by Amanda James
He says nothing but a quick squeeze of my knee reassures me he understands.
*
We make good time and are about two miles from the apartment forty minutes later. I remember I promised Demi I’d ring the clinic to make sure Simon was at work. Now he’s sent me a text though, there seems little point. However, something makes me reconsider – what’s it going to hurt anyway? If I want to win, then every ‘t’ should be crossed and ‘i’ dotted.
‘Yes, I’ll hold.’ I sigh and mutter an expletive under my breath. The receptionist’s voice on the other end of the phone sounds jaded, and frankly put out that I am asking to speak to my husband. If it’s Brittany, the same woman who was there the time I visited, she’s probably too busy checking the sweep of her eyebrows to be bothered with me.
‘I’m sorry – your husband is in surgery very soon. Can I take a message?’
My heart lifts and I smile into the phone. ‘No thanks, that’s fine. I’ll speak to him later.’
‘Shall I get him to call you, Mrs West?’
Dear God, the few brain cells she has must have rearranged themselves into some form of order and a polite button must have been pressed somewhere. ‘No. Please don’t do that. I’ll speak to him this evening. Goodbye.’
‘Bye, now. Bye, bye.’
‘Why do people do that? Say bye three or four times? It seems to be a trend these days,’ I say to Jowan before telling him Simon is indeed at work.
‘It’s better than just putting the phone down I suppose.’
‘Yes, but… oh, never mind.’ There’s no point in having a totally irrelevant conversation with Jowan right now. It’s just that I can feel the jitters start up a tap dance in my belly and have no idea why. Perhaps it’s the thought of going back into the apartment again after what happened last time.
‘You okay?’ Jowan says as he turns the corner into my street.
‘Yes, just a bit nervous.’
‘But why? There’s no way that Simon is home and you’ll be in and out within half an hour, won’t you?’
‘Let’s say forty-five minutes. I’ll text you if I’m going to be longer.’
‘I’ll come with you; we’ll get it done quicker.’
As I hand Jowan the pass card to our underground car park, I say, ‘No. We stick to the plan. You sit in the car in a visitor’s space and watch to see Simon doesn’t come back.’ I look at our designated parking space and see it’s empty. ‘His car’s gone, so that’s good.’
Jowan cuts the engine and gives me an incredulous look. ‘Of course it’s gone, because he’s not here. And surely you can’t think he’ll come back. Not now, after you’ve had a text from him and the receptionist just told you he’s at work?’
I’m not surprised he’s incredulous, but for some reason I want to stick to the plan. I think about the terrible things Simon has done and say, ‘Something might go wrong. The receptionist might call him anyway and tell him I phoned and he might wonder why…’
‘But why would he come home? He thinks you’re in Cornwall.’
‘He just might. Simon is capable of anything.’ My words sound unconvincing and I realise I’m sounding like a crazy person now. Nevertheless, the jitters have moved up and are stomping around in my chest now, so I grab Jowan’s hand. ‘Look, just humour me, okay? Stay in the car and I’ll text you if I’m going to be longer than forty-five minutes.’
Jowan looks at his watch. ‘Right. So text me if you’re going to be later than three-thirty.’
‘I will.’ I give him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for everything, Jo. It’ll soon be over now, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you remember the make and colour of the car?’ A weary nod. ‘And the registration number is written on a bit of paper in the…’
‘Glove compartment, yes. Now go!’
I laugh and say, ‘Okay, bye now. Bye, bye…’ Then I jump out of the car, and speed to the lift.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s cold in the apartment, or is it just me? A shiver ran the length of me as soon as I put the key in the lock, so perhaps it is. Not surprising really; this place holds little warmth in my heart. I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows and watch the sheeting rain hurl itself at them as if it is furious it can’t reach me. Beyond that, the river scene is distorted, as if I’m looking through a heat haze instead of water, and I think about what’s happened and how everything could have been so different.
The cool of the glass soothes my forehead and I just stand there, eyes closed, my palms splayed against the window, trying to comprehend the whole unbelievable unfolding of recent events. What hold did Mark have over Jonathan? Because it had to be Jonathan, didn’t it? What had driven an eminent surgeon to give our son away, to get some poor little corpse to put in his place, to let his friend and colleague believe it was his own dead child – to take photos of it, grieve over it. Perhaps I will never know…
And then there’s my darling husband. Having an affair behind my back when we had just lost our son. How could he? Going to Germany with her, pretending to me that he was just as upset as me about everything, when all the time he was with her. Then coming home and trying to rape me… He’s evil. Him, Mark and Jonathan… they’re not only from a different world, but a different planet. The old boys’ network, public school, the best of everything. Whatever they want, they get, and if they can’t, they just steal, take it by force. There’s no guilt either… just a sense of entitlement. Simon’s shown no guilt at what he’s done. Not to me anyway. Perhaps he’s shared it all with his mistress; unlikely though. How could any woman think what he’s done is okay?
I loved him once, or if it wasn’t love, I was at least very fond of him, wasn’t I? We were looking forward to being the parents of twins, or at least I was. We had everything, wanted for nothing. It didn’t make sense. But then, could I have been happy with him even if hadn’t done what he did? Truly happy, when Jowan had always been waiting in a secret locked box in my heart? The lock was already loosening well before I became pregnant, even though I had always tried to ignore it.
A thud snaps me out of contemplation and fear quickens my heartbeat. I turn from the window and hold my breath. It sounded like it might have come from the bathroom. Wrapping my arms around myself I tiptoe across the living room and down the corridor. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, but snap the light on near the door to the apartment because the dark afternoon has allowed too many shadows. Then I take the door off the latch. Leave it open a crack in case there is someone in the bathroom… My heart is hammering now and I tell myself to get a grip and open the damned bathroom door.
I stretch out a trembling hand to the door knob and then withdraw it, listening hard. Nothing. I let out a breath and quickly open the door – nobody here. Relief walks me into the empty bathroom and forces unwelcome memories of candles, wine and Simon’s evil expression from my mind. But what caused the thump? Pulling back the shower curtain I see a bottle of shower gel has slid on its own yellow, slimy contents, like some plastic snail, from the corner of the shower base to the plughole. Simon must have left the top off and knocked it over… but why has it taken so long to fall? He would have left at around ten if he was operating later… and that was over four hours ago.
I run a finger across the base of the shower and it’s dry. That would fit with him leaving when I thought, so how did the damned thing fall over just now? Could a drop of shower gel have been underneath the bottle, and it’s taken all this time to slide and fall over? Possibly. But I don’t like it at all, and decide to get my stuff and get out of here, instead of looking out of the windows and rehashing the past.
My dad looks at me from a backdrop of azure sky and windswept coastal path, a grin on his tanned face, eyes like mine, alive, joyful. I look at myself too, on his shoulders, a blonde ponytail streaming in the wind, my face full of giggles and ice cream. I prop the photo up on the dressing table and look at it a while. I mu
st have been about six, but it doesn’t seem so long ago. Not quite yesterday, but not nearly twenty years ago either. What would he make of all this? Not much. But oh my goodness, he would have adored Iona and Ruan. I trace a finger across his smile and fight back tears. Why is life so unfair sometimes?
I look at my face, pale and anxious in the mirror on the wardrobe door, and behind me see the bags packed ready on the bed. What am I waiting for? There’s nothing left to do. But there is, isn’t there, Holly?
The letter.
The letter sits heavy in my pocket like some guilty secret. Once it’s out and left here, there will be no going back. Simon will read it and know everything. He will rage and tear the place apart, but my God, I hope that will be it. I hope he won’t be stupid enough to risk everything and follow me to Cornwall. Is he bloody-minded enough for that? Would he do me real harm?
The answer I arrive at is chilling, yet not unexpected. All of a sudden this place is giving me the creeps, so I swipe the photo from the dressing table and shove it in one of the bags with the others and my gran’s jewellery. Then I prop the letter up where the photo was and hope that will be the end of it. Just as I’m about to leave the bedroom, my mobile rings. It’s Demi. Shit, I hope nothing is wrong with my babies. I sink back down on the bed and answer it.
‘Demi?’
‘Holly, are you okay?’
My heart plummets – she sounds frantic. ‘Yes, why? Are the twins okay?’
‘Yes, they’re absolutely fine. But your mum came here about fifteen minutes ago and when she found you’d gone to London, poor Wendy was in a bit of a state. The day before yesterday, Simon phoned her and asked to speak to you. And she said you were at the beach house…’
My heart jumps and into Demi’s pause I say, ‘Shit. What did he say?’
‘She said Simon seemed surprised and asked, weren’t you there looking after her? Wendy twigged something was up and said you were there at first or something. She can’t quite remember. Then he asked about her back and was it better? So she said it was getting better.’
Inside my head the word NO is repeating itself over and over and I grip the phone tighter. In the mirror my face, already pale, has drained of colour and nausea pricks my stomach. ‘Oh fuck, Demi. What then?’
‘Well, apparently, at first he sounded a bit odd and then he was fine about it and said that was good that she was feeling better, and that they would speak soon.’
That sounds very unlikely. Simon wouldn’t have been fine about it – would have suspected something. I start to pick at the skin at the side of my thumbnail. ‘But he thinks she’s still too ill to manage on her own, and that’s why I’m extending my stay… he never said a word about this to me when we spoke that evening. Never even mentioned Mum.’
‘That’s not all. He then rings her back that evening and says not to breathe a word of their previous conversation about her bad back to you. He told her he was coming down to Cornwall for a visit to surprise his wonderful wife. That he’d bought you an eternity ring. He told her not to speak to you at any time actually, because he knew Wendy wasn’t great at keeping secrets and he didn’t want her giving the game away. He told her not to ring me either, because I might give the game away too, to spite him, as I’ve never liked him. He got that right. She’s in a hell of a state because, of course, she saw Ruan here and I had to tell her the truth.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ I shout at my reflection. My poor mum. Why did she have to find out about her grandson like this? This is making no sense at all. None. I realise I’m digging my nails into my wrist and rocking to and fro. I force myself to stop. Demi is saying my name and asking if I’m okay. ‘Yes, yes. I’m still here. But this is all bloody mad. I phoned his clinic and the receptionist said he was going to operate shortly. How could he be on his way to Cornwall?’
‘Perhaps he told the receptionist to say that to put you off the scent?’
‘No. She offered to ring him for me. If he was driving down to Cornwall, he could hardly answer, could he?’
‘Hmm,’ Demi says and lets out a long sigh. ‘God knows. To be honest, Hols, I think he might be on his way here, to surprise you, but not with a ring. What if he’s suspicious after his first call to Wendy?’
‘Suspicious about what?’
About you lying to him about having to stay here looking after your mum. He might be coming to have a row… or something.’
My heart is thumping in my ears and I swallow hard. ‘If he comes there he’ll see Ruan… oh my God, what am I going to do?’
‘Get out of there and home as fast as…’
The idea that Simon might find Ruan when I’m not there to protect him kicks me into action. He might take both my babies! ‘Right, listen. Take the twins, Demi. Take them to a hotel, not to Mum’s because that’s where he’d go after he’d searched the beach house. I’ll see you right moneywise – just take them and take them now!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, forget the money. I was going to suggest that anyway, love. But try not to get too upset. Just come home immediately, okay?’
‘I can’t get out of here fast enough, believe me,’ I say and end the call. I feel sick to my core. My head in my hands, I take a few deep breaths to stop the tremors coursing through my body. This is awful. I never expected it – it wasn’t part of my grand plan of winning, beating my bastard shit of a husband, and living happily ever after. Stupid cow. I should have just fucking stayed away. Stayed home safe in Cornwall.
I lift my head, grab my bags, and catch a movement not of my making in the mirror. No… no… I turn my head, every fibre of my being hoping that what I think I’ve just seen is only my overactive imagination, but no.
No.
NO!
Simon is there in the bedroom doorway looking at me, cold hatred afire in his eyes. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out.
Then he walks into the room, smiles and says, ‘Darling Holly. Thank God you’re home.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s as if my brain is frozen. I can see and hear Simon, but my whole body is immobile, my voice isn’t working, I can’t think properly. One coherent thought breaks free. Fear. It’s paralysing fear.
Simon closes the door behind him. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He can’t have been at work, but he can’t have been on the way to Cornwall either, can he, not if he’s standing here in front of me. I didn’t hear him come in, the key in the door, nothing… Then I kick myself. I unlocked the front door when I heard the noise in the bathroom, didn’t I? Shit. I forgot to relock it.
There’s something in the pocket of his sweatpants. Something bulky. The air between us feels charged with electricity. Dangerous. I close my eyes, hoping it’s all some hallucination brought on by the stress of past events, but when I open them he’s still there.
He puts his head on one side, the false smile still fixed. ‘Holly, are you okay, love?’
My husband’s voice sounds normal, as if he’s concerned. Is it possible he doesn’t suspect anything? That I am here to leave him? I don’t know – but I need to find some strength from somewhere, break out of this stupor. My instinct is to try to act normally.
‘Yes, I’m fine. You just gave me a start; didn’t hear you come in.’ Thank God my voice sounds relatively calm.
‘I bet I did. And you wouldn’t have heard me come in. You thought I was at work, didn’t you?’ He grins and folds his arms. Leans his shoulder against the wall.
What does he mean by, I wouldn’t have heard him come in? He has said it in an odd, almost proud way. Think. Think what to say! ‘Yeah… I thought I’d come down early, get my stuff together and then cook you a nice surprise meal for when you got home. I’ll stay tomorrow too; Demi says she’ll look in on Mum.’ My smile feels unsure, but in the circumstances that sounded pretty convincing to me.
‘Well, isn’t that lovely? Thanks, sweetheart.’ Simon’s false smile stretches even wi
der and then he walks past me… and oh my God, he’s seen the letter with his name on the front propped up on the dressing table. I need to get out right now!
As he picks it up, I get up from the bed very slowly and start to walk towards the door. ‘Stay right there, Holly. It will go badly for you if you don’t.’
Any pretence at normality is dropped and the ice in his voice makes my legs weak. I stop and turn. ‘Hmm? What do you mean?’ My voice sounds like I’m about to cry and I swallow hard. This man bears no resemblance to my husband. Last time, when he tried to force himself on me in the bathroom, was bloody scary, but this… this is beyond terrifying.
He turns and closes the gap between himself and the door with three swift strides, then leans his back against it and shakes open the folded page. He doesn’t make eye contact. ‘Just sit the fuck down or I will hurt you, badly.’
My legs give way and I watch him from the bed. His face gives nothing away as he reads the letter. Oh fuck… oh fuck, I need to get out! The clock on the bedside table says three-twenty-five. Five minutes and Jowan will expect me to text. When I don’t, he’ll come up… but how will he get in? Has Simon locked the door again? Probably! My stomach rolls and my heart’s hammering in my ears. I want to scream, run at him, but I know I will have no chance. Come on, Holly, don’t give up. Bide your time – save your strength for when Jowan starts hammering on the door.
It doesn’t take long for him to read the one side of A4 and then he does something I couldn’t have predicted. He drops the letter and starts a slow handclap, his gaze fixed on my face. ‘Bravo, Holly. Bravo!’
I shake my head and wipe away tears. ‘I don’t get you.’
‘No? You do surprise me. As you know, I do like a gamble, a game. And I was so enjoying this one I’m playing with you. I didn’t have you down as such a good opponent but you really, really are.’ Simon raises his eyebrows and gives me an incredulous shake of his head. ‘I honestly didn’t think you had it in you.’ He raises a hand to his forehead in mock salute.
