After She Died

by Collette Heather

  She shrugged off the bad thoughts, just as she always did. He walked around the small table towards her – a designer, smoked-glass table from a trendy designer boutique in London’s Kensington – and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I love you, baby, I’ll only be a few hours, tops.”

  “Okay,” she said, knowing that a few hours invariably meant at least five.

  He left the room, and she got up to tidy up the mess she had made.

  Just as she always did.

  * * * *

  The Tesco on the edge of town was busy for half eleven on a Sunday. She didn’t mind, however, she liked feeling a part of the human race – she spent far too much time alone.

  I wonder if I should get a job, she thought to herself absently as she wandered down the fruit and veg isle.

  No. That was a step too far. As much as she enjoyed her shopping trips and the walks she took by herself during the week, she didn’t think she was ready to get a job. When she was out and about by herself there was no pressure on her to socialise and communicate with people in any meaningful way.

  She paused by the display of salads, resting one elbow on her trolley and peering at the list that Hugh had written. Reaching out to grab a bag of baby spinach, she absently pushed forward with the trolley, gasping when it jerked in her hands.

  The first thing she saw was a man’s foot under her wheel. It was a large foot, clad in a pair of dark red, Converse trainers. Her gaze travelled up the blue-jean-clad length of his legs, up past the khaki anorak before settling on a pair of the most piercing blue eyes that she had ever seen.

  “I am so sorry,” she gasped, her heart inexplicably thumping hard in her chest.

  “It could be worse. At least you weren’t driving.”

  But the stranger said it with no malice, for his full mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying to suppress a grin.

  “Sorry,” she muttered again, awkwardly yanking on the trolley to twist it at a sharp, ninety-degree angle to get around him.

  The man moved with the trolley, blocking her path.

  “I think you might’ve broken my foot.”

  She stopped pushing.

  “I really am sorry. I was miles away.”

  “The name’s Ethan Tayler,” he said extending his hand.

  She looked down at it in confusion, licking her dry lips. She took a deep, steadying breath, but try as she might, her heart simply would not stop racing.

  “Well, I really am sorry about your foot, Ethan, but I’m pretty busy, I have to get my shopping done.”

  Again, she went to push the trolley past him but again, he blocked her path. She looked up at him incredulously, and despite herself, she found herself admiring the sleek lines of his face. He really was something quite spectacular to look at. Unlike Hugh, whose jaw was wide and the planes of his cheeks flat, this guy’s jaw was narrow and his cheekbones were high and pronounced, giving him an air of aristocracy. He rather reminded her of that British actor, the one who played Sherlock with the surname that sounded like a vegetable which she could never remember. Except this guy was a good decade younger and his floppy, gently curling hair was a shade lighter. She found herself unable to tear her gaze away from those glittering blue eyes and a hot blush suffused her cheeks and chest.

  “Let me buy you a coffee, and I’ll forgive you for breaking my foot.”

  “I’m married,” she blurted out, her face burning as hot as a furnace.

  “Then your husband is a very lucky man,” he said, his pale gaze penetrating and deeply uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know about that,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze, because when he looked at her, as corny as the thought was, it was like he was seeing straight to her soul. “Have a great day,” she finished up with, swerving the trolley once more to escape him.

  “Wait,” he called after her, “you still owe me a coffee. Please take my number, at least.”

  She stopped walking, her back ramrod straight and her entire body stiff with the adrenalin that coursed through her bloodstream.

  She turned around to face him once more, thankful that he had remained behind her and was no longer attempting to block her path.

  “I don’t have a mobile,” she replied honestly.

  “You don’t have a mobile?” he repeated incredulously. “Everyone has a mobile.”

  “Not me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She shrugged, hating the way her body was betraying her and insisting on trembling the way it was.

  “I can’t help that.”

  “Okay, then. Fine. Then facebook me. My name is Ethan M Taylor. Michael is my middle name,” he said, like she had asked him what the ‘M’ stood for.

  “I don’t have a facebook, either.”

  “Jesus, you don’t have a facebook? Who are you?”

  This time, she couldn’t stop herself from grinning at his incredulous expression.

  “Just an ordinary girl that values her privacy.”

  Her smile dropped when the words exited her mouth, because never had truer words been spoken. She had deleted her facebook account, and that of her sister’s not long after that night. She had also left behind her old town, her old friends, and all the hurtful memories. She had wanted to start afresh with no baggage from the past.

  “Of all the things you could possibly strike me as, ordinary is most definitely not one of them.”

  To her dismay, she found herself blushing again. Or maybe not again, as it was quite possible that she had never ceased blushing in the first place.

  “I’m sorry,” she said lamely, no longer even sure what she was apologising for.

  For running over his foot? Or for being married, perhaps? Or was she apologising for not having a facebook or a phone?

  “Just find me on facebook. I promise, I’m quite normal. I’m a nice guy.”

  “Only a psychopath would call himself a nice guy. A truly nice guy wouldn’t announce that fact because he would be too modest to say such a thing. Genuinely nice people never have to say that they’re nice because they’re too nice to say it.”

  “Well, are you?”

  “Am I what?” she asked.

  “Are you nice?”

  She found herself grinning again, despite not wanting to.

  “That would be telling.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  She hesitated for a moment, briefly tempted to make something up, but for some reason she didn’t want to lie to him.

  “It’s Cassie. Cassie Yates.”

  “Well, Cassie Yates, it was a pleasure to meet you. I won’t take up anymore of your time, but I’d honestly be delighted if you got in touch with me. I only moved here last month and I don’t know many people. Look, I know I’m coming on like some kind of sleaze, but I’d love to meet up for a coffee sometime. Just as friends, I promise. I’m quite capable of being just friends with a beautiful woman.”

  He just seemed so genuine, and even had the good grace to blush.

  Mush be catching, she thought wryly.

  “Ethan M Tayler, don’t forget,” he said to her stunned silence, and then just like that, he ambled away up the aisle.

  She watched him disappear around the corner, admiring the endearingly contradictory way he walked, which was part languid grace, part strut. He seemed so young, so hip and trendy, so deeply unlike her husband in every single possible way.

  She frowned slightly when she thought of Hugh. In all the years they had been together, not once had she so much as looked at another man. What had come over her? What on earth was she thinking?

  Come on, Cassie, this simply won’t do. Get a bloody grip and do your bloody shopping.

  With much effort she concentrated on the list, robotically going through the motions and placing things in the trolley but she was undeniably distracted and jittery. Ethan didn’t seem to be in the supermarket anymore and there was no denying it – she was most definitely keeping an eye out
for him. She did her best to ignore the disappointment that twisted in her guts when she saw no sign of him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Back home, there was no sign of Hugh, which meant he was still in his study. She placed the bag of groceries on the kitchen table and busied herself with putting things away, hoping that the sound of her rustling around in the kitchen would stir him from his office. She knew better than to disturb him when he was working – he would invariably be grouchy and short with her.

  Sure enough, her cupboard slamming had roused him. And when he appeared in the kitchen doorway, he didn’t look happy.

  “Have you finished with work?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, something’s come up.”

  Cassie’s heart instantly sank. When Hugh said that something had come up, it invariably meant that he was either going away somewhere for work or he was going back to his London office again right that second.

  “Come up? How do you mean? It’s Sunday, for God’s sake.”

  “I have to go to Scotland tomorrow.”

  “Scotland?” she repeated incredulously. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “My client Gavin Henderson is Scottish, so he’s going to be tried in court in Edinburgh.”

  She felt her brows pull together in a frown and the strangest feeling danced on the outskirts of her mind. The modern, beautifully decorated kitchen tilted around her and she clung to the edge of the shiny marble countertop as her vision closed in.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, but it was as if the words were not coming from her, as if they were drifting towards her on an invisible breeze.

  Because what he was saying made no sense.

  “Why don’t you sit down? You don’t look at all right,” Hugh was saying, but she barely heard him above the ringing in her ears.

  She felt hands gently grip her shoulders and she flinched in surprise, then relaxed into her husband’s grip. She allowed herself to be led the short distance to the kitchen chair and gently guided down into it.

  “Just breathe, you’re having a panic attack, it’s going to be okay,” Hugh said with an exaggerated air of calmness. “Come on, put your head down.”

  His broad hand still rested on her shoulder, encouraging her to get into position. She did, breathing deeply through her nose with her forehead just inches from her knees. He continued to rub her back and she closed her eyes, willing herself back under control, willing herself to take deep, steadying breaths.

  The tightness in her chest eased and she no longer felt as if she were about to suffocate, as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Shakily, she straightened her back. Hugh was looking down at her, his expression grave and full of concern.

  “You okay, baby?”

  Tears prickled her eyes. What a loser she was.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, staring down at her hands which clutched each other tightly in her lap.

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I haven’t had one for ages.”

  “I know. But it’s okay. You’ve had worse than that. And no one has ever died from a panic attack, remember?”

  “Yeah. But I’ve been doing so well,” she said, hating the whining quality to her voice.

  “I know. And you still are doing so well.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Inexplicably startled, her head snapped up in his direction. Had she detected the smallest trace of something patronising in his voice? No, surely not, she was imagining things. He was only trying to be comforting.

  “So. Scotland,” she said, pushing the misplaced sense of unease to one side.

  “Yeah. Edinburgh. I’m sorry, baby, but I have to go, it’s an incredibly important case for me and the firm.”

  “How long?” she asked in a flat voice.

  “Four days, tops. I’ll be in court on Wednesday, then should be able to get away the day after.”

  “But I don’t understand why you have to go.”

  “I don’t want to bore you with the details of the case, and you know I’m not really supposed to talk about it, anyway. Why don’t we just enjoy the rest of the day? I’ve done my homework, so you now have my undivided attention.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Come on sweetheart, it’s only for a few days.”

  “I still don’t understand why you have to go – you took on this case in England, it makes no sense that you have to go to bloody Scotland just because the defendant is Scottish.”

  “I can’t get into it, sweetheart, you know the case is confidential.”

  “I’m your wife. And it’s not like I speak to anyone.”

  A blank, cold look passed over her husband’s face. She never normally pressed him like this for details; she never normally shoved him into a corner where she emotionally blackmailed him.

  Then the worst thought flitted through her mind: What if he’s not going away for work at all? What if he’s having an affair?

  Hugh scraped back the chair, getting to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” she gasped, suddenly seized by the irrational dread that he was leaving her for another woman.

  “I’m making a coffee, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Why are you being like that?”

  “Like what? I’m not being like anything.”

  Anger mixed in with the paranoia, a potent mix that surged through her blood, emboldening her.

  “Yes, you are. You’re mad at me for daring to ask why you should have to go to Scotland next week. And you still haven’t given me a straight answer.”

  “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

  “Oh, don’t be so bloody immature.”

  Her mouth snapped shut as soon as the words had exited her lips. She never swore at Hugh. Ever.

  “You know what, Cassie? I don’t think I have finished my work,” he said, slamming the kettle back onto its little electrical base with far more vigour than was necessary. “In fact, I think I’m going to have to work for the rest of the day.”

  “Fine,” she said, getting to her feet. “You do that. Don’t worry about me, I’m quite used to being alone.”

  “For God’s sake, Cassie, I have to work,” he shouted. “One of us bloody has to.”

  The breath caught in her throat as she looked at him, her heart hammering. His statement was so grotesquely unfair on so many levels that she didn’t even know where to begin.

  “How many times have you told me that you actively don’t want me to work? That you like me at home while you pursue your career? That you want to start a family and that you want me to stay home and look after your children?”

  “Yeah. But it’s not like you have fallen pregnant, though, is it? Are you sure you’re not secretly taking the pill?”

  His words were a cruel blow, and she flinched as surely as if he had hit her.

  “How can you even say that?” she gasped, her hand flying up to her chest as if to still her wildly beating heart.

  The injustice of his words cut her deeply. They simply weren’t fair. She hadn’t fallen pregnant, despite being off the pill for a few years now. It wasn’t her fault, she was just waiting for nature to take its course because she couldn’t bear the thought of doctors poking and prodding her around. She felt quite strongly that she had been through enough in life already, thank you very much, without having to endure the humiliation of doctors messing with her most private bodily functions.

  “Maybe it’s time you went to the doctors to get checked out,” he said. “I’m forty, Cassie, I’m not getting any younger. I want a family, and I’ve been to the doctors, haven’t I? We both know that there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Her head reeled at the sudden shift in the conversation. How, exactly, had they got onto the subject of children? Only a few seconds ago they had been arguing about him going to Scotland.

  And he knew how she felt about the thought of medical interventio
n.

  “You said you were okay with me holding off, to give us a chance to conceive naturally.”

  “Yes, I said that. But I think I’ve held off long enough, don’t you? Honestly, Cassie, if you’re not going to start a family, what, exactly, are you going to do with your life? You can’t sit at home doing nothing forever.”

  For a moment all she could do was stare at him in disbelief, simply not believing that he was talking to her like this. He knew how badly affected she was – and continued to be – by what happened five years ago. He knew that she suffered from crippling anxiety and found it difficult to meet new people, yet alone work with them.

  An image of the guy from the supermarket slammed into her mind – he of the knowing smile, wolf-like eyes and pronounced cheekbones that by rights should look effeminate but instead gave him this air that was somewhere between bang-on trendy and aristocratic.

  He made Hugh look like a dowdy old man.

  She shook her head slightly to dispel his image, disgusted at herself for thinking of another man slap-bang in the middle of an argument with her husband.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me,” she said softly. “I struggle with people. You know this.”

  “You know what, Cassie? I’ve got one hell of a week coming up, I don’t need this shit.”

  And with that he stomped from the kitchen, leaving her staring after him, flinching when the slamming of his office door echoed down the hall.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cassie and Hugh had tentatively patched things up a few hours later. He had sulked in his office for a good hour and she had sat on their bed, thinking about the sorry state of her life. Or, not about how sorry it was as such, but about how completely dissatisfactory it was.

  And now, the following morning, Hugh had left for Scotland. It also happened to be the morning of her fortnightly session with Dr Frederick Thornton. She lay back on Dr Thornton’s leather couch, staring up at the plain white ceiling, absently wondering why he didn’t pin a picture or something to the ceiling, like at the dentists.