‘Let me go,’ she hissed. ‘Let me go right now, or I’ll scream.’
‘No, you won’t.’ His face was contorted, half-smiling.
‘Try me,’ she said.
He dragged her arm downwards, towards his groin.
‘Don’t you dare.’ Lizzie wrenched her arm free, shoved at him again, harder this time, and Christopher fell back against the door with a loud thud.
‘Bitch,’ he said, wincing with pain.
‘Get out,’ she said again.
‘Not this time.’
He recovered, came forward, and Lizzie backed away, saw that his pupils were dilated, and the last time returned to her, and realization hit her that she’d been both mad and foolish beyond belief to imagine she could control this, go on living with this, even for the children.
‘I need some comfort, Lizzie,’ he said.
‘Find it elsewhere,’ she said. ‘On the street, or wherever.’
‘You’re still my wife,’ he said, and made another sudden, darting grab for her.
‘Not for much longer.’
She looked around for something to pick up, use as a weapon if she had to, but there was only a book and her bedside lamp – too heavy – however angry or afraid, she knew she would never do such a thing to the children.
‘It’s not so much to ask,’ Christopher said and came at her again.
Lizzie picked up the book and hit him with it on his shoulder.
‘Bitch,’ he said again.
He shoved her and she stumbled against the bedside table, then, while she was still off-balance, shoved her again, harder, in the stomach, pushing her onto the bed.
‘No!’ she said, in pain, still struggling not to scream. ‘Christopher, don’t!’
He pulled his robe open, wrenched it off himself, like someone burning with heat, let it drop, got onto the bed, kneeling. Lizzie tried to roll away, but he grabbed at her, pinned her with one arm, pulled up her nightdress with the other hand, thrust a knee between her thighs and raised his right hand.
‘Dad, what are you doing?’
They both froze at the sound of Jack’s voice.
Christopher let go of Lizzie’s arms, scrambled off the bed, retrieved his robe.
‘It’s all right,’ he said.
Lizzie, trembling, head spinning, still in pain, heart breaking at the sight of her middle child sitting in the doorway in his wheelchair, eyes wide with horror, struggled to sit up and push her nightie back down.
‘Jack, go back to your room.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Darling, go on.’
‘No,’ he said, and began to wheel himself into the room. ‘What were you doing?’ he demanded, heading towards his father, braking sharply. ‘What were you doing to my mother?’
‘Take it easy, Jack.’ The unbruised portions of Christopher’s face were ashen as he fumbled with the black silk belt. ‘Nothing to get excited about.’
‘You pig,’ Jack said. ‘You disgusting pig!’
‘It’s okay.’ Lizzie started to get off the bed. ‘I’m okay, Jack.’
He ignored her, staring at his father.
‘How could you?’ he asked, quite softly. ‘How could you do that?’
Christopher put out his right arm, his hand shaking. ‘Come on, son. You don’t understand, you’re too young—’
The bellow that escaped from Jack as he drove the chair forward suddenly into his father’s legs, was a roar of purest anguish. Christopher let out a yell of pain, shuddered with it for an instant, then stepped to his left, trying to escape.
Jack wheeled himself back several feet, then, with another of those terrible bellows, accelerated forward again, one steel front corner of the chair colliding with Christopher’s right knee.
‘Jack, for God’s sake!’ he screamed with pain, and slid down onto the floor.
‘Jack, please!’ Lizzie began to weep. ‘Jack, darling, please stop it.’
Edward appeared in the doorway, fuzzy with sleep, then all too swiftly awake with horror and disbelief. ‘Jack, what the hell are you doing?’
‘Ask him!’ his brother said, and reversed again.
‘He’s gone mad.’ Christopher was hugging his leg in pain.
Lizzie’s tears ceased instantly. ‘Edward, please go and make sure Sophie stays in her room.’
‘But what’s happened?’
‘Edward, go to Sophie,’ Lizzie ordered. ‘Now!’
Jack seemed to hover for a second, and then the chair shot forward again.
Christopher screamed again.
And Edward ran.
The hours that followed came and went in a blur of semi-control for Lizzie. As Jack had, at last, slumped in his wheelchair, shattered and totally drained, Christopher had limped from the room, dressed and made his escape from the house. Edward had emerged from Sophie’s bedroom to report that, miraculously, his sister had slept through the whole nightmare.
He wavered in the doorway of his mother’s room, hardly looking at Jack, who was still sitting in his chair, over by the wall, not speaking, his eyes shut. Lizzie had gone briefly to his room, pulled the blanket from his bed and brought it back, wrapped it around him, for he was still shaking badly.
‘Is Jack going to be all right, Mum?’ Edward asked, softly.
‘I think so,’ Lizzie answered, also very quietly.
Still, Edward had not come into the room, as if he feared that doing so might allow him access to whatever mystery had sparked such horrors. In time, Lizzie supposed, dully, he would begin to ask more questions, would want to know what his father had done to so enrage his loving, peaceable brother, but for now he was, apparently, hoping to be spared the full truth.
‘What about you?’ he asked her.
‘I’m all right, darling,’ Lizzie said.
One more lie laid on the pile.
‘Go back to bed, Edward,’ she told him. ‘If you can.’
‘You sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
He came in then, moving very swiftly, not looking to right or left, just coming quickly to his mother, planting a cold, nerve-laden kiss on her cheek, then going straight back to the door.
‘If you need me, Mum,’ he said.
‘I’ll call you, darling,’ she told him. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Night, Jack,’ Edward said.
Jack did not answer.
Gilly came home soon after, came upstairs, saw Lizzie’s door open, came in, saw Lizzie sitting on the carpet beside Jack’s wheelchair over by the wall, holding his hand, Jack facing the wall, not moving or responding.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
Lizzie turned to look at her, her face a mask of barely-controlled despair.
‘We’ve had a bit of an upset,’ she said.
Jack stirred for the first time, opened his eyes, squeezed his mother’s hand.
‘I’m okay, Gilly,’ he said.
‘Glad to hear it,’ she said.
Lizzie still held onto his hand. ‘What do you want to do, my love? Get some rest? Maybe have a hot drink?’
He looked at her for the first time since he had stopped pounding into his father, and his soft eyes were still glazed over with shock. ‘Rest, I think, Mum.’ He paused. ‘If you’re okay.’
‘I am,’ she said. ‘Want me to wheel you?’
‘Please.’
Lizzie let go of his hand, got up off the floor, looked over at Gilly.
Another one lingering in the doorway, as if the room were quarantined, or giving off frightening vibrations.
‘We’ll be all right, Gilly.’
Gilly nodded, getting the message. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
Lizzie waited till the younger woman had gone downstairs and into the kitchen, and then she began to push Jack out of the bedroom and along the corridor to his own.
‘Want me to stay with you, my darling?’ she asked him.
‘I’m all right,’ he said.
She helped him out of the chair and onto his bed, covered him up
.
‘I think, maybe,’ Jack said, ‘I should have a diazepam.’
‘Good idea,’ Lizzie said.
‘Only if I get ill again,’ he went on, ‘I won’t be much use to you or the others.’
Hot tears stung his mother’s eyes then, threatened to choke her, but she held on – if he can, you bloody well can – and went to get one of his pills. He was ten years old, and he knew the names of far too many damned medicines, and he was more mature than some people twice his age, and he put her to shame.
‘Are you going to tell Gilly?’ he asked when she came back.
‘I don’t know,’ Lizzie said. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s up to you,’ Jack said. ‘I think . . .’
‘What, my love?’
‘I think, maybe, I’d rather she didn’t know.’
‘Then I won’t tell her,’ Lizzie said.
She told Gilly only that there had been a big row, and that Jack had been very upset, and that Edward knew something about it, but Sophie nothing at all, and that that was the way she wanted to keep it, if possible.
‘I’ll tell her that her father had to go to London again,’ Lizzie said.
‘She’s used to that,’ Gilly said.
She asked no more questions, had always possessed a gift for sensitivity and for not prying, just made Lizzie hot sweet tea and sat with her while she tried to drink it.
‘I’m very tired,’ Lizzie said after a while. ‘I think I’ll go up.’
‘Right,’ Gilly said. ‘If you need anything – however late . . .’
‘Yes,’ Lizzie said. ‘Thank you.’
She went into Jack’s room first, found him sound asleep, and whether that was from pure exhaustion or from the tablet he’d taken, she was grateful for it.
Edward, too, was out of it, had, his mother supposed, escaped into sleep, and her daughter was still slumbering peacefully on, Sophie, the only one untouched so far, though that would change all too soon, would have to change.
A feeling of something slightly related to relief flowed through Lizzie then, because at long, long last, the worst had happened, and she would no longer have to keep on lying to her own children that all was well between her and their father.
The memory hit her, still horrifically fresh, of Jack, driving his chair at Christopher. Of his face as he’d done it, of the terrible, anguished sounds he had made. Of her husband, cowering on the floor.
That was what Jack would remember, what he would see over and over again whenever he shut his eyes, or even when he did not.
That, and Christopher pinning her down on the bed, hurting her.
The small relief was extinguished, and only shame, guilt and pain remained.
And terrible anger.
She had not intended to sleep late, had been sure she would not sleep at all, had still been lying awake in some pain and reliving it all at four o’clock, but soon after that she had drifted off, and when she awoke, with a terrible start of grinding bleakness and, still, the pain she’d gone to bed with – more discomfort now, but still there – she saw that it was after nine.
She put on her dressing gown, went into the bathroom, remembered him in there, washed her face with cold water, felt the ache again, wondered if, perhaps, that final shove of Christopher’s had done something to the internal scarring left by his last assault and the operation.
Not now, Lizzie.
She went back through the bedroom and out into the corridor.
The house was empty, the hush heavy.
Gilly had left a note on the kitchen table: I’ve taken all the children to school. Jack said he was fine and wanted to go.
Lizzie’s eyes and throat filled with tears again.
First crop of the day.
She blessed Gilly and, more, much more than that, she blessed Jack and Edward for their remarkable, staggering courage.
She made coffee, took it, moving slowly, feeling like an old woman, to the kitchen table and sat down. The Daily Mail and the Independent were lying neatly folded, awaiting her, but she didn’t look at them.
She had to talk to someone.
Not Gilly, because she’d promised Jack. Not Angela either, who’d never got over her belief in Christopher’s saintliness. She considered Guy, his brother, but she thought it might be somehow cruel to expect him to take sides.
Hilda Kapur came to mind, but was quickly dismissed again, in case some NHS mechanism were to click in once she’d confided in her, something that might compel the GP to report Christopher and magnify her children’s suffering.
Lizzie drank some coffee, found the normality of ritual lent her tiny comfort.
Robin Allbeury.
He was a solicitor – not that she wanted to speak to him as a solicitor – but it meant he was accustomed to listening, advising and, of course, to confidentiality. Still virtually a stranger, which might make him detached – probably a good thing; yet also a friend now – and more to her than Christopher, even if he had brought them together in the first place.
Lizzie put down her cup and went to find his number.
He was at his office, took her call immediately.
She told him that she badly needed to talk, and that what she had to say was desperately private.
‘Goes without saying,’ Allbeury told her. ‘Where are you, Lizzie?’
‘Still in Marlow, but I’ll come to town.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I’ll come to your office,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ Allbeury said. ‘Drive carefully, Lizzie.’
Case No. 6/220770
PIPER-WADE, E.
Study/Review
Pending
Action
Resolved
Chapter Eighty-Six
Lizzie had not realized before she began her drive into London how completely drained she was, but by the time she parked the coupé in Bedford Row just before twelve, she found that she was almost too tired to stand.
Sheer will-power got her into Allbeury, Lerman, Wren’s reception, helped her give her name to the young woman behind the desk, and she had barely made it to one of the leather chairs when Allbeury appeared, took one look at her and turned to the receptionist.
‘I’m going out,’ he told her. ‘Would you please tell the others?’
‘Of course,’ the young woman said.
He turned back to Lizzie, bent and said, quietly: ‘Can you manage the walk to my car, do you think?’
Lizzie mustered a smile. ‘I’ve just driven from Marlow.’
‘Quite,’ Allbeury said.
He gripped her arm firmly, helped her out of the office, around the corner and into his Jaguar, did up her seatbelt for her, ignoring her protest, walked around to the driver’s door and got in.
‘Do you need a doctor?’ he asked. ‘And would you like to come to my flat, or would you rather go to Holland Park?’
‘Your flat,’ Lizzie answered unhesitatingly. ‘I don’t think I need a doctor.’
‘If you change your mind,’ he said, ‘just say the word.’
She was perfectly aware that he had not asked if she wanted him to get in touch with Christopher.
Winston Cook, who had worked for less than a full day before disappearing for more than a week, and who Allbeury had believed gone for good, had returned early that morning with a story about a sick sister that Allbeury had, for reasons he was not entirely certain about, chosen to believe.
He was still there now, in the blue study, intent on the PC’s flat screen monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard.
‘I’m really getting somewhere,’ he said as Allbeury looked in, having left Lizzie sitting in his den at the far end of the flat. ‘Won’t be long now.’
‘This is a bad time for me,’ Allbeury said. ‘I need you to go.’
‘Can’t leave now, man,’ Cook said. ‘I’ll lose it.’
‘I have someone with me who’s unwell,’ Allbe
ury said.
‘That’s fine,’ Cook said. ‘You won’t know I’m here, I won’t make any noise.’ His expression was imploring. ‘I’m nearly there.’
Allbeury smiled despite himself. ‘Okay.’
He went back to Lizzie in the snug, but gorgeous, corner room, two walls filled with paintings, picture windows taking up the rest. She was sitting gazing out at the view, but he felt she was seeing nothing.
‘You all right here while I make tea?’ he asked. ‘Very strong, lots of sugar. Good for shock, okay?’
‘Fine.’ She wondered how he knew she was shocked rather than ill. ‘Thank you, Robin.
‘Don’t go away,’ he said.
‘I won’t,’ Lizzie said.
She told him everything, right from the beginning.
‘I feel so ashamed,’ she said. ‘I feel many other things too, but I think shame is there, right at the top.’
‘For not leaving?’ Allbeury said.
‘Yes,’ Lizzie said.
‘You stayed for the children.’
‘Of course.’
‘For Jack, mostly.’
‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘But what has my staying achieved now?’
Allbeury thought for a moment. ‘The children don’t know all this, do they?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Jack only knows what he saw last night, and Edward can’t know more than what Jack’s chosen to tell him.’ She paused. ‘And Sophie, thank God, knows nothing at all yet.’
‘They don’t have to know everything,’ Allbeury said. ‘Unless you want them to. Which I rather doubt, knowing you.’
‘Do you?’ She felt mildly curious. ‘Know me, I mean?’
‘I think I know enough to be sure of a very few things.’
‘What are they?’
‘You’re a wonderful mother,’ he said. ‘And a much more loyal wife than your husband deserves.’ He saw her eyes fill, watched her fight the urge to cry. ‘And you’re one of the loveliest women I’ve ever met.’ He paused. ‘Though you may not have wanted to hear me say that.’
‘I don’t think I know, just now,’ she said, wearily, ‘what I want.’
‘Sleep,’ Allbeury said. ‘If I’m any judge, it’s what you need most.’
He showed her to an ivory-coloured guest bedroom in which all the paintings were of softly-coloured flowers and gardens.
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