JessyHope: Hey, I need a new man in my life. Is that headmaster bloke up for grabs? You got his email address? Let me know!
***
Sunday, 10th March 2013
Twisted Reflections.
09:00
I had been asleep for precisely one hour before the landline phone on my bedside cabinet shrilled. ‘Hello?’ I uttered groggily.
‘It’s me. Are you still in bed?’
‘Who’s me?’ My fuddled brain attempted to tie voice to person.
‘Kelly called me in a right temper. She told me to call you. Said they’ve been sending you a ton of texts but you haven’t replied.’
Ah, Mr Nice. ‘My mobile phone’s off.’ I groaned.
‘You’d better turn it on,’ Mr Nice advised.
‘Why didn’t they call me on the landline?’
‘I don’t know, something about you always causing arguments.’
‘I don’t always cause arguments,’ I spluttered.
‘Hey,’ Mr Nice soothed. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. Do you fancy joining me and Sam for roast turkey today?’
‘Erm,’ I stalled, remembering the wine incident.
‘I won’t drink any wine,’ promised Mr Nice as if he had read my mind.
‘Okay.’ I hung up and reached for my mobile phone. As soon as it had loaded it beeped into action.
I opened the first text message from Mr Him, received at eight-thirty.
“I’ll be at yours at 9.30.”
I jumped out of bed as the phone beeped message after message. I flicked through them while struggling into a dress and cardigan.
“Did u get my message?”
“Call me immediately”
“Stop ignoring me - will b at yours at 9.15.”
Realising there was even less time to get ready, I shoved my feet into sandals as the buzzer rang. I took a deep breath and pressed the entry button on the intercom.
Daughter ran happily to me, hugged me, dumped her bag on the floor, and disappeared into her room.
‘Disturb you, did I?’ Mr Him peered past me and into the hall. ‘You didn’t reply to my messages.’
‘My phone was off.’
‘You were in bed.’
‘So?’ I challenged. ‘You weren’t supposed to be here until lunchtime.’
‘Bet you were shagging,’ Mr Him said in a low voice. ‘Sorry to disturb your shag-a-thon but you have responsibilities. You have a kid.’
‘She’s your child too,’ I countered. ‘She’s losing out on time with you if you keep bringing her home early and picking her up late.’
‘For fuck’s sake, it’s only a few hours.’ Mr Him glared at me. ‘Did you manage to sneak him out the back way? Or is he lounging in our bed?’
‘It’s not our bed!’ I raised my voice. ‘And there’s no-one here, not that it’s anything to do with you.’
‘That’s why you’re dressed up on a Sunday morning. I was lucky to see you out of jeans and t-shirts.’
‘I’m not getting into this.’
‘Why? Because you want to go back to sliding up and down that greasy tosser’s pole?’
‘Shut up,’ I hissed, terrified Daughter would hear. ‘I won’t even dignify that nasty remark with an answer.’
‘Don’t you want everyone knowing you’re a cheap tart who shags about? Probably been shagging that twat all over the sofa, cooking for him in the nude and blowing—’
I shoved Mr Him hard in the chest. ‘You’ve no right to know anything about my life but yes I’ve been doing everything you said.’ The fib fell out before I could stop it.
His face twisted and without another word he pushed me aside and charged into the bedroom.
‘Where the fuck’s he hiding?’ he shouted.
‘What’s Dad doing?’ Daughter’s worried face peeked out from behind her bedroom door.
I hurried to her. ‘Why don’t you go and play with Sam?’
Daughter stepped closer to me as Mr Him began throwing things around in my bedroom. ‘It’s okay.’ I pushed her gently towards the front door and propelled her across the corridor to Mr Nice’s front door.
‘Can I leave her with you?’ I asked as soon as he had opened the door.
‘Of course.’ Mr Nice’s eyebrows rose questioningly at the sounds coming from my flat. ‘Everything okay?’
‘He.’ I pointed at my flat. ‘Strop.’
‘Ah,’ Mr Nice said in understanding. ‘Come on,’ he addressed Daughter. ‘You and Sam can help me prepare the roast dinner. I’m making sticky toffee pudding for dessert.’
‘Mum?’ Daughter peered up at me. ‘Are you coming in with me?’
‘In a little while.’ I watched her walk inside. ‘Thanks,’ I said to Mr Nice.
Mr Nice re-adjusted his glasses and nodded a tight smile before closing his door.
The quilt was off the bed, pillows scattered all over the room, clothes yanked off their hangers and one wardrobe door hung by its bottom hinge by the time I made it back to the bedroom.
‘What have you done?’ Glass scrunched under the thin leather sole of the flip-flops I wore indoors when my feet were too warm in slippers. A shoe protruded from the dressing table mirror, its heel having punctured the glass.
‘Where. The. Fuck. Is. HE?’ Mr Him furiously hurled shoe after shoe at the broken mirror, making shards of glass rain onto the carpet.
I shrank back. ‘He’s not here.’
Mr Him grappled with the wardrobe door, yanking it back and forth in an attempt to pull it off. I prayed it would topple over onto him but it stood firm and he kicked it repeatedly in frustration.
‘Stop,’ I begged. ‘You’re destroying everything.’
Mr Him ignored me, his face unrecognisable with his anger. He reached for the bedside lamp, wrenched it from the wall socket and sent it hurtling through the window into the back garden. His hands curled around more clothes, tearing them from the wardrobe before throwing them on the floor.
‘Who the fuck does this belong to?’ Mr Him held up a white shirt.
‘Me, now get out and leave me alone!’
Mr Him pulled the shirt between both hands. ‘And I’m supposed to believe this is yours? This is a man’s shirt; I’m not a fucking thicko.’
‘I don’t care what you believe!’ I screamed hysterically.
Mr Him rushed towards me so fast before I knew it I was pinned to the wall by his full weight, with the shirt somehow ending up around my neck.
‘Tell me the truth,’ growled Mr Him. ‘Where is he?’ With each word he twisted the shirt tighter.
‘He’s not here,’ I whispered. The fire in his eyes terrified me but I knew I had to free myself. I clawed at Mr Him’s face, his skin yielding under my nails but he didn’t even flinch.
‘Tell me where the hell he is,’ Mr Him said in a dangerously low voice. ‘I’ll kill him.’
‘He’s not here.’ It was more difficult to breathe.
Mr Him pressed his face against mine. ‘I’m not letting you go off and shag around.’
‘Why do you care?’ My head felt light as I pulled at Mr Him’s hands to no avail. The room flashed in and out of focus as the material tightened around my neck. His lips brushed my face and then everything went black.
When I came to, Mr Nice was peering at me worriedly. His face was joined by a smiling man with auburn coloured hair.
‘You’re okay,’ said the auburn haired man. ‘I’m Tim. You passed out. We’ll need to ascertain whether there’s any damage to your larynx. Swelling may increase over the next few hours. Is there any difficulty when you take a breath?’
I nodded in bewilderment. ‘What’s going on?’ Each word tore the inside of my throat. I noticed two police officers standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
‘I called the police,’ explained Mr Nice. ‘As soon as I heard the crashing. They called the ambulance.’
‘My daughter?’
‘She’s fine,’ Mr Nice soothed, patting my shoulder. ‘She w
ants to see you but I told her you need to see a doctor for a check-up. I told her that her father threw something and accidentally broke the window.’
I squeezed his hand gratefully.
Tim, the paramedic, helped me into a sitting position. ‘Is there pain when you speak?’
I nodded.
Tim gestured to his co-worker. ‘Rest here for a moment while I bring in a wheelchair.’ He held up a hand as I opened my mouth to object. ‘I know you’re capable of walking but I don’t want you fainting and falling over in this glass.’
‘Where?’ I mouthed at Mr Nice. ‘Is he?’
Mr Nice crouched down beside me, his knee finding a glass free space. ‘He’s been arrested.’
I stared agog.
Mr Nice looked uncomfortable. His eyes glistened. ‘The police found you passed out, the shirt around your neck and him, erm…’
I nodded at him to continue.
‘About to…’
The word hurt as it came out. ‘Rape?’
Mr Nice shook his head. ‘He was holding a knife to your throat.’
My jaw dropped open.
‘Ms Monnivan,’ interrupted a police officer. ‘We need to ask you a few questions.’ She turned to the paramedics who had returned with a chair. Tim nodded briefly, indicating for a small time only. Mr Nice promised Daughter could stay with him for as long as was needed.
‘Key,’ I said painfully. ‘Kitchen side.’
Mr Nice nodded and smiled. ‘I tell her you’ll be home soon.’
I smiled at him and heaved a sigh of relief as I watched his retreating back.
‘Do you recognise this?’ The police officer held up a bag containing a green handled knife, its serrated blade raggedly menacing.
I shook my head. ‘Mine are black.’ Realisation dawned on me. The sentence took a long time to say. ‘He brought it with him?’
‘It would appear so.’ The officer snapped her notepad shut. ‘We’ll need you to come to the station to make a full statement.’
‘What about him?’ There was one question I couldn’t bring myself to ask; had he been about to kill me?
‘He’ll be held in custody. He’ll probably make conditional bail. He won’t be allowed near you.’ She construed my fear. ‘At least not until after the court case.’
‘That’s enough for now,’ interjected Tim. ‘Off to the hospital. What do you want to take with you?’
13:00
A doctor stated I’d suffered a bruised larynx not a crushed one. Apparently a bruised larynx is the lesser of the two. It still hurt like hell. Words couldn’t express how I felt about Mr Him. Good thing really considering how painful it was to speak.
No messages. I sent one to Mr Dry telling him I was in hospital recovering from being strangled by crazy, knife wielding ex.
13:40
Mr Dry hadn’t replied. Didn’t he care?
14:00
A loud crash resonated from the hospital corridor followed by the thunder of running feet and raised voices.
‘You can’t go in there!’ someone shouted. ‘Who are you?’
I shrank back involuntarily as the door to my room slammed open.
‘You bitch!’ screamed Kelly, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘You set him up!’
‘Security!’ I heard voices calling in the corridor. ‘Security!’
I shook my head.
‘They’re saying he tried to murder you!’
I nodded.
‘You’re a liar!’ she screeched. ‘Sam’s not allowed to my house because of you and my boyfriend’s in a fucking police cell!’
‘Madam,’ interrupted a burly security officer. ‘You’ll have to leave.’
Kelly spun on her heel. ‘I’m not going anywhere until she admits she’s lying. He didn’t try to kill her; she attacked him. He’s got scratches all over his face!’
‘He strangled me.’ My voice wouldn’t rise to an equal shout.
‘Because you sank your nails into his face!’
‘In self-defence!’
‘Enough!’ The security officer grabbed Kelly’s arms, pinning them behind her back.
‘This isn’t over,’ she screamed while she was led away. ‘I’ll have you and have your daughter taken away from you. You’ll be the one who ends up in prison… a mental place where crazy people like you should be!’ She continued shouting obscenities and threats as she was frogmarched out.
17:00
I gave in to the boredom and flicked the overhead television on. A third body had been found in the grounds of the golf club this morning. Hard to believe I had only been there last night. The club was closed with police helicopters circling the area and the tag of “Cut-throat Casanova” seemed to have stuck. The sky outside darkened. My phone was silent.
I was relieved when I was told the swelling hadn’t increased so I could go home as soon as my prescription was ready.
18:50
The prescription had finally arrived and I was packing my belongings when the door to my room once again swung open.
‘Saze?’ Mr Dry filled the doorway with his tall frame. His face was the colour of chalky sea and his eyes were sunken in the hollows of their sockets. ‘Are you okay?’ He reached me in four huge strides and hesitantly placed his hands on my shoulders.
I burst into tears.
19:30
The air inside the empty flat was a stagnant mix of fear and anger. I didn’t stop Mr Dry from entering the bedroom first. I couldn’t move, the soles of my flip-flops glued tight to the hallway floor by the fear of my memories.
‘Saze?’ Mr Dry peered around the door.
‘I can’t go in there.’
‘You have to,’ instructed Mr Dry. ‘Or he’s won.’ He held out his hand and I shook my head. ‘You can do this.’ He engulfed my hand within his.
I grasped its warmth and allowed Mr Dry to lead me into the room. The duvet lay crumpled on the floor; the once shiny taffeta now lacklustre. The shoe protruded still from the dressing table mirror and glass glinted evilly from the carpet. Ghosts of the morning lingered in every corner of the room, every crevice, and every tiny crease of the rumpled bed.
‘Pack a bag, you’re coming with me. And change into decent footwear.’ Mr Dry tossed my battered suitcase onto the bed. ‘There’s no way I’m leaving you here.’
‘The window’s broken; it’s an open invitation to burglars.’
‘I’ll deal with it.’ Mr Dry pulled his phone from his pocket and strode purposefully into the hallway. I heard him pacing up and down.
My clothes felt dirty; a Mr Him tarnish clung to them. I longed to pack my fluffy dressing gown but didn’t feel Mr Dry and I were at that stage in our semi-relationship. Instead I settled for a satin nightdress and gown.
‘Sorted.’ Mr Dry heaved the case from the bed. ‘My cousin is a builder; he’ll fix the window tomorrow. He’s coming down now to whack up some marine ply for protection.’
‘Will it be expensive?’
Mr Dry shook his head. ‘Alex owes me plenty of favours. Come on, time to leave.’ He wheeled the case from the bedroom and paused outside of Daughter’s room. ‘Pack one for your daughter, she’s coming with us. I’ll take your case to the car and wait for Alex.’
Daughter hadn’t properly met Mr Dry and I felt absurdly nervous at the thought of introducing him to her. Mr Nice was pleased to find me on his doormat and Daughter was emotional. She flew into my arms and clamped herself around my legs. I held her hand, something she normally dismisses as babyish, and guided her across the grass in the direction of Mr Dry who was leaning casually against his car.
‘Mum,’ Daughter hissed. ‘Is he your boyfriend? Dad said you’ve got one and that’s why he has to live with Kelly.’
‘Your father left because he wanted to be with Kelly not the other way around.’
‘So he’s not your boyfriend?’
I looked at Mr Dry, long legs clad in soft denim, broad shoulders squared in his dark jacket, a lopsided smile on
his face, and I felt a surge of emotion. An emotion almost akin to that I remembered from the start of the relationship with Smith. ‘I suppose he is, sort of.’ Even thinking of Smith filled me with pain. Determinedly, I imagined placing the memories in a box in my mind and locking them up. The problem with the box was it always refused to stay shut for too long and the memories floated out again into the alleyways of my mind.
‘He’s got an awesome car,’ Daughter said as we reached Mr Dry.
Mr Dry patted the bonnet. ‘Old Val, she’s a beauty.’
‘You named your car?’ Daughter asked.
Mr Dry nodded. ‘I bet your favourite toy has a name.’
‘I don’t have cuddly toys, I gave them all to charity. My dad told me only babies have cuddly toys.’
‘Do you think you’re too grown up for them?’ Mr Dry asked.
Daughter shrugged. ‘S’pose so.’
Mr Dry reached into the back seat. ‘Shame. You won’t want this then.’ He held aloft a large gift bag.
Daughter’s eyes grew saucer wide. ‘What is it?’
Mr Dry peered into the bag. ‘A little someone who wanted a new home but if you’re too big for it…’ He pretended to throw the bag onto the road.
‘No!’ squealed Daughter. She smiled delightedly as Mr Dry dropped the bag into her arms and from within it she pulled out a huge, fluffy wolf-toy.
‘Her name,’ said Mr Dry seriously. ‘Is Zizi.’
‘I LOVE her!’ Daughter jumped happily onto the back seat and I tossed her bag in beside her.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured to Mr Dry. ‘I don’t know how you did it.’
Mr Dry kissed the top of my head. ‘I’m full of hidden surprises.’
Posted: 20:45 8 Sazements
Ribtool: I don’t normally comment on all of this “relationship” stuff but I had to say that ex of yours is an arsehole. I hope that’s the last of his shit you have to deal with. He deserves anything that comes to him. I’ve linked up with a professional profiler, can I link her to your blog?
SxyGrrl: OMG are you okay? I’m emailing you my contact number. Call me if you need anything. I can’t believe that psycho attacked you.
Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1) Page 14