The Exes' Revenge

by Jo Jakeman

  “What are you saying?”

  “Haven’t you worked it out yet? I was driving the car that hit you.”

  I didn’t want to believe it was true. It was hard enough to contemplate Ruby driving the car, but to believe that my own husband could have been responsible was more than I could take.

  “Don’t,” I muttered. “Just. Don’t.”

  “All this time, Immie, and you never wondered? Never questioned why we’d got a different car by the time you came out of the hospital? Never wondered why no one had ever been caught? Come on. Not even you could be that blind. Could you? But then you’ve always been one to ignore the signs if they don’t suit.”

  “Stop it.” I wanted to shut his mouth for him in that moment. I never wanted to hear his voice again. The wind was loud in the trees. I concentrated on the rustling instead of Phillip’s words.

  “You’d stormed off . . .” Phillip said.

  “No. No. Don’t—” I clenched my free hand, causing my nails to dig into my palms. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  “You were halfway along Long Eggington Road when I saw you. On your way to God knows where.”

  “The queue at the chip shop was too long. I was—God, no. I refuse to get into this with you, Phillip.”

  I took another step. I was level with him now. Next time he glanced away at the horizon I would make a run for it.

  “Stop it, Phillip.”

  “Stop what? The truth? Your face, though,” he said. “I thought you’d seen me. You seemed to look me straight in the eye as I hit you.”

  The wind died down. Cars were suddenly absent from the road. It could have been only me and Phillip in the world at that moment. Birds paused in their flight and gave up their morning call. His face showed no remorse. He pushed his free hand into his pocket. Casual. Like he hadn’t been the person to shatter my life.

  “But you . . . you were upset too,” I said.

  “Of course I was. I hadn’t set out with the intention of running you down. It nearly broke my heart what you made me do.”

  Being let down by Phillip wasn’t a new sensation for me, but this betrayal was spectacular. How could I have been so blind? He wasn’t protecting Ruby; he was protecting himself. We had a new car by the time I came out of the hospital, and I had been stupid enough to think he was being considerate.

  A car sped by and noise flooded back into the world again. A dozen birds scattered from the trees and flecked the sky. A distant siren wailed, low and long. I was very conscious of my own shallow breaths and the quickening of my heart. There was the familiar feeling of a vise around my head and the world narrowing around me.

  I would not pass out.

  I would not hide.

  I stood as tall as it was possible and pushed back my shoulders.

  “Is this a game to you?”

  “Oh, it’s a game all right. The endgame. It’s the final card up my sleeve.” He took a step toward me and I stood my ground. Let him come. He looked to the horizon again, smiling, and I launched myself at his face.

  “You killed our baby!” I pulled back the branch, intending to hit him with it, but it was too long and unwieldy. Phillip grabbed it and wrenched it out of my hand.

  I scratched at his eyes and he crossed his hands in front of his face, too busy protecting himself to use the knife. He pushed me away and staggered backward, losing balance and falling. The knife skittered along the grass and I ran to pick it up.

  “You killed her!” I swiveled and kicked him in the stomach. Eight years of pain. Eight years that I could have had with our daughter and he’d taken it away from me. Every one of those years gave me a strength I didn’t know I possessed. As Phillip bent over with the pain of the kick, I bent low and charged at him. My shoulder caught him on the chest as he began to straighten. His eyes flew wide as he launched through the air, his feet leaving the ground.

  He grunted as he hit the dirt and squeezed his lips together like he had tasted something unpleasant.

  “Her death was collateral damage. It was you I wanted to punish,” he said.

  I walked round in a circle, pulling at my hair. I couldn’t believe it, and yet I could. I turned to look at him and doubled over, feeling that I might vomit, or scream, or both. My face was hot and I had spittle on my chin. I fell to all fours. The rain was falling heavier now and my clothes were sticking to me.

  “Christ, Phillip. Why would you do that?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said quietly. “I’d had a bad day. Had to break it to some kids that their parents had died. You were full of ‘baby’ this and ‘baby’ that. I wanted to come home to a nice meal and a supportive wife. I needed you, and you just walked off into the night. When you took so long, I drove by the chip shop but you weren’t there. I found you a mile away like you hadn’t a care in the world.”

  I looked at the knife in my hand and then looked at his throat. Wondered about ending it for good. Ending him.

  “You did this because you felt sorry for yourself? You’re pathetic. Thank God I’m not like you,” I said.

  “More’s the pity.”

  “No, Phillip. It would be so easy to hurt you right now, but I have a future ahead of me. I still have my son. I have friends. I have family. What the hell do you have? Nothing. Nothing. And it’s all your own doing.”

  I struggled to get back to my feet. Phillip was sitting up with one arm across his stomach. His face was twisted in a snarl.

  “You don’t scare me, Phillip. You’re a weak, useless man and you will die alone. You can’t control anyone anymore. You have no power. All of your secrets are out. Everyone will know what you are like. Ruby and Naomi will be giving their statements right now. Mother has already spoken to one of your colleagues about your threats about my father.”

  “What threats?” He wheezed. “She jumped to the conclusion. I didn’t put the thought in her mind.”

  “Was there even any truth to it?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t vouch for what he was thinking when he took that girl.” Phillip pushed himself into a crouching position, wincing at the pain.

  “Couldn’t find anything to link him with any other cases. He might’ve topped himself because of thoughts he was having, or because he couldn’t stand being accused, or to get away from the constant bloody nagging. How the hell would I know? But your mother believed the worst of him. What does that tell you about her, eh?”

  Phillip had caused so much hurt, but he would only affect me from now on if I let him.

  “Your carefully built reputation is unraveling, Phillip. I’ll try and keep Alistair from seeing the news, but when he’s old enough to know the truth, it’ll all be there for him to see. He’ll know what kind of a man his dad really is.”

  I picked up my bag and slung it across my chest. I still had the knife in my hand. I felt liberated by the truth. No matter what he did to me now, he couldn’t win. Phillip stood up slowly, eyes full of hate.

  “And here’s something else you should know,” I said. “I forgive you.”

  “I don’t want your forgiveness,” he said with his eyes on the knife.

  “I don’t care. I forgive you because that’s the kind of person I am. Not because of the person you are. I won’t be someone who holds grudges, someone who lets the past hold her back. Not anymore.”

  Something in the air caused me to sniff. There was the unmistakable smell of smoke. The siren was louder and had changed pitch. Rolling black clouds were hanging low on the horizon in the distance. It was my house. And it was on fire.

  “You haven’t. For God’s sake, Phillip! That’s what you’ve been looking for? What do you think you’ve achieved?”

  I drew my arm back with the knife in it and threw it as far as I could beyond the trees.

  I gave him a slow clap. “Well done, you. You�
��ve managed to get rid of any evidence you were ever locked up in there. Saved me a job.”

  I raised my hand in resignation. “We’re done.”

  I kept my eyes on him as I turned and moved quickly toward the gap in the hedge. I tripped over the rutted earth but somehow stayed upright. I fell into the bushes and felt sharp twigs tear the flesh on my hands in my haste to be away from him. There was a car coming, but I stumbled into the road before I registered its approach. Its horn blared at me as I reached the other side. Phillip was close on my heels. I could hear him grunting.

  My mind was whirling. Looking wildly at the cars, I wondered about flagging one down, asking for help, but then it struck me that I didn’t have to run anymore. There was nothing to run from. The sirens were getting louder. Called, no doubt, by a well-meaning neighbor to attend my burning house.

  I turned to face Phillip. He was opposite me, watching the traffic, waiting for a gap. Standing just where I had been when he had mown me down that night eight years ago. The rain ceased abruptly like a tap had been turned off. Clouds skittered away, taking the drizzle elsewhere.

  The early-morning school run had added to the steady stream of commuter cars moving by us at speed. Phillip was balanced on his front foot ready to dart through the traffic and chase me down. I watched him with an intensity that made him look back at me. He was panting from the exertion of his brief run. I had nothing to fear from this man.

  I had done enough running. Across the road, Phillip straightened up and squared his shoulders. I could feel the push of the cars as the displaced air lifted my coat and my hair.

  He looked at me and I felt the force of his hate like a solid iron bar. Neither of us moved and we barely blinked. I gently shook my head and gave a slow smile.

  It’s over.

  I looked away. I didn’t fear him. I began to walk and didn’t turn when he called my name.

  “Imogen! Don’t you dare walk away from me. Look at me!” he shouted.

  I walked in the direction of the house, where Tristan would pick me up to take me to the police station. I’d be safe there with the firemen and the kindly neighbors. I pushed my hands into my pockets like I didn’t have a care in the world. And, for that split second, I didn’t.

  The screech of tires. The blare of horns. I faltered in my step and, despite myself, turned.

  A car was turning sideways, another was mounting the curb closest to me. Phillip’s face was suspended too far above the ground. A gust of wind pushed hair over my eyes and I swept it aside, stunned at the scene in front of me. The smell of burning rubber mixed with the smoke-heavy air. There was a pause, a vacuum where sound was lost and feelings couldn’t travel. I was watching a macabre drama played out by a familiar actor. A contorted face overplaying his part.

  I could see everything in that moment. The fire engine turning the air red and blue rounding the corner; the black four-by-fours and neighborhoods with family homes; the old white van with the faded lettering on its side, showing a dialing code no longer in use; the line of geese making a victory sign overhead. And Phillip.

  He was hanging midair, limbs flung outward, comical almost.

  Look at me, he’d shouted.

  And I did.

  The sound of crushing metal and the thud of body on bumper refocused the act and everything sped up before me. Phillip was thrown up and backward. He dangled in the air for a long moment, his mouth gaping but his eyes clenched. His head snapped back and he fell from sight. Someone screamed.

  I collapsed as he dropped, feeling our ties sever. My view of Phillip was blocked as cars swerved and crashed into one another in confusion and panic. The fire engine, which was pelting with purpose toward a fire that couldn’t be stopped, began to brake too late. The car that had mounted the curb stopped inches from my face.

  I crawled on my hands and knees, looking between wheels and running feet. The fire engine smacked into the back of a heavy vehicle and set the dominoes falling. I heard car after car shunt toward where I’d seen Phillip drop. I could see his legs. His left leg moved, bent, then straightened. And then the last domino, the old white van, was propelled forward by the momentum. It bumped over Phillip’s torso.

  His legs twitched.

  Once.

  Twice.

  And then they were still.

  Phillip Rochester turned to stone before my eyes. He was gone and I was free. I lay my cheek on the cold hard ground and rolled onto my back. In the sky above me, a rainbow bloomed. Iris.

  I closed my eyes and let gravity claim me as its own.

  CHAPTER 40

  43 days after Phillip’s funeral

  I expect to cry, give way to the emotions I’ve kept bottled up for years, but as the curtains close around the silk-lined coffin, all I feel is lost. The strings have been cut. I’m no longer dancing to anyone else’s tune.

  Naomi squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. I know I’m being watched. I should dab at my eyes, sniff loudly, lower my head, but I’ve been looking at the floor for far too long. I’m done with apologizing for who I am. I sit up a little straighter on the pew and tuck my hair behind my ear.

  It’s a new vicar. A woman. Her eyes crinkle at the sides even when she isn’t smiling. She nods at me. It’s time to leave. Or go to pieces. I stand and hear a collective sigh behind me as everyone realizes I am going to keep my composure. Creaking chairs and bones tell me they are moving en masse in a somber, respectful procession at my back.

  On one side of me, Naomi, and on the other, Rachel. I catch Rachel’s eye and she winks, then stands back to face the congregation, one arm outstretched as if she is my protector. I slip out the side door and look up to the sky. So blue, so fresh, already too warm to be wearing a black pantsuit.

  There are floral tributes on the table despite me making it clear I’d rather people made donations to the Stroke Association. People like to be seen, judged, and declared good. Decent. All the while, wanting to be noticed. Saying they loved her most, knew her best, would be the ones to remember her fondest. They were welcome to that title. My flowers were simple, red and white. Not because she liked red, but because I did. The card said, simply, Mother, We loved each other the only way we knew how. I wish we’d had more time to make it right. Imogen x

  After Phillip died, we tried to break down walls, build bridges, but we weren’t architects and our foundations were weak at best. I had only just come to terms with the fact that Mother could never be who I wanted her to be, and by expecting more of her than she was able to give, I would always be disappointed. If she could love me for who I was, then surely I could love her for who she was too. We agreed that neither of us was perfect but we loved each other and that had to count for something.

  There are people milling around the courtyard who I think I recognize. I knew so little about Mother’s life, and she mine, that I don’t know which are genuine friends and which have come for the free buffet at the Joiner’s Arms. I nod and thank people for coming, agree that Mother would have been pleased at the turnout and, yes, it was lovely weather for it, wasn’t it?

  Bill is shaking hands and cracking jokes. He seems happy to have a day out. I get the impression that Mother’s wasn’t the only garden he tended.

  Tristan is here somewhere. I saw him when I arrived. He looks handsome in his dark suit and thin black tie. Black looks good on him but, then, everything does. I spot him now by the entrance. He’s been cornered by Aunt Margaret. He notices me looking and smiles at me in a way that makes my heart flutter. We’d agreed to take things slow, though I was wondering about quickening the pace.

  The black car that had followed the hearse has gone. Naomi is on her mobile and signals to Rachel, who links her arm through mine and escorts me around the corner to where the sun is at its brightest.

  “Won’t they think it’s rude if I leave so early?” I ask.

  Rachel raises an eyebro
w and reminds me, “You don’t care what they think.”

  We walk up the narrow road and I step up onto the neatly mown grass as a yellow camper van swerves wildly around the corner. Gingham curtains sway as the van stops by our side.

  “Sorry I’m late,” says Ruby through the open window. “Alistair was in desperate need of ice cream.”

  Alistair leans over the back of the white leather-look seat and proudly holds his cone aloft. Old Tom makes a game attempt to lick his ice cream and Alistair laughs. All three of the dogs were reunited with Ruby not long after Phillip’s death. The other two were found locally, but Old Tom walked his tired legs all the way back to Ruby’s home in Brighton.

  Alistair had lost two people he’d loved in the space of two months. I’d readied myself for the nightmares, the attachment issues, the neediness, but he’d taken it in his stride, astounding me with his resilience. I let him sleep in my bed—though that was more for me than for him—and I clung to him as if he was my anchor, when I should have been his.

  I lean over and kiss his forehead.

  “You okay, buster?”

  He nods. “You look pretty, Mummy.”

  “Are we ready or what?” asks Naomi.

  I take my jacket off and slide into the front of the van.

  “She’s a beauty, Roobs,” I say, looking appreciatively around her recent purchase.

  Naomi slides the side door open and gets in next to Alistair.

  “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” I ask Rachel.

  “No offense, but some of us still aren’t ready to let our leg hair grow and join a commune.”

  I laugh and so does Alistair, though he doesn’t know what he’s laughing at.

  “We’ll only be gone a week or so,” I say.

  “And I’ll keep an eye on everything here. Besides, I’ve got a weekend away with Chris Miller.”

  “I didn’t think you did relationships.”

  “I didn’t think I did policemen either. Goes to show.”

  She pauses like she’s weighing up whether she should say what’s on her mind. This is so out of character that I feel the fingertip of fear on my spine.