Don't You Dare

by A J Waines

  I want to stand up and punch the air. She’s well and truly landed on her feet with Peter – he seems the epitome of a first-class gentleman. I couldn’t wish for anything more for my only child. I only hope she recognises how lucky she is and hangs on to him.

  12

  Beth

  Monday, March 13

  My phone beeps as I’m getting out of the shower at the pool. It’s Peter again. Another racy message. He’s staying at his flat, ready to jet off to New York again, next week. He wants us to do a video call, but I just can’t face it. Face him. What I’ve done is written all over my face. Two massive sins – cheating on him and covering up a death. If he knew only one of them, he’d run a mile.

  I pat myself dry and slip into my jogging gear. I remember when we were on the boat and Peter’s deep bass voice vibrated through the wooden bench beneath me when he spoke. I want nothing more than to watch the way his right eyebrow tilts when he’s about to make a funny quip. The way his teeth are impossibly white, all even and flawless. I’d love to have him fold his arms around me, but I don’t trust myself not to break down and spill everything.

  I haven’t dared tell Mum my job at the quiz show has finished early. I can’t break it to her so soon after she made it clear how skint we are.

  I catch myself in the mirror as I go. I haven’t slept and big fat slugs have taken up residence under my eyes. My hair is brittle and my skin’s the colour of dirty water. I look like I’ve spent hours in make-up preparing for a scene in a vampire movie. I pull up the hood of my top and make a run for it, before anyone speaks to me.

  My audition was a shambles. I didn’t even make it into the room. After everything that’s happened, I felt like shit the morning I caught the train and when they called my name, I was in the Ladies’ puking up – and that was that. There were so many people going for the part, they refused to find me a later slot. All that way for nothing.

  I can’t tell Mum about that either. I don’t want her thinking I’m going flaky on her. I’m just pretending it went well, then in a few days I’ll make out I got another rejection. Truth is, I’m finding this ‘act normal’ lark so bloody difficult. She seems to be forging ahead like nothing’s happened and all I can think of is the moment she flew at Carl and shoved him against the barrels. I keep hearing that horrible crunching sound as his head hit the tap. It happened so fast.

  I can’t bear to dwell on those images, so I force myself to go back to when I first met Carl. To the time when he was larger than life, oozing seduction and making me tingle all over.

  I wasn’t strictly honest with Mum when I said Peter introduced me to him. That happened about an hour after our actual encounter at the high-profile party to celebrate the opening of the Hepworth Theatre.

  It had been a tedious affair at the start. I’d had a stonking hangover from a brilliant after-show party in the West End the night before and wanted nothing more than to lie down in a darkened room. Peter, however, said it would be worth my while.

  Having said that, he’d left me standing around in the ballroom while he swanned off to have ‘important chats’ with ‘high-flying executives’. Most of the elite were huddled into established groups and whilst I made several attempts at conversation, as soon as it was obvious I wasn’t anyone significant, people made excuses to walk away.

  While Peter conversed with an elderly man smoking a cigar by the grand piano, I went outside onto the broad terrace overlooking the lawns, with my third glass of champagne. Ridiculous, with a hangover, but it seemed to stave off the symptoms.

  There was a handful of people out here, but I sauntered towards the one individual who was alone, at the far side. He had his back to me, leaning out over the stone balustrade. A champagne glass was standing perilously at his elbow on the stone ledge. He turned when I joined him.

  He looked younger than Peter, with wavy blonde hair and unsettling pale-blue eyes.

  ‘You haven’t been ordered to drag me back inside, have you?’ he said with a playful grimace.

  I laughed. ‘Are you hiding out here?’

  ‘Definitely. Had a dodgy curry last night and I need fresh air.’

  We both turned at the distant ting of a spoon against glass. The hum inside dropped to a hush.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen…’ a voice called out. ‘It’s my pleasure to introduce…’

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud – Frank Tennerman is about to make a speech,’ said my companion, with a growl.

  I’d heard about Mr Tennerman and his dreary, long-winded addresses, from Peter.

  ‘He’ll drivel on for ages,’ he groaned. ‘I need to escape.’ He took his glass and began strolling purposefully towards the steps.

  ‘Mind if I come?’ I asked, hurrying to catch up with him.

  ‘Who are you hiding from?’ he asked.

  ‘Everyone,’ I said.

  We scurried away like two kids bunking off school.

  ‘I’m Beth, by the way,’ I said.

  He held back a prickly branch at the bottom of the steps. ‘Best if you don’t know who I am,’ he said, mysteriously. I took his reticence to mean he was a chauffeur or one of the catering staff, who should have been behind the scenes at someone’s beck and call.

  He took a right at the edge of the forecourt and strode through an arched iron gate into a rose garden.

  The place was refreshingly deserted.

  He stood impassively, staring into my face, probably a little too close.

  ‘Now what shall we do?’ he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

  I was reluctant to drag my eyes away from him. His soft jawline, those unnerving wild eyes. There was something brooding about him; intense and enigmatic.

  In one corner of the rose garden was an open-sided gazebo and in the other, a small white summer house. It had large windows and was clearly visible from the fountain in the centre.

  ‘This way,’ I said and headed straight for the summer house.

  I could hear his footsteps right behind me: a rat following the Pied Piper. I made my decision there and then. I’d flirt with this boyish rogue for a while, simply to pass the time. I’d seen his wedding ring. It would be a one-off. No one would know. What harm could it do?

  Once inside, he closed the door and turned to me. He didn’t smile, nor did he look away, but simply set his eyes on mine and wouldn’t let them go.

  ‘This is very naughty,’ he whispered. ‘Do you often hide in summer houses with strange men?’

  ‘Whenever the mood takes me,’ I told him, nonchalantly. I held my glass steady for a split second, level with my cleavage, then slowly raised it to my lips and took a sip.

  In that moment, our juvenile caper had turned into something else.

  He stood as though he was transfixed by me, as if he’d never seen anyone like me before. With a string of recent failed auditions behind me, it gave me a warm glow. I should have apologised and left straight away, but I was caught up in the thrill of it, like it was an extreme dare.

  Before I knew it, I reached out and found myself touching his shirt. I stared at my hand pressed against his warm chest as if it belonged to someone else. I hadn’t meant to do it. We were supposed to be just chatting.

  He took my hand and led me to a spot in the shadows, beside the door. Apart from being exceedingly attractive, there was an edge to him, like a smouldering firework that I couldn’t resist. Starting at my bottom lip, he ran his thumb down my body, trailing it between my breasts all the way to the inside of my thighs. The pressure was assured, but sensitive, like he was unzipping my soul. It made me melt.

  ‘What if someone comes in?’ I whispered, snatching a breath.

  ‘We’ll tell them we’re playing I Spy,’ he muttered, without hesitation.

  I knew in my head it was wrong, but somehow it didn’t feel real. I was fizzing with excitement and taken aback all in one. I’d had sex in a few unorthodox places; on sacks of grain in a windmill and at midnight in a private swimming pool, but never when there w
as such a high risk of being discovered. Our actions were audacious, to say the least.

  I don’t know why I went along with it. Probably too much champagne, but that’s no excuse. I got carried away. I felt turned on and risqué, and to be honest, a tiny bit neglected by Peter, who’d been away until last week and was now spending all his time smooching with A-listers, without me.

  In spite of the constrained circumstances, there was no mad scramble, nor was it over in a flash. My illicit lover took his time – he was attentive and gentle. That came as a surprise.

  ‘Much as I’d love to spend all afternoon in here with you, I’d better get back,’ he said, afterwards, buttoning up his shirt. ‘My wife is here, somewhere.’

  ‘Me, too,’ I said, smoothing down my dress. ‘My fiancé will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  As we reluctantly ambled back through the gardens, it occurred to me that I still didn’t know his name.

  13

  Beth

  I tear myself away from the memory and slide my key into the front door. The place is silent. Mum’s not working until tonight, but she must have popped out. I’m relieved I’ve got the place to myself.

  I pour myself a glass of juice and find myself daydreaming again.

  I recall how, after our diabolical naughtiness, we’d furtively reintegrated ourselves into the party. I took a seat by a tall window and chatted to a middle-aged woman about the pitfalls of stilettos on gravel. Shortly afterwards Peter found me and took me over to meet someone.

  And there he was – standing beside his wife.

  ‘This is Carl Jacobson,’ he said.

  Carl Jacobson! Shit!

  I shook his hand, barely daring to meet his eye.

  On our way here, Peter had said that of all the people here worth ingratiating myself with, Carl Jacobson was top dog. He was one of the key investors film agencies were turning to and he’d actively promoted a young actress who’d just landed a major role in a film alongside Casey Affleck.

  ‘Carl was an undergrad at Oxford when I spent a summer there doing a short course on ballet in film,’ Peter said. ‘He’s sometimes over in your neck of the woods, Beth, at the theatre in Winchester.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, feeling a tingle in my breasts, as if he was still touching me.

  Amelia looked older than Carl, but attractive, with a polished tan and long flowing blonde hair. I found her stare unnerving, as if she knew exactly what we’d been up to.

  ‘I was led astray,’ Carl interjected, letting his gaze catch mine for the briefest of moments. ‘Peter was a terrible influence.’

  Peter laughed. ‘We met originally in a pub, that’s true. I’d just finished a run in a West End dance production – only I wasn’t the one knocking back the Pimm’s.’ He cleared his throat in mock disapproval.

  Carl held up his hands. ‘It’s true. I was a dreadful student.’ He was natural and betrayed no awkwardness. I was convinced no one knew a thing.

  A figure stole up behind Amelia and draped her arm around her neck in a sisterly fashion.

  ‘This is Nancy,’ said Amelia, holding her arms out by way of presentation. ‘Our boys’ godmother and my confidante…do people use that word, anymore?’

  Nancy gave us a smug smile. ‘I think it’s soulmate nowadays, darling,’ she said. She was holding a cigarette in an old-fashioned holder and looked close to forty, but judging by the amount of flesh on show in her low-cut dress, she was in total denial about it.

  ‘Aren’t we getting music?’ Nancy asked, peeling off the thin shawl around her shoulders, which seemed slightly overzealous given it was mid-winter and the best we were getting was sunny intervals. ‘Do I need to make a stir?’ she added, batting her eyelids.

  Amelia puckered her lips. ‘You’re good at making a stir, dear, why don’t you go and see?’

  Nancy slunk off and I caught Peter watching her bum as it wiggled its way into the distance. I glanced up at Carl to see if his eyes had followed her too, but he was looking sideways at me. I dropped my gaze instantly and turned to look at Peter.

  I never meant it to be the start of anything. It should have been a one-off, a moment of madness, but in the months to come I slipped up and we met a few more times in secret.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner who you were?’ I chastised, as we met for the second time, at a hotel near Green Park.

  ‘I didn’t want you to react differently to me because of my position. I wanted to see who you really were.’

  When we met those subsequent times, it wasn’t just about sex. He asked me about my ambitions and the parts I wanted to play.

  ‘You’ve got the look directors are keen on these days,’ he told me, ‘fierce and fragile – it’s a winning combination. A woman-child who wants to win, but who’ll inevitably get hurt.’

  During our subsequent encounters, I learnt that he was a generous lover who paid great attention to turning me on. I’d had boyfriends before who’d fumbled and grabbed, carried away by their own gratification, but this man was different. He had a way of teasing and tempting me that drove me delirious. He seemed instinctively in tune with my body and unique desires. It made me feel special, even though I assumed from his knowledge of the female anatomy that I must be one of many lovers – on a very long list.

  There was nothing serious about what we were doing and we both agreed to call it a day as soon as I walked down the aisle. The odd thing was that none of it seemed to spoil what I had with Peter. He was still the one I’d chosen. Being with Peter was like coming home; I felt safe, secure and wrapped up in love when I was with him.

  I’m idly pondering on this when there’s a ring at the door.

  As I open it, my throat seizes up. It’s a uniformed policeman. I’m not ready for this. Where’s Mum?

  I stand staring at him, terrified he’s about to arrest me.

  ‘Is Mrs Rachel Kendall here?’ the officer asks.

  ‘Er…no,’ I croak, my mouth dry as dust. He asks who I am and I reluctantly give my name.

  My mind goes blank and I can’t remember any of the lies I’m supposed to tell, all the lines I’m supposed to have learnt for this grotesque performance Mum has set up for us.

  ‘We’re visiting the area about a crime that’s taken place…’

  A buzzing sound fills my ears and my frantic brain makes up its own version of the rest of his sentence… and we know all about what happened in the cellar…you were seen in the graveyard…and you’re going to spend the rest of your days in prison…

  ‘…so we’re just checking to see if you know anything about it,’ he concludes.

  I barely register his actual words. Instead, my mind flips over itself latching onto the fact that Mum and I never agreed on the reason I went over to Grandad’s the night Carl was killed. He’s going to ask me about that, I know he is.

  His words come at me again. ‘…checking the local neighbourhood…so did you see anything?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The break in…at the corner shop,’ he says deliberately, as if I’ve got learning difficulties.

  ‘Oh, right,’ I say. ‘A break in? Is that all?’ He must be wondering what kind of person I am, because all I can do is pat my chest and let out a stupid laugh.

  ‘It was Friday night,’ he says, ‘at about seven in the evening. The owner was assaulted.’

  ‘Oh…’ My overarching thought is that Friday night is the one night I don’t need to worry about. ‘Mum and I were here at seven o’clock. Mrs Granger, next door, can vouch for us, she came in to collect a parcel.’ It sounds far too detailed and precise, I realise, as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Besides, I’m reeling it off like he’s asked a different question altogether.

  It’s his turn to laugh. ‘I’m not here to find out exactly where you were, just to find out if you saw anything at the Stop’n’Shop?’

  ‘Oh. Right. No. I’m afraid I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything about it.’

  I could kick myself
. So stupid.

  Mum is back ten minutes later.

  ‘A policeman was here,’ I tell her before she can get through the door. ‘I was shit scared.’

  ‘What did he want? What did you tell him?’ She hurries inside.

  ‘Nothing. There was a break in at Stop’n’Shop, apparently, on Friday. He wanted to know if we saw anything.’

  ‘What did he ask exactly?’

  I recount the conversation.

  ‘I can’t believe you told him where we were, as if he was asking for an alibi!’ she snaps.

  ‘My mind was on something else. I wasn’t expecting it…I panicked.’

  ‘I can’t always be with you,’ she says, sounding like a schoolteacher. ‘You’re going to have to be strong and handle this when you’re on your own.’

  ‘I’m not useless, you know. In any case, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t barged into the cellar!’ I yell.

  I see her hands tighten into fists. ‘I think I need to remind you where this all started, my girl. You were the one dallying with a married man. You were the one playing silly sex games when you’re about to marry someone else. Don’t you dare blame me.’

  ‘They weren’t silly,’ I mutter.

  She ignores me. ‘We’ve got to carry on as if none of this happened. We must forget everything about your sordid little affair and what followed. It’s as simple as that.’

  I storm off upstairs after that. I know she’s doing this for me. I know she wants me to follow my dreams and make it as an actress, but I’m all over the place and she doesn’t seem to understand how hard this is.

  I can’t tell anyone. That’s the worst bit. I’m going through hell, having nightmares and seeing repulsive images in my head – Carl’s eyes turning milky, and his heavy, lumpy body when we dropped him into the earth. I’d never seen a dead body before. At least Mum’s had practice with Russell. Then there was the musty smell of the rug we wrapped him in. I can’t seem to shift that out of my nostrils, either. I just want to run and tell people how awful it was: Maria, Tina...Peter. I want to scream it from the deepest hollows of my lungs. As time goes on, I can’t be certain I’m going to be able to keep my mouth shut.