Her words cut through me.
‘How do you know? Were you still in touch?’ I splutter.
‘Just once.’
You are almost in tears, head in hands, face crumpling.
‘I just went to see him once to check that he was all right.’
You are trying to cry, chest heaving, but the tears do not come. Lies, Carly. So many lies.
I watch you inhaling and exhaling deeply as if you are struggling for breath.
‘Jenni did it. She used to be my friend, so I was fooled, but now, I see how she’s behaving again. And the same thing has happened too many times. I know she’s dangerous.’ There is a pause. ‘Please believe me, Rob.’
~ Carly ~
My sleepless night is like torture, Jenni, endless and painful, now I know what you’ve done. My sleeplessness is hell fire. The sounds of the night burning against my skin. The bloodcurdling cawing of a crow. A dying fox crying like a baby. But the sounds that are the loudest are my memories. My memories shout. I remember you telling me that Rob is in love with you, your words drowning in the smell of burning candles and incense. Watching you put tablets in my drink. I lift that drink to my lips and it tastes salty and sweet. And now I am falling, falling but this time, Jenni, you cannot stop me. I am not blacking out.
I am walking to your cottage, the cottage where you murdered Craig. Your cottage with its artificial cosiness and closed-in life. And now I see where you murdered Ana. I see it as clearly as the picture in the newspaper article. A Georgian house so balanced and beautiful, full-length windows with flounces of silk around them. A shiny front door with a brass lion-head knocker. The soft sand colour of antique brick. I open the door and walk through a hallway with a black and white marble floor, Ormolu lights and dark oil paintings. I turn into the drawing room. A white marble fireplace surrounded by gold upon gold. Swags and tails. Silk and damask. Like a page out of the Christie’s catalogue. And in the middle of the largest sofa is Anastasia, her alabaster skin painted in stiffness.
He loved her, you know that, don’t you, Jenni? He loved her more than he ever loved either of us.
At last it is morning. Light curls in around the curtain edges, and the sounds of the morning begin to move towards me. A bus rumbling past. The voices of early morning dog walkers. I have not had a wink of sleep. I lie in bed waiting for Rob to stir, watching his eyelids start to flicker as he moves towards lighter sleep. Watching the way his soft brown hair falls across his forehead. Watching the easy way he breathes. I move across the bed and put my arms around him, running my hands up and down his back. He opens his eyes and grins his lazy grin. The one he uses when he is tired.
‘Give us a break, Carly, what time is it?’ he says, grin transposing into a yawn.
‘Six o’clock.’
He groans and pulls the cover over his head.
‘I’m going back to sleep.’
‘Rob. I’ve been awake all night. I need to speak to you.’
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He hides beneath the covers, pretending not to have heard me.
I yank the covers off him.
‘Did you hear me? I need to speak to you.’
He sits up, arms in front of him to protect his eyes from the light.
‘OK, OK. What is it?’
‘I’m going to the police. I know she did it.’
His arms fall to his side and he blinks.
‘Whoa. How do you conclude that?’
‘You know that’s what I think. I told you last night,’ I tell him, voice clipped.
His eyes are critical. Condescending.
‘It’s one thing to think something, and quite another to report it to the police. To report it you need to be sure of it. Beyond reasonable doubt.’
‘Well, I am sure of it,’ I snap.
Now he has the audacity to laugh.
‘Do you really think Jenni would kill Craig?’ he asks.
‘He was in love with Anastasia and Jenni was jealous.’
‘How do you know that?’ There is a pause. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘No.’
‘Then how?’
‘It’s obvious.’ I am shouting now. ‘It’s the same as what she did to me. Can’t you see that the crimes are linked?’
The police station is on the corner of Green Hill Road and Quarry Street; a red brick Victorian building with Portland stone doorways and mantels. Not mind-bogglingly pretty, but of enough historic interest to be listed. I enter through the large navy blue painted doorway and am disappointed to find myself in a long thin corridor with no windows, which smells of antiseptic and sawdust. The corridor leads to a police officer sitting behind a grille. There is a queue; two people are already in front of me. I close my ears to all sounds apart from the voice of the man at the front of the queue who is leaning towards the grille, reporting an incident in a pub in Stansfield last night. He was beaten up; he is explaining every kick, every strike. And sure enough as he turns I see that his face is monstrous and swollen, with slits where his eyes used to be. When he leaves, the man in front of me takes his turn. This man has lost his passport. Stolen at work by a walk-in thief. This report doesn’t take as long.
I don’t like this arrangement at the police station. I was expecting privacy. When it is finally my turn I step forward and lean towards the policeman. He’s an angular man with a sharp nose and a sharp chin. Flat eyes, as if he is bored.
‘I need to speak to someone about something that happened to me a long time ago, in private,’ I say as quietly as I can through the counter.
His eyes are no longer bored. He flips into co-operation overdrive. Perhaps he thinks I am a rape victim. I suppose that’s what I wanted him to think, so that I could have some serious attention. He presses his hand on a yellow buzzer on his desk, and smiles gently at me.
‘I’ll arrange for someone to visit you at home.’
Sergeant Anita Berry sits in the middle of our window-facing sofa; I sit opposite her. She has a square jaw and a balanced face; too many right angles to be pretty, but she is handsome in a masculine way. The hairstyle she has chosen is layered and sensible. When she moves her head it floats and softens her.
‘Shall we start, Carly? What would you like to tell me?’
She sips the Earl Grey tea I made her.
I tell her about Craig, about Anastasia, about what happened to them. About what happened to me. She listens, patiently, head on one side, eyes narrowed in concentration. I finish with a flourish. ‘If you don’t handle it properly there could be more death. The woman is a serial poisoner.’
Her eyes flicker a little as I say that. I’ve overdone it. She puts her teacup down on the coffee table in front of her. She crosses her legs.
‘You reported your worry to us when you were in hospital. We cold reviewed your allegations then and we found no evidence to substantiate them.’
‘Well, you need to look at the situation far more carefully. At the two recent deaths. I’m telling you, she tried to kill me because I’d had an affair with Craig. Then he strayed again, so she killed him, and then his new girlfriend.’ I pause. ‘And she’s trying to seduce my husband.’
‘Is she indeed? You didn’t mention that before.’ She is leaning forward, looking at me intently.
‘Please listen to me,’ I beg her.
‘I am listening. I’ll discuss this with the chief inspector and get back to you.’
My shoulders sag with relief.
‘Thanks.’
~ Rob ~
I’m sitting at my desk, finishing off a few patient notes, wanting to input them while they’re fresh in my mind. Suddenly, you slip into my consulting room. With a start, I realise how late it is. There are no other cars in the car park now, the sun is low.
‘I’m just inputting data,’ I say. ‘Unless it’s quick, Jenni, let’s go through it tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can, but it’s important,’ you say.
I sigh inside.
�
��Well, let me just finish what I was thinking about.’
‘That’s all right, I can wait.’
You walk across my room and stand behind my desk looking out of the window; I guess you’re looking at the sunset. Last time I looked out of the window the burnt orange sky was magnificent. I am concentrating on my last home visit; the patient whose notes I’m typing up. It’s a confusing case and I’m worried I could be doing more to help. I think I’ll discuss it at our surgery meeting tomorrow. Some of the younger doctors might have a different take on it. Because I’m thinking about my patient, I don’t notice quite what’s happening. You have drawn the blind and now you are handcuffing my arms and legs to my chair. Cold metal is cutting into my flesh.
I struggle to escape, but I cannot move. You are overpowering me. Overpowering me with your eyes, with your scent. Your silky hair brushes across my face as you bend to kiss me, cherry red lips riper than ever.
You pull my trousers down with my underpants, displaying my erection. The tip of my penis is throbbing.
‘Viagra in your afternoon tea, was it?’
I am trying to think negative thoughts, trying to diminish it. But it is becoming more insistent, more powerful. And now, already moist, you are impaling yourself on me; the walls of your vagina tightening around me. Sitting on my knee, legs apart, chest against my chest, playing with yourself, moving up and down. There is nothing I can do to stop you. I cannot move my arms. I cannot move my legs. Your breath quickens in my ear. Remember, Jenni, you are forcing me to do this.
I am not the unfaithful type. Jenni, remember this. Please.
~ Carly ~
You’ve stopped speaking to me, Jenni. Have you guessed I’ve set the police on you? You ignore me in the surgery. The way you dismiss me doesn’t bother me. I’m well now. You do not scare me any more.
You don’t even scare me when I see you coming out of Rob’s consulting room at odd times, deliberately straightening your skirt as you pass me in the corridor. I know you’re winding me up. Why would he want to mess with a skinny runt like you? Let’s stick with it. Keep to this ‘not acknowledging each other’ game. First thing in the morning when we both arrive, when the receptionists are watching us, even then you do not acknowledge me – not even with a glance. When you first came back to the surgery, for a while you waved and smiled, going through the friendly automated ritual of saying good morning.
But ignoring each other is simpler. There’s an honesty about it which I like.
~ Jenni ~
Every night at the end of surgery I come to you with my patient notes, just in case anyone asks what we’re doing. For we do not want anyone to know about our relationship yet, do we? It is so good that we like to experiment, isn’t it Rob? So good we have discovered that you like to be restrained. And we are going to shake it up again next week. Try a different kind of role play.
~ Carly ~
Jenni. You are watching me and I am watching you. Constantly circling like birds of prey. I can take it, it fascinates me, but Rob has had a nightmare that you raped him. Please, Jenni, he wants you to leave him alone. I’m the strong one now. Try what you want with me, but leave him alone.
After another exhausting day at the surgery seeing too many patients, and keeping an eye on you, I’m cooking lasagne for supper. Quite a fiddle after such a long day but I wanted to make something nice. Our family meals together have always been precious. When I have nearly put my masterpiece in the oven and the kitchen counter is littered with the debris of my culinary talent, Mother saunters into the kitchen from the dining room where she has been conducting a mass supervision of the children’s homework.
‘I’m worried about Rob,’ she says. ‘I think Jenni’s stalking him.’ She pauses. ‘I used to be so fond of her when the children were younger. But I’m not so sure any more.’
What have you done now, bitch-whore?
‘Yesterday lunchtime when I popped to the bank I saw her. I saw both of them. They didn’t see me. Or at least they didn’t acknowledge me.’ There is a pause. ‘She was behind him on the high street. Deliberately following him.’
‘Deliberately following him?’
‘It was obvious. Everywhere he went, she went.’ There was a pause. ‘Unless they had arranged to meet by accident on purpose, if you see what I mean.’
My insides coagulate.
Rob is home. I hear the key scrape in its lock, the click of the door as it opens. He is here in the kitchen bending towards me, kissing me. Bitch-whore, go away, leave us alone.
We sit around the large pine table in the kitchen for supper. The lasagne was worth the effort. Everyone seems to enjoy it. I don’t eat much. Always watching my figure. Conversation rises and falls around me. They’re arguing about someone at school that I’ve never heard of – my mother seems to know who he is. Teasing Pippa about a boy who talks to her at break times. She is blushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her fingers. Who is this person? Surely Pippa is too young to have a crush?
I look across the table at Rob, who isn’t really listening either, just pushing the remnants of his lasagne around his plate with a fork. He drops the fork and reaches for his wine glass. It is empty, so he reaches across the table towards the bottle for a top-up. He looks tired. There are black rings beneath his green eyes. I know he didn’t sleep last night, as I lay next to him sensing his restlessness. Our eyes meet and I tell him silently not to worry. He needs to trust me. Everything will be all right. I will protect our family.
~ Rob ~
Jenni, what was it that Carly used to call you? Bitch-whore. I never liked that expression, but now I know it is true. Bitch-whore Jenni. I can’t tell anyone about you.
~ Carly ~
I have no patients today, and so I breeze into the reception area in a brand new outfit. Blue and yellow. I know I look chipper but I don’t feel it. I need to look chipper to put you off the scent. I have passed you in the corridor already, practically nibbling Rob’s ear, pretending to whisper in it. I just beamed at you both and walked on. How much longer do you really think you’ll get away with this, Jenni? The whole thing? All of it?
All the receptionists are here, answering the phones, welcoming patients. Sharon is sitting at a table away from the front desk, flicking through the pile of repeat prescriptions. I walk over to her and whisper.
‘Have you got a second? I need a bit of help with the computer in the nurses’ station. In private.’
Two of us can play that game, Jenni – keeping secrets and whispering.
Sharon’s face softens as she looks at me. She has been my mentor here for so many years.
‘I’ll just put the repeats out and I’ll be right down.’
We sit together in the nurses’ station. Sharon in the old horsehair chair and me balancing over her on an uncomfortable stool from the laboratory area, straining the muscles in my back. The room is large and shabby, a little untidy because it’s so multi-functional. I have spent half my life working here and its familiarity folds around me and comforts me. Not for me, the new-fangled state-of-the-art consulting room like you have, Jenni. I could have been promoted to your job if I had pushed.
Sharon is nearing retirement, having worked in this surgery for thirty-five years, since before we even came. Our rock ever since we arrived. Whenever she sees Rob her face lights up. There was a time many moons ago when I used to tease him about this, but teasing him about women with a crush on him would seem tasteless these days. Sharon’s greying hair is curly and unruly. She is wearing one of her cardigans that don’t quite button across her protruding stomach. I owe so much to her. She’s been here right from my first day as a junior nurse in the surgery, giving me the rundown on certain doctors’ foibles and warning me about difficult patients.
‘Is everything all right, Carly?’
I put my hand on Sharon’s arm and look into familiar grey eyes.
‘Rob’s stressed. He needs a holiday. He works so hard. We all need a break together, to have
time out as a family.’ I pause. ‘I need your help.’ I watch her grey eyes turn to black. ‘Please book two locums, urgently, one for Rob, one for me. I’m going home to book our holiday. Tomorrow we’re going away for a few weeks – all of us and my mother.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘It’s short notice, but I know you can sort it. Please, Sharon. I’ll leave our contact details with you. Don’t let anyone know where we are. Not under any circumstances. Rob seriously needs a break. He mustn’t be disturbed.’
~ Jenni ~
Carly, you’re watching me and I’m watching you. We’re playing a game, and I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying it. I watch your clinging attempts to hold your husband’s attention. But let me tell you, Carly, men are like dogs: they like fresh meat. It doesn’t help that you don’t look as good as you used to. You’ve developed a weight problem. Step into my consulting room any time and I’ll give you a diet sheet. Not that that will help much. Your husband is besotted with me. He pants out my name as he climaxes. He pants out my name in his sleep.
~ Carly ~
I leave the surgery feeling your eyes burning into me, scalding my back. I know you are watching me from your shiny consulting room, Jenni; I see the blinds twitch.
I walk through Stansfield, back home. Past a girl in a faded red uniform with eyes as sad as yours, Jenni, trying to get my bank account number for charity. The charity workers always lie in wait at the same corner in between Lloyds and NatWest, a different one every day, a different ploy to try to get my attention. There are too many charities to give to. I walk quickly past them, head down.
Back home, my mother is still here clearing up the breakfast things, Radio 4 droning in the background.
‘I thought you were out for the day?’ she says, snapping the radio off. She continues to load the dishwasher wearing her long floral apron – the one Pippa gave her for Christmas; Laura Ashley, pretty, crushed flowers, ruffles, bursting with sweetness.
Obsession: A shocking psychological thriller where love affairs turn deadly Page 24
