by Sofia Grey
So the way to get over my strange obsession with Suki was simple. Do my job. Demonstrate her fickleness. And then forget her.
6.5 Suki
I awoke feeling fuzzy-headed, as though I had a hangover. Maybe I really did have the flu? My mind flashed back to the empty wineglass in the kitchen and Gabe’s assertion that I’d been drinking. Try as I might, I had no recollection of that, just the coffee that Gabe brewed. As if I’d called him, he stuck his head around the bedroom door and smiled at seeing me awake.
“Hello, sleepy. Do you feel any better now?” What was he doing here? He was supposed to be flying out to Paris first thing—and I was supposed to be at the studio. Pulling my wits together I turned to look at the alarm clock and whimpered at how late it was.
“Gabe, I’m supposed to be at the studio. Did you switch off my alarm?”
“No. I phoned them to say you were sick.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, ran his fingers through my hair and then pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t seem to have a temperature.”
I pulled free, sitting up and trying to swing my legs out of bed, except that he sat in my way. “What do you mean?” My voice rose in panic. “You phoned them? When?”
“Suki.” He looked shocked. “Calm down, baby. You weren’t well last night, don’t you remember?” His eyes searched my face, I could see worry in them. I scrambled to order my thoughts.
“I felt a bit flu-ish, but I’m fine today.” I glanced again at the clock, nervously. “Oh God, if I rush I might just make the second half.” Gabe still blocked me. As I wriggled to try and climb out, he placed both hands on my shoulders and gently pressed me back down again. “And why aren’t you in Paris?”
“Paris?” He sounded surprised. “I don’t go until tomorrow.” Dark eyes observed me carefully. “Are you sure you feel okay? We agreed last night that you’d stay at home today, and that’s why you didn’t set the alarm. Now drink your coffee”—he gestured to the mug he’d brought with him— “and come downstairs when you feel ready. Or I’ll make you some breakfast if you want to stay in bed. Just let me know.”
I accepted the mug he held out, and desperately tried to think straight. “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?” It was meant as a feeble joke. For some reason, Gabe didn’t understand. His eyebrows lifted and he hesitated as I rushed to explain. “Joke. And what’s with the coffee? I thought you’d banned caffeine. You kick up a fuss if you think I’ve been to the café near the gym.”
He eyed me strangely, a little wary. “Banning caffeine? Why would I do that? I’ve just bought a new machine. The reason you said you don’t go to the café is because you can’t resist their cakes.” He shrugged and looked uneasy. “At least, that’s what you told me.”
Something was very wrong. I sipped the coffee to buy myself some time. Gabe seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I pursed my lips at the taste. “What type of coffee are you using? It’s quite bitter.”
“A French one. It’s roasted with chicory, that’s why it tastes a little different from what you normally drink. It’s good though, I prefer it.”
He watched as I drank a little more, and then carefully took my free hand, playing with my fingertips. “I’m worried about you, Suzu. You’re behaving very oddly at the moment and I wonder if you should take some time off work? I blame myself. Maybe we should be spending more time together.” I started to argue, but he carried on. “I’d like you to get checked over by the doctor. Will do you that please? For me?”
I could feel a bubble of panic rising from my stomach. I took a quick breath and tried to squash it. I pulled together a confident smile and looked him in the eyes. “I’m fine, truly. I was just a bit tired yesterday. It’s silly to go to the doctor for that.”
“Suzu.” To my surprise, he gathered me gently in his arms, and rubbed soothing circles across my back. His voice was muffled in my hair. “I love you, baby. You don’t know what you mean to me. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
“Gabe.” To say I was touched was an understatement. I felt tears in my eyes as I hugged him back. It would be easy to become complacent after ten years of marriage, but the little things like this reminded me how good my husband was.
He brought me some toast and jam, along with a mug of fresh coffee, his French blend again. I wasn’t sure I liked the taste, but the luxury of having breakfast in bed made it more palatable, and Gabe was a darling. He perched on the edge of the bed reading me funny extracts from the newspaper and even fetched my laptop so that I could check my emails without having to get up. He’d never been so caring before. I still felt flu-ish, weak and unsteady on my feet and my brain seemed to be working at half speed, as though my head was stuffed with cotton wool. Maybe it was just as well I hadn’t gone to work after all. I couldn’t present my show like this.
He encouraged me to get up in the afternoon and made sure I was okay in the bathroom. “I don’t want you to fall over and crack your head open.” He fetched a fresh towel for me, fussed over running a bath and added my favourite bubbles, then watched me slide into the warm, foaming depths. “I need to pop out for half an hour, I’ve got some errands to run. You’ll be okay without me?”
I smiled up at him, enjoying the level of pampering. “Of course.” We shared a little kiss. “Thank you, babe. You’ve been really lovely to me today and I do appreciate it.”
He flashed a smile and disappeared, returning a minute later. “The catch on the dressing room door is sticking, by the way. I’ll pick up some oil while I’m out.” He lingered in the doorway, and watched me with an anxious expression. I rolled my eyes in amusement, and blew him a kiss as I slipped further into the perfumed water. Having a bath in the middle of the afternoon was a rare luxury and I fully intended to enjoy it.
I took my time drying, then doing my hair, before strolling back into our bedroom and over to what we called our dressing room. Little more than a large walk-in wardrobe, it held our clothes on rails, shelves and in drawers, along with most of my shoes and bags. Gabe had left the radio playing in the bedroom and I hummed along to a bouncy rock track as I rummaged through the drawers to pick up something to wear. The door clicked behind me and I turned to look, puzzled that it had closed. No matter. I selected underwear, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then scooped up my damp towel from the floor, before heading for the bedroom to get dressed.
The door wouldn’t open. I frowned, and turned the knob again. It stayed closed. Gabe had mentioned the catch was sticking… This felt more as though it were locked. I yanked the doorknob again, jerked it roughly to the left and right. It stayed resolutely shut. Damn. I didn’t have my watch on, so I couldn’t tell how long Gabe had been out. He’d said half an hour and hopefully he’d be back soon. My phone was on the bedside table. I couldn’t ring him for help. I eyed the confined space. I always left the door wide open so it felt more like an extension of our bedroom. Right now it felt like a cupboard. My heart started to beat a little faster. I would be fine, this cupboard had a light in it and Gabe would be back soon.
All the same, I tried the doorknob again, and thumped it in frustration, before sitting on the floor to wait for Gabe. I’m fine, I kept telling myself. And I probably was…
Until the light went out.
6.6 Josh
Panic hit me like a tidal wave. I staggered, my feet stumbling on the treadmill as I fought to stay upright. One minute I’d been running at my usual pace, one eye on the lap counter while watching an old Event Horizon rock video, the next I was fighting to breathe, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would break my ribs.
I had the presence of mind to hit the STOP button before lurching to the floor, grabbing the handrail and holding on for dear life as I tried to get my breathing under control. Dear God, was I having a heart attack? An immense black cloud surrounded me, pressing down and robbing me of breath, my vision reducing to a narrow point of light. There wasn’t any pain. If this wa
s something fatal, at least it didn’t hurt. I closed my eyes, dropping my head forward, my lungs giving up the fight.
I blinked. What the fuck?
My feet continued their steady pace, the track lights flashing as I worked my way through the programme, AJ’s rasping vocals roaring out from the screen above my treadmill. The plump woman two machines away carried on jogging, oblivious to me. The skinny guy on the rowing machine—facing me—worked on his regular pulls, his breathing noisy, audible over the pounding rock music. Nothing had changed. So what the fuck had just happened to me?
Wiping my sweating brow I reduced my speed to walking pace while I cooled down, fear pulsing through my brain. Suki. In the same way as I’d felt her headache, I knew this was her fear. For the briefest of moments I’d stepped into her world—and she was terrified.
CHAPTER 7
7.1 Gabe
I left Suki for almost an hour and when I came back she was quiet. Removing the paperclip I’d jammed into the lock, I slipped it into my pocket and opened the door, calling her name. I expected her to rush out, grateful for my return. Instead, she lay face down on the floor, legs curled beneath her, huddled into a ball.
“Suki?” I spoke cautiously, alarmed now. She seemed to be unconscious. Shit. I carried her back to our bed, worried by her laboured breathing. Her eyes flickered open. For a long moment she stared at me, unseeing, her mouth open, unearthly wheezing noises coming from her chest.
I’d already spoken at length with our doctor, and within minutes he was on the way. She still hadn’t said anything.
“Looks like a panic attack,” he confirmed. “You say she’s been having them regularly?”
“Yes, several times a week.”
Dr. Grayson frowned as he examined her hands. Bruised and scuffed, with her fingernails torn, it looked as though she’d tried to break down the door with her bare hands. She’d scratched her face, too, a smear of dried blood crusted along her cheekbone.
“The upstairs lights fused at some point, she must have been scared at being trapped in the dark.”
“I think scared is an understatement.” Dr. Grayson scribbled on a prescription pad. “I suggest she take a low dosage tranquilizer for a couple of weeks, see if it makes any difference.” He ripped the paper free and handed it to me. “Start with two per day, drop down to one daily from next week.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You should think about a psychiatric referral if this continues. I can recommend a friend if you need him.”
I shrugged. My anxiety was genuine; it tore at me that she’d suffered so badly. While I’d wanted to upset her, this was severe even by my standards.
“Gabe?” Suki’s voice came out as a harsh croak.
“I’m here, darling.” I held her hand gently. Fresh tears rolled down her face, her eyes already puffy and red-rimmed.
“The door—” She gulped, coughed a little. “And the light.” Wide eyes stared at me, for a moment I pitied her. Then I steeled myself.
“I warned you the door was sticking—why did you close it?”
“I didn’t.”
“It didn’t close by itself.”
The tears poured freely now and the doctor tutted. Frowning at me, he prepared a shot for her, injecting into her thigh. She barely noticed.
“That should knock her out for a few hours. Give me a call tomorrow to let me know if she isn’t picking up, and you can start her on the pills in the morning.”
I spoke quietly when we were out of Suki’s range. “I believe her mother has some problems, too. Is there a chance they could be hereditary?”
“Without knowing her history, I couldn’t speculate.” We’d reached the front door. I shook his hand and thanked him for coming so quickly. I had a feeling I would be seeing him again fairly soon.
7.2 Josh
I headed straight home in my gym clothes. I could shower and change later, but I needed to find out what was wrong with Suki. Questions flew through my head. Why this sudden connection? Did she feel it too? What would I do about it? I shoved them all to the back of my mind. They could wait.
Flicking through Alan’s file, I found Gabriel’s phone number, and programmed it into my phone as I should have earlier. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to calm my shattered nerves. He had to believe this was a planned call and not a knee-jerk-what-just-happened-to-your-wife call.
His voice was brusque and clear, well-spoken, a hint of interest when I announced myself. “Yes, Alan said you’d call. Did you get the background information?”
“Yes, and I’d like to talk through a few ideas with you. How soon can you see me?”
“I’m flying out to Paris first thing tomorrow. Can it wait? I’ll be back in a few days.”
“I’m going to be in Manchester anyway. I thought it would be a good opportunity.”
He hesitated. “It was my understanding you’d do this slowly. Are you planning to start, uh, work now?”
I projected a confident, slightly bored tone. “It makes sense, otherwise it could be a few months before I can do anything.” I waited, hoping he’d take the bait. He did.
“I’m taking the 8:00 a.m. Paris shuttle, I’ll meet you at the airport at seven.”
I’d been dismissed and I was no closer to finding out about Suki. The file contained her phone number at work, at the TV studio, so that was my next call. Thinking fast, I invented a potential guest for her show, but my story wasn’t necessary. A helpful woman called Tara—one of Suki’s friends, if I remembered correctly—told me she’d been ill today. She had the flu and probably wouldn’t be back until next week. Short of phoning the Craigowans, there was little else I could do.
In the end, I booked a room in a city centre hotel, packed my gear and set off for the 300 mile journey to Manchester. Again.
My first stop was their house, doing a drive-by of their affluent and leafy part of Wilmslow. It would be impossible to park nearby and not stand out; they lived on a narrow, private road of only six large houses. However, the back of their mansion stood on a high ridge overlooking parkland, and that offered more potential. Within half an hour I wandered freely, my hiking boots, camera and binoculars marking me as a bird watcher. Once I’d identified their house, I scanned the windows for signs of her. One large upstairs window had the curtains partially closed. If she really was ill in bed, that may be her room. Their room.
Feelings of anxiety had been plaguing me all afternoon. I’d hoped that now I was physically closer to her I’d feel better. I was wrong.
7.3 Gabe
I did a double-take when I met Alan’s spy; he was similar in build and appearance to Jon Craigowan. Since Suki already seemed infatuated with my rival, he’d be ideal to try and tempt her away. We ordered coffee in the airport lounge and I stared at him across the table. It was an unsettling feeling to think he would try to sleep with my wife, with my permission. He eyed me carefully. Perhaps he was a little star struck. He probably didn’t meet celebrities that often.
“I don’t have long before my flight. What do you need to know?”
“I was thinking of trying to make contact with her at work, engineer an initial meeting there. But it would be useful to know where she hangs out during her free time.” He produced a leather bound notebook and pencil, and flicking to a free page he smiled briefly at me. “Is she at work today? With you going away it’s a good opportunity to establish contact.”
I thought quickly. At first I’d planned to explain her illness as the flu, but maybe there were good opportunities to be had with the truth. “She’s not working at the moment. As far as the studio is concerned, she has the flu and they’re expecting her back next week. The reality is a little more complicated.” His pencil paused. “My wife has a nervous disposition—she’s prone to panic attacks and bouts of severe paranoia. She had a bad attack yesterday and I’ve persuaded her to take some time off. I thought it best to warn you. I guess I’m hoping you can watch out for her behaviour and report back to me if she appears to be goi
ng off the rails, since you’re going to be spending some time with her.”
Dark eyes stared back at me. He looked curious. “You’re not worried about leaving her alone?”
“I’ve asked my mother to keep an eye on her. And she’s been prescribed some medication.”
We discussed his proposal, which was ludicrously simple. He would pretend to be writing a magazine feature about us and we talked a few minutes more about her habits and routines before he had to leave. As he sauntered out of the café and I gathered my things together, I had another surprise. Craigowan, complete with wife and child appeared in the entrance. He flashed me his cheesy grin and I forced a friendly smile in reply.
He clasped my hand briefly. “Don’t tell me—you’re going to Paris for the Chanel ad as well. Is Suki not with you?”
As well? The agency had been vague about who else was taking part in this ad and now I knew why. I gritted my teeth as I sucked back a sarcastic reply. “Suki’s a bit under the weather. She’s taking some time off work.”
Anita flashed a worried glance at her husband, and then turned to speak to me. “Was that Joe Summers you were talking to a moment ago?”
Joe Summers? I filed that away for future use and tried to quash my annoyance. What were the chances of me being caught talking to Delaney? I needed to shift their focus. “Journo. He’s collecting background for another feature in the glossies.” I gave Anita one of my hundred-watt smiles. “I’m thinking of using him to ghost my autobiography. Are you planning to go into print anytime soon, Jon?”
He didn’t rise to my needling, but my distraction seemed to work. Spending the next two days with Craigowan was not my idea of fun, but at least it meant that Suki would be free for the charming Josh Delaney to work his magic on.