given me in the centre of the kitchen table, then straightened the tablecloth and cutlery again, even though I’d already done it several times. I was trying to make everything look nice and neat, not my forte usually. I was the sloppy, messy one. Jamie was the neat freak. He said it had been instilled in him during his eight years in the army. I couldn’t imagine him in the army at all. He wasn’t what I pictured when I thought of huge, muscly guys wading through trenches, weapons strapped to their backs. He’d joined the military, the Royal Signals, as a sixteen-year-old apprentice and spent two years learning his trade before getting posted to his regiment, where he dealt with communications and information technology, so he wasn’t the front-line hand-to-hand-combat kind of soldier. Jamie was…not quiet exactly but happy to sit back and watch, whereas I was the loud one, especially when I got drunk and wanted to sing karaoke. He liked his own company and never seemed to get lonely. Another throwback to his army days, he’d told me. After bunking with so many different guys for so long, he loved his own space. I liked long chats with my mates and being with people. We were total opposites in a lot of ways. But then, didn’t they say opposites attracted?
I sat at the table, sipping wine and staring into the small rear garden, with a smile on my face as I thought about how we’d met. Jamie was an IT buff, and the company he worked for had been designing an upgraded computer software system for Customer Solutions. It was his job to teach me and the other female supervisors how to use it so we could train our call centre staff. The first day he’d turned up in our training suite, I was sitting in the front row, having a laugh with one of the other girls about some customer who’d blamed the car accident he’d had on the bus driver because the bus was ten minutes early that morning. As I saw Jamie enter the room, I literally stopped talking mid-word. Now, I could talk. My old school reports all said the same thing. Maya is intelligent, but she needs to stop talking so much and listen! I couldn’t recall anything stopping me from finishing a sentence before. But Jamie did.
He wasn’t even what you’d call gorgeous. He wasn’t a Tom Hardy or Channing Tatum lookalike. Nothing like that. Nothing like the type of obviously good-looking guys I usually went for, which my mum would point out had to be a good thing. I’d had my fair share of broken hearts and men who were unfaithful. The bad-boy syndrome.
Jamie was tall. Not packed full of the type of muscles I usually found attractive but lean and solid, with broad shoulders and a lot of definition. He had sandy hair. In some lights, it was more strawberry blond. And he had green eyes with fair lashes. But there was just something about him. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe the slightly anxious way he’d held himself. The hesitant smile on his face as he took in the women already sitting there waiting. The way he’d dropped a stack of information folders he was balancing in one arm as he carried a laptop in the other. Or maybe the way he actually blushed when he’d dropped the folders—although he swore he didn’t blush when I brought it up after we’d started dating.
Naturally, since I was in the front row, I’d jumped up to help him pick them up and flashed him a big smile. It was a flirty smile, I couldn’t help myself. The blushing thing had done something to me, though. By the time he’d cleared his throat, adjusted his tie—even though it was already perfect—and introduced himself, I was thinking that a boring software upgrade was about to get a hell of a lot more interesting.
I was the one who’d asked him out for a drink. I didn’t buy into all this ‘women shouldn’t do the asking’ idea. Those who didn’t ask didn’t get, and I suspected he was shy around women and probably wouldn’t ask me. On the last day of th
e training, he was either going to walk out of my life forever or not. As it turned out, it had been a very definite not.
I swallowed the last of my wine and checked the clock again. Where was he? He hadn’t texted back.
I turned the oven down. I knew the duck was supposed to be crispy, but at this rate it would be cremated.
I phoned his mobile and listened to it ringing. I tapped my fingers on the table before sending another text: Hey, sexy! Are you on your way? I’m cooking dinner naked! XOXO
I poured some more wine and stared at my phone, waiting for it to signal a reply.
Nothing happened.
By eight, I’d phoned twice more and sent another text. I was not usually the neurotic type. I was usually laid back. I didn’t care if Jamie wanted to go out with his friends or did what he wanted without me. It worked both ways, didn’t it? Everyone needed some kind of freedom in their relationship. But the thing was, Jamie didn’t actually have many friends. He didn’t go out and do many things without me except go to the leisure centre to swim a gazillion lengths or head out to the countryside to hike at weekends. He liked his own company. And he’d never once been late in all the time we’d been dating. In fact, he was a stickler for being on time. If anything, he got slightly panicky at the thought of being late.
That was when the thought first hit me that something had happened to him. There’d been an accident. Or—oh God—maybe he’d been mugged or attacked!
I phoned him again, and it just rang and rang. I chewed on my bottom lip, wondering what to do. Should I phone the police? Ask if his car had been in an accident? Was it too early for that?
I waited another half an hour then looked up the number for our local police station. It just wasn’t like Jamie not to contact me. I paced up and down in the kitchen, waiting what seemed like an eternity for someone to answer. Then I was put through to someone else. And someone else, who eventually told me that no, there had been no incidents reported locally involving Jamie’s car. That should’ve been a good sign, at least, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.
