As soon as we go through our front door, Jason heads upstairs while I hover in the kitchen. I can hear him moving around in the bedroom. He’s opening cupboards, drawers and I hear a distinctive thud on the floor. I know what the noise is but please God, don’t let it be what I’m thinking. Please God, no. Don’t let him be leaving.
I creep up the stairs, clutching the banister for support. I watch him from a vantage point on the landing through the bedroom door which is slightly ajar. He is neatly folding a jumper, patting down the sleeves before setting it carefully into the small suitcase. There’s a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts on the bed and he’s started to extract underwear from the bedside drawers.
‘What are you doing?’ I hold back for a second before I go in. I’m now scared I might lose it completely. ‘Let’s talk, please. Where are you going? Why?’ Perhaps there is more to this than Susan Harper. It was meant as a joke, a prank at her expense but he seems to be taking it to heart.
‘I need some space,’ he says. He carries on with the packing. As he goes to zip up the suitcase, he looks at me and smiles. Jason doesn’t do confrontation. His smile is his weapon when we argue. He knows it’ll make me back off. ‘Just for a few days. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Promise.’ With that, he heads into the en suite and picks up his toothbrush and other toiletries. I follow close behind.
‘Why?’ I don’t understand. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.’ But I don’t know how to put it right or what I’m supposed to fix. I hear the panic in my voice.
‘I told you I don’t like being tied down and I won’t be used, Caroline.’ His use of my name at this point terrifies me and when he turns round, the look in his eyes tells me what I already know. I’ve gone too far.
‘You can’t control me and, to be honest, I’m not sure how far I want to go with all this anymore.’
Jason has always wanted an easy life, the good things with no strings attached. Money without emotional upheaval has always been his driver, and my own insecurities have made me temporarily forget what makes him tick. I need to back pedal, give him some space and perhaps rethink our approach to the business. All I know, as I watch him, is that I can’t let him go; not now, not ever. He zips up his case with a measured finality and lifts it off the bed.
‘Where’ll you go? Please don’t go back to Francine,’ I beg. Begging is my only option. If I shout at him he’ll clam up before disappearing off into the sunset. Jason won’t get angry; an argument will render him mute. His wrinkle-free complexion is due to a lack of emotion that accompanies an adult life free from all responsibility. Worries are brushed under the carpet like pesky dust mites. Money lets him do this and Francine and I have made it possible.
However, I need to know where he’s going. He seems confident of another open door with a warm welcoming reception. He walked away easily enough from Francine, so why not from me? Perhaps I’m overreacting, being paranoid. We’re married after all.
‘Please. We can sort this out. When Susan pays up, we’ll move on. Remember I’m only pretending to buy the house next door so she’ll panic and then you won’t have to see her again. It’s a job, remember.’ I hate my voice. It’s become whining.
He sets his case down and walks across and takes me by the shoulders.
‘I’ll be back. Honestly. I’ll probably kip at Francine’s for a couple of nights till I get my head straight but I’ll call.’ He kisses me on the lips and holds me tight. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s all getting on top of me. There’s no such thing as easy money.’
I stand in the doorway, blocking his exit.
‘You can’t go. I love you.’ My tears stream in torrents down my cheeks. He wipes the heavy wetness away and as he kisses me hard on the lips, the moisture mingles with the wet saliva.
‘I know,’ he says. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ back, simply that he knows. He knows I love him and that I’m at the place of no return. He lifts me roughly onto the bed and soothes my torment with the only way he knows how. This is his skill, his talent. As I give myself up to the moment, lying naked below him, the images of the numbered women scream past like haunting tormentors from hell.
I torture myself with the knowledge that the random women he sleeps with feel the same as I do at such a moment and that is why they hand over money readily, to ensure that he’ll come back. My own desperation has led me to become a cheap pimp. It has usurped my role as wife and lover. But the new role is no longer working, no longer giving me control. I pray I can find another way; before it’s too late.
Jason has gone. I am lying back on the bed; the silent heaving sobs slowly abating. I’m alone, my thoughts screaming in my brain. I don’t think I can survive without him. He said he would be back in a couple of days and that I need to be patient.
I switch off the bedside light and let the darkness envelop me. I don’t believe him. It will be longer than that. I think my husband is making a bid for freedom but that can never happen. There’s work to be done and tomorrow I’ll start to make new plans, plans that will never let him go away again.
After all, Jason belongs to me.
33
Alexis
‘I’m not sure what to tell Caroline. It all seems too much of a coincidence. What do you think?’
Gary and I have tidied up the lock-up and made it into a usable office space. A couple of desks and filing cabinets have been the first purchases for the new business. The two small windows on the back wall are constantly cracked to filter away the rancid stench of caked grease. Bright overhead lighting to replace the dangling death wire has been our first major expense, but worth the outlay.
Trent’s motorbike is back in the corner under its tarpaulin waiting until we have enough money to get it repaired. I’ve told Gary I’ll treat myself when the divorce comes through but for now I know to keep it well hidden from Adam. He no longer mentions the machine, assuming it was scrapped after the accident. If he suspects otherwise he is not letting on. The lock-up is my secret.
‘It definitely seems a coincidence that she asked you to follow Susan Harper and Jason, at the time you’ve met the same guy through this Join Me website, albeit under a fake name.’ Gary is looking through the pictures which came through my door, before throwing out a barbed comment. His laptop is open at the Join Me homepage.
‘He’s handsome but what a prick.’ Gary peers at the photos. ‘He doesn’t half love being in front of a camera.’ Gary hasn’t asked me what prompted my interest in the site but as his work for the day will involve probing deeper into Jason’s habits, I suspect we’ll get around to discussing the site’s appeal later on.
‘Should I tell her that Jason is using the website and that I’ve already met him? It’s all so weird.’
It feels good to be working again, with the added bonus of being away from home. Adam demanded to know who Gary was and why he’d moved into our house. He rightly guessed that he wasn’t a secret lover, surmising from his adolescent appearance that I wouldn’t be that desperate. I told him the truth that we had met at a private investigator’s conference and are working together but since throwing him out, Adam no longer seems to have any interest in Gary or his whereabouts. He won’t be a perceived threat to his plans.
I still feel decidedly uneasy around the house. Adam is constantly trying to wear me down and I know he is banking on success and that I’ll eventually let him back into my life and the marital bed. He has assured me, more than once, that he’s ended it with Debbie, that she begged him not to leave her; it’s only me he has ever loved. His mistress has reluctantly returned to her husband. Instinct tells me he’s lying and Gary has it on his ‘to do’ list to dig for relevant information which might help me when our divorce reaches the courts.
Meanwhile I have a date with Caroline Swinton to tell her a few facts about her husband. As I pack up my belongings, Gary looks up. He has cut his straggling fringe in an effort, I suspect, to smarten himself up for his new job and the effort has helped to calm the acne. My summ
ation that he might have an old head on his young shoulders is given confirmation when he speaks.
‘Tell her the truth. She’ll find out in the end anyway. She might already know he’s using this website but you need to find out what she knows before you can get to the bottom of what the guy’s up to. She probably won’t like the truth but as long as she pays, do we really care?’ He grins, crooked little teeth poking out through his moist lips. I like Gary. He’ll become a good friend, already has.
Caroline is waiting. We are at the same café in Golders Green where we first talked. She is in the corner and the first thing I notice is that she looks different. Although she is wearing her usual caked mask of heavy make-up, her eyes look smaller, void of her trademark thick mascara. There are red raw circles underneath which thick powder is unsuccessfully trying to conceal.
‘Hi,’ she says, standing up as I push through the door. She seems to have shrunk and as she steps out from behind the table, I see she’s not wearing her usual killer heels. Something is up.
We order coffees and settle down straightaway to business. It’s only three days since I met Jason at King’s Cross, believing at the time that he was an interesting stranger called Eddie.
‘Did you get the photos?’ I wait for her to continue. It’s clear she has things she’s desperate to say. ‘He’s handsome, don’t you think?’ This seems to be of overriding importance. Appearance seems to be her driver, her turn on. I smile and listen.
‘The agenda has changed,’ she begins. ‘Jason’s left me. I need to know where he’s gone. I’ve no idea, he packed a suitcase and left.’ Her eyes well up but she swallows hard to keep the emotions in check. ‘We argued. It didn’t seem important at the time, more the usual married thing.’ I wonder what she means by the usual married thing. Another woman? Alcohol? Abuse? Sexual disinterest? Emptying the dishwasher? The list is endless as my active brain weighs up the possibilities.
I was due to start trailing Susan Harper and Jason, following on from receipt of the photographs. That was the arrangement. Now things have changed and she wants me instead to find out where her husband is staying and with whom. At this point I decide to own up, tell her what I know.
‘I need to tell you something, Caroline.’ I watch her stiffen and take a tentative sip of coffee before I drop the bombshell.
‘I suspect your husband is dating other women,’ I begin. ‘I have to own up I met him myself a few days ago under the online pseudonym of Eddie on a no-frills website called Join Me.’ She doesn’t flinch. Does she know? Is she playing me? It’s hard to tell as she robotically stirs her drink. ‘Have you heard of it?’ At this point I’m concerned that Gary and I might lose our first paying client by dishing up unasked for dirt on her husband but something doesn’t feel quite right. Caroline sits up, placing her cup back on the saucer with an audible clunk, and raises her eyebrows.
‘What’s Join Me? Is it a dating website?’ I can tell she knows something as she doesn’t seem that shocked. She looks at me with mild interest.
‘No it’s not a dating website as such. It offers people a chance to link up; to enjoy London’s sights and experiences together, that sort of thing.’ I sound like the advertising blurb. ‘Actually I was bored after breaking my leg and it seemed like a harmless bit of fun.’ I’m uneasy. I feel foolish as if I should have known better. ‘A flyer came through the door.’
‘When did you meet Jason? Where? How do you know it was him?’
‘From your photos. I only realised who it was after I got back home from meeting him and found the pictures you’d pushed through my letterbox. It’s such a coincidence.’ I wait. She answers too quickly. The words have been rehearsed.
‘Oh my god! I can’t believe it.’ She extracts a tissue which seems a weird reaction for such a monumental piece of information. I would have expected shock, anger but not instant tears. Crocodiles spring to mind; both for their tears and for their lethal bite.
‘What do you want me to do? I can meet him again and try to find out where he’s gone. That might be the easiest way. If I can’t make him talk, I’ll at least be able to follow him. My colleague Gary could trail him after our meeting, if you like.’
‘Maybe that’s how he met Susan Harper, through this Join Me website,’ Caroline suggests, also too quickly. ‘Can you find out if he’s still seeing her too?’ Caroline’s grasping at straws, flitting from one thing to the next. I feel like a pawn in some game but try to keep it professional.
‘Do you want me to meet him again? He’s waiting to hear from me. That might be the best place to start.’ A slight tic flickers under her right eye; a relentless rhythmical beat. I think it was the words he is waiting to hear from me that set it off. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in deference to her obvious distress. It could be real or perhaps it’s faked.
‘Yes please. I need you to do it straightaway. I’ll pay you well.’ She takes out a cheque book from her bag and fills in spaces, not giving me time to respond.
‘If you’re sure then I’ll contact him today. He seems flexible.’ As soon as I’ve spoken, I regret the last sentence as being rather thoughtless. I take the cheque, caught between excitement at the welcome cash flow and unease at unfolding events which somehow seem to have unwittingly put me at the centre of someone else’s story.
34
Susan
I keep the curtains pulled across, wishing Roger had closed the bedroom window when he left for work. He was in a rush as he agreed to drop the kids off at school first. He thinks I have one of my migraines and didn’t question my reasons for staying in bed.
I can hear a delivery van being unloaded outside and the noise of merry chatter grates as I haul the duvet up round my ears in an attempt to block out the world. The sleeping pills have made me groggy and I drift in and out of sleep wishing it was night-time again.
It is around midday when I finally stagger downstairs in my dressing gown. It has been two days since the fateful dinner party and I feel I am waiting, waiting for a moment of clarity about what I should do next. Roger hasn’t mentioned the Swintons again and I’m not sure if it is my current paranoia that makes me sense that he’s deliberately avoiding the subject of our recent dinner guests or he may, of course, purely have little interest in them.
I boil the kettle, squeezing half a lemon into a mug and wander through into the study. Through the window I can see the sales agent who has a viewing on the house next door, his insipid estate car parked next to a sleek Jaguar. The lemon acid stings my throat as I remember Vince drives a red Audi. He told me to look out for it on the day we had lunch in Crouch End. The Jaguar must belong to someone else, someone as yet unknown; but not to Vince. It gives me slim comfort.
I’m battling the cruel realisation that Vince might have targeted me for money. The thought of blackmail is too horrific and the likelihood that I’ve been targeted by Vince, and perhaps by Caroline as well, can no longer be ignored. My future depends on it.
I open up the Join Me website to look at Vince’s profile for one last time. While the computer boots up, I watch Mr Herriott through the window shake hands with a middle-aged grey-haired man who is looking round the outside of the house before he gets back into his car and drives off.
Across the road, Olive opens her front door and bends down to pick up milk left on the doorstep. She looks in my direction which makes me feel uneasy but then she coughs and I watch, transfixed, as her shoulders shudder uncontrollably for several seconds. She grips at the door frame with both hands until the fit abates before hobbling back inside. I should pop across for five minutes when I have the time. But not today.
Vince’s handsome face is still smiling out from my computer screen and I wonder how many other women have fallen for his charms. Why did he pick me? Or did I pick him? I can’t remember; it all seems blurred. Why did he want to meet me in the first place?
I type into the space below Vince’s profile in the box highlighted make contact. It will be the last time.
; We need to talk. It’s urgent. Susan.
My message sounds demanding, desperate, but I’ve no choice as this is no longer a game. I need my old life back which now beckons as a haven of security and stability. How could I have been so stupid? Was I really that starved of excitement?
I sit by the screen, unable to move, knowing that I’ll stay where I am until a reply comes back. I find myself wondering how Caroline will cope when she finds out about us. I daren’t believe she has known all along and perhaps together they’ve been using me.
When the phone rings, I ignore it, thinking it will be Roger wanting to find out how I’m feeling and if the migraine is any better. I glance down at the phone but don’t recognise the number.
‘Hello?’ Vince. I swallow hard to contain the nausea.
‘Hi. It’s Jason.’ He’s no longer pretending to be Vince. The game is up. I look across and watch Bob, Olive’s husband, lead her tenderly to their car. She’s still in a dressing gown which is flapping round her bony ankles. He lifts her gently onto the front seat and, with the cough wracking her body, Bob hurries back to the driver’s side and starts up the car. He wastes no time driving away from the close. They’ll be going to the doctor’s, or the hospital perhaps, but Bob is looking after her. We all need someone to care for us. I’m lucky to have Roger.
‘We need to meet,’ I tell Jason without hesitation. ‘Today.’
The sun has gone behind the clouds and an increasingly grey presence looms overhead.
‘Okay. Name when and where and I’ll be there.’
I jump between my profile and his before I finally remove all traces of myself from the website. I delete my pictures, my profile and sad little biography. How did such an innocent bit of fun go so wrong? Roger would never forgive me if he found out. He must never find out, and I know I need to do whatever I have to in order to make sure.
4 Riverside Close Page 17
