by Karen King
‘What the hell, Freya! Why didn’t you wake me?’
Her eyes snapped open and she stared at the clock. Quarter to eight. Phil had to be at the university for eight thirty and it was a half-hour drive in the morning traffic.
‘Didn’t the alarm go off?’ she mumbled, still groggy.
‘I was so bloody tired I must have slept through it. You were coughing and sniffing half the perishing night.’
He was right, she had been. She felt bad for keeping him awake. She should have slept in the spare room. ‘Sorry. I’ll go and make you a coffee.’ She stumbled out of bed as Phil disappeared into the en suite for a shower. Freya went to the main bathroom to use the loo and wash her hands. She felt dreadful, and a glance in the mirror over the sink showed that her face was all red and puffy. It’s only a cold and it will be gone in a couple of days, she told herself. Right now, though, she felt really miserable.
She headed downstairs, filled the kettle and flicked it on then grabbed the jar of instant coffee out of the cupboard – there was no time to put the coffee machine on.
She was taking two mugs out of the cupboard and the kettle had just boiled when Phil walked in. ‘Almost done,’ Freya said cheerily, her stomach sinking when she noticed that Phil had his moody face on. Uh-oh, you’d better tread carefully, she warned herself, fighting down the resentment. She was ill; he could have been more sympathetic. She desperately needed a hot drink – her head was thudding from lack of sleep as much as the cold. Phil probably felt the same way, she reminded herself as she started to spoon coffee into one of the mugs, her hand so unsteady she spilt some on the worktop. God, she was so exhausted she couldn’t even focus.
‘Leave it. I’ll do it!’ Phil snapped, pulling the mug away.
‘I’m sorry. I’m just so tired!’
‘You’re tired! What about me? I’ve got a half-hour drive before I get to work. Then I’ve got to do an eight-hour day.’ He poured hot water from the kettle into his mug, ignoring Freya’s, and added milk. ‘It’s okay for you, you can go back to bed.’
She glared at him, annoyed because he hadn’t made her a coffee and was being so unsympathetic about her being ill. ‘You could have made me one!’ She reached for the kettle and accidently knocked Phil’s arm as he picked up his mug of coffee. ‘Gosh, sorry,’ she apologised, staring in dismay at the coffee stain on his shirt.
‘Bloody hell, Freya. Look at the mess you’ve made of my shirt and I haven’t got another good one ironed!’
‘Sorry! Here, let me dab it out.’ She grabbed a towel, ran it under the cold water tap and started to dab the coffee stain on Phil’s shirt, making a massive wet patch.
Phil lashed out, his hand hitting the side of her cheek. ‘Bloody well leave it, you’re just making it worse!’
Her cheek was stinging. She put her hand to it, shocked that Phil had actually struck her. ‘You hit me!’ she accused him, tears springing to her eyes.
He glared at her. ‘No, I didn’t. You got in the way. I was just trying to stop you making more of a mess of my shirt. I’m going to have to bloody change now, and I’m already late!’
He stormed upstairs, coming down still buttoning up one of his old shirts, then rushed straight out of the house without apologising or kissing her goodbye.
Tears rolling down Freya’s cheeks, she sank onto a chair at the table, going over and over the events. Maybe she should have left his shirt alone when he told her to; maybe he was only trying to stop her making more of a mess of it and hadn’t meant to hit her. But he should have said sorry. He should have wrapped her in his arms and told her how sorry he was, not stormed out without even a goodbye kiss.
She sat there for ages, so upset and bewildered she couldn’t move. Didn’t even touch her coffee. Finally, exhausted, she decided to go back to bed. She caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror and saw a big red mark on her cheek. It hadn’t been a ‘get off’ push. It had been a hard slap and had left its mark.
He didn’t mean it. He’s tired, she thought as she crawled into bed. We’re both tired. I should have left his shirt alone.
Later that night Phil came home with an apology bouquet of fifteen red roses and told her he was sorry. That he was tired and overworked, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just push her hand away. That he was ashamed and promised that it wouldn’t happen again. Then he begged her not to leave him, said he couldn’t live without her. He made her a hot lemon drink and made a fuss over her all evening. ‘I promise that it’ll never happen again,’ he said, kissing her before he went into the spare room to sleep so that she wouldn’t disturb him with her cold.
But it did happen again, and it got worse.
And now she knew that he had always had this rage, that he had hit out before, his brother and his father and goodness knew who else. All this time she’d blamed herself, believed Phil when he’d told her that it was her fault, that she provoked him, nagged him, confronted him, challenged him, annoyed him, she made him do it. That he was never like this with anyone else.
What else had he lied about? And who else had he hurt so badly that they wanted him dead? The night of the accident she’d been about to leave Phil; now she wondered if she should have done that, if she was in danger being with him. She shivered. Had she made a mistake giving Phil another chance?
48
Wednesday
Sleep eluded her. Phil’s mother’s words kept going through her mind and the knowledge that Phil had been so violent when he was younger stunned her. She edged away from Phil as he lay snoring softly beside her, wanting to keep a bit of distance between them. She felt like she was sleeping with a stranger, that she had never really known the man she had married.
She had thought all evening about how to tell Phil she had met his mother. She wanted to tell him as soon as she returned home but he’d seemed preoccupied so she’d decided to put it off until the next day. Things were always better said in the morning, and she needed to choose her moment carefully. With Phil’s father so ill, she had to tell him soon but was nervous about how he’d take it. Phil used to hate being undermined, and that’s what she’d done. He’d told her not to have any contact with his family, had blocked his mother from contacting her, and Freya had gone behind his back, unblocked her, replied to her. Met her.
I’m an adult, we’re a partnership, I have a right to make my own decisions, she told herself. She hoped Phil would see it that way. He used to hate it if she challenged him about anything or offered a different opinion on a subject. Had he really changed now?
Another memory she’d tried hard to suppress jolted into her mind, this time of when she’d attended the open evening at the university with Phil last year. She’d only met Tom – a tall, gangly, fair-haired man with a scruffy beard – once briefly before. Within a few minutes of chatting to him about the course she could see how much he loved his job, and the students. He and Phil were talking about trying to garner more interest in the university and the courses, and she suggested a few promotion strategies, which Tom seemed really interested in. They were locked in conversation for quite a while until eventually Phil cut in, a fixed smile across his face, suggesting that Freya mingle a little and stop monopolising Tom. Freya was horrified – had she got too carried away? She knew she was prone to when she was on her favourite subject, so she smiled apologetically at Tom, excused herself and went to have a look at some of the exhibitions. Later that night, when they got home, Phil was furious. ‘You really like to show me up, don’t you?’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘What?’ Freya stared at him, puzzled.
‘All that cosying up to Tom, giving him ideas to promote the course. You’re so up yourself because you work at IPA Studio, you think you know it all.’
‘Of course I don’t. I was just trying to help…’ She backed away a little, alarmed at how furious Phil looked.
‘Help? Demean me, you mean! Tom and I were discussing strategies, no one asked you to butt in.’
‘So what was I
supposed to do? Stand there with my mouth closed?’ She could feel anger rising in herself too. This was unfair! Tom had been listening to her and had seemed interested in her opinion.
‘Yes! You came along to support me, not to take over and show everyone what a clever little thing you are. That programme you were dissing, that was my idea.’
His eyes were bulging now, the vein throbbing in the middle of his forehead, but she was still too angry to take heed. His idea? So that was why he was annoyed: she had dared to disagree with his idea. Well, she hadn’t known he’d dreamt it up, had she? He never discussed his work with her.
‘I’m sorry but I didn’t know that, did I?’ she replied. ‘Anyway, what does it matter if I disagree with you? It’s the twenty-first century, women have their own opinions now. No one takes any notice if a couple have different opinions.’
Phil lunged at her, grabbed her by the tops of her arms and pushed her up against the wall, standing right in front of her. ‘I do. I take notice when my own wife rubbishes me!’ he screamed, his face inches from hers. ‘Don’t you ever do that again! Do you fucking understand?’ His hands still gripping her arms, he shook her as he spoke.
She nodded, tears springing to her eyes, scared to speak because he looked so furious. When he finally let her go she crumpled into a heap on the floor, barely registering that he had walked out – as he always did after a row. She was shaking so much she couldn’t move. Never in her entire life had she felt so frightened. What the hell had that been all about? Finally, she sat up, hugging her knees, fighting back the tears, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had never seen Phil so angry before.
Her arms hurt where he had held them tight; she pulled up the sleeves of her thin top and saw that bruises were already forming. God, he’d actually marked her.
I have to get away from him, she told herself. Phil could have really hurt me then. I’m not safe here. She went upstairs and started packing her bag. When she came back down she saw Phil standing by the back door. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, spotting the suitcase she was holding.
‘Away from you. You really hurt me.’ She stood in front of him, inwardly shaking but determined not to show it.
Phil looked horrified. ‘I would never hurt you. You know I wouldn’t.’
‘What do you think you just did?’ she screeched, yanking up her right sleeve to show him the bruise. ‘There’s a matching one on the other arm too.’
He stared at them aghast, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. But it’s you, you always provoke me. I told you how upset I was, how you’d shown me up, but you didn’t care. You had to keep justifying it. Anyone else would have apologised but not you; everything is a battle with you.’
‘It’s you who makes things a battle. I’m not allowed to have an opinion.’
‘See, you’re at it again. You never want to listen to how I feel, how you hurt me. You always have to argue.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I grabbed your arms and bruised them, really I am. But please will you accept how much you push me? How much you provoke? How would you like it if I came to IPA Studio and rubbished one of the projects you were working on?’
She’d hate it, she admitted to herself. But she hadn’t done that to him, had she? Tom had asked her opinion and she’d answered. She hadn’t known it had been Phil’s idea. Her head felt a bit woozy. Had she had too much wine? Was Phil right and she’d shown him up?
Suddenly his arms were around her and he was hugging her tight. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, but you hurt me too. Please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you. I wouldn’t have anything to live for.’
It was what he always said, that unspoken threat that if she left him he wouldn’t want to live any more. He’d never actually said he would take his own life, but the meaning was clear.
‘Please, Freya. I love you so much. Can’t we both say sorry and forget this?’ He was hugging her, caressing her and she nestled her head into his shoulder, feeling confused. Had she caused this?
‘I’m sorry too,’ she whispered.
He held her tight and they embraced for a long time, as if they were both scared to let go. Finally, they went to bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, silent tears spilling down her cheeks until she finally fell asleep. In the morning they made love and neither of them ever mentioned it again, but Freya thought of it a lot. And from then on when she was out with Phil, she was careful not to disagree with him in public.
Now, she had met his mother, against his wishes, and she was pretty sure that he was going to be mad about that. He might be a little angry, but he won’t get violent, she told herself. The old Phil has gone. Hasn’t he?
She glanced at the clock. Almost three in the morning. She’d go down and heat up some milk – maybe that would help her sleep.
She was just about to put the light on in the kitchen when she heard a sound, as if someone was turning a key in the back door. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, her eyes fixed on the door handle as it rattled. Someone was trying to open it! She stepped back, pressing herself against the wall. They can’t get in, she told herself. That bolt across the top will stop them. After a few moments the rattling stopped. Freya crept over to the kitchen window and quietly opened the venetian blinds a little so that she could peep out. A shadow went past the window then disappeared.
49
‘Phil! Someone tried to break into our house!’ Freya shouted, flicking the light on as she hurried into the bedroom.
‘What?’ Phil opened his eyes groggily, throwing his arm across his face to shield them from the light.
‘I just saw them, in the back garden.’ She grabbed her phone from the bedside table. ‘I went down for a drink, and as I walked into the kitchen I heard a key rattling in the lock of the back door, as if someone was trying to open it. Then it stopped and I went over to the window and saw a shadow move past.’
‘What the hell! Was it a man or a woman?’ Phil jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans.
‘I’ve no idea, it was too dark to make out. I’m going to phone the police.’
Phil was already out of the bedroom, heading for the stairs.
‘Be careful!’ Freya called, dialling the police as she followed him.
He fled down the stairs and into the kitchen, unbolting the back door, hitting the outside switch and running out into the garden in his bare feet. There was no one in the garden. Whoever it was had gone.
When he went back into the kitchen Freya was standing by the sink, talking to the police. Phil listened as she replied that nothing had been taken and no, the intruder hadn’t got in because there was a bolt across the back door for extra security.
She looked disappointed when she ended the call. ‘They’ve made a note of it all but the officer said there isn’t much to go on because nothing was taken and there was no actual break-in,’ she told him. ‘I’m scared, Phil. How has anyone got a key to our door?’
‘Are you sure they had a key? It could have been an opportunist thief, trying the handle to see if the door was locked.’
Freya nodded emphatically. ‘I definitely heard a key in the lock. I think someone has been sneaking into the house, Phil. It must be this person, they’ve got a key somehow!’ Her eyes widened as if she’d just had a horrible thought. ‘It could be them who caused your accident?’ He could hear the panic in her voice.
Phil’s mind was racing. Was this person responsible for leaving those notes on his desk? If so, why? What grudge did they have against him? ‘Look, maybe someone found a key in the street and has been trying all the doors in the neighbourhood hoping it would work in one of them. And remember we don’t know for sure that anyone has come in previously. We only know that the back door was left open and I’m sure that was me sleepwalking.’ He was lying but he didn’t want Freya to know about the notes, not until he found out who was breaking into their house and threatening him.
‘What about the flood in the kitchen, though?’ she pointed out. ‘I didn’t turn the taps on and you were out.’
‘I know, but I did have a glass of water before I went out. Maybe I left the tap dripping and didn’t notice that the plug was in the sink.’
‘You didn’t mention this before.’ She sounded dubious.
‘Look, try to stop worrying and let’s go back to bed. Whoever it was has gone now. Thank goodness we put that bolt on the door.’
‘I won’t be able to sleep now. I’ll be scared they’ll come back,’ Freya said.
Phil put his arms around her to comfort her. ‘I’ll stay down here for a bit to make sure. You have to work in a couple of hours, you need your rest.’
‘Okay, but if they do come back don’t tackle them. Call the police right away. Promise?’
‘I promise.’
Phil waited for Freya to go back upstairs and into the bedroom then headed straight for his study. Taking the dictionary from the shelf, he opened it and spread the notes out on his desk.
‘Phil…’ The door opened and Freya walked in. ‘I’ve just remembered…’ She paused as Phil quickly tried to cover the notes with the dictionary. One of them fell to the floor and she reached down to pick it up. ‘Sorry… what?’ Her eyes widened in alarm as she read out the note. ‘“YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID.” Phil, where did this come from?’ She snatched up the other notes and read them too. ‘Who sent these and why didn’t you tell me about them?’
Phil thought fast. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. Someone put them through the letterbox. I wondered maybe if I’d upset one of the students at the university, not given them the grades they wanted. That’s one of the reasons I met Tom, to ask him, but he said there was no problem as far as he knew. So then I wondered if they were meant for you.’