You'll Be Sorry

by Emmy Ellis

  Of course she did, she’d said so, hadn’t she. Christ, I feel such a bastard.

  He couldn’t even visit her at home. The bastard might be there. With Sara Westholm’s murder, Stone would be in and out of the office with no concrete times. Their home, set apart from others, wouldn’t give Mark any chance to leave if Stone turned up unexpectedly. The twat would wonder what he was doing there.

  I could say I was following up, making sure she was okay after we broke the news.

  He shook his head. It wouldn’t work.

  The day dragged on, and he allowed his mind to take him places he’d rather not go. He hadn’t been able to help his mother, but could he save Kerry? Something wasn’t right, something more than he knew, but damned if he could work out what it was.

  * * * *

  Up with the lark, Dan stood at the top basement door, ear pressed to the wood. All quiet down there. At the bottom of the stairs, he opened the door and switched on the light. Kerry blinked. God, she appeared stupid. Touched in the head. Her jaw had blackened overnight, swelled.

  He moved towards her, and she stared up at him, glassy-eyed, hair blood-caked and unruly. He gripped her shoulders and brought her upright. She gasped, the sudden movement obviously messing with her equilibrium. He chuckled at the thought of her guts going over, her head spinning.

  She looks like the bloody Elephant Man.

  Dan shuddered and clasped his hands. “Had a good think, have we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  She glared up at him. “Yes, darling.”

  “That’s better.” He paused, then, “And what do you propose to do about your behaviour?”

  “Apologise and never do it again.”

  “Okay. Go on then.” He smirked.

  Her eyelashes twitched—with spite?—and she said, “Kerry is sorry, Dan.”

  “Ah! Well done. You didn’t use the usual I’m sorry.” He patted the back of her head, and she yelped. “Bit sore, is it?” He stared at his hand. Congealed blood stained his fingers. “Ah, well. You can go and get cleaned up now. Take a headache tablet.” He bent down and unlocked her ankles, almost dared her to kick him in the face. She didn’t. Shame. He rather fancied a tussle. “But before you do,” he unlocked her wrists, “you need to make my breakfast.”

  She remained seated, and he stepped back.

  “Get up.”

  Kerry stood, her torso hunched, and took a tentative step. She stumbled, righted herself, and straightened her spine. Head down, she climbed the stairs. Dan stared at the bloodstained concrete.

  “You’ll have to clean up your mess, too,” he shouted.

  He followed her into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard and retrieved a frying pan. Hob switched on, she poured vegetable oil in the pan and set it on the flame. He sat at the island, and a thought came to mind.

  “Ah, yes. I remembered something else you did wrong yesterday.”

  She stiffened, and her hands stilled, the egg she’d been about to crack held midair.

  “You didn’t buy a replacement cup from Gradley.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and was that a relieved breath she expelled there? He sniggered inwardly and toyed with the salt and pepper pots.

  “You’ll have to go and buy one today, won’t you?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Good girl. After you’ve called the tile man, of course. And after you’ve cleaned the basement. And yourself. You stink.”

  She cracked the egg, and the vegetable oil hissed. She busied herself making the rest of his breakfast. Kerry fascinated him with her automaton behaviour. Funny how human beings continued despite stresses and strains. Funny how she went about her duties even though her mind was undoubtedly elsewhere. Did she hate him or love him? She loved him, surely; otherwise, why didn’t she run?

  He huffed out a laugh, and she jumped. Oil leapt out of the pan onto her arm, but she ignored it, dished up his food.

  Yes, she loves me.

  She served him.

  Control, how he loved it. He had so much of it now that it more than made up for the lack of it in his earlier life. Content, he gobbled down his breakfast. Kerry took a cup from the mug tree, put a teabag in it, and poured water.

  Does she want to dash that in my face?

  Tea made, she took a coaster from the pile and put it beside his plate. He swallowed the last mouthful and threw his knife and fork down. She took his plate away and cleaned the kitchen. Her unwashed body odour wafted over to him.

  Fuck’s sake.

  “Go and shower,” he said. “You can forget my goodbye kiss. I don’t want you near me until you’re clean.”

  She nodded and walked to the kitchen doorway.

  “Oh, before you go, repeat to me what you must do today.”

  “Wash myself. Call the tile man. Take a headache tablet. Clean the basement floor. Buy a new cup. Return home and make sure your dinner is cooked on time.”

  “And if anyone asks about your ugly fat jaw?” A bubble of laughter tickled his windpipe.

  “They’ll get told I fell over.”

  “Good. And I really must congratulate you on the ‘I’ thing. You’re learning.” He stared at her—hard. “Off you go, stinky.”

  * * * *

  Kerry waited in the bathroom until the front door closed and the sound of his engine dwindled in the distance. Her bottom lip quivered, and a lump swelled in her throat. Angry tears scalded her cheeks, and she balled her fists, bunching her eyes closed in an effort to stop crying.

  She hated herself for making his breakfast like a ‘good girl’. Hated the fact she had to in order to get away.

  “A means to an end,” she muttered and turned to the shower, switching it on.

  She undressed, her stiff limbs and back sore. Probed her tooth. Thankful it seemed to have settled firmly back in its socket, she flexed her jaw. Pain shot down her neck, and she groaned.

  In the shower, pink water swirled into the plughole. The blood from her head.

  How much sleep had she had? Possibly a couple of solid hours. She’d drifted in and out, weighing up the options, the pitfalls. A sense of peace stole over her as she switched off the shower and stepped out. Wrapped in a towel, she picked up her clothes and dropped them in the wash bin. She pulled on jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. Stared around thinking what she really needed to take. Deciding on one extra set of clothing, she left everything else as it was. Dan may not notice her clothes gone, but he would the perfume or jewellery.

  Downstairs, she folded her clothes and placed them in a super-size handbag along with her passport and purse. Funny how he trusted her by leaving her passport in the living room cabinet. Fool. Anger surged. No, she wasn’t going to break. Wasn’t going to be scared. Her will strong now, she gingerly brushed her hair and tied it back with an elastic band. Boots on, jacket slung over her arm, she went into the garage and, fumbling in her bag, withdrew her car keys and pressed the fob to open the garage door.

  Please, God, let this be the last time I do this. The last time I ever see this place. And fuck the basement floor, the cracked tile.

  In the car, she reversed and ensured the garage door closed, then drove. On the road to Gradley, she sucked in a deep breath. Her heart thudded so hard it hurt, and she blew air out slowly to calm herself. Despite the enormity of what she was doing, the task ahead of her, she was excited. She’d broken from the cocoon, now ready to fly, and though unsure of whether her wings were strong enough to carry her, she’d flap them until…until Dan’s net caught her.

  No. He isn’t going to catch me. It’s going to be all right.

  She parked at the shopping centre, popped on her sunglasses, and, ready for a coffee, entered the same place she always went to. And stopped short as the door closed behind her.

  Mark occupied her favourite sofa.

  He looked up at the bell’s tinkle, his eyes widening. His mouth dropped open, and he jumped up, dashed towards her. Her heart skipped, the
beats erratic. Had Dan sent him here again? To hide her shock, she turned from him and joined the queue. Customers stared at her—yes, I have a fucking swollen jaw and bruised neck—and she concentrated on the day’s special.

  CREAM LATTE, 99p! BUY ONE GET ONE FREE!

  Mark’s hand touched her arm.

  “Jesus. Are you all right?” he asked, his head cocked in front of her to gain her attention. “What the fu—?” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. What happened to you?” He grimaced. “Though I don’t think I need to ask.”

  A wan smile tweaked her lips. “Husband gave me a wallop. Strangled me.” The admittance felt good on her tongue, but apprehension over the ramifications coiled in her stomach. She gnawed on her inner cheek and winced, the pain in her jaw immense.

  “Christ. Look, go and sit down. I’ll get your coffee.”

  His offer sounded so genuine. But could she trust him? With nothing left to lose, she’d give it a go. She needed a break in her sorry life. Nodding, she moved to take her purse from her bag. He held his hand up, waved her to the sofa, and she smiled her thanks. She sat, the leather a comfort to her sore body, and watched him. He stole a glance at her, then looked away. His mouth twitched, and she reckoned he was angry. Angry at Dan making him meet her again? Or angry at him for punching her face? She stared at the floor, schooled herself to just do it, tell Mark everything, and if the worst happened, she’d deal with it.

  He walked over and held her coffee cup out. She took it, and her fingers brushed his. She shifted her gaze to the coffee table. Mark sat beside her, his leg close but not resting against hers, and she found herself wishing it did. Not for any sexual thrill, just the comfort of another human being, something she’d been missing for far too long. She’d had Sara for a while, but they’d rarely touched, a hug of goodbye their only contact. It seemed so long ago that she’d heard of her friend’s murder. The night in the basement had knocked her body clock off.

  The concern on Mark’s face—narrowed, clouded eyes—had her hoping she’d made the right decision. If he turned out like Dan, or was one of Dan’s cronies… She sighed and opened her mouth to speak.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, hands around the cup, fingers laced. “I realise it must be painful. The jaw. What he did. How it affects you.” He stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window. “You know, I watched my old lady get beaten by my dad. Every other day she did something wrong, and every other day his fist met her face.” He sighed, blinked. “As a kid, it’s hard to watch. I mean, there’s nothing you can do. You got kids?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “That’s something then.”

  “Yes.”

  “You going back to him?”

  “No.”

  “Been happening long?”

  “Quite a while.” She sipped her coffee, difficult with her swollen face.

  “That’s not good. Was he always like that?” He twitched his nose, blinked again. Squinted.

  “No. Charming to begin with.”

  He leant forward, lowered his head. “Aren’t they always?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Listen,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m here for you, but look out there.” He jerked his thumb at the window.

  Her heart rate soared. Shit, shit, shit. Dan stood on the other side of the street, his head moving as he assessed the shoppers.

  “Oh God.”

  “He’s coming for you, yes?”

  “Yes.” Her whisper sounded alien, so unlike her.

  “Thought so. Keep calm, stay where you are. If he crosses the road, I can stall him. Easy to do. I work with him sometimes, don’t forget.”

  “Okay.” Did he hear her say that? She’d hardly heard herself. Blood pumped through her veins, and her pulse thumped in her ears. A roar like the ocean filled her head, but her gaze remained riveted on Dan.

  Arms across his chest, he surveyed the crowds. Thank God she’d parked at the shopping centre. If she’d pulled up outside the coffee shop… No, it didn’t bear thinking about. She sipped her coffee, her hands shaking, knees knocking. The coffee threatened to come back up. Took a deep breath.

  Dan stared right at her. She whimpered, wanted to close her eyes but dared not. He scowled, turned away, and her heart sped so fast that if she stood, she’d faint. He walked up the street. Relief swam through her. Hysterical laughter burbled inside, promised to come and never stop.

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “Shit,” Mark said. “Stay there a minute.”

  He went to the window, peered out for what seemed an age, his head bobbing as he inspected the street. Straightening his shoulders, he made his way back to her and sat. This time, his thigh touched hers.

  It felt odd.

  “What are your plans?” he asked.

  “Don’t have any. Not really. I was going to drive a few towns over, sell the car, buy a new one. After withdrawing cash from our accounts here.”

  He scrubbed his chin. “Forget the cash. He’ll be pissed off at that, and it tells him you’ve been here and what time. Forget the car thing, too. He’ll run a check and find it. Track you down. He’s a mean bastard.”

  She laughed, a bitter, hateful tinkle. “He is.”

  Mark faced her. “I’m sorry. Trusting another man is probably the last thing on your mind. I wouldn’t know whether to trust me either if I were you, but… I live here. Got a flat. You’re welcome to stay.” He held up his hand so she didn’t speak. “I swear to fucking God I won’t hurt you. Just…I don’t know, stay at my place until you work out what you’re going to do. I want to help.”

  Kerry closed her eyes. He sounds okay. He…he doesn’t sound remotely like Dan did at the start. Looking back, she saw now that Dan’s charm was cold, calculated. He’d radiated no warmth, yet she’d been so blinded by love she hadn’t seen it. She felt at ease with Mark. She snapped her eyes open, damning caution and taking the only option open to her at this time.

  “Okay. I’ll come.”

  Chapter Ten

  Where the fuck was she? Dan strutted down the street towards the shopping centre. He’d gone straight to The China Cabin, expecting to find her there buying a replacement cup. Snatching out his badge, he’d interrogated the shop worker. Clearly, Kerry hadn’t been in, and his blood pressure rose. But she was in Gradley all right. The tracker had led him right to where she’d parked her car.

  Maybe she’d gone to buy ingredients for dinner. She wouldn’t risk spending any extra, not after last night. His wife would part with the minimal amount or face his fist again.

  She knew that. He knew that.

  Anger lent him speed, and he shoved open the centre doors, stalked inside. He’d be here all day if he went inside every shop, so he glanced through windows, certain he’d sniff her out. After all, who the fuck walked around in huge sunglasses like hers with a ballooned face? He laughed, and a woman frowned at him.

  “Boo!” he shouted.

  She jumped, and her little boy burst into tears.

  Dickheads.

  He hurried on.

  When I find her, if she isn’t buying food, I’ll…

  After an hour, Kerry nowhere to be seen, Dan’s anger level moved to a dangerous level. He raced back to the china shop. The assistant’s eyes widened, and she stammered that no, no, the woman he described hadn’t been in here. Her hands shook, and her red fringe danced over her forehead, reminding him of the fat ginger bitch now cold in the morgue.

  “If I find out you’ve lied to me,” he snarled, “I’ll come back and strangle your fucking throat, got it?”

  She shrieked and backed against the wall. He stared at her crotch.

  Disgusted, he said, “Go and clean yourself up. You’ve pissed yourself.”

  * * * *

  Fraught with nerves, Kerry put her complete trust in Mark. He checked out the street before they left the coffee shop, and, once outside, directed her to his silver Jeep. She buckled up and slunk low. He backed ou
t of the parking space and shot off down the road. A second right turn led them to blocks of flats sitting side by side. He lived in the first one and drove into an underground parking area.

  Out of the Jeep, they crossed to a lift, Mark’s hand on her lower back small comfort while they awaited its arrival. She shook with nerves, her arms and legs near useless, and a sneaky thought crept in: What if he’s taking me to Dan?

  In the lift, she stared at her reflection on the steel door. She didn’t recognise herself. Inside, she didn’t feel the same as she had the past few years. Her old fire burned slowly, yet the Kerry she’d become still resided there, conditioned as she was to fear, to mistrust.

  Worries aside, whoever Mark was, she was with him now and had to make the best of it. If he turned into a nutter like Dan, she’d…she’d soldier on. She’d endured so much at Dan’s hands she vowed to face everything life threw at her now. Head-on.

  His flat surprised her. She’d expected a bachelor pad, untidy, with clothes strewn on the floor and dirty cups on the table. But he had a clean, spacious living room. Black leather sofas, a thick cream carpet, and a low table much like the one at the coffee shop. A large ebony cabinet hogged the wall beside the door, tasteful vases and ornaments behind its glass-fronted doors. A flat-screen TV hung on the left wall, a canvas mounted either side. One, a pink tulip, drew her immediate attention, and the other showed a red rose, its stem riddled with thorns.

  Just like Dan, those thorns. Sharp. Mean.

  Mark showed her the spare bedroom, and she placed her bag on the single bed. A dark-blue duvet and matching pillowcases covered the divan, and she longed to climb inside and sleep for hours.

  “I only left with one change of clothing,” she said for want of something to say. “He…he’d notice if I took more.”

  Mark leant on the doorframe and stared at her. “Do you need me to take you anywhere? Get that jaw seen to?”

  Heat warmed her cheeks, and her stomach contracted at the thought of an outsider other than Mark knowing where she was. “No. Thank you. It’ll…it’ll be okay.” She peered out of the window. “It usually goes down after a day or two. Besides,” she paused for a moment, “it isn’t as bad as the last time. He knocked a tooth out then.”