by Lisa Hall
‘He … errr.’ Melody flinches as Jonno disappears from the doorway, slamming the door behind him. ‘He wanted you to leave. You were both in the kitchen, only a few minutes after we arrived, and he wanted to go. You refused; you said you wanted to stay for one more drink. He had hold of you by the arms, like this.’ She comes towards me and grabs me by the upper arms. Dizziness washes over me, and I have to blink hard to get rid of the black spots that dance at the corners of my vision. She holds on to me tightly, her fingers matching the exact spots where the bruises marred my skin on the morning I woke up in Liz’s spare bedroom.
‘Gareth did?’ I whisper, my mouth dry. ‘It was Gareth who grabbed my arms?’ I had just assumed that whoever did this to me was the one to bruise me there.
‘Yes, sorry.’ Melody lets me go, her blue eyes full of concern. ‘You know you can talk to me any time, if you need to. You don’t have to put up with that.’ She peers out at me from under her lashes and I get the feeling it’s more that she wants to talk to me. I shake my head impatiently.
‘Did you actually see him leave the party, Melody? Actually see him walk out of the door?’
‘Well, no. I saw him grab you and I … I felt uncomfortable, so I left the room. I was thinking that maybe I’d find Jonno or Neil and get one of them to have a word with him, you know, but then Liz stopped me and … by the time I came back you’d both disappeared. I’m so sorry, Rachel.’
‘No, it’s fine. You weren’t to know what was going to happen.’ I get to my feet, gathering up my bag and wrapping my scarf tightly around my throat. ‘I have to go. Thank you, you’ve been really helpful.’ I rush towards the front door, fumbling with the lock. Melody leans across to help, that powdery scent wafting up in my face again.
‘I would have spoken to you sooner,’ she says as she snaps the lock and moves aside to let me out, peering back over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t overheard, ‘only I was kind of … with … someone else at the party. Someone I shouldn’t have been.’ She looks at me, her fingers shaking on the lock. ‘You won’t tell Jonno, will you? Only, he’ll kill me if he finds out.’
‘I won’t tell.’ Anxious to get out of her overheated, stifling home, I push past her, bile swirling in my stomach. All I can think of is Gareth, his hands wrapped tightly around my arms. Gareth gave me those bruises. And no one seems to have seen him leave the party.
13
SEPTEMBER – THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY
Gareth seems weirdly jittery tonight; as though he is nervous about the dinner party, getting under my feet and snapping irritably at me when I ask him to move out of the kitchen. Maybe it’s because the clients he’s invited are a big deal, but he seems oddly anxious, unusually for him. I am feeling the pressure already, attempting to prepare this last-minute dinner party and Gareth’s agitation isn’t making things any easier.
‘Gareth, please,’ I sigh, as I turn around with my hands full, to find him in front of the fridge, exactly where I need to be. ‘They’ll all be here really soon. You arranged this dinner party, so why are you so …’ I break off, not sure how to word it – moody? Out of sorts? Just plain old miserable? To my surprise, he doesn’t storm out or snap back; instead he just sinks into a dining chair and scruffs his hair with his hands, his skin looking grey under the harsh light of the kitchen spotlights.
‘Rachel … do you ever think … what I’m trying to say is …’ He sighs, his stubble making a scratching noise as he rubs his hand over his face, and swallows hard as if finding it difficult to locate the right words. In this unguarded moment, he looks vulnerable and my heart twists a little. ‘I mean – if everything were to go wrong, would you …’
The shrill ring of the doorbell cuts him off and he gets to his feet, already headed towards the front door before I can stop him and urge him to go on. I am left alone in the kitchen, feeling unsettled and confused by what he was about to say – what does he mean, if everything were to go wrong? What exactly is it that he was trying to say? I try to shake away the feeling that creeps along my spine, the feeling that says maybe he knows about Ted and me.
Wiping my hands on a tea towel I head through to the lounge, hoping it’s not our dinner guests arrived early – I still need to change – but it’s Amy, with Pete, one of Gareth’s major clients.
‘Amy!’ I lean in to give her a kiss, and peck Pete quickly on the cheek, aware that I probably stink of garlic. ‘And Pete … when did this happen?’
‘Just after the barbecue last month,’ Amy blushes, ‘Pete was there and after … your migraine came on,’ she casts a nervous glance at Gareth, who is preoccupied, slapping Pete on the back before moving to the cabinet in the corner of the living room for drinks,‘he asked me to go for a drink with him and then … well, we’ve seen each other a few times. I like him.’ Her cheeks are flushed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth and I am thrilled that she finally seems to have found someone decent after her messy divorce three years ago.
Excusing myself, I go upstairs to change out of my jeans into something more dinner party appropriate. As I rifle through my wardrobe I keep an ear out for the doorbell – I’m still hoping that Aaron will, for some reason, not be able to make the dinner party, but if not, maybe he’ll arrive while I’m still getting ready and Gareth can deal with him. I stretch out the time it takes to freshen up my make-up, lingering over the exact shade of lipstick to wear and dithering over what perfume to spray over my wrists, until I hear the doorbell ring twice more and Gareth shouts up the stairs at me that our guests are here.
I let out a long breath, check my hair once more in the mirror and head for the stairs. I feel nervous, my heart jumping in my chest as I make my way down to greet our guests, slightly worried that Aaron will spend the whole evening making me feel anxious and awkward. I pause outside the kitchen door and give myself a shake – Aaron can only make me feel anxious if I let him. Plastering on a smile I shove the door open, but when I enter the kitchen there is still one spare seat and no sign of Aaron.
My eyes flick to the clock. Twenty past eight. Gareth invited people for eight o’clock, so Aaron is either aiming for fashionably late, or – I cross my fingers behind my back for a second – he’s decided not to come. I wave a ‘hello’ to everyone, skirting around the edge of the table to let Jonno kiss my cheek. Melody looks as over made-up and brittle as ever, and when I lean in to kiss her there is the faint smudge of a bruise on her collarbone, plastered over with foundation. I give her a smile and avert my eyes, not wanting to alert her to the fact that I’ve seen it, sure that she would be mortified if she realized it wasn’t covered as well as she’d thought. Maybe I’ll speak to her about it later, when we are alone – definitely not now, not with Jonno sitting next to her.
Gareth seems to have recovered his good humour, his nerves disappearing, and his voice booms out as he laughs with Pete about something, a bottle of champagne in his hand. The cork pops, and a cheer goes up, the table starting to buzz with chatter as people begin to talk. I force a smile, the beginnings of a tension headache nudging at my temples, and move into the kitchen in a search for champagne flutes.
‘You look nice.’ Gareth follows me into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. He wipes the neck of the bottle, smearing away the condensation, before pouring the bubbles into the glasses I’ve lined up on the kitchen worktop, carefully tilting each glass as he pours so they don’t over run.
‘Thanks.’ I smile at him over my shoulder as I open the oven to check the beef. ‘You seem … better. A bit happier, anyway.’ Fragrant steam puffs into my face as I peer into the oven, before slamming the door closed and turning to face him.
‘Hmmm.’ He takes a sneaky sip from one of the glasses. ‘I think Jonno has agreed to invest. I’m hoping to pin him down a bit later on tonight once he’s got a belly full of your lovely meal.’ Winking, he plants a kiss on my mouth, the taste of champagne sour on my lips.
‘Gareth … what did you mean earlier? When you said what if everythi
ng were to go wrong?’ I lay a hand flat on his chest, in order to stop him from turning away from me, but he does it anyway, reaching back to pick up two of the full champagne flutes, bubbles streaming up the sides of the glass in a race to the top.
‘Hmmm? Nothing, it’s fine.’
‘But you’ve got me worried, saying that. Is everything OK?’
‘Of course.’ He drops another kiss on my cheek; two kisses more than I’ve had from him in a long while, before backing out of the kitchen, letting the door swing closed in my face.
The prawn cocktail starter is on the table (retro, I know), I’m on my second glass of champagne and I’ve finally started to relax when the doorbell rings again. Gareth has excused himself from the table and as everyone turns to look at me as the sound chimes through the house again I have no option but to get up and answer it. I should have known that things were too good to be true. At the front door, I steel myself for a moment, before throwing it open.
‘Aaron. Hello.’ A slight tinge of ice to my voice, I stand to one side to let him in, but he pauses on the doorstep, holding out a bunch of brightly coloured blooms towards me.
‘Rachel – these are for you.’ He smirks. ‘I bet you thought I wasn’t coming.’ He is so close to me that I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. I turn my face to one side, taking the flowers from him even though I don’t want to.
‘Aaron! You made it!’ Gareth’s voice booms down the hallway and the tension is broken. Relieved not to be alone with him any more, I stand back, as far from Aaron as I can get without looking odd.
‘Aaron was just saying he thought maybe we thought he wasn’t coming,’ I say pointedly, but Gareth just laughs good-naturedly. Something has definitely changed for him to be so upbeat this evening.
‘Ha! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ Gareth grasps Aaron’s hand in a tight handshake, before leading him towards the dining table. ‘Come through,’ I hear him saying, ‘I want you to meet Jonno, seeing as you’ll be dealing with a lot of his portfolio.’ My heart sinks at these words, realizing that Gareth has no intention of getting rid of Aaron any time soon – he’ll be referring to him as his ‘right-hand man’ before too long, if I’m not careful. Not bothering with a vase, I throw the flowers into the sink and take the spare prawn cocktail into the dining room, resisting the urge to slam it down on the table in front of Aaron.
‘Prawn cocktail.’ Smiling up at me he digs in with his fork, a smear of Marie Rose sauce running along the stainless steel prongs, making me feel slightly sick. ‘My favourite. Sorry to have kept you all waiting, folks. Busy day at the office.’ He winks at Gareth, then Jonno asks about a property on the other side of West Marsham and the table is suddenly full of talk about rising house prices, leaving me to sit quietly for a moment. Sitting back in my seat I fork the fish into my mouth, trying to look as though I’m enjoying myself, but the food tastes like ashes on my tongue and I have given up any pretence of trying to follow the conversation. Every time I raise my eyes from my plate Aaron is staring at me, but no one else seems to notice.
‘… isn’t that right, Rachel?’ My name on Gareth’s lips pulls me back into the conversation, and I nod enthusiastically, even though I have no idea what I am nodding in favour of.
‘Well …’ Aaron lets his knife and fork drop to the plate with a slight clang, ‘that was delicious, Rachel. There’s just something I can’t resist about cold fish … always tempts me.’ His eyes lock on to mine and I fumble with my napkin as I shove my chair backwards, eager to get into the kitchen for a moment’s respite.
‘All done, everyone?’ I say brightly, smiling my thanks at Amy as she passes me her empty plate. My fingers are shaking, and the plates come together with a clatter as I stack them clumsily, drawing a frown from Gareth and an amused smile from Aaron. I look down, keen to avoid eye contact, snatching up the crockery and heading for the door. Once in the relative safety of the kitchen I lean my head against the refrigerator door and heave in a deep breath. Only a few more hours to get through. The sound of the chatter from the table gets louder as the door swings open and I raise my head to see Amy slipping into the kitchen, clutching two empty plates.
‘Thought you could do with a hand,’ she says, placing them on the counter. ‘Are you OK?’ Her eyes are wide with concern and I realize I must look worse than I feel.
‘Oh God, I was hoping Aaron wouldn’t make it,’ I blurt out, sloshing a giant, fizzy glug of champagne, slightly warm now, into a mug and grimace as I take a large mouthful.
‘Oh, he’s not so bad. He’s quite good-looking actually, I didn’t realize.’ Amy takes the mug from me and has a sip herself. ‘Is this still about the friend request thing?’
‘The … no, God no, I just ignored that. He stopped me in the supermarket – demanded to know why I wouldn’t go for a drink with him. I was in the frozen fish aisle and he made some comment about “cold fish”.’ Amy claps her hand over her mouth as she snorts with laughter, her blonde curls bobbing.
‘It’s not funny,’ I hiss, one eye on the kitchen door in case one of the others walks in, ‘didn’t you hear him say that just now? Another comment about “cold fish” and being tempted by it. That was aimed at me.’ I blink back tears, and something in my voice must resonate with her because she stops laughing abruptly, the smile dropping quickly from her face. She grasps my hand in both of hers.
‘Rachel, come on. Don’t get upset. I think he’s harmless – yes, I think maybe he does like you, probably in an inappropriate way, and yes I agree he is a little … socially awkward, but I don’t think he probably means anything by it.’
‘He’s a creep. He always used to make me feel uneasy, on edge, and now it’s no different. Sending me message requests, demanding to know why I won’t go out for a drink with him. It makes my skin crawl.’ I shudder, goose pimples rippling up my arms. ‘He makes my skin crawl.’
‘Look at it this way,’ Amy says, ‘he’s just broken up with someone, just moved back to an area that holds good memories for him. He’s probably a bit up in the air at the moment, emotionally. He might have latched on to you a bit because he knows you from before … he feels comfortable with you, or maybe you just remind him of when things were better for him. I think you’re reading too much into it all – just keep him at a distance and I’m sure once he meets someone new he’ll forget all about you.’
‘Hmmm.’ I’m not entirely convinced but maybe Amy is right – maybe I am reading too much into all of this. All I do know is that I don’t want to be alone with Aaron under any circumstances.
Dinner goes without a hitch, and everyone raves about my dessert so I don’t mention that I picked it up in a particularly upmarket supermarket this morning on my way home. Aaron doesn’t make any further comments, and the weight on my shoulders feels as though it has lifted slightly by the time Gareth pours the port and sets up the cheese board. He has been in high spirits for the rest of the evening, and I can only assume that Jonno’s agreement to invest has something to do with it. Finally, Amy murmurs about ‘making a move’ and people start to drift towards the front door. Gareth and I stand together in the light of the porch, as we wave people off. Aaron is the last to leave – I am feeling relaxed from the port and the warmth of Gareth against my side, so I don’t even hear what he says at first.
‘Let me grab you that file, the one we talked about. You can have a read through while you’re out of the office tomorrow.’ Before I can say anything, or offer to get it, Gareth has marched down the corridor to his office, leaving Aaron and me alone on the doorstep.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Rachel. It was a pleasure spending time with you. And Gareth, of course.’ Aaron gives a small smile, letting the tips of his canines show below his upper lip.
‘You’re welcome.’ I say no more, reluctant as I am to engage in conversation with him.
‘I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you, now Gareth and I are working so well together.’
‘Maybe.’ I w
rap my arms around myself, as though cold, even though the night is still mild for September.
‘I’m pretty sure I will.’ Smile gone now, his face has lost any geniality, and in the glow of the streetlights his eyes look flat and cold. Unnerved, I take a step back, wanting to keep my distance as he leans towards me, as though he wants to whisper in my ear.
‘Here you go, no rush.’ Gareth appears next to me, and I lean gratefully against him, exhaling a quiet steady stream of air through my teeth as he hands Aaron the folder.
‘Cheers, mate. And thanks again, Rachel, brilliant night.’ Aaron turns and walks down the path, jacket slung over one shoulder, not looking back. I watch until I see him turn the corner on to the High Street, until I am satisfied that he is gone. If Amy is right and I am reading too much into things, then why do I still feel so unsettled?
14
JANUARY – TWO WEEKS AFTER THE PARTY
Amy is already sitting on the bench next to the small lake at the park, where we have agreed to meet. She has the last of a crust of bread in her hand, and as she sees me approach she tosses it into the water where it is immediately surrounded by ducks, all squabbling and fighting to reach it. She dusts her hands on her long, floaty skirt, entirely inappropriate for the damp, misty weather, and pulls me into a hug, Thor wrapping his lead around her legs.
‘God, Rachel.’ She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. Her hands grip my biceps and I resist the urge to wince, even though the bruises have faded to faint green smudges, ringed with yellow. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘Thanks.’ I manage a weak smile as we sit, the damp wood of the bench seeping through my jeans, catching a glimpse of myself in the darkened window of the tea hut that sits on the bank of the lake. God, Amy is right. After too many sleepless nights to mention, I look like a walking zombie. My face is pale, my fringe frizzing into wayward curls where my hat doesn’t quite cover it. Dark circles ring my eyes, and I am aware that my wedding ring spins on my finger, where once it sat snugly. The beginnings of a cold sore makes my upper lip tingle and I run my tongue over it, unable to stop myself.