The Exes' Revenge

by Jo Jakeman

  My feet slipped around and squelched against the rubber, slapping at the shallow puddles and the bubbling pavement. It was one of those showers that looked inconsequential but soaked you through in minutes. It was light, soft rain, cooling but not cold. Refreshing me and washing away Phillip’s stench.

  Until I was surrounded by people, I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed my own company. We were temporarily safe, and for the first time in two days we felt able to let each other be alone without fear of retribution from Phillip. I felt free and lost at the same time. I could keep walking or I could be home in ten minutes, and no one would bat an eyelid. With Alistair so far away, I had lost my schedule and my purpose. It felt like I was wearing someone else’s clothes and they were rough and heavy on my shoulders.

  I hadn’t told the others where I was going, only that I had to go. Now that Phillip was back under my roof, there was no more talk of either of them leaving, and I needed some space to breathe.

  My safe space, the place of silence and calm, was calling to me. I slipped through the gap in the hedge to the spot where I came to talk to Iris. There was a small bench that I had placed there, under the outstretched arm of an oak tree, and I sat on it now. The field sloped down and away into a valley. Ahead of me were sparse and thin trees angled over a shallow stream. They were beautiful on a summer’s day, but in the rain they were raggedy and lachrymose. Sheep huddled in the far corner, and in the distance lines of blue and red appeared as cars sped by on the bypass but were far enough away that the sound of engines was buffered by the rain. The patter of the rain on the ground rolled over me like a meditation CD in a spa, a place where women padded about beneath fluffy robes drinking freshly squeezed juices in between glasses of prosecco.

  The rain dripped off the branches overhead and struck the ground, popping like bubble gum. I shook wet hair out of my eyes and huddled in my cocoon, shivered against the damp. If I’d had the energy, I would have cried.

  I buried my head in my hands and dug my elbows into my knees.

  The games Phillip played drove me insane. There was always something to hold over me. So much I didn’t understand.

  He wasn’t one to shy away from low blows and base comments. Everything he did was calculated to hurt. He would never change, and I could have laughed at myself for ever thinking that he would. My biggest problem—our biggest problem—was what to do with him now that he was ours. We would start with a restraining order, but we needed more. We needed to make sure that he could never hurt us again.

  He’d made our lives a nightmare in ways we were only just coming to realize. Things we had blamed ourselves for, problems we thought we could have avoided, were all down to him. He had isolated us, stopped us from making friends, but he hadn’t realized that, by doing so, he would create a commonality between us—a bond that not even he could break. I was lucky to be able to count Rachel as a friend, but neither Ruby nor Naomi had mentioned anyone they could count on.

  I could have sat in the rain until the night smothered me and I still don’t think answers would have come. Usually, it would ease my mind to sit on Iris’s bench, but today I couldn’t feel my way.

  There was too much going on in my mind. I couldn’t shy away from the thought that Ruby—the woman who’d turned on Phillip last night and had given us the upper hand—was responsible for the accident that killed my unborn child. Forgiveness was a gift to those who gave it as much as it was for those who received it, but I was struggling to be that kind.

  Only Rachel understood why I came here. Anyone else would find it morbid. They could be forgiven for thinking of this as the place where I lost my baby. But I viewed it as honoring the last time that we were together. I remembered telling her about the stars and my dreams for her future. A good memory. A strong memory. That last walk I felt so happy to be pregnant. Just because of what came next didn’t stop that from being a happy time. I never got to push her in her stroller or carry her in my arms, but I got to carry her in my body, and that was as good as it was going to get.

  Rain funneled into rivulets that set off down the hill. I couldn’t tell whether it was heavier or just sounded that way as it tried to find its way through the canopy above me.

  I needed a drink. My ribs hurt as I stood up. If anything, they hurt more now than when Phillip had first attacked me. It was a reminder, in case I needed it, of Phillip’s need to control everything around him, to have the last word and come out victorious.

  The rain had become more persistent since I’d been sitting on the bench. The wind had picked up and was throwing needles sideways into my face and uncovered hands. I pulled my hood up, folded my arms around myself, and walked back to the sidewalk. My feet slipped on the mud and I was pleased to feel pavement under my flip-flops once more. The traffic was slow and light. Windscreen wipers swiped at the rain like giant metronomes.

  I put my head down against the rain and walked quickly. A car, driving too close to the curb, hit a pothole, throwing dirty rainwater over my jeans. I gave out an involuntary shriek and turned away too late.

  I turned to glare at the car, considering showing the driver my middle finger until I saw that the car had stopped and was reversing toward me. I almost ran but held my ground; it was about time people started apologizing for the way they treated me.

  The window slid down and a man’s face appeared. “Christ, I’m so sorry, Imogen. Would you let me give you a lift? Please? It’s the least I can do. I feel just terrible.”

  It took a moment for me to recognize him out of context, and to place him where I’d last seen him—the school gate. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and I realized it was Ethan’s dad.

  “Tristan?”

  “I didn’t see the pothole. Here. Get in.”

  He opened the passenger door for me and I scrambled inside the warmth without even wondering if it was a good idea. I was making his plush seat wet, but seeing as the fault was his, I didn’t care.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought it was you and I was trying to get close to see if it was. Didn’t mean for that to happen at all. Where are you off to?”

  “Don’t worry. I was wet already. I was just out for a walk to clear my head.”

  I took my hood down and smoothed back my hair before turning to him and smiling. His hand was on the gear stick, about to put it in first and drive away.

  “Christ! What the hell happened to your face?”

  I considered the usual explanations of “tripped over the cat” or “walked into a door,” but I was beyond covering up for other people as if their actions reflected badly on me. I wasn’t to blame for what they did.

  “This?” I pointed to my nose and my now blackened eyes. “That’s nothing—you should have seen the other guy.” I laughed, but Tristan didn’t.

  “Imogen?”

  “I’m okay. It was my ex and—believe it or not—this isn’t even the worst thing he’s done in the last twenty-four hours. Can we go somewhere? Not home—I don’t want to go there just yet.”

  He drove for five minutes, not saying much except, “Talk if you want to. But if you’d rather not . . . Whatever you need, Imogen. Whatever you need.”

  He pulled onto a drive in a new development. Golden-bricked houses with gleaming white window frames and navy blue doors. It was still a building site at the end of the road as the houses multiplied over fields and wasteland, creating dwellings for future lives and loves.

  By the time I had untangled my coat from the seat belt, Tristan had opened the door for me. I let him take my hand to pull me out of the low car and into his house.

  “You’re shivering,” he said.

  At the front door I kicked off my flip-flops and wiped my bare, wet feet on the doormat. The carpet was plush and cream. I melted into it and stood looking at my dirty toes. There was a shoe rack and a low table with a telephone. Old-fashioned with a cir
cular dial. Tristan took my sodden coat without a word and hung it from a stag’s-head hook on the wall.

  “Come through,” he said.

  The open space at the back of the house was a kitchen-diner. This was obviously where most of the living took place. The wall by the fridge was one large blackboard of drawings and doodles and notes of Love you, Daddy and reminders for shampoo, milk, bread.

  There were beanbags and sofas in deep moss green and purple. A retro record player stretched across the back wall, a haphazard stack of vinyl showing that it was more than an ornament. A breakfast bar was teamed with tall dark-wood stools. On the top was a folded-back newspaper, a French press with an inch of murky brown liquid, and a mug that awarded the drinker the accolade of World’s Best Dad.

  Tristan draped a blanket over my shoulders and rubbed my arms.

  “You warming up?” He was looking at my face, taking in my bruising. He quickly dropped his gaze. It pained him to look at me. I knew I looked a sorry state, but I was too tired to be embarrassed.

  “Drink?” he asked as he straightened his arm to present the sofa to me. I nodded, pulled the blanket around me, and fell into the sofa, which sagged more than I expected and shot my knees higher than my hips. There was a skylight above me in the sloping roof, letting in the light but no prying eyes. There were no curtains, only sky. I rested my head backward and gazed up at the glass. The rain had stopped. In patches, there was a silver clarity. A brightening that promised the sun was still there if only I could stretch that far.

  I listened to Tristan move about the kitchen and watched birds dart through my field of vision and out again. Swooping, playing, rapturous in the ceasing of the rain. I smiled slowly and let my eyelids close. Just for a minute.

  I must have dozed off because I opened my eyes to find Tristan’s hand on my shoulder. “Imogen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve run you a bath. You’re still wet through and cold. There’s clean towels and clothes in there. The best I can do, I’m afraid. Let me show you where it is.”

  I was led upstairs into the only bathroom. A basket in the corner was full of bath toys. A shark, a duck, a submarine, a mermaid. On the end of the bath a purple candle in a glass jar was pulsing gently. The bathroom smelled slightly of bleach, but the lavender from the candle was doing its best to compete. I dipped a toe and the water scalded. I stepped in and felt like my skin might blister with the heat. I didn’t mind. I was ready to shed this layer of skin, to be born afresh. Renewed.

  I sat in the water and it burned my thighs. I wrapped my arms around the back of my legs until I got used to the heat and began to feel it penetrate my skin. I lay back in the water. And back. I slid down until my hair was submerged. I was shut off from the world. I closed my eyes and let myself drift away.

  I kept picturing the flames. In my fear-fed recollections, they now leaped higher and hotter. I could hear Phillip’s laughter, though in truth he hadn’t made a sound. I imagined and I wondered. I pictured us sleeping when he lit the fire, which would have, in turn, ignited the gas. I saw our bodies in black bags being wheeled out of the front door on gurneys. I pictured Alistair without a mother.

  I don’t know how long I lay there, letting my imagination run free, but my skin had wrinkled and the water was cold by the time I sat up and let the water fall from my hair. I considered adding more hot water but had already outstayed my welcome. I hardly knew this man and yet I was naked in his bathroom. It was stretching our school gate acquaintance to the limit.

  The clothes he’d left for me were a pair of his tracksuit bottoms, a T-shirt, a pair of socks, and a sweatshirt. I put my underwear back on. It was damp and felt dirty next to my skin. His clothes smelled of a foreign washing powder, perfumed. The T-shirt was soft and the sweatshirt heavy. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair hung limply around my shoulders. I began to wipe away mascara from beneath my eyes before I remembered I wasn’t wearing any makeup and the black smudges were bruises. I dried my hair as well as I could with the towel and tamed it with my fingers.

  As I opened the bathroom door, I heard footsteps going down the stairs. I went to join Tristan and found a cup of tea and two slices of cheese on toast on a green plate on the counter.

  “Thought you might be hungry. My culinary skills don’t stretch very far, I’m afraid. This is what you might call my signature dish.”

  I sat on the stool and my vision began to blur. I fought the tears. Blinked hard and said, “Thanks, for . . . all of this. The bath, the clothes, food. It’s . . . I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  My voice wavered and I took a sip of tea rather than continue to give way to my emotions.

  “No problem. I know it’s none of my business, but you should go to the police. He can’t be allowed to get away with it.”

  I shook my head.

  “I know if I was any kind of man I’d offer to march over to his house and punch his lights out, but he’d most likely knock me on my arse.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t imagine Tristan hitting anyone with those soft, elegant hands.

  “No, honestly,” I said. “I’m dealing with the Phillip situation. He won’t get away with it. I needed to get away for a couple of hours to work out what I was going to do. I’m a lot clearer now. Thanks.”

  “Is he . . . Is Alistair with him?”

  “God no. Alistair’s with my mum. No, I won’t let Alistair be alone with Phillip ever again. But, you know, it’s complicated.”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Eat up,” he said.

  He took a triangle of the toast off my plate and ate it. I did the same. I couldn’t put my finger on what I was feeling, but it was the most relaxed I’d been in days.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “What do you think about forgiveness?”

  He shook his head and looked alarmed. “Sorry, but no. This isn’t one of those times. You need to go to the police.”

  “I’m not talking about Phillip, actually. I have a feeling that someone did something really bad to me a few years back. If I’m wrong and I accuse her of it, it could make things awkward when I could do with her on my side at the moment. And if I’m right, I’m not sure what good it would do. I’ve always wanted to know who was responsible, but the thought that I might be close to getting my answer . . . well, it’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be.”

  He chased crumbs around the plate with his finger.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “The only situation I can compare it to was when my wife left me. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

  I looked away and concentrated on my cup. I doubted there was anyone at the school who hadn’t gossiped about him.

  “I’m not happy with how our relationship ended. I thought we would be together for the rest of our lives, you know? The hardest thing was that she wasn’t sorry for what she put me and the kids through, but as soon as I made up my mind to let it go, I was free.

  “I couldn’t be happy with someone else if I was still angry with Sally. It’s the easiest thing in the world to hold a grudge, but it takes a strong person to forgive. You need to love yourself and believe that you deserve better. A wound doesn’t heal if you keep poking it. And if that sounds straight out of a self-help book, it’s because it is. I read hundreds of the things when she left me.”

  He laughed gently and held my gaze.

  “I’m not sure if that helps?” he said.

  “More than you could know.” I slid my hand across the counter between us. Tristan reached for it and rubbed his thumb in circular motions over the back of my hand.

  I asked him to drop me home, and though he hesitated, he agreed. At the end of the drive, he asked if he could give me a call sometime.

  “I’d like that,” I said.

  “Great.”
He started reaching across me to get his mobile out of the glove compartment. I stopped him by placing my hand on his wrist.

  “But not just yet.”

  “Okay. Sure. No—” He was flustered. “You’re obviously going through a lot right now, so why don’t I give you my number and you can call me when things have settled down?”

  “Thanks.”

  “But”—he looked out the window rather than at me—“this doesn’t have to be a date thing. I would like to be able to be there for you even without that, you know? For emergency baths and cheese on toast?”

  “Thanks,” I said again, and smiled as he handed me his business card.

  I slipped from the car and was gratified that he waited until I had unlocked the door before he drove away with a wave.

  Naomi came running down from upstairs.

  “Oh, thank God. We were worried.” She threw her arms around me and I hugged her back, touched by her concern.

  Ruby was all hands-on-hips disapproval in the hallway.

  “We had no idea where you were. Anything could have happened to you. Would it have hurt you to call?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think that you’d be . . .”

  I was touched. It was a long time since anyone other than my son had cared. I apologized for having scared them.

  “Are you wearing different clothes than the ones you went out in?” asked Naomi.

  “Long story,” I said.

  “Ruby’s bought wine,” she said. “Enough to last through a long story, I reckon.”

  I looked at Ruby. She looked tired and worn. It was time to move on from the past. We had more important things to do. We couldn’t turn on each other now.

  CHAPTER 32

  8 days before the funeral

  Monday started with an argument. I called work to excuse myself for the morning meeting and to say I would need a few days off. I had meetings with the solicitor and Chris Miller this morning. Besides, I couldn’t pretend that the world was carrying on as normal when Phillip was in my house.