by Dawson, H A
He squeezed her waist. Ashen and frail, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes, but the darkness revealed flashes of her ordeal, her stumbling on the rocks, the malevolence in Larry's eyes, him bundling her body into the car.
She forced them open, preferring instead to watch her surroundings. Luke and Imogen were talking to an official looking man near the wreckage, a man and a woman were walking to the top of the hill, and a paramedic was heading towards them.
'Are you sure you don't want taking to the hospital?' he asked.
She insisted she was fine.
'If you experience any severe pains, headaches, or loss of consciousness, make sure you do.'
'I will.'
She gave him the blanket.
'Go home, rest, and stay warm.'
He strode away, nodded to his colleague, and they climbed into the ambulance and pulled away.
'Have they taken Larry?' she asked.
'Yes, they did it a while ago.'
'Oh, I don't remember.'
He noticed her shiver, removed his sweatshirt, and handed it to her. 'Here, wear this.'
'Thanks.'
It was pre-warmed with a hint of his odour and somehow reminded her of David. Swamped with memories of their difficult relationship, she pulled away. He frowned and encouraged her back.
She yanked herself free. 'I can't do this.'
Silence.
'David's . . . David's been-'
'I know.' He pulled her to him, clenched her so tight she struggled for breath. He was shaking, his chest rising and falling, his voice quivering. 'I'm so sorry.'
'He has photos.'
'I know. I know.'
Tears dampened his face. His lips wobbled. His mouth opened then shut.
'He . . .' she gulped '. . . he touched me.'
He turned away, his eyes streaked red.
'I can't face him again.'
'He'll apologise. He won't do it again.'
'No. I can't go back . . . I can't.'
There was a frenzied look in his eyes. He wasn't going to let her go, couldn't bear the thought.
'He won't do it again, I promise. I won't let him near you.'
'No!' She leapt to her feet, trembling, pacing, and neither wanting to run nor wanting to stay. She had nothing, no home, no partner, no job, and no friends.
'We'll find a way through this,' he said, 'I'll send him away. We can still be together.’
Her eyes fixed on the ground. She couldn't do it. It was too hard.
Ben stood up, grabbed her by the arms, and stared at her, seemingly strong and determined. 'We can work through this.'
She shook her head, lowered her moist eyes and her bottom lip quivered. How could she ever face David again, after what he had done?
'He has always wanted to split us up,’ she said, ‘from the day we first met. He tried everything. He threatened me, made fun of me, added stuff to the meals I made you so you'd be disappointed in me.'
Her voice trembled. She noticed his expression of deep sorrow.
'Do you remember when I made a chili con carne and it was extremely hot and unpalatable?’ she continued. ‘That was David. I caught him adding it. You never believed me . . . wouldn’t accept what he was capable of.'
He mumbled an apology.
'I thought you loved me, yet . . . yet you said I lied. You never believed me.'
'No. That's not true. I always believed you,' he grabbed her arms and stared deep into her eyes, 'I promise you I did, but David's my son, I didn't know what to do.'
'You should have done something. Have you any idea how it feels knowing he has those images of me on his computer? Lord knows who he has sent them to.'
'Most of them weren't you.'
'What?'
'It doesn't make it any better, that's not what I'm saying.'
'He altered them? Put my head on someone else's body?'
He nodded. 'He's very sorry.'
What use was sorry? David had destroyed their relationship. He had achieved his aim.
'You should have told me about the photos,' he said.
'I tried. I . . . I couldn't.'
'Why not?'
'Ask David.'
She fled, striding up the hill to the car; every step was a huge effort, her lungs felt like tiny balloons, her leg muscles puny and ineffective. Even the sight of tyre tracks on the grass caused her distress, and she tried to keep her mind blank.
At the top, she dropped to the grass, huddled her knees to her chest, and stared at the scene below. A few people had gathered on the edge of the field, staring, hands over mouths, whispering, making assumptions and drawing conclusions. Periodically, they glanced towards her. She was grateful for the distance and believed space offered privacy.
Clouds gathered, obscuring the sunshine that had beamed onto the grass. Birds tweeted in the nearby trees and cars continued to pass down the road. The people within were lucky; their lives were unchanged.
After an indeterminable amount of time, Ben, Luke, and Imogen climbed the hill. Luke and Imogen were smiling and chatting, whereas Ben seemed sullen and held back, walking a few paces behind. He should be fighting for her, pleading with her to stay with him. Perhaps he had realised that the situation was too difficult to overcome.
Luke looked at her, sympathy mixed with kindness. 'The police said they'll need to talk to you. I gave them your address. I hope that's okay.'
'I can't go home.'
He hesitated, looking between her and Ben. 'How about we go for a coffee first?
She frowned, unsure of her reply.
'We passed a mobile unit in a lay-by a short distance away,' Imogen said, 'we could go there.'
Plaintively, Megan followed them to Luke's car, and climbed inside, fastened her seatbelt, and turned her face to the window, maintaining her distance from Ben. He did not talk and his body language indicated that he was distressed. She guessed he too craved an answer to their shared dilemma.
She wished David wasn't in their lives.
They arrived at the mobile unit in a lay-by set on the hillside and overlooking the valley. Birds soared in the misty skies and insects fluttered over the patches of weeds and wildflowers. It looked relaxing and tranquil, a distance sensation compared to her current state.
Ben gave her a sweetened coffee and climbed into the car. His phone sounded. He looked at it apprehensively and hurried away. Megan knew the call came from David. She held the coffee to her face and inhaled the stimulating aroma, too dejected to listen to their conversation and ashamed of herself for allowing David to gain the upper hand. Somehow, she must have caused him to act despicably. Did those moments of happiness shared with Ben extend into those periods when she was in David's company? Had he interpreted her behaviour as flirtatious?
Luke returned to the car, gave Imogen a drink, and turned around. 'I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but did Larry tell you if he’d killed Saskia?'
She was grateful for the distraction. 'Kind of, although at the same time he claimed Ron did it. He was confused . . . thought I was her.'
He nodded.
'He loved her but she broke it off. I think that's why he killed her. They had plans. He said Ron treated her badly.' Her hands were trembling, her voice breaking. 'They were both there when she died. I saw their faces.'
Ben entered the car and shut the door. Her pulse quickened.
'He wanted some paintings. I don’t know what he was talking about but he kept asking me for them.'
'They're worth quite a bit.'
She wrapped her hands around the hot cup and held it close to her face. The warm vapours danced upon her skin and droplets of moisture trickled down her chin. 'Larry knew about Saskia's father,' she said, 'he knew about the miscarriages too. He said she deserved to die.' Tears welled in her eyes. She concentrated. She fought her tremors. 'I trusted him. He was my friend.'
Ben reached for her, grabbed her hand and squeezed. His pain seemed to be as deep as hers was and his e
yes pleaded. He shuffled closer. Their bodies touched. Her trembles intensified.
Luke turned to Imogen. 'If Ron was there, why didn't he tell the police? Was Larry such a threat?'
'Larry must have known something, something that would force Ron to keep quiet.'
'It had to be big.'
He stared out of the windscreen for a few minutes, and then turned back to Imogen, his eyes wide and his smile broad. 'I think I know what Larry's got over Ron.'
Imogen gave him an inquisitive look.
'We need to go to Ron's.' He started the engine, moved the gear stick into first gear, and looked into the rear view mirror. 'I can drop you both off, but I could do with your help. At least yours, Ben.'
'I can't go back,' Megan said.
'It's okay,' Ben said, 'I've just spoken to David. He's packed a bag and he's catching a train. He's going to stay with my brother. He says he's sorry.'
Silence.
'I'd like to stay with you. I'll do whatever it takes.'
'He's your son.'
'He was, but I'm not sure he is anymore.'
Megan looked out of the window. At least she had her house back.
Luke had been through the plan with Ben and Imogen several times before they arrived at the house, yet his nerves still danced in his stomach as the adrenaline sped through his body. He had never done anything like this before and hoped that Ron would cooperate. He considered it unlikely.
He rapped on the door and they waited in silence. Ben was at one side, Imogen at the other, and despite his better judgement, Megan hovered at the rear. The door handle turned. His heart galloped.
Ron's eyes narrowed as he peered through the gap.
'Can we come in for a moment?' Luke asked in a cheery tone.
'What's this about?'
'There's been an accident. Larry Carr's been killed.'
He stepped aside, his body sagging. 'What happened?'
'Car crash.'
Megan eased from behind Luke and slipped along the corridor to the kitchen. Ron saw her and jerked forward, his eyes wild and his arms hitting out. With Ben's assistance, Luke restrained him, pressing him against the wall, overpowering him with the advantage of youth. He struggled. He hollered. His eyes flitted between them and the kitchen door.
'Found it!' Megan said.
Silence.
'Oh, my Lord! You were right!'
Chapter 32
1979
Saskia pushed the outer door closed, removed her jacket, and plodded into the lounge, her head still ringing after her argument with Larry. She had decided to end their affair, but he wouldn't accept it and his eyes had bulged. He had gripped her by the arm, edged closer to her face, and told her that she would pay. Instinctively, she shoved him backward, wiped away the droplets of saliva from her face, and ran.
Memories of his putrid breath and angular facial features lingered in her mind as she slumped onto the soft fabric sofa, kicked off her shoes, and raised her feet onto a wooden coffee table. The evening news was showing on the television, but it provided her with little distraction and her thoughts continued to spin, uncivilised, untamed.
Her head pounded with his threat. What would Larry do? His behaviour had turned creepy in recent days; he had been watching the house, he had deposited photographs and poetry through her letterbox, he had given her a diary of their lives, as though written in ten years’ time. They would have children, they would travel, and they would be the happiest couple alive.
Larry was not going to accept her decision.
Would he tell Ron? It was quite possible. She prayed her husband would forgive her, and drifted to that moment, a few days previous when she had promised to end her marriage.
Saskia had expected it to be difficult and had decided to tell Ron over dinner when they would both be relaxed and could hold a civilised conversation without interruption. When the moment arrived, she was clutching her knife and fork, and chewed and chewed. After a while, Ron broke the silence and informed her he loved her, his glistening eyes bathing in adoration. It was enough to reach some kind of conclusion: she wanted both men, both fulfilling separate needs.
The following day she had met with Larry. He was in an exuberant mood and told her that they could now tell the world of their unique and powerful love. Her shoulders slumped, her guilt and unease blending as she struggled to tell him of her decision. Rather than speaking out, she made a vague comment and wished the moment away, but Larry was not to be dismissed. He slammed down his drink, causing it to spill, and glared, his eyes darkening with fury. 'It's either over or it's not,' he had said, 'it's not complicated.'
Saskia stretched out her legs and considered her behaviour. She didn't think she had acted inconsiderately, as he had later suggested, nor had she lied. When they had discussed a shared future, she believed it was what she had wanted. The absolute pleasure in his face reflected her own and together they bounced with glee, making travel plans, purchasing a house, and scheduling for children. So why, when it came to ending her marriage, had she felt her heart drop like a stone?
After that, Saskia decided she must end their affair. Whilst the sex had been electrifying, something was missing, that something being Ron. He was a stabling influence, supportive of her artwork and trustworthy, and, as an added bonus and much to her surprise, she believed he was faithful. There were no rumours, no slips of the tongue, and no sideways glances amongst the locals. He definitely loved her. Could it be that she was finally starting to reciprocate those feelings?
A bottle of wine rested on the floor near the fireplace and nearby was a glass. She stepped across, blew away the dust particles, and poured the wine. Then she took a huge gulp. The satisfying tingles of fruitiness hovered in her mouth. She glanced at the time. Ron would be home soon.
The clock ticked rhythmically, soothing her as she reflected on Larry's rage. She relived his grating cries, his fist pumps and globular eyes. He had pounded the fabric in the car, he had chucked a brick at a wall, and he had booted a passing dog. She had not been able to appease him, could not even try, and had to let him come to terms with her decision in his own way.
A creaking sound from the hallway caught her attention. She spun around and stared at the gap and the creeping shadow.
'Ron?'
There was silence.
Her heart leapt, she jumped to her feet and headed out of the room, but no one was there. Cautiously, she tiptoed into the kitchen, flicked the light switch, and scanned the floor space, the units and the worktop. Outside, through the unadorned window was darkness, with a glimmer of light from a nearby streetlight spreading towards her. She shivered and clasped her arms close to her body, and for a moment, she stood, focusing upon a wall and a particular set of units. Her eyes drifted to the floor. She breathed in a sad breath.
She decided Larry must have prompted her nervousness, and returned to the lounge, refilled her glass with wine, and sat back down. Nonetheless, she remained on edge, her ears drawn to the slightest of sounds.
The outer door opened. She jumped. She sensed a rush of cool air pass into the room.
'Ron?'
'Who else would it be?'
She rushed out to greet him, flinging her arms around his body.
'What's brought this on?'
'Do I need a reason?'
'No. Course not.'
'I love you, you know that?'
He smiled, genuine and heartfelt. 'I do now.'
She rested her head on his shoulder and traced his birthmark with her eyes. This was where she wanted to be. Ron was her future.
He pulled away. He had a bag of food in his hand. 'I have to do something first, and then we'll have a nightcap.'
Saskia's face dropped and her emotions tumbled. Ron opened the secret door in the kitchen and disappeared down the cellar steps. He was taking the food to the girl. How could he justify his actions? With heavy legs and a scowl, she returned to the lounge, poured out more wine, and waited for him to return.
The quiet drone of the television was calming, and she drifted into tranquillity, erasing Ron's depraved act from her mind. For now, she had other things to worry about. She couldn’t allow Larry to encourage her into further meetings. It was over and she could do nothing more.
A flurry of words, shouting and hollering, caused her to leap to her feet and dash into the kitchen. Larry and Ron were fighting. A tin crashed to the floor, a ladle skidded across the surface, and bodies thrust against the cupboards, each man equally weighted. She stood helplessly, her heart pounding and her feat intense.
What was he doing here? Where had he come from? Had he seen into the hidden cellar? She held back, unwilling to become involved in the skirmish, and rotated her wedding ring and chewed upon her bottom lip.
After a few moments, Ron threw him out of the house. She stood motionless, waiting for her breathing to regulate and her body to relax.
'I didn't know he was there,' she said weakly.
'He saw her. He saw the girl.'
'What's he going to do?'
Ron shook his head, dropped onto the armchair, and held his head in his hands.
'We'll have to get rid of her,' she said.
'How can we? The police will be straight onto us.'
'Larry's not going to stay quiet.'
'I doubt it.'
She gulped. 'He wants revenge.'
You've ended it then?' Ron asked.
'You knew?'
'Of course I knew.'
'I'm sorry. I love you, I realise that now.'
'You could have picked someone more stable. Larry has a reputation. He's violent. He could do anything.'
'I . . . I didn't know.'
After only a few minutes, Ron's apprehensions eased - there was only a subtle rise and fall of his chest, the creases on his forehead had softened, and the frantic tapping of his fingers had lessened. He reached for the glass on the table, leaned back into the chair, and took a swig.