by Tania Carver
They had agreed to face whatever was coming together, and that worked for a while. But when the unmarked car was no longer watching the house and Josephina had no bodyguards to escort her to and from school, the unease that she had initially suppressed began to resurface.
She told Phil. ‘It’s fine,’ he had said. ‘We’re aware. Both of us. Let’s not show that she’s got to us. Let’s just live our lives. Get on with things. We can’t live in fear of her all the time.’
But Marina wasn’t convinced. She was living in fear. Over the last few years their work had brought them – and their daughter – into danger. Real, life-threatening danger. And she had dealt with enough criminally unhinged people to know that this madwoman couldn’t be easily dismissed.
Once again she confided her fears to Phil. Once again he tried to manage them. ‘Don’t give in to her,’ he said. ‘That’s what she wants.’
‘What she wants?’ Marina could contain herself no longer. ‘I know what she wants, Phil. She wants you. She wants my life. Phil, she was in our bed. When she left the house that night, she took some of my clothes with her. She’s insane. No, beyond insane.’
‘And that’s your professional opinion?’
He had only been trying to make a joke, lighten the tension. She knew that. She had thought about it long enough afterwards. But the months of living looking over her shoulder, of dreading stepping outside the door, of fearing what she might find when she picked Josephina up from school, all of that had taken its toll on her.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ she said, tears coming as they so often did.
He hugged her. ‘It’s okay. We’ll get through it. We’ll be fine. She might never —’
‘She will, Phil. She will.’ Pulling away from him as she spoke. ‘And if she doesn’t? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking for her. Seeing her everywhere. Terrified to move in case she’s there. I can’t stand this any more. I… I’m heading for a breakdown.’
He tried to hug her again. She stopped him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. We have to… have to do something. We can’t keep on living like this.’
‘What do you suggest? I’ll try to take some time off, maybe we can go away somewhere.’
Marina shook her head. ‘Run away? And what if she’s there, waiting for us? No, Phil. That won’t do.’
Phil stepped back, looked at her. Like he was seeing her for the first time. ‘What, then?’
She regarded him the same way. As though a naked, truthful light was shining on him. ‘You’re… you can’t protect me, Phil. You can’t protect our daughter.’
‘What d’you mean? Of course I can. Of course I will.’
The conversation she had had with Carly Adderley came back to her. The look on the child’s face when she’d told Marina how her mother couldn’t protect them. And what had happened as a result. Then the image of Phil lying there outside their bedroom, defeated, broken, almost paralysed. The sheer helplessness in the face of something greater, something darker.
‘No, Phil,’ she said, her voice small but firm, ‘you can’t.’
He tried to speak again. She didn’t let him.
‘I’m going away. I… It’s better if I’m not here.’
Phil stood there, stunned. Waiting for her words to sink in. Eventually he tried to speak. She stopped him.
‘No. Don’t say anything. Don’t try to talk me out of it. Phil, I love you. More than anyone else I’ve ever known. But I can’t keep going like this. Every time I look at you, I see her. What she did. What she’ll do again.’
Again he tried to talk. Again she stopped him.
‘It’s all arranged. I’m taking Josephina with me. She doesn’t deserve to be put in danger. She’s been through enough over the years. Don’t ask me where I’m going. I’m not going to tell you. Don’t try to contact me.’
She couldn’t say any more. The tears had started again. She ran from the house.
Soon she had run from his life.
Marina counted reps in her head, reached the number she wanted, put the weights down. She slumped to the floor, exhausted, sweat covering her whole body. She stretched out a still-shaking arm, admired it. The sinew and muscle. The leanness of it. She made a fist, pulled it back, let it go. Hard. Imagined Fiona Welch’s face on the end of it, connecting, breaking.
‘I’m ready for you, bitch,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. ‘I’m ready.’
15
‘So is this your local?’
Phil took a sip from his pint of San Miguel, looked round. The Plough in Harborne was a neighbourhood boozer that had gone the upscale gastropub route. Not the kind of place he would usually come to, but he had to admit he liked it.
Esme Russell took a sip from her wine, sat back, looked round also, then back at Phil. ‘I suppose so. If I have a local. I like it here. Good place to meet friends.’
‘Harborne. Nice.’ Phil was being polite, looking for things to say. And things to avoid saying. ‘I wonder who decided that all pubs should now be full of mismatched rustic furniture and bits of industrial salvage? It’s like the back room at an auctioneer’s.’
Esme laughed. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I do, actually. Bet they’ve got craft beer, as well. A hundred and forty different varieties that all taste the same.’
Esme laughed again and he enjoyed that feeling. Making someone laugh. Pleased to be with him. He had missed that.
‘I like it here,’ she said. ‘Harborne. Like a village, almost. It’s got that feel. You can forget you’re so close to the city centre.’
‘And so close to work, too.’
Esme smiled. ‘With what we do? You know as well as I do that it can happen anywhere.’
‘True.’ Another mouthful of lager. Phil settled back in his metal chair. It was surprisingly comfortable for something that looked like it had come out of the canteen of a fifties steelworks.
‘So.’ Esme replaced her drink on the table, leaned forward.
Phil said nothing.
‘How are you?’
The good feeling of a moment ago dissipated. ‘Fine,’ he said, almost cutting off her question in his haste to answer.
Esme looked down, toying with the stem of her wine glass. ‘I mean… everything.’
‘This a professional enquiry? Has Cotter put you up to this?’
Esme pulled back, removing her fingers from the stem of her glass. ‘No. I… I’m just concerned about you. That’s all.’
Phil looked at her. Esme couldn’t meet his eyes. He studied her. She was a very attractive woman. Not really his type, if he was honest. Tall, slender; long, straight blonde hair. An accent so posh it could cut glass. But attractive. He had never really noticed it when they had met professionally. Or if he had, he had subjugated his feelings. For obvious reasons.
And maybe she was concerned about him. For professional reasons. But he didn’t think so.
‘I’m… coping,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’m not the first man whose wife has left him.’ But I might be for the reasons she gave me, he thought.
‘I know. But you seemed so happy together. So…’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Phil, reaching for his pint to hide behind, ‘it happens.’
Esme nodded. ‘I’m just saying,’ she said, reaching across the table, ‘you’ve got friends.’
He nodded. Made no attempt to remove his hand.
They sat in silence, each waiting for the other to make the next move.
‘Are you hungry?’ asked Esme eventually.
‘I’m okay,’ said Phil.
‘No, you’re not,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost weight and you don’t look healthy. If you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Thank you.’
She smiled. ‘I’m a professional. I’m good at spotting those kind of things.’
She took the opportunity to remove her hand and reach for the menu.
‘Their pizzas are very good. And burgers.’
<
br /> ‘I’ll have a burger, then.’
‘Sorted. My treat.’
Before he could say anything else, Esme had jumped up from the table and crossed to the bar to place their order. Phil watched her go, his mind performing emotional somersaults.
Why was he sitting here? What was he doing? Esme was attractive, yes. No denying that. And if he thought about it, if he allowed himself, he was attracted to her. And she laughed at his jokes, which counted for a lot. But he was still married. Even if Marina was gone and he didn’t know where she was. And it wasn’t just that. He still loved Marina. He didn’t want anyone else.
So why was he here? Why was he with Esme? He knew the answer to that. Because he was lonely.
She returned to the table. Smiled at him.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
She shrugged his words off.
At that moment a waiter appeared with more drinks.
‘I didn’t…’
‘I took the liberty.’
‘I’ve got to drive.’
Esme didn’t answer.
The food arrived. The burger looked bigger than Phil’s head. He started on it, pecking at it, but felt full very quickly. Esme on the other hand devoured her pizza. He wondered where she put it all. Maybe she was the kind of woman that other women hated, who could eat anything they wanted and never put on weight. Or the kind Marina hated, anyway.
Marina. There she was in his head again.
‘Not hungry?’ Esme looked down at Phil’s plate. He had pushed it away. ‘You’ve barely touched it.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Thought I was. Mustn’t have been. I’ve wasted your money. Sorry.’
He noticed that his second pint of lager was almost gone.
‘Thirsty, though,’ said Esme. ‘I’ll get you another.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think…’
She gestured to the waiter. Another lager arrived. The plates were cleared away.
‘You trying to get me drunk?’
Esme sighed. ‘Life’s too short, Phil. Too short to be unhappy, anyway. I’ve discovered that from experience. And it’s been a hard lesson to learn.’
He said nothing.
‘You’re not the only one to have a relationship break up. A relationship that you thought was going to last for the rest of your life.’
He nodded. And realised in that moment that he didn’t really know anything about Esme. Beyond work, anyway.
‘I was married once. And I thought he was the love of my life. He didn’t share my feelings, however. Result: one messy divorce. Years of heartbreak, thinking I was unattractive, wasn’t good enough to have a man in my life. Years and years of that. And then one day I just woke up and thought, fuck it.’
Phil’s eyes widened. It was the first time he had heard Esme swear.
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling grimly. ‘Fuck it. Life’s too short. I’m not unattractive and I deserve to be happy.’ She shrugged. ‘And that was that. It’s been my philosophy ever since.’ She sat back, wine glass in hand. Looked at him, waiting for a response.
Phil knew what kind she wanted.
He sighed. Couldn’t give it to her.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For dinner. And the drinks. But I think I should be off.’
He stood up. She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I am. I’m a… bit of a mess at the moment. I don’t want to do something tonight that I’d regret. That we’d both regret. In the morning. Whenever.’
She was clear-eyed as she looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t regret it.’
He nodded. Made his way to the door, weaving as he went.
Not sure if he’d made the right decision or the wrong one.
16
Janine Gillen opened the door as slowly and carefully as she could. As though if she didn’t disturb the atmosphere, her actions couldn’t ripple out and cause any kind of disruption in the rest of the house.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
Too late.
He came towards her. Terry Gillen, her husband. Angry, as usual. Like it was his natural state of being, his default setting. She wondered whether it was more from habit than anything else, angry with her because that was what he did. What he had always done.
But it wasn’t what he had always done. How he had always been. Not at first. Just the way he had become. Or maybe he had always been like that and their courtship was just some temporary blip. Being nice to lure her in. She had been thinking about that a lot lately. Keith had asked her questions and in turn made her question. But she hadn’t found the answers.
Whatever, another part of her brain said. That was later. Now she had to think how to get past him, how to make it through another night. How to avoid a beating for something she had either done or not done, or any permutation of the two.
‘Hello, Terry,’ she said.
He loomed before her in the hallway. The house was small and he seemed too big for it. Like it was keeping him constrained. A too-small cage for a large wild animal.
‘I said, where the fuck have you been?’
‘Out. In…’ She felt her heart palpitate once more. ‘In the city.’
His eyes narrowed. Suspicion in them. ‘Why? Where?’
‘I…’ This was it. Should she lie or tell the truth? Which would be easiest? ‘I… went to see Keith. We had an appointment. I thought you would be there. You said you would.’
‘I said nothin’ of the sort.’
‘But you did, you said —’
He grabbed her then, his big meaty hand gripping her neck, pushing her up against the wall.
‘I said nothin’ of the sort. You deaf? I told you I don’t want to see that interferin’ fuckin’ faggot ever again.’ He tightened his grip. ‘Ever. Again. And I don’t want you seein’ him either. Puttin’ fuckin’ ideas into your head. Fuckin’ faggot.’
‘But he’s not a… not gay.’
Terry’s eyes became glowing hot coals. His grip tightened further. ‘Oh, he’s not, is he? And how would you know, eh? You fuckin’ him, that it? That where you’ve been? Fuckin’ your gay-boy boyfriend?’
Janine tried to shake her head. Couldn’t. ‘Terry, I —’
‘You want to argue with me, that right? You want to answer me back, do you, you useless fuckin’ bitch? Yeah? Do you? You know what that’ll get you, don’t you?’
Janine felt her whole body start to shake. She knew it was better not to reply. She cast her eyes to the floor.
His grip loosened slightly. ‘That’s better.’ Nodding. ‘That’s better. Now. Where’s my fuckin’ dinner?’
‘I… I’m sorry, Terry. I…’
‘You brought anythin’ in with you?’
She shook her head.
His hand was back at her throat again, harder this time, tipping her head back, pulling it away from her body. She felt her throat being stretched, breathing becoming harder. He moved even closer to her. She could smell alcohol and sweat coming off him. Knew then that he hadn’t been to work today.
‘What kind of a mother are you, eh?’ he said, sour beer breath right in her face. ‘What kind of a fuckin’ wife are you? You don’t have to answer. I’ll tell you. A shit one.’
She tried to speak. Could find no words. She felt she was about to piss herself.
‘You know what day this is, don’t you?’
Janine tried to think, tried to order her mind into something rational. Couldn’t. Terry answered for her.
‘Stupid cow. It’s Monday. The Villa are at home and I’m takin’ the boys. I picked them up from your sister’s. You forgot that, didn’t you? While you were in the city fuckin’ that faggot.’
‘I wasn’t, Terry, I —’
‘You’d better fuckin’ not have been.’ Face pushed right into hers. ‘If I find out you have, well. Your life’ll be fuckin’ over.’
She moved her mouth but
no words would emerge.
He relaxed his grip on her. ‘Too late to have anythin’ to eat now. We’ve got to go out. I’ll have to get the kids somethin’ at the ground. More fuckin’ expense. And all your fault. That’s less money you’ll be gettin’ off me next payday.’
He turned, walked away from her. Called for the boys to get their things, they were going.
Janine didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She stood trembling up against the wall, her mind reeling. She watched Terry’s retreating back as he went towards the kitchen.. Allowed herself a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t hit her. At least she wasn’t physically hurt.
He must have read her mind. In that moment he turned back into the hall, arm raised, so fast she didn’t see him coming, didn’t have time to think, to move out of the way. He slapped her right across the face, the force of the blow sending her sprawling on the floor, the noise reverberating all round the house. He stood over her, stared down at her prone body. Breathing like he was in the middle of a lengthy fight or a bout of strenuous lovemaking.
‘Fuckin’ useless bitch.’
The boys appeared on the stairs, stopped dead when they saw the scene before them.
‘Come on,’ Terry said to them. ‘We’re going.’
He went to the front door, the boys following mutely. Janine tried to look up at them, plead for… What? Sympathy? Help? Support? She didn’t know. She got nothing. They just stared at her, expressions blank of anything but contempt, fledgling versions of their father.
Terry turned to her. ‘They’d better fuckin’ win. Because there’ll be hell to pay in here if they don’t.’
He slammed the door behind them.
Janine tried to get up. Couldn’t move. Just lay there, numb, staring at the ceiling. Trying to imagine that this wasn’t her on the floor. That all this was happening to someone else. Someone who deserved it.
It was over a quarter of an hour before she could get up.
It wasn’t until then that she noticed the puddle of urine she was lying in.
17
Phil hadn’t gone home. Couldn’t face going home. Not after what had just occurred. Not now. Not on his own.
