by Jacqui Rose
‘Ma’am, I’d appreciate it if we didn’t go there.’
‘Well I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m not going anywhere until we sort this out or at least talk about it.’
Snapping at her and angry he was finding himself drawn into the conversation, Balantyne growled as he looked around the street, ‘Fine, if we have to but I’d rather we didn’t do it here … Drive to the top of the road, there’s a quiet lane off to the right.’
Ten minutes later, Claire put on her hand brake and turned to look at Tony, refusing to acknowledge how much she felt towards him. ‘So, go on then, Tony. No one’s around, so you’ve got no excuse. Talk to me. Tell me why every time I speak to you, you make me feel this big.’ She held her thumb and forefinger a few centimetres apart. ‘You make me feel like shit.’
‘Well, the solution to that is simple really: we don’t talk. We don’t speak. And after the Doyle case, I’ll put in for a transfer. Until then, we’ll avoid each other as much as we can. And as for the journey down today, I’m happy to sit in silence if you are.’
Claire bit on her lip, once again fighting back the emotions she tried so hard to hide. ‘No, I’m not happy, Tony. How could I be? How could I be happy after everything that’s happened? Tony, for God’s sake, don’t ignore me. Talk to me, please.’
‘Okay you want to hear it, here goes … You’ve been the one who’s called all the shots. It’s been your choice all the way and I’ve just had to sit back and accept it, so to tell you the truth, ma’am, I don’t give a fuck whether you’re happy or not.’
Exploding with a mix of anger and hurt, Claire yelled, brushing her tears away, ‘Well, I’m not, and you know I didn’t have any choice but to end it! I’m miserable without you and that night we spent together a couple of months ago—’
Balantyne interrupted with words he didn’t quite mean. ‘It was a mistake.’
With her emotions running away with her, Claire continued to yell, ‘Well, mistake or not, it reminded me of what we once had. So, there you go, Tony, you can delight in the fact I’m not happy without you – or about anything in fact. About the accident, about what happened to Emma or … or having to pick you up ten minutes’ walk away from your house in case she sees us. And I’m certainly not happy that I’m pregnant …’
She trailed off and silence fell between them. It was a minute before Tony said, ‘Pregnant?’
Claire nodded, already regretting blurting it out and at the same time waiting for the inevitable question from Tony.
‘Is it mine?’
She nodded again and her voice was a small whisper. ‘Yes, it’s yours, Tony, and I have no idea what I’m going to do.’
21
Emma Balantyne staggered along the road, dressed in an old pair of joggers and one of her husband’s white police shirts. For the life of her she’d thought that she had another bottle of vodka tucked behind one of the kitchen cabinets but when she’d looked all she’d found was empty bottles.
She’d then gone into the bottom of the wash basket to see if she still had some gin hidden there. It had been the same story – she’d already drunk it. And when she checked her last resort – the back of her wardrobe – she found that it again only held empty miniature whiskey bottles.
It had aggravated her, mainly because she knew she only had a small amount of cheap, bad supermarket vodka left, and as the off-licence didn’t open until later, it meant a twenty-minute walk to Sainsbury’s seeing as Tony always hid the car keys.
The thought of it made her seethe with anger. Here she was without a car, having to walk to the shops to get a drink, and being treated like a criminal, when she had done nothing wrong. It was him. Tony. He was the villain of it all.
The thought of what he’d done to her and done to her face made her want to drink. It was all because of him that she drank in the first place, and it was certainly because of him that she had to hide the bottles. For some reason he thought she drank too much. It was total crap, but if she did – and she certainly didn’t think she did – then the only person to blame was Tony.
He played games with her. Made her feel like she was going mad when she knew he was playing around. She knew that he was chasing women like a whippet after a rabbit. Sniffing around them, getting his leg over anything that moved and screwing them like there was no tomorrow.
He was doing all that but he wouldn’t touch her, he wouldn’t come near her, even though he knew how much she wanted to have a baby, start a family of her own – but he refused to even contemplate the idea. No wonder she drank.
At the thought of it, Emma quickly looked around and unscrewed the half bottle of vodka in her handbag.
Not wanting to take the bottle out of the bag, she lifted it up to her lips with the vodka still inside.
Gulping it back and feeling it quench her agitation, she put the lid back on and continued to walk unsteadily along the pavement, thinking about Tony … Tony and that bitch.
Of all the women he’d been with, it was Claire Martin who’d caused the most trouble, the most pain. She’d been the one who’d nearly destroyed them, getting her claws into Tony and getting into his head.
Claire had been with him the night of the accident. And, even though it was now over two years ago, she could remember the night like it was only yesterday …
The party had been in full swing by the time they’d arrived and as usual they’d had a row in the car on the way over.
Tony had turned to Emma in the car and snapped, ‘Just make sure you behave yourself, Em. I’ve a got a lot of work colleagues here. I don’t want to be embarrassed. No more drinking – look at the state of you already.’
He’d slammed out of the car before she’d had the chance to answer and marched into the party, which was being held to celebrate the retirement of a long-serving officer in the force.
Sighing, and quickly taking the miniature bottle of whiskey she’d hidden at the side of the passenger seat, Emma gulped it back in one before she followed Tony inside.
The hallway of the country house where the party was being held had been adorned with draped white silk offset with red roses – it seemed each room had been themed around winter, tastefully decorated in gold and rich berry reds.
It had taken Emma over twenty minutes to find Tony again and in that time she’d knocked back several glasses of Champagne. She was beginning to feel better until she’d seen who was standing in the group chatting to Tony. Claire Martin.
She stood watching them for a moment, grabbing another glass of Champagne from the passing waiter.
She’d never met Claire, she’d only seen her in passing when she’d picked up Tony after work, but for the past few months she’d had a suspicion that there was something going on between them. Of course he’d denied it, but she’d heard him on the phone with her. The way he’d whisper quietly, the way he’d laugh, and then shut the door when he thought she was listening. It wasn’t just colleagues discussing work; there was so much more to it.
Continuing to watch them, Emma noticed Tony’s hand lightly brush down Claire’s back. She also saw her give him the quickest but most intimate of looks, almost as if they were the only two in the room.
And in that moment, that touch, that glance, was all the proof she needed.
She marched up to the group and perhaps it was the look on her face that made Tony’s own face drain of colour as she approached them.
She stood unsteadily, her voice slurred as she spoke. ‘You must be Claire. Tony’s told me all about you. In fact, he doesn’t do anything but talk about you. My husband always says any friend of mine is a friend of his, but I’m afraid I’m not so fucking generous.’ And with that, Emma Balantyne threw the drink she was holding in Claire’s face.
Grabbing Emma, Tony shook her. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’re drunk.’
‘Yeah, and you’re fucking her. Touché.’
Clearly unsure what to say, Tony glanced at Claire who stood frozen by humiliation, her clothes dr
ipping with Champagne.
Eventually, Tony said, ‘You … you don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to drink some water and sober up.’
‘Why? Why the fuck should I?’
Tony’s voice was full of anger though he kept it down. ‘Because you’re embarrassing yourself.’
Emma shook her head. Her voice danced on the verge of hysterical. ‘You mean I’m embarrassing you.’
With his grip still on Emma’s arm, Tony growled, ‘I think we better leave this conversation where it is.’
‘You’d like that wouldn’t you? For me not to make a fuss so you and Claire can cosy up and enjoy your evening together? Mustn’t humiliate the mighty Tony Balantyne, must we? Well I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m not one of your officers and I’m not one of your whores, I’m your wife.’
Heads were turning in the room to look at them as the other guests sensed the argument over the beat of the music, and – not wanting to make a spectacle of himself – Tony proceeded to drag Emma towards a side room off the main reception hall.
Enraged, Tony slammed the door behind him and – now away from prying eyes – pushed Emma into the middle of the room, raising his voice in fury. ‘Let me tell you something, Emma: you’re my wife in name only. In my head I left you a long time ago. Now, just go away, Em, go and do what you do best; go get a drink.’
The slap from Emma probably hurt Tony’s ego more than it did his face and the slight sting on his cheek melted into total insignificance compared to his temper. ‘You bitch! Just go home.’
Emma stared at him. ‘If you think you can get rid of me that easily, think again. Let’s have it out here once and for all.’
Tony shook Emma hard, her head flicking back and forth. ‘Why the fuck are you doing this, Em? Happy now? Are you happy that you’ve embarrassed me? That all my colleagues out there know that you’re nothing but a drunk? Is this what you wanted?’
‘Tony, enough! Stop it! Don’t do that!’ Claire Martin said as she walked into the room. She looked at Emma and said, not unkindly, ‘Perhaps you’d better leave? Let everything calm down?’
The comment from Claire made Emma shriek with anger and like an alley cat, she launched herself, clawing and scratching, at Claire’s face.
‘Go to hell, Claire, who the fuck do you think you are? There’s a word for women like you; I know you’re sleeping with my husband, just admit it. Admit it!’
Tony Balantyne had had enough. He yelled at the top of his voice as he dragged Emma off Claire, ‘Fine, okay, I’m fucking her. I’m fucking her hard. I’m fucking her every day, every hour, every moment, and you know something, Em, I like it. I like fucking her. So there you go, there you have it. Are you happy now?’
Staggering back without saying anything, Emma felt pained. Suddenly, she leapt for the door, pulling it open and revealing, to Tony’s humiliation, a number of his friends, work colleagues and superiors – including the Chief Superintendent – watching in horror as Emma screamed at them.
‘What are you all looking at? Listened to everything that was said, have you? I bet this is funny to you, isn’t it? This is just one big joke? Did you all know that my husband was shagging that whore? Did you …’ But before Emma could say another word, she started to vomit, retching up the expensive bottle of red she’d consumed earlier.
With her hair covered in sick, she stood frozen for a moment then, shaking, turned to her husband and said quietly, ‘I want to go home now, Tony. We need to go home.’
He shook his head and pulled her back into the room, hurriedly closing the door. Tony snarled, ‘Look at the state of you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying until the end of the party, then afterwards, I’m never coming home. I’m leaving you, Em … That’s right, I’ve had enough – and fuck knows why I stayed this long. I felt sorry for you, and that’s the joke because you’re nothing but a drunk.’
Wiping away the vomit from her mouth Emma, humiliated, muttered, ‘Give me the car keys.’
As Tony went into his pocket to give them her, Claire held on to his arm. ‘Don’t, Tony. She’s been drinking.’
Emma stared daggers. ‘Give me the keys, unless you’re going to take me home yourself.’
Tony shook off Claire’s hand as he gave Emma the keys. ‘Take them, Em. Just get the fuck out of here. I hate you. Do you hear that? I hate you.’
Claire’s eyes flashed with worry. ‘Tony, think about what you’re doing. This is crazy. I’ll take her home, if you won’t.’
Losing patience with the whole situation, Tony glared at Claire. ‘For fuck sake she’s a grown woman. I’m not her keeper.’
‘No, you’re not, but I know if anything happens, you’ll have regrets for the rest of your life.’
Tony didn’t move as Emma raced out of the room. As she reached the car she saw that he’d had second thoughts and followed her outside. But it was too late; as Tony called after Emma, she jumped into the car and sped away.
22
Shaking the memories away as she took the short cut across the field to the supermarket, Emma sighed and touched her face. She couldn’t remember anything else about that night, but they’d told her that she’d driven the car into a ditch and it was there the police had found her unconscious in the upside-down vehicle, which had burst into flames.
They’d rushed her into surgery but the burns from the accident had left a huge, angry scar taking up most of the left side of her face. Though she supposed she’d been lucky, she’d been told she very nearly died – sometimes she wished she had done, because that would’ve shown Tony, would’ve made him realise that he couldn’t go around hurting people. He would’ve suffered like she did … like she still did every day.
At times, when she didn’t know where Tony was – the times she lay in bed on her own – she often thought about ending it all. Killing herself. Not because she wanted to die; she didn’t. But because she wanted Tony to be punished, and she knew that would be her ultimate way to do it.
At the thought of Tony suffering, a small smile appeared on the corner of Emma’s lips – but as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished as she stood, frozen, staring in horror at the grey Land Rover parked on the corner of the street.
Emma’s heart pounded so hard she had to take a deep breath and beads of cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The ringing in her ears blocked out all the surrounding noise. She felt light-headed and she squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again, wondering if what she was seeing was caused by her drinking. But no, they were there. Him and Her. Together.
Suddenly she screamed in rage, and looked around, her eyes darting from one side of the lane to another. Her gaze rested on a large stone underneath the bushes and she ran to pick it up.
Wielding it in the air, Emma continued to scream as Balantyne and Claire, shocked and surprised and not quite certain what was going on, got out of the car.
On seeing his wife, Balantyne’s face drained of colour. His gaze glanced towards the stone she was holding. ‘Put it down, Emma.’
Emma’s eyes flashed with hatred and anger as she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘I knew it, I knew you were fucking her again, I knew it. You made me feel like I was going crazy but all the time I was right.’
‘It’s not like that, Emma. Tony and I were just talking. I promise.’
Emma swung her attention towards Claire. She hissed through gritted teeth, ‘How dare you! How dare you! Look at my face. You did this to me. It’s because of you that I look like this!’
Claire, who hadn’t seen Emma since the party, stared at the angry, disfiguring red scar. Her eyes filled with tears. Guilt-stricken at the extent of her injuries, she muttered her words. ‘I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Emma.’
Again Emma screamed. ‘No you’re not, and you know why I know? Because even after everything that’s happened you’re still down a country lane with my husband. You don’t care who gets hurt, you don’t care about anything but your sordid little affair.’
; Claire shook her head. ‘Emma, please listen—’
‘Listen, why should I?’ Emma demanded, incensed.
‘Because I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Liar!’ And with a yell that startled the birds, Emma threw the stone into the back window of the car. She swivelled around and lunged at Claire, pulling her hair and scratching at her face with her nails. She swung her bag, then pushed her towards the bushes where Claire staggered backwards.
‘Stop it, Emma! Stop it!’ Balantyne boomed out, gripping Emma’s arm, but she leant down and bit his hand, drawing blood. The sharp pain made him let go and as he did, Emma took the opportunity to swing her fists at Claire.
Balantyne scrabbled quickly towards Emma, yelling at her. ‘Stop, Em, stop! She’s pregnant!’
Emma stopped in her tracks. She blinked once, then twice, then stared from Balantyne to Claire, then back to Balantyne. She could hardly get the words out. ‘Is … is … is it yours?’
Slowly he nodded, glancing at Claire as he did so. ‘Yeah, it is.’
Once again, Emma, feeling the effects of alcohol rushing around her body, suddenly lunged at her husband. ‘I’m going to kill you, I’m going to fucking kill you!’
Balantyne put up his hands as Emma’s fists flailed towards him. He gripped her by her neck, putting her in a chokehold as she struggled. He dragged her along the lane as she kicked and hit at him but he didn’t let go, he only held her tighter. ‘I’m taking you home.’
As he threw Emma into Claire’s already open car, he slammed the door closed and nodded towards Claire. ‘I’ll be back soon. Are you okay? Will you be all right?’
‘I’m fine, just make sure she’s okay …’
Without answering, Balantyne ran around to the driver’s seat.
