The barman wiped down the surfaces, polished the beer taps, put away some glasses. Then he came out and collected up the empty pint glass before returning to us with a tiny dish of nuts. There was music playing softly – just a selection of nondescript songs, some current, some from way back. That type of unidentifiable music hotels play. For some reason, it put me on edge.
‘I should go,’ I told Andrew, putting down my drink. ‘I can’t do this.’
But he didn’t get to answer because suddenly, behind us, there was shouting and the thunk of fist on bone several times over. I jumped out of my skin, gasping, and turned just in time to see the newspaper guy hit the ground as another man took a couple of swings at him. He lay there for a moment, stunned, his legs caught up in the revolving door as the man who’d hit him went out, red-faced and yelling obscenities.
That’s when everything swam before me – as if I was being dragged round and round the revolving door myself. Strange whooshing sounds reverberated through my head and flashing lights blinded me. I grabbed the arm of the chair, terrified. I’ve never been able to stand seeing violence.
‘Christ,’ Andrew said, laughing. ‘Classy place.’ I could hear him but couldn’t see him properly – just his silhouette. I touched my head, willing it to pass. ‘You OK?’ Then I felt an arm around my shoulders.
I shook my head, but it hurt so much, made me feel even dizzier.
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
And I allowed it. In that moment of shock and vulnerability, I allowed those strong hands to grip my shoulders, guiding me to wherever he took me because, by then, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t me. I didn’t feel real. So I figured that neither were the consequences.
I stood there, hearing him book and pay for a room under a false name, making a joke about counting out the cash while I stood back, swaying in time to the music.
He took my hand then, holding me steady, leading me down a corridor, me walking obediently beside him, my footsteps quick – two to his every one pace, quietened by the carpet. I was going down a rabbit hole. A never-ending tunnel with so many doors leading off, and I could have taken any one of them, made my escape. But I didn’t. I walked on as if I’d been drugged, Rohypnol in my gin, even though there hadn’t been.
‘This is us,’ he said, inserting the key card. Every sound was magnified, every light bulb a solar flare. ‘After you,’ he said, checking up and down the corridor before shutting the door behind us, putting the chain on.
It was dim inside. Thick netted drapes covering the gap between the half-closed curtains, obscuring the drizzly afternoon outside. He didn’t bother with lights. I sat on the bed – him guiding me down with his hands pressed gently on my shoulders – and then he flicked on the TV with the remote. It was set to the hotel’s channel – the welcoming text, the breakfast and checkout information. The same music as in reception was playing in the background. He left it on.
I felt myself being gently laid back on the bed, the tug on my feet as my shoes were taken off, then the awkward pull on my skirt that needed to be undone from behind. I was frozen, didn’t make it easy as he undressed me. But I didn’t try to stop it either.
His face was above me – the scar the only thing in complete focus while the rest of the room was like looking through a fish-eye lens. He was so close, the scent of him overpowering, smothering, drug-like and intoxicating as he pulled off his shirt, exposing his body. He was beautiful, I knew that, and I wanted him more than anything. But I still wanted to scream, lash out, hit the panic button, run for my life. Not that I could move. I was frozen by fear.
His hand swept down my body, pulling off my underwear, touching me, kissing his way down. I held the top of his head, nothing seeming real yet everything suddenly clearer, as though I’d been blind all my life.
My back arched, my fingers clawed, as I realised what he’d done to me, what was happening. Nothing else existed in that moment. He had complete power over me as he slid himself up me again, pressing himself down, working his way in, owning me as he tensed up, his muscles tight as I gripped him, allowing it…
I shudder as I read, clenching my teeth, gripping the journal tightly. There’s more, but I hear movement downstairs, so I snap it shut and dash down to Freya’s room, hiding it away under the floorboard again. ‘Mummy, mummy,’ I hear her calling out, then the sound of Jack grumbling, saying he’s hungry, about there being no food in the fridge. Just as I’m going out of her bedroom, Freya comes in.
‘Oh,’ she says, looking surprised. ‘What are you doing in here?’ Even at her age, she doesn’t like people in her room. But I deflect her question by grabbing her for a tickle, telling her it’s bath time, that if she’s good, I’ll read her an extra-long story before bed.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lorna
‘Oh my God,’ Annie says, grabbing my hand from across the table, her eyes going saucer wide. I flinch as she grips me, the pain shooting up my arm. ‘Isn’t that the guy from Cath’s dating app sitting behind you?’ Her expression tightens as she raises her eyebrows, looking beyond my shoulder.
I freeze, hardly daring to turn around, trying to hide the panic on my face. It’s taken all my resolve to come out tonight. But surely she can’t mean him – Andrew?
Mark turns around, slinging his hand on the back of my chair as he follows Annie’s gaze. ‘Cath’s not still flaunting herself on that bloody site, is she?’ he says, turning back again, shaking his head in disapproval.
‘Her obituary will be on there, I think,’ Annie says, laughing. ‘She’s always looking for someone or something better, never satisfied with the guys she meets.’
I pull my hand from Annie’s grip, nursing it in my lap, looking at Mark and managing a smile when he catches me staring. After this afternoon, I was feeling different about everything, but now Annie’s just put me on edge again.
‘She should meet someone the old-fashioned way,’ Ed says. ‘In a sweaty club with a good dose of alcohol and bad judgement.’
‘Didn’t you and Cath see any hot men at the spa this afternoon?’ Mark asks me quietly. He’s joking, of course, but I can’t help sensing a tinge of jealousy.
‘We were too busy getting massages and facials,’ I whisper back with a dreamy look. ‘Though I think Cath was making eyes at some guy in the Jacuzzi.’ I wink and give him a nudge, letting him know that he needn’t worry.
‘Look around now,’ Annie says, still distracted and thankfully not listening to what we were saying. ‘It is him, isn’t it?’
My heart thumps again as I turn around slowly, making sure my hair and hand cover half my face. Two tables away there’s a man with a petite blonde woman sitting opposite him. He’s grinning widely, hanging on her every word. I let out a long slow breath.
‘I’ve never seen him in my life before,’ I say to Annie, turning back. Relief floods through me.
‘Well, I swear his face is familiar. Maybe she’s dated him, or been messaging him at the very least. C’mon, Lorn, you must remember. We’re pretty bloody familiar with all the mug shots on that site now. It’s as if we’ve been out with them all.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Mark says, raising his eyebrows. ‘You personally vet all Cath’s dates, do you?’ He touches my arm, directing the question right at me. Now I’m unsure if he’s joking or not. ‘Should I be worried?’
I manage a small laugh, sipping my wine, grateful at least that it’s not Andrew sitting behind me. That would have been unthinkable, as though there was no escape.
‘Well, should I be?’ Mark presses when I don’t reply. His tone makes my heart miss a beat.
‘Cath’s just hopeless with dating,’ Annie interjects. ‘We have to look out for her, eh Lorn?’
‘Do you now?’ Mark continues, not taking his eyes off me.
‘What’s all this, then,’ Ed chips in, putting down his phone and latching on to Mark’s concern. ‘You two girls dating vicariously?’ He grins.
‘No, of course not,
’ I say, rolling my eyes, giving a silly laugh.
Mark leans into me, giving me a little kiss, relaxing a little. ‘You seem much happier,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘That spa session did you good earlier.’
I squeeze his leg under the table. ‘It did,’ I reply. ‘I’m feeling super-chilled.’
‘Oh-oh you’re blushing, Lorn,’ Ed says in a silly voice. I wish he’d just shut up. ‘And we all know blushing means you’re fibbing.’ He laughs raucously, taking a large mouthful of wine, draining his glass before pouring more for all of us. ‘Another bottle, please,’ he says, flagging a passing waitress. ‘It’s Christmas weekend or something, isn’t it?’
‘Easter, stupid,’ Annie says, poking him. ‘Which is why Lilly wouldn’t eat her supper before we left and then threw up just as the babysitter arrived. She’d scoffed three whole chocolate eggs by herself.’
Ed raises his glass. ‘Happy bloody Christmas, then, to one and all,’ he says loudly. When Ed gets going, he really gets going.
‘Yes. Cheers,’ Mark says, sounding flat in contrast. ‘Here’s to Cath finding a suitable man. As soon as possible,’ he adds, not taking his eyes off me.
‘You didn’t have to go on about it quite so much, love,’ I say, as we’re getting ready for bed. Mark is hunched over the basin cleaning his teeth. He spits and rinses, staring into the mirror, watching me behind him as I brush my hair.
‘Go on about what?’
‘About Annie and me being interested in the guys on Cath’s dating app. We’re seriously not. We just don’t want her to get hurt, that’s all.’
He puts his arm round me, giving me one of his come-to-bed looks. ‘But you do look at the guys on it, right? I bet you were swiping through it all afternoon with her at the spa.’
‘Well, we looked a little bit. It was only to help Cath.’ I poke him gently in the ribs, waiting for my cheeks to burn. Oddly, they don’t. ‘There’s really no need to worry.’
‘But you must feel attracted to some of the guys on there,’ he says. ‘Who’s to say you’re not contacting them?’ He pauses, seeing the hurt look on my face.
‘I say I’m not!’ I reply as indignantly as I can manage, running a cleansing pad over my face.
‘I’m just winding you up.’ He pulls me close by the hands. ‘Hey, did you hurt yourself?’ He looks at the bruise blooming on the fleshy part of my thumb.
‘Got into an argument with the weights on the bench press machine this afternoon,’ I say, laughing. ‘We did a workout too. Cath told me not to show off.’ I roll my eyes.
‘Well, I’m just glad you’ve come back all chilled and relaxed,’ he says, giving my hand a kiss.
‘Anyway, it’s no different to you spotting a woman in the street and fancying her,’ I say, thinking I should just drop the subject.
‘It’s very different.’
‘How so?’ We head into the bedroom – Mark pulling back the duvet while I flick on the lamps and turn off the main light. We climb into bed.
‘Firstly, because I can’t send a message to a random woman on the street, even if I did find her attractive.’
‘Oh, so you would if you could?’ I giggle as he runs his hand across my tummy, going down lower. We’re both naked. ‘Anyway, what’s secondly?’
‘Secondly, is that I wouldn’t have a clue if she was single or not, would I? The men on Cath’s dating app are there because they’re single and looking.’
‘Ha, I think Cath would dispute that.’ I roll onto my side to face him as his hand slips between my legs.
I close my eyes for a second because, of course, it’s his hand I feel… Tears well up, making me want to punch the pillow.
‘She had one date where the guy was wearing his wedding ring at the start of the evening. Cath didn’t say anything, but when he came back from the loo, he’d taken it off.’
‘Careless,’ Mark says, doing to me what he knows I like. I suck in a deep breath, closing my eyes, but it feels so wrong, as if I don’t know who it is – Mark or him. I blink back the tears as he rolls on top of me.
Afterwards, I lie with my head on his chest, listening to his breathing, stroking his skin.
‘Don’t you want to know what comes third?’ he says.
‘Not really,’ I say sleepily, kissing his chest, trying to feel content.
‘Well, I’ll tell you anyway. Third is that I wouldn’t ever cheat on you – not even if the woman I’d passed in the street was gorgeous, single, loaded, handed me her business card and blew me a kiss. That’s it, really.’
I pull him closer with my arm slung around his waist. ‘I love you,’ I say, screwing up my eyes.
I wake early, but this time for the right reasons. I lie there for a moment, remembering yesterday, before slipping out of bed. I go into the bathroom to put on my running gear, trying not to wake Mark. I haven’t been for a jog in a long time. It’s time to get back on track. Everything’s going to be fine, just how it used to be.
He stirs as I leave the bedroom, stretching out, waking up, but I don’t stop to speak. Instead, I go downstairs and open the living room door, sucking in a huge breath before the screams burst out of me – one after the other, over and over at the sight of the body on the floor.
It’s not real… It’s not real… It’s not real…
I grab the door frame, my ears ringing as I see Jack lying on the carpet, his throat slashed. There’s blood all over him, running down his neck, on his face, all over his arms and hands. My head explodes with pain as I scream, frozen to the spot, vaguely aware of Mark dashing down the stairs, running up beside me.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… Please not Jack…
Sick forces its way up my throat as I retch at the sight of his body, covering my mouth.
Noooo! Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead… I’m so sorry… This is all my fault…
‘What the fuck…’ Mark is suddenly beside me, his robe half around him, bringing me back to the present as he grips my shoulders. He’s surprisingly calm, given that his son is lying on the floor covered in blood. ‘Jack?’ he says from the doorway. ‘Oh, I see…’ Then he lets out a laugh. ‘Very funny, mate.’
I scream again, burying my face against him. This can’t be happening. I clap my hands over my ears, shaking my head from side to side, trying to make it all go away.
‘Ha ha, April Fools!’ Jack says, suddenly sitting up, spraying out laughter and shaking his head. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t keep it up any longer.’ He stands up, his smile broad on his blood-smeared face.
I want to yell, kick and punch someone, something, but all I can do is stagger to the downstairs loo, shaking as I kneel in front of the pan, heaving up the remains of last night’s dinner. My skin is cold and clammy. Then I hear Mark giving Jack a half-hearted telling off, followed by the pair of them laughing as I cradle my head in my hands over the sloppy water.
I go back into the living room doorway, shaking, unable to go right in.
‘Love?’ Mark says. ‘You don’t look well. I think you need another spa day already.’ He’s trying not to laugh.
‘How could you?’ I whisper, staring at Jack. I hug my arms around me, feeling as though I’ve been run over.
‘It was just a joke, Lorna. It’s April Fool’s day.’
‘Come here, you,’ Mark says, drawing me close. ‘He got you good and proper, didn’t he? I thought there really had been a murder the amount you screamed.’ He kisses my head. ‘Come on, let’s get some coffee and breakfast.’ He heads for the kitchen, Jack following, but I stay frozen to the spot.
Freya, who’d been hiding and watching from behind the sofa, trots off behind them, telling her dad how she helped Jack do the fake blood and… and wasn’t it amazing how Mum screamed so much, thinking he really was dead? And it was so funny when she was shaking and crying and, and, and…
I go back upstairs and flop down onto the bed. A moment later, my phone vibrates on the bedside table. I lunge for it out of habit, my heart skittering,
but it’s just Annie saying what a good evening last night was, that she was glad to see me looking more cheerful.
I put it back, face down, thinking what a good actress I must be, and curl up into a ball, sobbing for what seems like ages.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door.
‘Lorna, can I come in?’ It’s Jack. He opens the door a little, peeking round. He’s still smeared with the fake blood, but I can see, now I’ve calmed down, that it’s not very realistic.
‘Sure,’ I say, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. ‘’Scuse the state of me. Hormones probably.’ I almost believe Mark’s pregnancy hopes.
‘Look, I’m really sorry about before,’ he says, standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d find it funny.’
I sit up, adjusting the pillows. ‘Did Dad tell you to come and say that?’
He shakes his head, looking hurt. ‘No. I wanted to.’
I nod, believing him. ‘Thanks, Jack. It’s OK.’
‘I didn’t think it through,’ he says. ‘Didn’t know you’d fly off like that.’
‘I’m sorry for overreacting. It was a shock to see you covered in blood on the carpet.’ We both laugh.
‘Sometimes I think you want that.’ He sounds serious again.
‘What? Oh, Jack, no. No, no no…’ I frown, shaking my head. ‘Of course I don’t.’
‘It wasn’t even very good fake blood,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Anyway, after things got a bit tense at breakfast the other morning, I was just… just trying to do something to make us all laugh a bit. Guess it backfired.’
‘Well, that was very thoughtful of you,’ I say with a wry smile. Even though I’m still feeling shaken, I like that he’s sought me out. Like it that he’s now sitting next to me on the bed. ‘Oh Christ,’ I say, suddenly remembering. Jack looks puzzled. ‘It might be April Fool’s day but it’s also Easter Day. Oh, poor Freya… I forgot to put out her chocolate eggs—’
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