"So what's this all about? Bearing in mind, I don't think I can take much more today."
"I wish you hadn't left earlier. You needed to hear first-hand what Doctor Morgan had to say. I'll tell you what I can remember, but you may want to call her in the morning."
"What is it?" I braced myself for more awful news.
"My cell count is very low. I must have been infected for a long time."
"The girls …?"
"Not that long," he said, impatiently. "But the reason I've been sick and tired all the time is because my immune system is shot."
"Wh-what? What do you mean? You have AIDS?" The words tumbled from my mouth. I couldn't believe he'd spent the past twenty-four hours going on about treatments available that prevent the disease progressing to AIDS.
"Not quite, but apparently the medication is sometimes less effective the worse the infection is. My CD4 count is below 300." He took a glug of the brandy, finishing the glass in one. "They're going to start the treatment right away. They need to try to build up my levels, but we just need to prepare ourselves for the worst."
I sipped the brandy. The fiery liquid tasted awful, but I enjoyed the loosening sensation flowing through my body a few moments later.
"What’s a CD4 count and what is a normal count?" I took another swig and Gavin topped up my almost empty glass.
"I'm not a hundred percent sure myself. I know they are the cells that fight infection. When the count goes below 200, the virus becomes AIDS. Ideally they like to begin treatment around the 350 mark."
I sipped the brandy again.
"Well, say something."
"What do you want me to say?" He'd been right about one thing, the brandy helped.
Gavin sighed. "We also need to talk about the other issue we discussed today."
"I'd rather not." I didn't have the energy for a fight.
"This needs saying, I'm tired of lies. From now on I promise—no more lies."
"Pity you didn't think to tell me before the appointment, instead of humiliating me in front of the doctor."
"I tried to tell you the other day, but I couldn't."
"How come I didn't suspect a thing? I don't understand." I shook my head.
"I made sure I was careful. That part of my life has nothing to do with us, or home."
"Are you gay?" I'd always been okay with gay until now. Stella, our youngest, was in a lesbian relationship, and although I love her partner Tina, in the back of my mind I hoped the phase would pass.
"No, I'm not gay. I'm bisexual. I'm attracted to both men and women. I know this probably sounds stupid, but I could never be unfaithful to you with another woman."
"What's the difference?" I shrugged. "Man or a woman? The bottom line is you were unfaithful. Do you not get that?"
"To be honest I never thought about it. It was like an itch I had to scratch. I never expected anybody to get hurt."
"You're delusional," I told him. "Gay people don't have a choice, they are what they are. Bisexual is just another word for bloody greedy."
We sat in silence for a while. I thought he had fallen asleep, but when glanced at him, he appeared to be thinking.
"Where do you meet these men?"
"When I stay away I arrange to meet them either in a bar—if I've never met them before, or at my motel room.
I nodded, thankful for his honesty. "And how do you find them?"
"I have an app on my phone. It's a site for married men with bisexual tendencies."
"You mean there's a whole website catering for this kind of thing?" My throat constricted, making my voice high pitched. I swallowed to ease the ache and took another sip.
"Shhhh!" Gavin pointed at the ceiling and Yvonne and Keith's bedroom beyond.
The bungalow had two dormer bedrooms that we’d left set up for the girls.
"God, I must be so naive. I suppose that means there are loads of other unsuspecting women out there just like me?" My stomach turned over.
"I guess." He nodded.
"So now what?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you are going to stop, aren't you?"
Gavin hesitated for a split second too long and I had my answer before he opened his mouth.
"Yeah," he said.
"Liar! Go to bed, Gavin. You make me sick."
He stood up and left the room.
Once I heard our bedroom door close I allowed tears to fall.
***
Gavin ran his hands through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed.
He'd been making definite inroads with Melissa. She hadn’t seemed quite as hostile. Then, not ten minutes after promising no more lies, she'd caught him out with that fucking question.
He'd not even considered whether or not he would still play away. However, she'd taken his hesitation as a lie. And maybe she had a point. The thought of putting an end to his exciting secret life disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
His mobile phone vibrated. He stood and pulled it out of his trouser pocket.
You have 1 new message
He tapped the screen and entered his password. The familiar website opened up, showing a variety of men in various states of undress.
Gavin clicked on the flashing envelope icon.
Looking forward to next week—hope you can still make it. Carl.
Gavin considered cancelling, but what would be the point. He'd met up with Carl on several occasions, and Carl could already be HIV positive for all he knew. Maybe it had been Carl who infected him in the first place.
Gavin hit reply.
Sweet, see you then.
A sudden pang of guilt made him think about Melissa. He hated her being an innocent victim in all of this, but she didn't understand his needs.
He'd been a fantastic husband, built a stable and happy life for her and the girls. She'd never wanted for anything. She only took the job in the supermarket because she missed the girls and wanted to get out of the house.
He always made sure nothing upset her for fear of repercussions, and despite her father's misgivings, it had worked for the past twenty-nine years. She still had to take medication every day and have six-monthly check-ups, but other than that, there were no signs of the old problems.
However, he would have to tread very carefully with her now. Her specialist had hammered home the importance of her leading a stress-free life.
Gavin stripped down to his boxers and hopped into bed. He set the alarm clock, then switched off the light, pulling the duvet up to his chin.
The effects of the brandy had begun to wear off, but he felt a throbbing in his boxer shorts. Scratching the tips of his fingers through the silky satin fabric, he groaned. Then he turned on his side, trying to ignore the demands of his pulsating cock.
He usually made use of any random hard-ons with Melissa, but there would be no chance of that tonight or for the foreseeable, come to that.
Not a fan of masturbation—why have a dog and bark yourself had always been his motto—yet he knew he wouldn't get a wink of sleep with the incessant twitching in his pants.
Gavin reached for his phone and searched for images of gay porn. On the rare occasion he searched for anything, it would be for men. Maybe he was more gay than straight. He loved Melissa, as a companion, a soul-mate, but he couldn't say he lusted after her.
Pulling the duvet down to the top of his legs, he began to rub his rock hard penis.
When the bedroom door opened, Gavin dropped the phone onto his chest and yanked the duvet up to his chin.
He wasn't fast enough. In the light from the hallway, he saw Melissa shake her head, sneer, then turn and head for the bathroom.
By now, his penis had shrivelled so much it was almost inverted. Gavin pulled his boxers up, placed his phone back on the bedside cabinet and turned onto his side.
Chapter 4
Detective Inspector Adam Stanley couldn't believe it. After all this time, they’d arrested the hit-and-run driver responsible for killing his
wife, Sarah.
Not normally an outwardly emotional man, he struggled to blink back the tears. He glanced around the office at everybody racing around, carrying out their duties. All were oblivious of the fact he'd just received the call he'd dreamed about for months.
Matt, his brother-in-law and ex-partner, had told him the basics. He said he would hold off questioning the suspect until Adam arrived, but Adam needed to be quick.
His mind raced. He hadn't been working on anything urgent, nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow at least. Closing the lid of his laptop, he threw a few more items into his drawer, grabbed his keys, mobile and jacket and headed for the door.
His admin assistant, Calvin, was at his desk.
"Something's come up, Cal. I'll be on my mobile if you need me. Let Frances know, will you?"
"No problem, boss."
Adam glanced at his watch—11.15am. On a good run, a trip from Pinevale, a borough of London, to Manchester took around four hours—give or take. However, he would be hitting the city at the start of rush hour which might be a nightmare. The roads were notorious for being congested, and could delay his arrival by up to two hours. He texted Matt saying he'd left, leaving him to work out the ETA for himself.
After two days of solid rain, the sunshine bounced off puddles on the road. Adam switched on the CD player and sounds of Adele began belting from the speakers—his guilty pleasure. It occurred to him that, at long last, his life might be getting back on track.
He pulled up at the station car park at just after five.
Matt jumped up when Adam entered the office, a broad smile on his face, and pulled him into an emotionally charged man-hug.
Adam choked back his emotions for the second time that day.
"Okay, fill me in." Adam slapped Matt on the back and took a step backwards.
"You won't like it, mate." Matt walked back to his desk. "If, like me, you've built up a picture in your head of a terrible monster, you'll be disappointed." He handed a file to Adam.
Adam took a deep, bracing breath before opening the transparent plastic cover.
On the second page, a photograph of Penelope Van Erikson, a frail seventy-three-year-old woman, gazed back at him.
Adam's breath hitched.
"She came in this morning to confess," Matt explained. "Couldn't live with herself any longer."
"Why did she flee the scene?"
"She'd let her driver’s license lapse and panicked. She said Sarah and the child darted in front of her and she couldn't stop in time, but we already knew that, didn't we? I thought at least if you met her and talked to her, you'll be able to move on from this—in fact we’ll both be able to."
With a pang of guilt, Adam remembered Matt must feel as bad as he did. She had been his sister, after all.
"Thanks, Matt." Adam hesitated. Did he want to go through with this? On the way over he'd rehearsed what he would say, but it no longer seemed relevant. He'd held on to this anger for months. And now, instead of releasing in an almighty explosion, it seemed to be fizzling away to nothing.
His wife had been at work when the accident happened.
She was walking a group of small children to the gym class, when a little girl ran into the road. Sarah managed to push the girl to safety. However, she hadn’t been so lucky herself.
The car had killed her instantly. All the witnesses said the driver wasn't at fault, but because they fled the scene, they got the blame for Sarah's death. The fact he couldn't solve something so important almost killed Adam. This had been instrumental in his decision to move to London.
Penelope Van Erikson looked even more frail in person. Adam's heart broke when he noticed how she trembled as they entered the interview room. Her eyes darted from Matt to him as she held her breath; tears brimmed in her large, terrified, green eyes. Her fine, grey hair had been pulled into a bun on the top of her head and reminded Adam of his mum.
They were gentle with her. What would be the point causing her any undue stress? She'd suffered already with the guilt.
Matt charged her, but her only real crime had been failing to stop and report the accident.
Adam didn't think she'd get more than a fine and a ban, and he wouldn't want her to get anything more. It had been an accident, full stop.
While he was in the area, Adam thought he’d better pay his mum a visit. She fussed over him as she always did, thrilled to see her only son. He hugged her before he left and for the third time that day, got a hard lump in his throat. He worried he might be turning into a wuss.
***
I couldn't settle, alternating my position from the sofa to the window to the kitchen table and back again.
Tonight would be the first time Gavin had stayed away from home since this nightmare began. When he phoned earlier, I checked the caller ID then called the number back to get the name of the motel.
I felt guilty for snooping, yet, he deserved nothing less. I searched online for the motel and found it to be self-contained apartments rather than the usual type of hotel where guests have to walk through reception to get to the rooms.
On several occasions, Gavin had argued with his bosses. He didn't want to stay in the accommodation they provided, preferring to choose his own. Now it made perfect sense. A front door of his own meant no interference with any comings and goings during his stay.
My stomach churned. I couldn't shake the nagging thought that he intended to be unfaithful once again. Paranoia had set in. He wouldn't, would he? Not now he knew the damage he could cause. But I couldn't help myself, mainly because, when we last discussed the situation, he couldn't grasp the severity of it. He didn't care about the people he'd infected, and with a blasé attitude, pointed out that somebody gave it to him in the first place and that I had been the only real victim.
We argued, but I couldn't be sure if I'd got through to him. I gave up in the end.
To have any chance of peace, I needed to see for myself. Running into the bedroom, I rummaged around for some dark, inconspicuous clothing. I didn't own anything suitable. I raided Gavin's wardrobe, settling on a pair of rather large sweat pants and top. I found a black cap in the garage that had Sierra stitched across the front in gold lettering. I altered the back fitting and placed it snugly onto my head.
In the car, I punched the address into the car’s GPS—one hour and twenty-five minutes. Close enough for Gavin to have returned home, if he'd wanted to. I'd be there by seven-thirty. I didn't know what I would do if I found him with someone else.
***
Once he’d joined the M6 heading towards London, Adam hit the loudspeaker and made a call.
"Amanda, it's Adam—Adam Stanley."
"Oh hi, Adam." He could hear the surprise in her voice.
"I'm driving so can't talk long, but I wondered … how do you fancy coming to dinner with me tomorrow night?"
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I shouldn't have … no worries."
"No, I—I mean yes, I'd love to," she said.
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven."
As he hung up he knew the time had come to move on. It surprised him how much that final puzzle piece had held him back.
Chapter 5
Carl threw the last of his tools into the back of the van and shut the doors, relieved to have finished work for the day. Today had been gruelling as he'd been working outside in the biting cold, up to his elbows in water. He blew on his fingers to warm them and climbed into the cab.
The cold never bothered him a few years back, but the older he got, the more it seemed to penetrate his bones. At forty-three years of age, he sometimes wished he'd followed a more sophisticated career than that of a plumber. He laughed to himself. Sophisticated? Who was he trying to kid?
He'd never been a suit and tie kind of man. In fact, on the occasions he'd had to wear one—funerals and on his wedding day—he'd looked a right sight. Suits were designed for tall, slender men not short, dumpy
ones. Not the type of suit he could afford anyway, and anytime he'd bought a dress shirt, he needed the largest circumference for the neck to fit, which meant the sleeves dangled and the bottom came almost to his knees. Nah, he’d just stick to what he knew.
Pulling up outside his two up, two down in Pinevale, he parked his van half on, half off the curb to allow other vehicles to pass on the narrow street.
Sandy opened the front door—she would have run him a bath—
she knew how cold he got. Not a looker by any stretch of the imagination, her limp, mousy hair hung to her shoulders and her teeth seemed too big for her gaunt face, but she was kind and grateful. His dad had always said, 'make sure your ol' woman's grateful and she'll treat you well.' He'd never uttered a truer sentiment.
They'd been together for seven years now, married for three. He'd done the right thing by her when she got knocked up with Tyson.
He dragged his weary body out of the van and down the path.
"Hi, Carl, I've got your baff ready," Sandy said.
Carl grunted at her as he pushed his way into the small hallway and thrust his bag towards her before heading up the stairs.
Sandy placed the bag down and followed. "I've made a stew for your tea—thought you'd need warming up."
"For fucks sake, woman, let me get through the fuckin' door before you start your incessant chatter."
"Sorry, Carl, I'll get you a drink." She went back downstairs.
Carl heard the brat start to cry. He winced, slamming the bathroom door shut—that's all he needed. A bloke could do with a bit of peace and quiet after the kind of day he'd had.
He stripped off his clothes and slipped into the bubbly water with a sigh.
He heard a sound to the side of him and opened his eyes to see Sandy placing a can of beer on the edge of the bath.
"I don't want that, I'm off out tonight."
"Where to? You dint tell me?" Her face dropped.
"Since when do I tell you everyfing? Somefing’s come up, and I won't be having me tea either. Save it for me supper."
Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender Page 25
