by Soliman, W.
He slid between the crisp white sheets and lay staring at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering what she was doing now.
Chapter Nine
STELLA’S HANDS WERE SHAKING so badly that it took her three attempts to lock the door to the spare room behind her. She leaned against it, euphoria sweeping through her in dizzying waves. She’d done it! After all these years of abuse she’d finally stood up for herself. She had Jack and Trina to thank for opening her eyes. Both of them independently telling her that she wasn’t worthless had struck a chord. But she knew better than to get carried away. She’d won this particular skirmish but Ed would find a way to make her pay for stabbing him.
She hadn’t meant to. It had been a reflex when he lunged for the knife, but still she couldn’t help smiling as she recalled his expression of abject shock. Did that make her a bad person? Well, she didn’t much care if it did. After all the beatings, the years of abuse, it was revenge time. She’d imagined getting back at him more times than she could recall but had never seriously believed she’d find the courage to go through with it.
Stella stretched across the full width of the spare bed, falling into a dreamless sleep almost immediately. She woke early and showered in the spare bathroom, aware that Ed and Leah would be stirring in their respective parts of the house. She forced herself into the kitchen to make breakfast for them all as though nothing had happened. Ed wouldn’t look for revenge until Leah was safely out of the way. Their daughter had tennis coaching that morning and Stella was playing in a ladies league match in Ryde so she’d be able to avoid a confrontation. Dressed in tennis clothes, she slipped a small pair of scissors into her ball pocket, just to be on the safe side. Never having defied him before, she was unsure what form his retribution would take and didn’t intend to be caught unawares.
She struggled through to Saturday evening, managing not to be alone with Ed, but when Leah said she was going out Stella knew the time had come to settle the unfinished business between them. She served Ed’s dinner with a calmness that disguised the fact that she was quaking with fear inside. Chicken Kiev, his favorite. Except she hadn’t made it herself. It was out of a packet, something she wouldn’t have dared to offer him in the past. Another small act of defiance. He noticed, but much to her surprise, after taking the first bite and glancing up at her with a curious expression on his face, he ate the food without complaint, pausing frequently to take a constant stream of calls on his mobile.
“Fuck!” He closed the phone after the third call and slammed it on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“Those bloody tenants in Southend have barricaded themselves in. We won’t be able to get them out without going to Court, and you know how long that takes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“It’s only one flat.” Stella felt herself slipping back into her submissive role and hated herself for being so weak.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” He waved the arm which he’d ostentatiously bandaged far more heavily that Stella thought necessary, obviously trying to make her feel guilty. Unbeknownst to him, his efforts were having the opposite effect. Such graphic evidence of the courage she’d dredged up stiffened her resolve to stand her corner.
“Obviously not.” She collected together empty plates.
“We’re up shit street financially, Stella.” This grudging admission stunned her and she abruptly resumed her seat. It was the first she’d heard of their having serious money problems but, if true, explained a lot about Ed’s recent erratic behavior.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could work it out.”
“What’s happened to make us short of cash?”
Ed shrugged. “We’ve had a few flats empty for a while. And we’ve had some bad payers, and planning permission was turned down to convert that house in Clacton that I ended up paying over the odds for at auction. I was counting on that one to get me out of the mire.”
The explanation didn’t ring true. There was nothing exceptional in what he’d said and they’d factored those considerations into their calculations with their buy-to-let purchases. There was something he wasn’t telling her and, intuitively, she knew it had something to do with his determination to take over the tennis club.
“You’d better tell me what’s going on.” She fixed him with a resolute gaze. “All of it.”
And so he did. Slowly at first and then in a deluge of words the whole story poured out. Shocked rigid, Stella knew her mouth was hanging open and it took her a minute or two to regain the power of speech.
“Ed, how could you have done something so stupid without even telling me first?”
“I thought it would work,” he said defensively. “You have to admit it’s a pretty neat scheme. It’ll make us financially secure for the rest of our days, to say nothing of being looked up to, respected, and accepted. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day. Don’t get riled, love, we can still pull it off.”
He actually sounded as though he thought it would work. Stella couldn’t believe it. “If I’ve got this right,” she said, speaking with a rigidity that scarcely concealed her outrage, dashing impatiently at the angry tears which had sprung to her eyes, “you’ve risked everything we own on a gamble that only a half-wit would see as a good opportunity. And you’ve done it without bothering to tell me first, even going so far as to put this house up as collateral.” She snatched her arm out of his grasp and stood up, too angry to speak cautiously. “I don’t believe even you could be so stupid, so grasping, so—”
“Stella, don’t!”
She turned to look at him and was met with an expression of such desolation that she felt her anger melting away. He’d been an idiot, but for the first time in their married life he was telling her about his business dealings, albeit belatedly, and was in need of her support, not a lecture about his impetuosity.
“What do you want me to do about it, then?” she asked.
“Just stay with me, love. I’m sorry if we’ve drifted apart recently, but let’s try to pull together like a team again, the way we used to.”
Stella slept in the same bed with him again that night. Now that she’d had time to think about it, she didn’t much care if they’d lost all their money. Not if it meant that she and Ed could find some common ground again. He made no mention of her attack on him the night before and instead, when Leah was safely home and the blaring music from the attic had eventually been switched off, he made love to her with all the consideration for her feelings that hadn’t been in evidence since the early days of their marriage. Stella experienced her first climax in over ten years.
Yes, she thought, curling up at her husband’s side, drowsy and satiated, she’d made her stand, and things would be different from now on.
But the next morning their fragile truce fell apart again, thanks to Leah, who was sun-bathing in the garden. Glancing in her direction, Ed glowered when he noticed her pierced tummy button.
“What the hell’s that thing in Leah’s stomach?” he asked.
“Looks like a piercing,” said Stella, unconcerned. “All the girls are having them done. She did mention something about it, now that I come to think about it.”
“And you let her do it?”
“How was I supposed to stop her? She’s not a child anymore.”
She didn’t see it coming. Ed punched her so hard in the stomach that the air whooshed out of her like a deflating balloon and she fell to the floor, writhing in agony.
“She’s turning into a tart and it’s all your bloody fault. Sort it out. I won’t have a daughter of mine going about looking like that.”
And he stormed out of the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that Stella was coughing up blood onto the sparkling clean floor.
“That was an interesting weekend, all things considered,” Joe said, smiling at Claire over the breakfast table on Monday morning. “I wi
sh I didn’t have to work this morning so I could come and play tennis with you.”
“Your hospital friends certainly know how to throw a party.” Claire returned his smile, fervently wishing that today wasn’t the day when she had to confront the problems she’d thrust to the back of her mind for the past two days. “I’m not sure I’ll be much good on the tennis court this morning.” She ran her hand across her throbbing brow and grimaced.
Joe grinned. “Now that you mention it, you don’t look your usual sparkling self.”
“You charmer, you!” She threw a banana at him. “It was the fruit punch that did the damage. I think they forgot to put any fruit in it.”
“You ought to know better by now,” he said, still looking amused. “Doctors are the worst culprits when it comes to self-inflicting abuse.”
“Now he tells me!”
“Still, you persuaded old Michael Roberts to do a lively salsa with you.”
Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “I did not! Please tell me you made that up.”
“Afraid not,” Joe said, chuckling.
“You should have stopped me. I must have well and truly blown your reputation with the old rogue.”
“Actually, you did just the opposite. You shook him out of his curmudgeonly mood and made rather a hit with him.” He stood up and pulled her into his arms. “Well, I suppose I’d better get going. I’ll see you this evening, darling,” he said, kissing her deeply. “I’ll try not to be too late.”
Chris wandered into the kitchen and rolled his eyes. “Before breakfast, too,” he muttered, helping himself to cereal. “Isn’t there an upper age limit for that sort of thing?”
Joe aimed a cuff at the top of his son’s head. “Mind your manners if you want a lift to school.”
“Yeah, I do actually.” He crammed the last of his cereal into his mouth and reached for his bag. “Bye, Mum. I’ll be late tonight. I said I’d hang out with Sheba.” He spoke casually but his wide smile told Claire how much he was looking forward to his date. “We might go for a pizza or something, so don’t bother to cook for me.”
“It’s the or something that bothers me,” Joe said to Claire. “Should we be worried?”
“I think he’s got enough sense to keep out of trouble.” Claire linked her arm through her husband’s as she walked to the door with him.
“I’m sure he has. But Sheba? I don’t like the idea of my innocent son being led astray.”
Claire laughed. “Let him have a little fun. It’ll do him good and toughen him up.”
Joe shuddered. “Well, just so long as she doesn’t eat him alive.”
Claire watched them until Joe’s car disappeared from sight and slowly turned back into the silent house, the weight of the world once again descending upon her shoulders. She’d done an effective job of pushing her concerns to the back of her mind, with the help of that lethal fruit punch, in the futile hope that they’d somehow resolve themselves without any input from her before Monday.
But now Monday was here and she still hadn’t decided what to do. Claire drifted into her bedroom and turned the shower on full blast, changing her mind every two seconds about the best course of action to take. If she went to the apartment, Rod would want sex. That was a given. And she’d let him have it if he promised to let her go afterward. But even if he did promise, how could she be sure he’d keep his word? And what if Paul was there as well? Her heart quickened at the thought, and she knew her reaction wasn’t entirely attributable to fear. In spite of her better judgment, the prospect excited her.
Stepping out of the shower, Claire rubbed her body vigorously with a fluffy towel. Why was it that her husband, who loved her to distraction, couldn’t properly satisfy her most basic needs? Perhaps, she mused, it was because he made love to her, treating her with gentleness and respect, while Rod and his predecessors simply fucked her as brutally as they could. Claire preferred their brand of raw physicality and wished she’d found a way long ago to explain that need to Joe. But it was too late now. He’d never understand and would most likely be repulsed by her proclivities.
Dressed for tennis, Claire climbed into her car and headed for Porchfield, still undecided what to do about Rod. The club was unusually crowded for a Monday morning, presumably because everyone wanted to talk about Ed’s abortive takeover attempt and see for themselves how he would conduct himself today.
Claire played three sets, all with different partners. For the last one, she and Angela easily beat Millie and Stella. Millie wasn’t on form, and Stella was uncharacteristically subdued. No one blamed her for her husband’s pretensions, aware that he could be thoroughly unpleasant to Stella and seldom cut her any slack. Claire vaguely registered that members were going out of their way to be pleasant to her, but Stella remained remote, responding to them as though she didn’t much care what people thought of her anymore. She looked pale, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles. When Angela asked her if she was all right she snapped at her, saying she had bad period pains and that she wished everyone would stop fussing over her.
At the end of their set, Claire suggested they sit the next one out and offered to buy Angela a coffee. It had occurred to her during the game that, now Angela had introduced Rod to the club, there was nothing to stop Claire asking her a bit more about him. It would be natural to display some curiosity, and if she could learn a little more about what made Rod tick then perhaps she’d be able to decide whether or not to meet him one last time. She was still oscillating hopelessly and time was running out.
Angela and Claire sat outside by the pool, sheltered from the sun by a brightly colored parasol advertising a leading beer.
“I can’t believe how hot it is,” Angela said, blowing out her cheeks and fanning her face with her towel.
The last thing Claire wanted to talk about was the weather. “It’s to do with global warming, if you believe all the stuff they spout on about on the telly,” she said. “Make the most of the sunshine now, because it’ll probably pour with rain for the rest of the year.”
“More than likely.” Angela took a sip of her coffee, stretching her long legs away from the table until they were in the direct line of the sun but keeping her face and the rest of her body beneath the parasol. “You’ll never guess who called me when I got home on Friday night,” she said, just as Claire opened her mouth to broach the subject of Rod.
“I give in, who rang you when you got home on Friday night?”
“Jack, that’s who,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She glanced toward the court where he was playing a fiercely competitive game of men’s doubles, her eyes lingering on his physique as he reached up to smash a winner with considerable force, revealing a good proportion of well-toned torso as his shirt rode up.
“Really?” Claire forced herself to feign polite interest. “That’s a turn-up for the books. What did he want?”
“That’s just it, nothing really. He just asked if I’d got home safely.”
“Well, that does seem strange. What else did he say?”
“Not a lot. We talked about Ed a bit, that’s all, but he did make a point of asking me if I was on my own. Don’t you see, Claire?” she asked impatiently when Claire didn’t immediately react. “I think you were right when you said that if I took an interest in someone else it would make him notice me.”
“What do you mean? Who else have you been taking an interest in?”
“No one, but Rod insisted on taking us home and I think it made Jack a bit jealous. Did you notice how distant he was with Rod? He barely spoke a word to him all night. Do you think he could really be jealous, Claire?”
Delighted that Angela had raised the subject of Rod herself, Claire took a moment to think of a suitably neutral response. “Well, your husband is a bit of a hunk, Angela, and maybe Jack’s nose is out of joint. He’s used to having you all to himself.”
“Yes.” Angela leant forward, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “That’s what I figured. Do you th
ink I should make the next move? Invite him round to dinner, or something?”
“How would that go down with Rod?”
“None of his bloody business.” Angela’s expression hardened. “I didn’t ask him to come over here, and my social life has nothing to do with him.”
“Maybe not, but things are seldom that simple. You’ve got the twins to consider, and Sheba appears to be besotted with her father.”
“True, but if she thinks—”
“Besides, he seems to want you back, if the way he was bombarding you with attention the other night is anything to go by. Tell me to mind my own business if you like, Angie, but what’s the history between you two?”
“Trust me, Claire, you don’t want to know. Suffice it to say that Rod’s bad news and you don’t want to have anything to do with him.”
Well, that wasn’t telling Claire anything she didn’t already know. This was like trying to get blood from a stone. Angela obviously wanted to talk about Jack, not Rod, but Claire was desperate enough to have one last shot at it. “What does he do for a living?”
“Jack?” Angela asked, looking surprised.
“No, silly, your husband.”
“Oh, him.” She shrugged. “As little as possible.” When Claire raised a brow, indicating she expected more of an answer than that, Angela remained frustratingly evasive. “Rod has the ability to make money without working too hard at anything for very long.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“He calls himself a Marketing Consultant, which covers a whole multitude of sins.” She glanced at Jack’s court again. “Oh look, they’ve finished. Now, what do you think, Claire, should I invite him to dinner or leave the chasing to him?”