by J. M. Hewitt
‘Put a plaster on it,’ she said as she reached for the jar of coffee. Her words were long and slow and drawn out as she yawned.
Chapter 6
Paula stood glumly in the kitchen as she poured herself a hefty glass of gin. It was early, too early really; and did she really want to be that woman?
With a flick of her wrist she tossed it down the sink and switched on the coffee maker instead.
She should be excited, should be packing suitcases and choosing outfits, but Julie’s harsh words were going round and round in her head.
Julie was wrong. Paula wasn’t losing herself. She knew exactly who she was.
But on the other hand, stranger things happened than a husband cheating. Paula’s face grew hot at the thought of Tommy trading her in for a younger model. That was what had happened to Julie. Julie had been lucky in getting half of her ex-husband’s fortune. He had been rolling in it, could afford to give it away if it meant a quiet divorce. He had willingly paid her off, despite them having no children.
Paula tipped her head back. Tommy wouldn’t do that. If anything happened, he wouldn’t be generous. He coveted his bank account and savings and bonds and stocks and shares. She would receive the bare minimum that he could get away with as a settlement.
She pushed herself away from the sink. An insurance policy was what she needed, a way to stay in this lifestyle that she had become so accustomed to. How had it come to this? Once upon a time she’d been a woman who had a science degree, an actual degree that she had earned, and yet she had never used it. Not once had she held a job or career that showed her achievements. The promise of a life of luxury had appealed to her so much that she had simply become Tommy’s wife.
Idly, she wondered where her degree certificate was now, and glanced at the wall in the study where the proof of Tommy’s qualifications hung.
She couldn’t even use her degree now, if she had to find a job for herself. Almost two decades had passed; things would have changed, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to remember anything of what she had learned.
She went up the stairs and drifted into the bathroom.
Insurance policy.
Before she could change her mind, she snatched her birth control pills from the cabinet shelf and very deliberately pushed the remainder of the month’s tablets through the foil into the palm of her hand. One by one, she tipped them into the toilet bowl, watched as they bobbed around. And then, because it wasn’t how she had planned it, because she had actually wanted this to be a mutual decision, she pulled her gaze away from the toilet.
Closing her eyes, she flushed the pills away, yanking at the lever before she could change her mind.
* * *
Anna breathed heavily, a second scream caught in her throat. Her feet were bare, and William’s too-long nails grazed her skin.
She shook her leg, gripping onto the banister as she kicked out as hard as she could.
‘Ooof,’ wheezed William as her foot caught him in the neck.
She took advantage of the moment, wheeling backwards, feet skidding on the floorboards. Her back hit the wall, and she slid down it, feeling the sweat on her face, doubly faint now, and not just from hunger any more.
He spoke, but so quietly that she couldn’t hear the words. She didn’t want to hear them, and she turned her face away so she wouldn’t have to watch his lips moving soundlessly or the plea for help in his cloudy eyes.
And as her breathing slowed, she realised that though the fall hadn’t killed him, he was in a bad way. He wouldn’t live long, but she couldn’t leave him like this. He might hang on until tomorrow, when his son arrived. He was strong when he needed to be, when he gripped her wrist to stop her from leaving the bed that he liked her to lie on with him.
At the bottom of the stairs, he moved very slightly, and though it was barely discernible, it galvanised Anna into action. On her hands and knees, she scuttled over to him, gripping his shoulder and turning him fully onto his back.
His eyes opened, blue orbs of confusion that were full of pain.
‘You’re a filthy old man,’ she said, her voice thin and reedy.
He shook his head; it wobbled on his skinny neck as he disputed her statement wordlessly.
She wanted to spit more vitriol at him, but what did it matter? It wouldn’t change anything; nothing had been as she had thought in the first place. Her mind drifted back to when she had started this gig, thinking that he would leave everything to her when he passed away, that she would get this house and the contents of his bank accounts and finally, she would have the money to live the sort of life she was destined to. It had all been a pipe dream.
She didn’t speak to him again as she covered his mouth with one hand and pinched his nostrils tightly together with her other, pressing down on him with all the strength she could muster.
The confusion cleared; she saw it as the clouds vanished from his eyes. They were blue lasers now, sharp and bright, as they would have been when he was young. His instinct to fight and survive took over, and he bucked his lower body, a sudden surge of strength that nearly threw her sideways. Swearing under her breath, she clambered up and over him, pinning his scrawny bird arms down with her thighs, clamping at his airways once more, careful not to scratch his face, trying not to leave a trace of herself on him.
It didn’t take long, but to Anna it felt like hours.
* * *
Outside the front of the Southampton hotel, Paula wrapped her arms around herself as protection against the cold. She watched as Tommy walked up and down, peering into the road for the taxi that would take them to the cruise ship.
As she waited patiently, thoughts crowded her head. It was a horrible thing she’d done. A terrible, awful thing. She hadn’t slept since flushing the birth control pills away, had even thought about calling the doctor’s surgery and making up some excuse that she’d lost a pack and needed another prescription.
Awful.
Wicked.
Tommy would be furious if he found out.
Or would he? Her breath quickened. After all, he had booked this holiday in order for them to plan a baby, hadn’t he? So, all she had done was get a head start on it. Maybe he didn’t need to know what she’d done.
But still. Disappointment in herself hung heavy around her like a cloud. She had done Tommy a disservice, and he deserved better.
It was too late now; they were about to get on the cruise ship. The time to request a repeat prescription had passed.
She shook her head to dispel thoughts of her bad behaviour. As Tommy approached, she turned to him with a bright smile.
‘What actually are the Northern Lights?’ she asked.
‘They’re electronically charged particles in the atmosphere that interact with each other,’ he said. ‘Cool, huh?’ His face crumpled into a pout. ‘I really hope we see them.’
Paula frowned. ‘What do you mean? Of course we’re going to see them; it’s what this whole cruise is about!’
‘Yeah, but they’re not always there. Thousands of people do this and never see them. It depends on cloud cover. Ideally, we’ll need a clear, dark night.’ He flashed a smile at her. ‘There are lots of other things happening up there, though.’ He glanced upwards, into the white sky.
Paula followed his gaze, seeing nothing but clouds. ‘Like what?’ she asked.
‘Meteor showers, new moons, planets in orbit.’ He grinned, suddenly animated again as he spoke about his passion. ‘The Taurids shower is our best bet. It’s really unusual because it consists of two streams of debris.’ From his back pocket he pulled a notepad, one that she had never seen before. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for, putting his finger on a paragraph: ‘The first stream comes from Asteroid 2004 TG 10, the other one comes from Comet 2P Encke. It’s actually been going on since September, but it peaks this week.’ Slipping the notebook back in his pocket, he rubbed his gloved hands together, still with that goofy smile on his face.
>
She stared at him, rather shocked by the foreign language he seemed to be speaking. She had always known he took an interest in the night sky, but had no idea his knowledge ran so deep. When did he learn all of this? And, rather disconcertingly, why didn’t she know this about him? She recalled snippets of conversations, comments he had made, comets and stars and space stations… Was it possible he had tried to involve her in his passion over the years and she had dismissed him out of her own lack of interest?
Deflated, Paula pulled her coat tighter around her. It was freezing out here, and it would be worse on the boat. Why were they going on a cruise to the coldest place in Europe instead of a long-haul flight to Jamaica or somewhere equally hot? She’d been all for it when she thought she was going to witness these magical lights, but now there was a chance they wouldn’t even see them…
She stamped her feet, looked enviously at Tommy’s hiking boots, his feet encased in the insulating socks she had bought him. Why hadn’t she bought any for herself?
She watched a couple walk out of the hotel and continue arm in arm down the street. Fleetingly she wished she was wearing the woman’s coat, a thick, quilted puffa, instead of the Chanel-inspired one she herself had chosen. Absently she fingered the material. It was beautiful, but far from practical. She had chosen style over function, to look good, to not show her husband up. Just like always.
‘Here he is,’ said Tommy as the taxi rolled slowly around the curved drive. ‘Come on.’
He picked up his case, expecting her to follow him, and she waited while he loaded the case into the boot. He sidestepped her, slipping into the passenger seat of the cab, and she heaved her own case up, struggling under the weight. After a moment, the taxi driver appeared, taking the case from her and flashing her a smile. She thanked him quietly and hurried to join Tommy in the warmth of the cab.
It took only twenty minutes to reach Southampton Dock, and as she stepped out of the car and stared up at the Ruby Spirit, Paula forgot the biting cold.
The cruise ship towered over the smaller yachts and sailing boats surrounding it, rising elegantly out of the water. It had a sleek black body with gold lettering and a red trim curving along the passenger rails.
Paula took a step back and shaded her eyes from the weak sun as she tried to count the decks.
‘My God,’ she whispered. She turned to Tommy, who stood to one side as the taxi driver hauled their bags out of the car. ‘It’s huge!’
He paid the driver and made his way over, winking as he patted at his crotch. ‘Thanks, so I’ve been told,’ he joked.
She wrinkled her nose and turned away from him. ‘Don’t spoil it,’ she muttered.
‘What? Come on, you can’t say something like that and not expect—’
She shushed him as a porter approached. ‘It’s not appropriate to say things like that when we’re about to board something like this.’ She jabbed a finger at the vast ship.
‘What the fuck?’ Tommy said loudly.
Cringing, Paula moved to stand in front of him and smiled brightly at the porter.
‘Can I be of assistance with your luggage?’ he said, and Paula dipped her head, grateful that he either hadn’t heard Tommy’s crudeness or had chosen to ignore it.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, and nudged Tommy. ‘The tickets?’
Still with a face that held traces of his mood, Tommy handed them over.
The porter studied them briefly before turning up the wattage on his smile. ‘The Expedition Suite,’ he confirmed. ‘The best suite,’ he emphasised.
Inside her chest, Paula’s heart swelled. Outwardly, though, she remained calm, as if being in a better-than-first-class cabin was what she was accustomed to.
And that was the way it should be, she thought to herself as she trailed Tommy and the porter down the quayside to the walkway. She had spent years learning how to conduct herself: classy at all times; impeccably dressed, hair styled, face made up, even if she wasn’t planning on going anywhere.
And yet Tommy, the man who had worked his way up through the perils of the stock industry, occasionally slipped into someone he’d never been. It saddened her; that her every action was for him and the way he expected her to behave.
‘The Expedition Suite,’ announced the porter. He stood with one arm behind his back, the other braced on the door handle.
Tommy and Paula came to a stop in the corridor, a moment of expectation built by the porter with professional panache before he swept open the door and gestured for them to enter.
Tommy, finally seeming to remember who he was, stepped back to allow Paula to enter first. She glided past him, barely able to stifle a gasp as she entered the huge open-plan cabin. Beneath her feet, her thin-soled stilettos sank into the plush cream-coloured carpet.
And the light! She looked up to see daylight streaming in through glass double doors, a balcony beyond them. For a moment she imagined sitting out there sipping a cocktail from room service, before remembering that it was winter and it wouldn’t be at all pleasant. She moved soundlessly over the floor to the doors, unable to contain a smile at the sight of the open sea.
‘And a welcome gift, for sir and madam,’ said the porter, making a sweeping gesture to a large hamper on the table by the king-sized bed. ‘Do either of you have any questions?’
Paula rearranged her face to an expression of cool collectedness before turning towards him. ‘No, it’s all very lovely, thank you.’ She glanced at Tommy, hoping he caught the meaning in her pointed look, but to her relief, his wallet was already out, and he was pressing a small wad of notes into the porter’s hand.
When the door closed behind the man, Paula kicked off her shoes and ran across the room to jump into her husband’s arms.
‘Oh, Tommy, it’s such a beautiful suite!’
He caught her easily, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him for just a moment before setting her down none-too-gently on the floor.
‘I’m going to look around before we set sail,’ he said, pocketing the key card that the porter had left for them.
‘Well, give me a second and I’ll come with you,’ said Paula.
He held a hand up, and didn’t smile. ‘You settle in here. I’ll be back before dinner.’
With that, he was gone from the room without a backward glance.
* * *
The Arctic Suite was one notch down on the price list from the Expedition Suite. It was still plush, still luxurious. Like the Expedition Suite, there was a welcome hamper, though it was slightly smaller and only contained one bottle of champagne instead of two.
Anna Masi thanked the porter, pressed a few of William’s ten-pound notes into his hand and closed the door behind him.
Then, finally alone, she looked around the room that would be her home for the next ten days. Six grand was a lot of money to spend on a holiday, but it still left her with just under twelve thousand, having spent the last week in a hotel in Southampton. But after the last year, caring for William, letting him put his hands on her and living in his home smelling of old meat and fried food, she reckoned she’d earned it.
The last few days had been interesting. She had surprised herself the day after she had left the terraced house, waking up and feeling the need to return to the scene of the crime.
She had dressed carefully, concealing her face with a beanie hat and a scarf that covered her nose and mouth, and had taken the train all the way back to Essex. It was the same train she had escaped the house on, having decided against a taxi. Clarity had fought through the panic: what if the son demanded that William’s death was looked into? What if the taxi company were contacted and said they’d given her a lift the day after the date she’d written in the goodbye card?
In the end she had slipped out of the back door, hauling three bags, struggling under the weight as she slunk off to the station, light-headed and near to collapse once more by the time she staggered onto the train that would take her far, far away from the scene of the
crime.
Now, there was no movement from William’s house, and it was too cold for Mr Henderson to be skulking around the front. In the café opposite, which she had never visited before, she ordered a coffee and sat in the window, waiting for William’s son to put in an appearance.
She was on her second latte when he pulled up. Even though she’d never seen him before, she knew immediately that this was the famous Jason. His all-round tan, the slightly shell-shocked expression on his face worn by those living in sunnier climates all year round who are forced back to wintry Britain. He looked in a rush, and it was with spiteful satisfaction that Anna watched him stamp his feet against the cold as he rapped repeatedly on William’s door.
Her heart rate sped up as he bent over and pushed the flap of the letter box to peer inside. And even from across the road she heard his shout, a primitive yell as he straightened up and rammed at the locked door with his big shoulder.
She sipped at her coffee, running her eyes up and down the distraught man’s figure. Another rugby player, she mused, treading that fine line between muscular and fat. She wondered which would eventually win.
Finally, the hammering on the door brought Mr Henderson outside. Gestures from Jason, Mr Henderson hurrying back inside his own house to fetch the spare key that Anna hadn’t realised he had. Then they were pushing at the door, Mr Henderson clapping his hand over his mouth as it jammed against William’s body, Jason shoving his way inside.
The big man dropped to his knees, and the last thing Anna saw before the door swung closed was William’s limp arm, the sagging skin mottled a deep red.
She had drained her latte, pulled her hat low and scarf high, and left the coffee shop and the horrible little street and Essex for the last time to the tune of the sirens that blared out as they passed her.
And now here she was, in a room that smelled of fresh paint and newness. Time to begin the next part of her life. A part she had earned.