‘Bloody well talk to me, Hattie!’ Martin demanded, giving me a little shake. Anger had stopped him from slurring, but the booze had heightened his emotions. ‘It’s the least I deserve. Do you mean you don’t want to get married yet or, more specifically, you don’t want to marry me?’
‘I don’t want to marry you,’ I said. My voice was calm but more assertive now.
‘But why?’
I stood up, picking up my handbag, getting ready to distance myself from the flat, from him, indeed the situation. But Martin wasn’t prepared to let me leave without an angry exchange of words.
‘WHERE THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?’ he shouted, jumping to his feet and blocking my exit.
‘Home, Martin,’ I said, my voice quavering slightly. ‘I’m tired. It’s late, and I have work tomorrow.’
‘So do I, but I’m not letting you go leaving things like this. I deserve some answers, Hattie. If you don’t want to marry me, should I also presume you no longer want to go out with me either?’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Not that there has been much in the way of going out together recently. I know that’s been as much my fault as yours but’ – he nodded his head slowly – ‘now that I stop and think about it, you’ve not phoned me once to ask why I’ve not been around. Were you hoping we’d just fizzle out? Is that it?’ His eyes pinned me to the wall, boring into mine, searching and finding the truth. His mouth set in a thin line, and he gave a snort of derision. ‘Of course,’ he nodded, ‘what a fool I’ve been. The writing has been on the wall for ages, hasn’t it? I’ve just been too busy elsewhere to stop and read it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly, starting to edge around him.
Like a popped balloon, Martin’s anger suddenly evaporated and, to my horror, his face crumpled.
‘Don’t do this to me, Hattie,’ he begged.
Instantly I felt consumed by guilt. Guilt for making him feel so miserable, and guilt that I’d cheated on Martin with Nick, even though Martin didn’t know about that. I knew in my heart of hearts this break-up was necessary, but I so wished I’d done it before I’d slept with Nick. The tears were pouring down his cheeks now, and he was openly sobbing. I found myself choking up at his visible distress. This was awful. Terrible. To cause a person such angst wasn’t in my nature, and yet it was happening right in front of me. And it was my fault.
Careful, said Josh inside my head. Without speaking, I acknowledged that I’d just blamed myself, and then mentally retraced my steps away from some of those words regarding culpability. Yes, Martin was upset. He was crying. But then tears are natural when a couple break up. After all, it could so easily have been the other way around – Martin falling in love with someone else and needing to extricate himself from me. Break-ups happen to everyone at some point in their lives, sometimes several times over. And whilst the person on the receiving end might have a meltdown and a bad case of the screaming heebie-jeebies, it doesn’t mean that it’s acceptable for them to—
Correct! said Josh, interrupting my train of thought and once again speaking into my mind. You’re doing really well, Hattie. Keep it up. Do not waver from these thought processes while you are reviewing.
‘Hattie, please,’ said Martin, ‘I can’t bear it.’ His arms were around me in a trice and he was sobbing into my hair, gulping like crazy. Even from my safe viewing point I could feel my heart squeezing with compassion at his suffering. I watched as my other self patted Martin’s back absent-mindedly, as one might do when trying to soothe an upset child. Pat, pat, pat, there, there, there. I was murmuring soft words now, trying to comfort him, and for a moment it seemed to be working. His heaving chest was settling down to a more regular rate, the sobs quieting. Reassured that he was over his initial angst, I made to move away. Except I couldn’t. Martin’s grip upon me had tightened, and he was now speaking urgently into my ear.
‘Don’t go, Hats,’ he said, abbreviating my name to a short form I hated. ‘Stay a little longer. Don’t leave me yet.’
‘I really think I should go,’ I said, gently attempting to extricate myself from his grasp.
‘In a bit, after I’ve made love to you.’
I recoiled in horror. ‘No,’ I said, wriggling in his enforced embrace, the flat of my hands moving to his shoulders, ready to push him away.
‘Please, Hats, just for old time’s sake. One final bit of rumpy-pumpy so I have a lovely memory to look back upon.’
‘No,’ I said again. ‘We’ve made memories for you to look back upon.’
‘Please.’
‘I said no.’
‘But I want to,’ he insisted, his boozy breath hot upon my ear. Too late I realised that the previous chuggy gasps of upset had changed to those of desire. I went to shove him away, but in a flash his hands had grabbed my wrists.
‘Playing hard to get, Hats?’ he said, a gleam in his bloodshot eyes.
‘Like heck,’ I hissed, fists flailing helplessly. ‘I bloody well said no.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ he puffed, attempting to push me back down on the sofa. ‘You love sex… you love everything about it… on the odd occasion we got it together,’ he added. His breathing was getting more laboured now, and, Christ, I’d forgotten how strong he was. ‘Oooh, you naughty girl, you’re taking playing hard to get to the next level!’
‘I’m really not!’ I squeaked, alarm well and truly setting in.
‘Yes, you are! You wicked little creature, you’re teasing me. It used to be one of our things, remember? I once chased you round and round my bedroom with you shrieking, “Come and get meeee!” and you’re doing it now, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I spluttered, wondering what – or who – he was talking about. ‘You’ve never chased me round your bed—’
But my protest was cut off as I crashed backwards on the sofa, with Martin’s full weight on top of me, his mouth coming down hard on mine. It was like kissing the bottles of pub empties. Wet lips and smelly breath. God, I could hardly breathe, and panic was now well and truly consuming me. One thing was definite. He meant business. This was a man who liked to remove himself from his desk at one o’clock and head off to his employer’s on-site gym. How many times had he bored me to tears talking about the weights he'd lifted in his lunch hour? And then there was the squash. Three times a week he socked balls at a wall with various workmates. Martin wasn’t physically strapping, but he was very wiry and, right now, it was like wrestling with a lump of iron. Just when I thought my lungs might burst from lack of air, he pulled away.
‘You scrumptious thing. Such a little temptress. Keep playing hard to get, Hattie, it’s really turning me on.’
‘Martin, there is no playing about this. I’m deadly serious. Do you hear?’
‘Oooh, this is so exciting, I had no idea you could be so assertive, you wicked tease.’
‘That’s because I really don’t want to mmmmmm—’
He was kissing me again, bruising my lips, and grinding his hips against mine.
‘Lovely,’ he gasped, as he came up for air again, ‘but don’t resist me quite so much, my darling, otherwise I might have to spank you for being such a naughty girl.’ One hand was pawing at my dress now, rucking up the hem, and I squealed in anguish. Dear God, things were getting seriously out of hand. I bucked under his weight, but to no avail. As his hand reached my pants and began yanking, I filled my lungs and let out an almighty scream. This was a flat. We were on the top floor, but people lived below. I just hoped they were in and would hear my cry for help. I was just revving up to make another bloodcurdling shriek when Martin clamped his other hand over my mouth. ‘My, my, Hattie, you are being a mischievous minx, aren’t you! But, darling, be a little more considerate of the neighbours, eh? Meanwhile carry on playing hard to get. It’s thrilling. Wonderful. I love it.’
I whipped my head to the side, momentarily loosening his grip over my mouth.
‘You’re not listening to me, Martin,’ I gasped, ‘please sto
p. I’m not up for this, but you’re not taking on board what I’m saying.’
‘Ooooh,’ he cried, ‘you’re getting all prissy now, when I know that really you’re gagging for it.’ His hand clamped over my mouth again, and for a moment I really did gag. My pants were down, and he was lifting his hips to undo his zipper. I wriggled frantically, desperate to shake him off. His hand momentarily shifted on my lips and, without missing a beat, I clamped down hard, like a Pit Bull, right on the fleshy bit between the thumb and forefinger, hanging on for all I was worth. Martin bellowed at me to let go, but I didn’t dare, shaking my head from side to side like a dog refusing to give up a bone.
‘FUCKING HELL!’ he screamed, momentarily removing his weight from me. I rolled off the sofa and onto the floor, shaking like an aspen caught in a gale-force wind. I half-scrambled to my feet but my legs gave way as he kicked one foot into the back of my knees. Suddenly I was nosediving onto the floor.
‘Oooh, you’re wanting to play really rough now, eh, my darling!’ he panted, grabbing my hands and twisting them behind my back. ‘That’s fine by me, Hattie. I love it. I’m loving it all.’
As the carpet rushed up to my face, I found myself once again unable to move, spitting out the taste of blood from where I’d bitten his hand. I went to scream again but my face was pushed into the Axminster as, with a cry of triumph, Martin finally did what he’d been determined to do.
Twenty-Eight
When it was over, Martin collapsed on top of me, hugging me hard.
‘Oh my darling,’ he moaned, ‘Thank you.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Shuddering and jerking uncontrollably, a part of me wanted to burst into tears, but the waterworks wouldn’t oblige. Instead I was silent. Wide-eyed. Numbness enveloped me like a blanket. Presumably it was shock. I’d bitten my cheek where his weight had slammed me down onto the carpet, and my whole body ached as if I’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.
‘Why are you trembling?’ he crooned, stroking my hair. ‘You must have had a sugar crash from expending all that energy. I’ll get you some chocolate in a minute. When I’ve got my breath back. I must admit, Hats, I never had you down for wanting a bit of the old rough and tumble. That was quite a nip you gave my hand. For one fleeting second, I almost thought you wanted me to stop, ha ha ha! But then I realised it was all part of your exceptionally cunning act.’
‘No,’ I croaked, ‘I wanted to hurt you.’
For a moment, Martin looked at me uncertainly. He was sweating heavily, and his eyes were bright and glassy from the booze, but something in my tone had sent a moment of doubt flickering across his features. A second later he waved his hand, as if in dismissal of such thoughts.
‘Of course you didn’t mean to hurt me,’ he said, half laughing. He released me to prop himself up on one elbow, peering at the injury with mild consternation. ‘Hmm, I might have to put a plaster on it. Actually, maybe not. It seems to be more bruised than anything.’ He wrapped his arms around me again, squeezing me with what I can only presume was affection on his part. He gave a sigh of contentment. ‘Anytime you want a re-run, I’m more than happy to oblige.’
I was so gobsmacked I momentarily couldn’t speak. My body was still quivering, presumably from spent adrenalin. At that precise moment I couldn’t have got up and run even if someone had yelled, ‘Fire! Evacuate the building!’
Martin rolled me over and peered at me intently. ‘My goodness, you look quite pale. Let me get that chocolate.’ He hauled himself up and padded off to the kitchen. ‘Shall I put the kettle on and make you a tea?’
I didn’t reply, and instead curled into the foetal position, hugging my knees, shivering all the while. Martin returned a few minutes later and seemed surprised that I was still on the floor.
‘Hattie, you don’t look very comfortable down there.’ He placed a steaming mug on the occasional table. ‘Come on, let’s get you onto the sofa.’ He hauled me up, then tossed a bar of fruit and nut into my lap. ‘There! Sugar for my sugar,’ he grinned, ‘although I know you’re not really my sugar any more. Don’t worry, I have taken on board that you and I are over. I’m not completely thick, you know. And now that we’re no longer an item, well, I don’t mind telling you something. A little confession. There’s been a reason that you didn’t hear from me for a while. You see, I was getting the glad-eye from Carol at work. She’s had the hots for me for some time and – gosh, I don’t know why I feel so guilty telling you this, Hattie; after all, you’ve been cooler than the proverbial cucumber for such a long time now – but Carol asked me out for a drink a few weeks ago, and I said yes. You were always working late for that awful boss of yours, Nick the Prick, and I thought, “Hey, Martin, why not? Carol has the best legs in the office, and your own girlfriend isn’t really up for it on the odd occasion you see her.” I mean, what’s a bloke to do?’ He looked at me, eyes wide, palms raised in a gesture of helplessness as he flopped down on the sofa beside me. ‘So I said, “Yes, all right, you’re on, Carol. I’ll sink a pint while you sip your gin and tonic.” She turned out to be very good company. Got a good brain on her’ – he tapped the side of his head, as if to underline Carol’s supreme handle on intelligence – ‘and a damn fine pair of tits too,’ he sniggered, still the worse for drink. ‘Er, well, sorry to tell you this, Hattie, but it really isn’t an issue now as we’re both free agents, although I don’t mind telling you that – at the time – I felt incredibly guilty when she took me by the hand and led me back to her place. I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. Turned out she was a right goer. Never be fooled by the quiet ones, Hattie.’ He laughed uproariously. ‘There she was, a veritable warrior in the workplace, always dressed in navy blue pleated skirts and prim pearls, her specs looking like they belonged to Woody Allen, barking orders in a voice like Theresa May, but the moment she kicked the bedroom door shut with one sensible lace-up shoe, she turned into Miss Whiplash.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes glazing at the memory. ‘She made our little farewell performance on the floor just now seem as boring as three quick thrusts in the missionary position.’
‘You cannot be serious?’ I croaked, finding my voice. Was this the same man who, only twenty minutes ago, had been in floods of tears begging me not to ditch him? The booze must be addling his emotions, as he’d seesawed from crying to laughter very quickly.
‘You sound like John McEnroe, ah ha ha ha! Oh, don’t look at me like that, Hats,’ said Martin benignly. ‘A man has needs, so don’t blame me. Blame yourself. You were never around. I was getting a bit fed up taking matters into my own hands. It’s okay now and again, but it gets a bit boring going solo with Dick all the time. You’re not going to get all cross with me now, are you? Here,’ he said, picking up the mug of tea he’d made and holding it in front of me. ‘Drink this and calm down.’
‘Calm down?’ I gasped, automatically taking the tea but not finding the strength to raise the mug to my lips. I still felt as weak as a kitten. Which was a shame, because I’d have liked to tip the hot liquid straight into his groin.
‘Oh dear, you are angry. Look, it was a one-off. I wouldn’t have bonked her again. But you’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t want me, so surely you won’t object to me taking up with someone who does? It would be jolly unfair of you, Hats, to start laying down the law about Carol. I didn’t have you down as being one of those women. You know, the type that gets all huffy and starts ranting. All that’ – he posted quotation marks in the air – ‘“I may not want you, but I don’t want anyone else to have you either” nonsense. That’s really bang out of order. I’m disappointed in you, Hats. I thought you were a reasonable sort of girl.’ He tutted, adopting a pious expression. ‘How incredible. You read about this all the time, on the problem page of the newspaper… in magazines… online. “Dear Agony Aunty, last year my girlfriend dumped me, but then she inexplicably turned into the stalker from hell. Now, whenever I open my front door, I have to look up and down the street to make sure she’s not aroun
d before I venture out. However, the moment I’m fifty yards along the pavement, she steps out of a phone box and shouts abuse, or pops out of a neighbour’s wheelie bin and starts chucking empty curry cartons at me. Now I’m too scared to venture out of the house. Please help. From Agoraphobic Adrian of Aberdeen.” You mustn’t become all bitter and twisted, Hattie.’
The shock of my ordeal hadn’t yet passed, but from somewhere deep in my belly a tiny fire was igniting. Like kindling sticks that splutter smoke, threaten to die out, and then are finally coaxed into life, the tiny flame suddenly burst forth, and my voice roared back into life.
‘You just forced yourself on me,’ I said accusingly. My voice sounded odd. Like it belonged to someone else. ‘How dare you sit and deliver a patronising lecture purporting me to be bitter and twisted, when you ignored my cries to stop!’
Martin looked as though he’d been slapped. ‘What did you say?’ he gasped, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.
‘You heard,’ I said, my voice becoming high and reedy.
‘Don’t be so bloody absurd,’ he spluttered, suddenly outraged and rapidly sobering up. ‘I can’t believe you just said that, Hattie. What a disgusting thing to say. You damn well take that back.’
‘I damn well won’t!’ I shouted. ‘You completely overpowered me—’
‘And didn’t you love it,’ he snarled, his eyes ablaze. ‘You were screaming your head off, begging for it.’
‘Yes, I was screaming!’ I cried. ‘Screaming at you to stop. And you took no notice.’
His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Wow. You really are a nasty bit of work, aren’t you? My God,’ he hissed, ‘not content to turn into a jealous ex-girlfriend, or even become a stalker, you’re prepared to go the entire whole hog and turn everything on its head taking this to the next level.’ He glared at me. ‘This isn’t even a matter for an agony aunt, is it? It’s one for the police.’
The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy Page 12
