Reckless

by Gemma Rogers

  I clicked send and hoped it would be enough. Surely, he would be basking in the glory of getting me to agree to his terms. It would buy me some time to speak to David again, hopefully before Nicky showed the video to someone else. If I could get him to meet me, I could convince him to delete the video, threaten him with the police, sex with a minor, whatever it took.

  I took the left-over wine upstairs and changed into my pyjamas. Sitting in bed drinking straight from the bottle, I mourned my marriage which was soon to be over. Once the wine was finished, I got cans of premixed gin and tonic from the fridge and brought them up to the bedroom. I didn’t care that it was a school night. My job would soon be snatched away too.

  I rang David to make sure he was OK, but there was no response and no answers to my texts. I called Stella instead and told her about mine and David’s row, drunkenly sobbing down the phone about how I’d messed our lives up. I shouldn’t have rung her in such a state. I had to talk her out of jumping on a train to come down to me. Desperate for a cigarette, I chewed my nails, cursing the day I’d met Nicky.

  The near miss at the roundabout was just three months ago. If only I’d been a couple of minutes earlier or later. Fate had it out for me, I was sure of it. Without its intervention I could have been getting ready to celebrate my second child’s first birthday. Fate could fuck itself, I thought as I finished another can of gin and tonic and tossed it to the floor.

  I managed to stay awake until I heard Charlotte return and then I passed out, too drunk to keep my eyes open any longer. When I woke, struggling to lift my head off the pillow, I saw Charlotte sat on the end of the bed staring at me. It took a while for her to come fully into focus, but when she did, I saw she was dressed in her school uniform.

  ‘I was getting worried you were in a coma,’ she said, standing.

  I tried to speak but only produced a grunting sound.

  ‘Are you OK?’ She sounded concerned.

  The floor of the bedroom was littered with empty gin and tonic cans as well as the discarded wine bottle. It looked as though I’d had a party for one. I saw Charlotte surveying the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

  ‘I’ll tell the office you’re throwing up, OK, and you’ll call in later. Dad’s giving me a lift to school on his way to work, he looks awful as well. What’s got into you two?’ Charlotte scolded as she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  I looked at the clock, it was half past eight in the morning. A wave of despair washed over me, along with a monstrous thudding headache. When I heard the front door shut, I crept downstairs to check the Motorola. Two texts from Nicky were waiting for me.

  So glad you finally came around

  Your daughter was very upset last night, she wouldn’t tell me why. Good job I was there to comfort her

  I vomited over the discarded cereal bowls in the sink. Washing it away, I dug out some paracetamol and headed back to bed, pulling the duvet over my head.

  A couple of hours later, when I woke for the second time, my headache had subsided, but I felt awful. I was weak and shaky, my stomach hollow and mouth dry. The stress had finally caught up with me and I couldn’t face what was to come today. Instead I’d hide from the world. I wrapped myself in my dressing gown and gingerly made it down the stairs, my stomach churning. Everything ached and I felt like I’d been run over by a bus.

  It was the worst hangover I’d experienced in a long time, no doubt due to mixing gin and wine. Even the strongest coffee didn’t scratch the surface. Instead, I sat slumped at the kitchen table, staring into space. There was no way I could bring myself to eat anything, but I looked in the fridge anyway. It was eleven o’clock already and I didn’t know where David was. Had he gone to work? What time would be home? He must have thought I’d gone way overboard after the fight we had. He had no idea his world was about to come crashing down around his ears.

  Hair of the dog would do the trick. I opened another bottle of wine, one David had brought home as a gift from work. It was an expensive bottle, to be saved for a special occasion, but it was the only alcohol left in the house. I necked a small glass and poured another to take upstairs for the bath. I knew I was drinking too much, topping up my alcohol content from the night before, but I wanted to block everything out. I was yet to have my real showdown with David, and it would be much worse than last night. I drained my glass before the bath had been filled. Starting to feel the alcohol hit, providing a nice buzz, I closed my eyes, sinking beneath the water.

  The heat felt good, spreading through me. I’d had a bath after the miscarriage. It was the first thing I did after coming home from the hospital. The bath had been so hot, nearly scalding, but I got in regardless. At the time, I saw it as some sort of punishment to the body that had let me down. I had sat there for hours, topping up the water, my skin itching from the heat. The baby had been unexpected but desperately wanted and I’d lost it.

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault, I realised that now. It took a while to forgive myself and come to terms with the bereavement. I found it hard to talk about, but that’s because David never spoke of it. All of my feelings were bottled up, his were too. We never got the chance to grieve together. The anniversary was near, and it was a day I was dreading. It hit me like a sledgehammer that this time last year my baby would still have been alive inside of me. I caressed my bloated alcohol stomach, knowing it was empty of anything good. With that thought, the tears began to fall.

  51

  I cried in the bath until I had nothing left, feeling numb until the water turned cold. Perhaps I was having a breakdown. Maybe this was what it felt like? I hadn’t checked my phone or rung the school office, but I didn’t care, not today.

  When the shivering became unbearable, I quickly washed and got out of the bath. I slipped into clean flannel pyjamas and removed the cans and bottle from the bedroom floor. My hair was a mess and eyes red-rimmed and sore. Blotches peppered my neck and chest from crying. It didn’t matter, I wasn’t going to see anyone. David would pick Charlotte up from school or Nicky would bring her home, and she had her key to get in.

  Lowering to my knees, I rummaged amongst the storage boxes under my bed. In one of the clear plastic cases, I found what I was looking for. I took out the small white satin box and placed it carefully on the bed, sitting beside it. I unhooked the clasp and lifted the lid, folding it all the way back. The box hadn’t been opened for months, not since before we moved. It contained some keepsakes from what would have been my second child.

  Inside was a hospital bracelet, mine from when I was admitted to undergo what is referred to as a D&C, where part of the foetus gets left behind after a miscarriage. It was the most awful experience and something I’d never want to go through again. At the time I felt like I deserved it, for not managing to hold on to my baby.

  Laid on top was a beautiful yellow new-born sleepsuit. I couldn’t resist. It was the only item I’d bought for the baby and in my state of mind after the miscarriage I thought I’d cursed myself by buying it so early on in the pregnancy. Stella had bought me a small statue of an angel in white porcelain which was exquisite, but I couldn’t bear to have it out on display as a constant reminder so had added it to the box. There were a few more items such as a tiny baby name book, a cross-stich pattern I had intended to do for the nursery and a packet of folic acid, which, on reflection, I had no idea why I’d kept.

  I laid everything out, looking at each item in turn before gently placing them back in the box. My heart burned with the future we should have had together; about the mother I never got to be a second time. I stood, about to put the box away, when I heard a noise behind me.

  Whizzing around, expecting to see David, I cried out when Nicky stood in the doorway. How had he got in? His eyes were wild, they seemed to glaze over as he clenched and released his jaw. I’d never seen him look so angry. My legs buckled, bladder weakening as he stepped towards me.

  ‘You’re pregnant,’ he spat.

  I didn’t have ti
me to move before he shoved my shoulder. Legs weak, I fell backwards onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress. Pregnant? I didn’t understand. Alcohol had dulled my brain and I scrambled to work out what he meant.

  I shook my head. No, I’m not pregnant. I couldn’t be pregnant.

  ‘Lying bitch,’ Nicky hissed as he loomed over me, forcing me back down and pining my wrists over my head.

  My body finally reacted, and I felt my muscles contract. I thrashed, my heart pounding in my ears. What was he going to do to me?

  ‘Nicky, please. I’m not,’ I pleaded, struggling to get my words out, but he was enraged. Letting go of my wrists, he pulled his arm back and belted me across the face with the back of his hand.

  My cheek felt like it shattered, pain like a hot poker shoved into my flesh. I raised my forearm across my face to defend myself and managed to push up to a half-seated position. Tears pooled in my sockets, blurring my vision. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, and I felt the warmth of my urine dampen the sheets beneath me.

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said, straddling my lap and wiping my tears away with his fingers.

  I shook my head, trying to get him to stop touching me.

  ‘You’re going to have my baby.’ He trembled with each spoken word, resting his hands on my stomach.

  I blinked rapidly. What did he mean? Was he going to rape me? I opened my mouth to speak, to beg.

  ‘No,’ I managed, but his face contorted, and he bared his teeth, lashing out again. His fist connected with my nose and I was conscious for long enough to see blood splatter across the duvet and wall. Eyes rolling back, darkness threatened to envelop me. His weight on top of me, pinning me to the bed as I coughed, choking on blood flowing down the back of my throat.

  I tried to fight, but he was so heavy, my arms flailed, beating his chest with my fists, but he pinned them to the bed with ease. I coughed again, the metallic taste of blood on my lips.

  He leant over, face warped beyond recognition. ‘You’re pregnant and it’s mine. I know it is.’ Pregnant? He must have seen the baby things laid out on the bed and assumed? Why was he here?

  I felt dizzy, my cheek already beginning to swell. It throbbed rhythmically. I had to make Nicky see sense.

  ‘I had a miscarriage…’

  His hands were at my throat, cutting me off mid-sentence and my words faded.

  ‘Liar!’ he yelled, spit flying through his teeth. He was deranged and even if I could speak there was no way I’d be able to calm him down.

  I couldn’t focus as his hands tightened their grip and I struggled for air. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as though my death would be too painful to watch. I clawed at his fingers, but he carried on crushing my windpipe. My lungs burned from lack of air and I felt my head begin to swim.

  ‘I love you,’ he whimpered, and I felt his hands loosen, but not enough.

  I was going to die, murdered by the man I’d been foolish enough to have an affair with. Charlotte’s blurred face formed in my mind spurring me on and with one last burst of strength, I raised my hand to fight back. Scraping his face with my nails, unsure if I’d even made contact. My arms fell back to the bed with an insignificant bounce and my eyes rolled back, the light slipping away.

  52

  I stared out of the window onto the street. The bedroom I stood in bore no trace I’d ever lived there. Packing was almost finished and now I was moving from room to room, checking nothing had been forgotten.

  I paused in the bathroom, inspecting my puffy face, gingerly touching the bruises around my neck which were still a dark purple, soon to go green, I’d been told by the nurse. My face was a mix of the two, with a cut across the bridge of my nose. I looked away, glancing back into the bedroom, at the space on the walls where my blood had been. I was sure I could still see a slight smear of crimson that had been poorly wiped away.

  I was discharged from hospital last week, and although bruised, I was otherwise in good health. Since then I’d been to the police station to give a statement and had photographs taken of my face and neck. Nicky was charged with Actual Bodily Harm the same day and released on bail. Mostly because he had no history of violence on record and no previous convictions. I was relieved to hear the terms of his bail meant he couldn’t come anywhere near me and thankfully he’d stayed away.

  Detective Groomsland, who was in charge of the case, told me Nicky hadn’t uttered a single word in interview. He’d stared at his hands, refusing to even deny the allegations. I didn’t tell the police about our affair, instead I described how Nicky had become fixated on me whilst dating my daughter and had come to the house to assault me. David had persuaded me to keep quiet, damage limitation he’d called it. Said there was no point admitting to a crime I hadn’t been accused of yet.

  I was told that Nicky would likely get a suspended sentence, he’d never see the inside of a cell, so I didn’t feel too guilty, not after what he’d done. Groomsland said the CPS couldn’t prove Nicky had intended to kill me, but I knew different. I’ll never forget the look on his face before he shut his eyes. Unable to watch as he squeezed the life out of me. He wasn’t in control. If David hadn’t come home early from the office to check on me, if he’d been a few minutes later, it would have been game over.

  Charlotte struggled to get her head around how the boy she loved could cause so much destruction. How could he inflict so much pain on her family? Her first love had ended in lies and violence. I was worried she’d be scarred for life. Now she was being torn from her best friend and new life for the second time in so many months.

  I didn’t understand why Nicky had attacked me, until Charlotte told us she’d confided in him that she’d overheard us arguing about a baby. She thought I was pregnant, and he’d automatically assumed the baby was his. He’d panicked that I was going to get rid of it and stole Charlotte’s house keys out of her bag when I didn’t turn up to school.

  I knew he hadn’t had the best father figure. He wouldn’t talk about his childhood much. Perhaps he wanted to break the cycle? I’ll never know.

  When the bed was dismantled, I found Nicky’s phone underneath. It must have fallen out during the struggle. I made sure it found its way to the bottom of the nearest drain, right after a good downpour. Charlotte’s video wouldn’t be seen by anyone. All of the texts between us were gone forever and I hoped any evidence of our affair had now been eradicated.

  I had to tell David about the affair from my hospital bed in a crowded ward, my voice raspy and throat sore. He was upset and angry, as I’d expected him to be, but he stood by me. I think he knew, after his own infidelity, that he couldn’t claim the moral high ground. The only way for us to move forward, we agreed, was to pack up and leave. Rent somewhere for six months until we found another house. A house we could lay our demons to rest and start again. Nicky or Pat could blow the whistle at any time, and if they did, it wouldn’t be long before reporters turned up at my door. I had to shield my family from that.

  I had no intention of returning to St. Wilfred’s. The police had been in touch with Mr Scott and informed him of the attack. Even with Nicky’s expulsion, I told him it would be too traumatic to return. I had to walk away from the school altogether. Eventually we came to the agreement that I’d be replaced in the New Year, my record clean and with a good reference. I knew he had his suspicions after the incident, no smoke without fire after all, but he couldn’t prove it and St. Wilfred’s had had its reputation smeared enough. I’d miss Matilda and Susan; they came to visit once I was home from the hospital. Bringing with them a huge fruit basket. I promised to keep in touch and come to the occasional curry night depending on where we ended up.

  The house echoed as I lugged the last heavy suitcase of clothes down the stairs and passed it to David, who was loading the van. Everything was going into storage and we were heading to Dorking to spend Christmas with my parents. Charlotte was leaving school early for the holidays and David had wangled two weeks off. We’d booked four night
s in Tenerife over New Year. A cheap getaway. It was Stella’s suggestion, her and Adam were coming with us.

  Taking one last look around at the house that was supposed to be our new start, I bit my lip. Perhaps it would be third time lucky? I had no idea where we’d go.

  I closed the front door and handed the keys to David. He was going to drop them off at the estate agents so they could get potential buyers through the door. I was amazed at how fast it had all happened, but I couldn’t live there now. I couldn’t sleep in the same room I almost died in.

  Both Charlotte and I had a lucky escape. I needed to take ownership of what I’d done. Learn from my mistakes. It had all come down to vanity. My fragile ego flattered by a schoolboy during a rocky patch in our marriage. One moment of recklessness. It could happen to anyone.

  Epilogue

  Nicky

  January 2020

  I rubbed the black lace between my thumb and forefinger, breathing in the fabric, her scent still lingered. It was the closest I could get to touching her and I carried it with me everywhere, like a talisman. The only part of her I had left.

  Izzy was gone, her house empty. I’d driven past every day at first; waited outside for hours but no sign of her. I’d hidden across the street, breaching my bail conditions, unable to accept she’d gone. The house remained locked up until, two by two they came, delivered by the estate agent. The bitch had abandoned me. Taken her family and left me behind. Now all I had were memories and thoughts of what could have been for us. For our child, if there was one? Now I’ll never know. It had been fate, her replacing Miss Willis. A sign sent just for me, but it wasn’t supposed to end the way it did.

  St. Wilfred’s asked me not to return and suggested Chichester College, closer to the coast, where I could continue my A-Level courses without interruption. It’s a bit of a trek but no one knows me there. A chance to start again. I’m going to move out of mum’s, get my own place as soon as I can get the money together. The college seems all right, there’s no school attached so everyone’s older, but I’m going to keep my head down and finish the qualifications.