It was none too easy to follow because there were so many children in the road and the minute he got going the lollipop lady stepped out in front of him, waving her ridiculous stick. He was so cross that he ground his gears as well as his teeth. Hurry up! he muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Damn silly woman. Hurry up or she’ll get away.
He caught up with her in a road crammed with parked cars and watched as she edged the Metro into a very small space. There was nowhere for him to park. He had to back out of the road and find a space round the corner. By the time that was done, she and the kids were out of the Metro and walking up the path into one of the houses. Quick! For Chrissake! he thought. Do something or she’ll shut the door.
‘Jonathan!’ he called. ‘Daddy’s here! Where’s my iddle-diddle baby?’
For a few seconds Jon stood still, fair hair ruffling, thumb half way to his mouth. Then he recognised his father and streaked down the road towards him. ‘Daddy! Daddy! Look Mummy, look! It’s Daddy.’
Alison looked up, instantly alarmed, but Emma was already bouncing down the road after her brother, her plump legs working like a clockwork toy. It was too late to call them back so she left the key in the lock and followed them, protectively. Seeing him again was a most unpleasant surprise. How did he know how to find me? she puzzled. I thought I was well hidden this time. And yet there he is, bold as bloody brass, standing outside my house as though he’s got a right to it. He’s so bloody arrogant. It annoyed her that he was looking so well-fed and well-dressed and full of himself. That’s a brand new pair of jeans, and designer jeans at that. He’s not short of money to spend on himself. But then he never was. Rigby Toan, the Great-I-Am. What did I ever see in him?
And yet he was handsome. Even in her anger against him she could still see that.
‘Where did you get the car?’ he asked belligerently.
That wasn’t a question she wanted to answer. ‘It’s mine,’ she said, upset because she sounded so aggressive. That’s what you’ve done to me, Rigby Toan. You’ve changed my nature.
‘I didn’t know you had a car.’
‘Well there you are,’ she said, trying to lighten her tone. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
The light tone annoyed him more than the aggression. In fact, everything about her annoyed him. She didn’t look right. She was a deserted wife, for Chrissake. She ought to look the part, downcast, a bit depressed, unsure of herself. Not striding along towards him like that. She’d lost a bit of weight, but it improved her, made her look taller and her legs longer. And that walk was downright provocative. Damn it, she had no bloody business looking like that, when he was living out of a suitcase.
Jon was clinging to his knees. ‘Daddy!’
He’s a nice-looking kid, Rigg thought, and he loves me. ‘How’s my iddle-diddle Princey?’ he said, lifting the little boy into the air.
‘Me! Me!’ Emma said, tugging at his trousers.
‘Don’t spoil my jeans,’ he warned, but he stooped to pick her up too. ‘How’s my ickle-wickle Princess?’ At least my kids love me, he thought. He stood with a child on each arm, defying his unloving wife. The trouble was, they weighed a ton, and the strain of holding them rather spoilt the effect.
‘We’ve got a hedgehog,’ Emma told him. ‘It does big, big poos.’
Rigg had no idea what to say in answer to that so he turned his attention to Alison again. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he asked.
‘If I must,’ she said grudgingly. She knew it wasn’t wise, but they had to talk sooner or later. She ought to tell him about the divorce and get an address out of him so that the papers could be served.
Rigg carried the children into the house and was very glad to put them down once the door was shut.
‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ he said, plunging in to the attack.
She parried attack with attack, standing in the narrow hall with the children between them. ‘Tell me about Hampton Videos,’ she said coolly.
That deflated him a bit. ‘What about Hampton Videos? That’s old news.’
‘I was never a director, was I.’
‘That’s all water under the bridge,’ he said grandly. ‘Over and forgotten. ‘We don’t need to go into that.’
His dismissive nonchalance made her angry. ‘I half killed myself paying that VAT bill,’ she said. ‘I lay awake nights worrying myself silly about it and there wasn’t any need.’
‘So you’ve learned something,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Now you know you needn’t have bothered.’
She was appalled at his callousness. ‘Don’t you care what a state I was in?’
‘Why should I? If you got in a state that was up to you. It’s not my problem.’
Alison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Not your problem!’ she shouted at him. ‘It was your bloody shop. Why didn’t you tell me I wasn’t a director?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d got yourself a fancy man?’
The question was so unexpected it took her speech away – but she should have known it would come. If you live in a town like Hampton you can’t expect to keep secrets. He was bound to find out sooner or later.
‘That’s not what we’re talking about,’ she said, and she shepherded the kids into the kitchen. ‘Time for tea.’
‘Is Daddy having tea with us?’ Jon wanted to know, looking back at Rigg.
‘Daddy’s leaving,’ Alison said firmly.
‘No he’s not,’ Rigg said, following her into the kitchen. ‘Daddy wants an answer to his question and Daddy’s going to stay here until he gets it.’
The kitchen seemed smaller than usual now he was filling it with anger.
‘There’s nothing to answer,’ she said, pouring orange juice.
‘You’ve got a fancy man.’
The accusation made her feel guilty and guilt made her flippant. ‘So?’
‘You’re my wife.’
‘Wife!’ she said, spreading Flora on two slices of bread. ‘Wife! You don’t know the meaning of the word. You walk out of my life whenever you feel like it. You don’t tell me where you are. You leave me to go to court on my own, to have my house repossessed, to live on the social, to scrape shit out of the garden. We’re a welfare family because of you. Don’t talk to me about being a wife.’
‘I won’t have you carrying on with another man.’
‘Why not? You don’t want me.’
‘Behind my back. Making me a laughing stock in front of all my friends.’
‘What friends? I’m surprised you’ve got any.’
‘You’re to give him up, do you hear me?’
‘I’m not your property, Rigg. I’ve got a life of my own.’
‘You’re my wife.’
‘Not for very much longer. I’m suing you for divorce.’
He was enraged. ‘Don’t be so bloody silly.’
‘Oh silly, is it?’
‘Behind my bloody back, making me a laughing stock.’
‘You know your trouble,’ Alison said, realising it herself at that moment. ‘You don’t listen. You don’t hear what people are saying to you. You’re so busy thinking about yourself you don’t pay any attention to anybody else. Watch my lips! ‘I’m divorcing you?
‘I shan’t let you.’
‘You can’t stop me.’
‘That’s all you know,’ he said, his voice gloating. ‘I shall refuse to sign the papers and that’ll be the end of it. That’s all I’ve got to do, refuse to sign. You can’t just divorce people when you feel like it, so don’t you think it.’
He was so assured he made her doubt. Could it be true? He seemed to have the law on his side in everything else, so why not this as well? ‘Please go away,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more.’
Any sign of weakness increased his cruelty. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You’re to give him up, do you hear? I won’t have my wife running around with a
nother man.’
‘Let go! You’re hurting me.’
‘You deserve to be hurt,’ he shouted, increasing his pressure. ‘You’re a bloody little slag.’
Emma began to scream. ‘Don’t! Daddy don’t!’
He turned carelessly towards the child and slapped her across the face. The blow was so hard it knocked her to the ground. For a split second she was too shocked to move or cry. Then she began to scream in terror, on and on like an animal in a trap.
White with fury, Alison wrenched herself out of his grip. ‘How dare you do that!’ She shrieked at him, swooping down to gather the screaming child in her arms. ‘It’s all right, darling. Shush! It’s all right. Mummy’s here.’
Rigg was in full fury now and very strong. He lugged them both to their feet and this time he slapped Alison, first on one side of her face and then on the other, over and over again, rhythmically so that her head rocked like a pendulum. ‘You’re to – give him – up. D’you – hear me? – Give him – up.’ Now it was the other bloody silly kid making a fuss, clinging to his knees, impeding him. He kicked him out of the way. ‘And you can shut up too.’
Alison lay against the wall where she’d fallen and sucked in her breath ready to fight back. She was pulsing with anger. To hit her was bad enough, but to kick Jon and terrorise Emma was so appalling she had to stop him. Frantic with anger, she seized the bread knife from the board and ran towards him holding it aloft.
‘Don’t you dare hit my kids,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll kill you!’
He was startled by the attack but only momentarily. Then he made a spring at her, grabbed her right arm and twisted it so cruelly that she let the knife fall. ‘Oh yes!’ he mocked, pushing his face right up close to hers. ‘What with?’
All she could see was his eyes, bloodshot, glaring and full of hatred. She fought back, trying to grab his throat. ‘My hands if I have to.’
This time he punched her under the chin and made her choke.
They were fighting in a flail of arms and fists and scratching fingers, screaming at one another through the blows.
‘Give him up!’
‘Go away!’
‘Give him up!’
‘No!’
‘Right then,’ he said, standing in front of her, panting. ‘I’ll take your precious children and see what you think about that.’ He made a grab for Emma’s arm and began to drag her towards the hall, punching at Jon with one knee so that the child was propelled ahead of him.
‘Leave them alone!’ Alison screamed, struggling after him, both arms outstretched. ‘In the front room! Quick!’ she yelled at Jon, and was relieved when he bolted past Rigg’s legs, bent double but running at speed. She seized Emma’s T-shirt in both hands and held on to it, pulling with all her might, scrambling to keep her balance, falling against the wall. Emma screamed and wriggled. They struggled together for endless seconds, screaming and punching. Then, suddenly, the child’s warm body was between Alison’s hands. She gave one last tug and pulled her free, tumbling with her into the front room, Rigg on her heels. He had his foot in the door, wedging it open, but she pushed against it with her entire body, kicking at his shoe so that he withdrew his foot for long enough for her to shove the edge of the sofa in front of the door. Inch by inch, the door closed. ‘Quick! Quick!’ she yelled as much to herself as the kids. ‘Push the sofa!’
Despite its weight, she managed to wedge the bulk of the sofa against the door. All three of them sat on it, huddled together, panting and weeping, while Rigg pushed on the other side. Twice he managed to force the door ajar, and the sofa bumped along the carpet, while the children screamed and Alison flung herself against the door. Then everything went quiet.
‘Has he gone?’ Jon whispered.
‘Hush!’ Alison whispered back. ‘I don’t know. Listen.’
They heard him panting on the other side of the door.
‘Don’t think you’ve won,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back. You needn’t think you’ve got away with it, Alison Toan. They’re my kids and if I want to take them away, I shall.’
Then, and at last, they heard his feet stamping out of the door and down the path.
Battered wife, Alison thought, as she cuddled her weeping children, and wept into their hair. That’s what I am. I can’t pretend any more. Not after this. I’m a battered wife and these are battered kids. Emma’s cheek was imprinted with the red mark of his hand and streaked with dark tear stains. Jon’s face was grey white.
‘You’re not going to be sick are you, Jon?’ she asked, stroking his hair. ‘You’ll tell Mummy if you’re going to be sick.’
He nodded meekly. ‘Is he coming back?’
‘No, of course not,’ she lied. ‘But we’ll wait a few more minutes just to be sure.’
‘He won’t take us away, will he?’
‘No,’ she promised. ‘He won’t. I won’t let him,’
They remained on the sofa until they’d all stopped crying. Darkness filled the corners with shadow. They heard the six o’clock news beginning on next door’s television, but they were too exhausted to move. Finally, when another hour had passed, Alison stood up and went out into the hall to phone Morgan.
‘Are you doing anything special this evening?’ she asked.
Although she’d made an enormous effort to keep her voice calm, he recognised the distress in it at once.
‘What’s up? What is it, cariad?’
‘Rigg’s been here,’ she said flatly.
‘He’s hit you,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘And the kids.’
‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘Keep the door locked. I’ll be with you in less than an hour.’
She was still sitting on the sofa when he let himself into the house. She had a child on each side of her and the television was flickering in the corner unheeded.
He was appalled by the state she was in – her hair tangled, bruises on both sides of her face, blood spattered all over her T-shirt.
‘Alison, cariad!’ he said.
She didn’t appear to hear him, but sat staring at nothing, her face blank.
He tried again. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
She shook her head, her face still expressionless.
‘I’ll feed the kids, shall I?’
Still no answer and no expression.
He got to his feet and bent to pick Emma up, but she screamed and clung to her mother. ‘I want my Mummy! I want my Mummy!’
‘All right,’ he said, releasing the child. ‘You stay with Mummy and I’ll go and get you something nice to eat. What would you like?’
He cooked poached eggs. But they left them on the plates. He tried to coax them. But they only wept more. Finally he lifted Alison to her feet and led them all into the bathroom where he bathed all three of them together, gently and tenderly, taking care not to knock their bruises. Then he eased them out of the bath, dried them, helped them into their nightclothes and put them all into Alison’s double bed together. And none of them said a word the whole time.
It was only when her head was on the pillow and her eyes were closed that Alison began to speak. Then she talked until the whole terrible story was told in an anguished jumble of tears and terror.
‘I’m here now,’ he said, over and over again. ‘I won’t leave you. ‘You’re all right, cariad, I’m here.’
‘But what if he comes back? He said he was going to take the kids.’
‘He won’t. I won’t let him.’
It was impossible to console her. ‘But what if he does?’
‘We’ll pack up and go to Guildford and you can live with me.’
The suggestion put her in a panic. ‘No, no. I can’t. There’s the school. I’ve got to stay here.’
‘All right. All right,’ he said, afraid of upsetting her any further. ‘You can stay here and I’ll look after you. He won’t come back if I’m here.’
‘He’ll come back,’ she said dully and turned her head away ‘He can do wh
atever he likes. No one can stop him, don’t you see? He’s been hiding away for months, owing people all that money and nobody’s done anything. He gets away with it. He can do what he likes.’
‘Not with me around,’ Morgan said grimly.
But she was sunk in despair and wouldn’t believe him.
Morgan sat with them until they were all asleep. And his anger was like a stone in his chest.
Then he went downstairs, retrieved his camera from his travelling bag, and returned to the bedroom to take several professional shots, first of Emma’s battered face and then of Alison’s. If Rigg wouldn’t agree to a divorce by consent and she needed evidence, he would provide it.
Then he rang all three of her brothers. The time for sympathy was over. What was needed now was action.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Trafalgar Arms in Hampton is a pub designed for conspiracy. Once renowned as a haunt of smugglers and as the setting for a brutal murder during the Napoleonic War, it was built at the turn of the eighteenth century to serve the thirst of a few dozen local fishermen. Now, it is a tourist pub, playing its reputation for all it’s worth.
On the outside, it is white-washed and squat, having settled so far down on its haunches that the floor of the public bar is a foot lower than the pavement. Inside, the beams are ebony black, the original bread ovens are still set in the fireplace, and a trap door behind the bar leads to a cellar like a dungeon. It is poorly lit, because the locals like it that way, with candles on every table and a log fire to provide warmth in winter. A place of shadows and plots and dark secrets.
Morgan Griffiths and Alison’s three brothers were squashed knee to knee as they gathered around one of its undersized oak tables. But they were so angry none of them noticed.
‘This has gone far enough,’ Mark Wareham said. ‘We shall have to sort him out.’
‘Dead right,’ Andy agreed. ‘We can’t just sit back and let him go on treating her like this. She’ll have a breakdown.’ He and Clare had been appalled at the state his sister was in and Clare had stayed behind at Mum’s house specially to care for her.
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