Marriage and Other Games

by Veronica Henry

  It was a pair of knickers. If you could call them that. A wispy little rolled-up knot of pink ribbon and lace that had clearly been worn and hastily removed. They were tiny. Barely a size eight. She imagined some dinky little honey blonde wriggling out of them and throwing them out of his bed with abandon. She swallowed. She’d been totally naïve to think that he spent the weeks alone, saving himself for her. A man of Kirk’s appetites didn’t do abstinence.

  She straddled him, sitting just above his cock. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  ‘Hey, baby. You got something for me?’ He caressed her flank, running his hand up to her waist, then higher, reaching out for her breast. But she pulled away.

  ‘I certainly have,’ she replied. ‘Shut your eyes and hold out your hand.’

  She saw the flicker of lust in his expression before he obeyed. Gently she placed the offending article in his palm.

  ‘Now open,’ she breathed.

  He frowned as he looked at her offering. She put her head to one side and smiled at him, then gave a little shrug.

  ‘I found them under the bed.’

  He shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with these?’

  ‘I just wondered whose they were?’

  ‘Yours. Aren’t they?’

  He was good. He didn’t miss a beat. She took them out of his palm and held them aloft disdainfully to show him their full size.

  ‘I don’t think so. Do you?’

  ‘They must belong to the cleaner.’

  She glared down at him.

  ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

  Seconds later she was seeing stars, as she felt his rock-hard knuckles connect with her lip, and her teeth break the tender skin on the inside of her mouth. Metallic blood flooded onto her tongue moments before she felt the pain; a sharp, agonising explosion. She screamed at him to stop but no sound came out.

  ‘Don’t get arsey with me, you bitch.’ His voice was hoarse with rage. ‘I’ve spent a small fortune on you this weekend. That leaves you with no rights at all.’ He grabbed both of her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. She tried to move but his grip was like a vice. ‘I’ve bought you, lock, stock and barrel. And I don’t answer to you. Got that?’

  She nodded, terrified. She could feel her lips swelling, and she didn’t think she could speak.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she blabbered. ‘I just—’

  ‘Well, don’t . . . just. Not ever.’

  He pushed her over onto her back, pinning her down onto the bed. She shut her eyes as he entered her. He seemed excited by the violence. As he rode her he swore explicitly, his anger spilling over into his epithets. Hayley’s instinct was to fight, but she knew she stood no chance. His arms were as thick as her thighs, the muscles bulging from his workouts. He was relentless. He seemed to be lasting for ever. She prayed for him to come quickly, and tried to tense her muscles to encourage his ejaculation, but he was in another place, responding to some other stimuli.

  Eventually he reached his peak with a final foul oath, and fell onto her.

  ‘Was that good for you?’ he asked with a malevolent smile, and she nodded, knowing that if she wanted to get out of here alive that was the only answer. He’d never let her go out looking like this. He wouldn’t want her out in public, bearing evidence that he had walloped her. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to be very careful.

  She waited until he was in the shower. He always spent at least fifteen minutes in there, and he wouldn’t be able to hear her departure over the noise. She didn’t bother to pack, just pulled on her clothes from the night before, grabbed her handbag and ran down the stairs. For a terrible few moments she couldn’t find her car keys. Perhaps Kirk had hidden them? She’d have to run, out of the house, down the road as fast as she could, try and find a way to the station . . . She thought her heart was going to explode it was pounding so hard. Then suddenly she saw her key-ring poking out from underneath a tea towel. She grabbed it, hearing the shower upstairs stop. She only had moments to get away. He’d be stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel, walking back into the bedroom.

  She ran out of the front door. If he walked over to the window, he would be able to see her. With trembling hands she unlocked the door, leaped into the driving seat, and plunged the key into the ignition. Thank God the car started straight away. She turned it round quickly and headed off down the drive, then pulled up in front of the remote-control gates. There was always a hesitation before the sensor recognised there was a car there and started to activate. It was the longest few moments of her life. What if Kirk had spotted her, and had got to the panel that controlled the gate, locking her in? Would she have the nerve to use her car as a battering ram? It would be her only means of escape. She was just about to put her foot down on the accelerator when the black wrought-iron gates began to twitch and then swing open, painfully slowly. She shot out of the drive before they were fully open, spraying gravel in her wake. She imagined Kirk must have heard the screech of her tyres. She probably had three minutes on him. He’d have to get dressed, grab his keys, get to his car . . .

  She got to the end of Kirk’s road. Which would be the best way to go? The quickest and most obvious route was west, towards the M25, then the M4 and M5. But if he was going to follow her, he would assume that would be the route she would take. He’d catch up with her in minutes. So she turned left, not entirely sure where she would end up, but fairly sure it was safer than being predictable. Her heart was still hammering, and she had no idea how she was able to think so clearly and logically. She eyed her petrol gauge. Nearly on empty. She’d have to stop. Oh God, what had she got herself into?

  Six hours later, Hayley drove into Withybrook. She felt faint with exhaustion. Except for the petrol, she hadn’t dared stop once. Her mouth was dry with fear and lack of fluid. Her face throbbed. Her stomach was churning. As she drove up the familiar high street, she felt as if the houses on either side were reaching out to embrace her and welcome her home. She immediately felt reassured and more confident. This was her territory. Kirk couldn’t get to her here.

  She pulled up outside the Old Bakery and sat in her seat for a moment. Instinct had told her not to go to her brothers. They were so reactive. They would be straight into their souped-up Astras and back up the motorway to kick Kirk’s head in. And the last thing Hayley wanted was a protracted battle. She just wanted to feel safe.

  She pulled down the sun visor to look in the vanity mirror and gasped in horror at her appearance. Her lip was bloody and swollen; her right eye was completely closed. She looked almost unrecognisable. She pulled a tissue out of her handbag and tried to dab at some of the dried blood, but it wouldn’t budge. She thought about trying to cover up the damage with some foundation, but worried about infection. So she just pulled out her sunglasses and put them on, even though the day sported no sunshine.

  She climbed out of the car wearily. Her body ached from the tension of driving as fast as she could, while keeping one eye on the rear-view mirror in case Kirk tried to run her off the road. She knocked tentatively on the door, racking her brains for a believable excuse for her appearance, but none of them would convince even a child, so she prayed neither Jade nor Amber answered.

  Luckily Fitch opened the door. He looked at her in dismay.

  ‘Jesus, Hayley. What happened?’

  ‘Don’t let the girls see me.’

  She put up her hands to cover her face. Fitch stepped to one side to let her past and pointed up the stairs.

  ‘Go straight up to my bedroom. I’ll make sure they don’t come up.’ It was a command that brooked no argument. He strode back into the house as Hayley obediently fled up the staircase and into the room she had once shared with Fitch. She threw herself onto the bed, curling herself up into a ball and burying her face in the pillows. She longed to pull the duvet over her and hide for ever.

  She sank into the comfort of his bedding. It smelled of him. It wasn’t unpleas
ant. Just a faint trace of manliness, and the lavender soap he used. It was familiar, comforting. A safe smell. Kirk spent so many hours making sure he was odourless. Showering and scrubbing in his industrial-strength power shower. Changing his shirt three times a day. Then slathering himself in expensive aftershave. Now, she realised it was all to rid himself of the scent of evil. Fitch’s scent was the scent of an honest man. A man who had nothing to hide. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. My God, she’d been a fool.

  She looked around the room, and realised that every trace of her had been eradicated. Of course it had. Why would Fitch want any reminder of her whatsoever, after the way she had treated him? Her dressing table had gone. And all the rugs and cushions. The curtains had gone, and in their place were dark wood slatted blinds. It was a masculine room. Plain white sheets. A charcoal-grey blanket, folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. There were some photos of Jade and Amber blown up and put into plain black frames. There were two paintings she’d never seen before - impressionistic views of Exmoor, swiftly but expertly executed. His shoes were lined up against one wall - work boots, and walking boots, and Timberlands. Not like Kirk’s range of pointed, shiny, leather-soled brogues and loafers in every colour, every finish.

  She shut her eyes, longing for restorative sleep to bring her oblivion. But as she heard Fitch’s footsteps on the stairs, she knew that wasn’t going to be possible. She was going to have to face the consequences of what she had done and hope, pray, that he had it in him to find forgiveness, even though she knew damn well she didn’t deserve it.

  ‘Did he hit you?’ Fitch voice was flat, emotionless.

  Hayley sat up.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s obvious that’s the sort of bloke he was.’

  ‘Is it?’

  Fitch had to bite his tongue. The temptation to say it was blindingly apparent to anyone with half a brain was huge. But he didn’t want to get embroiled in a scrap straight away.

  ‘Let me clean it up.’

  He turned on his heel and went out of the room. Hayley waited until he came back with a basin of hot water, a flannel, and some antiseptic, as well as some painkillers and a glass of brandy, which she swallowed gratefully.

  Fitch set to work on her face. She’d forgotten how gentle he was, and how at odds it was with his size. But it hurt like hell nevertheless. She winced as the antiseptic bit cruelly into her wounds.

  ‘What did you do to deserve this, anyway?’

  Tears sprang into her eyes at the memory.

  ‘I found some knickers under his bed. He didn’t like it when I asked whose they were . . .’

  Fitch said nothing as he finished off by applying some arnica, sweeping his fingertips across her swollen skin.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘It’ll take a few days to go down. We’ll tell the girls you had a car accident. That the air bag went off.’

  Hayley nodded, feeling a wave of shame. To think that she’d let that monster near her children. That they had spent a week in his company. Had been swimming with him, and sat on his knee playing games on his mobile phone. She had even fantasised about them being brides-maids at their wedding. Because, of course, that had been what she wanted: only the day before she had dreamed about a huge reception at the Grove. It had only taken one wallop to bring her to her senses. He had it in him to kill her. She felt sure of that. The look in his eyes had been murderous. But she was safe here. Fitch wouldn’t let him get to her.

  She started shaking uncontrollably. All her limbs were juddering, her teeth clattered.

  ‘You’re in shock,’ said Fitch. ‘I think I should get the doctor.’

  ‘No,’ said Hayley. ‘Just hold me. I’ll be fine if you . . . just hold me.’

  Fitch stood and looked at her for a moment. She could see doubt and consternation written all over his face, and she didn’t blame him for hesitating.

  ‘Please . . .’

  He relented, pulling her into his arms, and she burrowed into his strength. His embrace was safe and comforting, not the vice-like grip she had experienced earlier that day, but a cocoon of masculinity that offered protection.

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ he said.

  ‘No! For God’s sake. Please—’

  ‘This is assault, Hayley. This is grievous bodily harm. He should go down for this.’

  Hayley shook her head. ‘You don’t mess with his kind. He’s got contacts. And even if he did get banged up, someone would come and get us.’

  ‘What were you doing with him, Hayley?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her sobs came harder and harder. ‘I’m so sorry, Fitch. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was depressed. He seemed to know who I was and what I wanted.’

  ‘A punch in the face?’

  ‘Please, Fitch. I know I’ve been stupid. I know I was wrong . . .’

  ‘Jesus, Hayley. Have you got any idea what you put us all through? Me and the girls. And your family?’

  ‘I know. I know! I just couldn’t help it.’ She clutched at his arm in panic. ‘Please. Don’t make me go. I know I don’t deserve to stay. But I need you.’

  She clung to him, sobbing. Fitch stared at the wall over her head. What was he supposed to do? Hurl her out onto the streets? How could he do that to the mother of his children?

  He had no choice but to let her stay.

  ‘Of course you can stay,’ he soothed.

  Gradually her sobs subsided.

  She was safe now, Hayley thought as she drifted off. Fitch was the kindest, most wonderful and loyal man on the planet. He’d just been waiting for her to come to her senses. She had thought Kirk had understood her, but it was Fitch who knew her through and through, and he wasn’t going to let her down. She gave a little sigh, and he rubbed her back to reassure her that he was still there. Moments later she was fast asleep.

  When Hayley’s breathing was the deep and even of the unconscious, Fitch turned down the dimmer switch, shut the bedroom door gently, then went downstairs to send Jade and Amber up to bed. Then he called Hayley’s mum to tell her Hayley had been delayed and the girls were staying here another night. He poured himself a hefty Scotch, and downed it in one.

  What he had seen made him feel sick. What kind of an animal had she been consorting with? Deep down he suspected that she was right, that the likes of Kirk were beyond the law, that to try and seek justice would only result in more trouble for them. For a moment he thought about jumping into the car and driving hell for leather up to wherever it was Kirk had his hideous playboy mansion. Fitch wasn’t afraid of physical confrontation. He’d had to use his fists often enough when he was younger. But it was obvious this bloke didn’t play by the rules. If he was prepared to smack a woman in the face, he wasn’t going to fight a duel like a gentleman. He probably had knives, guns, henchmen - he’d make sure the opposition was eradicated. Fitch was no coward, but he was no fool either.

  What was he going to do? Was he going to have Hayley back, after the way she had treated him? If he did, then he would have his girls back too. Which was what he wanted more than anything. He could forgive her, if it meant they could be a family. To know that Jade and Amber could be under his roof every day was worth the sacrifice. And he and Hayley had loved each other once. Surely they could again?

  The best thing he could do was look after Hayley, nurse her back to health and restore her confidence. Then find a way to make them both happy. Maybe find a way to give her whatever it was she had been craving - he supposed he should be taking some responsibility for what had happened. They needed to talk, and be honest with each other, if they were going to make a go of it.

  Before he went to bed, he looked in on the girls. He wondered if there was anything they needed from the farm for school the next morning, then decided he could always drive up and fetch it if needs be. Their uniforms were washed and ready, and their homework done. Thank God they weren’t in that horrible damp house. Dido ran between the two beds, checking up on them as
she always did. The little dog hated it when they weren’t here.

  Fitch went back along the corridor and stood in the doorway of his bedroom, gazing at his wife lying under the duvet. It was Sunday night. His family were back under his roof. This was what he had wanted for so long. But was he doing the right thing, letting Hayley back into his life? She had gone to such a dark place, would she really be able to find her way back?

  It was up to him to help her, he decided. It was his duty. He slipped off his clothes, brushed his teeth, then climbed into bed beside her. She rolled into his embrace, curling herself into him. For a moment he tensed, not sure if he wanted bodily contact.

  Then he relented, curling an arm around her waist. Tentatively at first, but then she rolled into him and he tightened his clasp. It was as if she had never been away.