by Julie Howlin
The cliché that he had a face like thunder was not quite accurate. The look he was giving me gave me such a chill that a face like a blizzard would have been more fitting. A blizzard with a dash of strong black coffee - for I sobered up immediately at the sight of him.
‘And where, may I ask, have you been?’ His voice was quiet and smooth - but terrifying.
‘The comedy club, like I said, then the Slug and Cabbage and then a club in Mile End,’ I said.
‘I told you to be back by ten o’clock, did I not?’
‘Oh, come on, you can’t have been serious about that.’
‘Well, I was,’ he said, getting up and walking towards me, blinking rapidly. ‘Very serious. And I thought I told you to change and wash your face before you went out. And you’ve been drinking, I can smell it.’
‘Of course I was drinking. I was having a night out with my best friends in a pub - what do you expect?’
Next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the floor, my whole face ablaze with pain. I tasted blood from a cut lip, and a sharp pain on the side of my forehead where I’d hit the coffee table as I fell. I touched the spot gingerly - there was blood on my finger - it had broken the skin. I convinced myself I had just fallen - too many G&T’s. The denial lasted a short second - until Jonathan hit me again. ‘The first one was for disobeying me,’ he said. ‘That was for going out dressed like a whore. And this is for drinking. And this is for being late home.’ He hit me again and again, each time with an accusation. When he finally stopped, I lay on the floor in total shock, unable to move. ‘That will teach you not to do as I say,’ he said, quietly. ‘When I tell you to be home by ten, I expect you home by ten. Is that clear?’
I nodded, too shocked and stunned to do anything else. I slowly got to my feet, wiping my bloodied nose, wondering if it was broken. ‘And another thing,’ he said, and I winced, expecting another blow. ‘Jess and Simon are clearly a bad influence on you, keeping you out late and getting you drunk. You are NOT to go out with either of them again, do you understand?’
I nodded, dumbly. By now my head was throbbing and I wondered if I was concussed and should go to casualty. ‘Go to bed,’ he said.
I stumbled into the bathroom, where Thumbelina was cowering behind the laundry basket, frightened by the commotion. I looked in the mirror to assess the extent of the damage. I had a split lip - his signet ring, I guessed, and a trickle of crimson on my upper lip. There were angry red marks where he had slapped me and my left eye was already starting to swell shut. I touched my nose gingerly and decided it probably wasn’t broken, but, all the same, I was going to look a mess in the morning. My legs felt wobbly.
I climbed into bed gingerly, not wanting to annoy Jonathan any further. But he reached out, and with a tenderness I had never experienced before from anybody, gathered me into his arms and held me. He stroked my hair and I felt his breath on the back of my neck. It was ragged, and I realised he was crying. ‘I’m so sorry I had to do that,’ he whispered. ‘I love you. I love you. Nobody loves you as much as I do. Forgive me. Forgive me.’
Tears spilled from my eyes, too, and we lay there crying in each other’s arms. When we’d shed all our tears, Jonathan kissed my neck so softly and lovingly that I found myself responding to his touch in spite of everything. He made love to me and it was the best it had ever been. I knew he was telling the truth when he said he loved me.
**
We woke late, and he spent Sunday pampering me - making breakfast, feeding Thumbelina for me, going out for milk and the paper. It was as if nothing had happened, except my face was sore and I could barely see out of one eye. I stayed in bed all day, and brooded as Jonathan went into the kitchen to prepare a roast dinner for me. I’d always said that if a man ever hit me, even once, I’d walk out immediately. The problem was, this was my flat. If I walked out, I had nowhere else to go and he would still be here when I returned. I doubted he would leave if I asked him to. He might even hit me again. I’m ashamed to say that I knew that if I threw him out, I would never experience delicious sex like we’d had last night, ever again. I knew he was right. Nobody else would ever love me as much as Jonathan Van den Burgh.
**
My face was still a mess on Monday, but I had to go to work. I had to come up with a story - I knew if I told anyone that Jonathan had done this to me they'd tell me to leave him. Then I'd be condemned to a life as a spinster with a cat. He had promised he would never do it again. Saying I’d fallen downstairs or walked into a door wasn’t going to fool anyone. I looked like I’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson - the only possible explanation was that I’d been beaten up. Living on a crime-ridden estate provided me with the obvious answer. I’d got out of a cab, obviously tipsy, and before I could reach the safety of my flat, I’d been set upon by a gang of youths. I wouldn’t give up my bag so they'd laid into me, but had run off when Jonathan, woken by my screaming, had come down, seen what was happening and chased them away. I was sure he’d collude with me.
It worked with my colleagues - Sarah insisted I should be sent home. Robert actually agreed and called me a cab. I shouldn’t be at work in that state - she insisted that I went home to rest, make an appointment with the doctor and report the incident to the police.
Jonathan was at work, so finally I had some time on my own. I didn’t call my doctor or the police - lying to Robert and Sarah was one thing - lying to professionals was quite another. In any case, I didn’t want to spend this precious ‘me’ time waiting in doctor’s surgeries.
My peace and quiet was short-lived. Soon after I got home I had two phone calls in quick succession. Inspector Swan, asking me if I’d meet him to help with a missing person case.
‘I can’t do it today,’ I said. ‘I’m not all that well. In a few days, perhaps?’
‘That’s fine, but the family are really upset - they’ve been badgering me about getting a psychic in to help find out what’s happened to their daughter. Give me a call when you feel better, okay?’
Jess called, concerned because I’d not called on Sunday to let her know that I’d got home all right, so she had called me at work and having been told I’d been sent home, and why, was worried sick.
‘Well, I’m alive, anyway. I got out of the cab and as soon as it drove off I got jumped by this gang. I didn’t let them take anything. Jonathan came down and yelled at them and they ran away.’ I hoped she couldn’t tell I was lying.
‘My God, Tabs, that’s awful! I’m coming over.’
‘There’s no need, really. I’m okay.’
‘It’s not up for discussion. I’m coming over,’ and she put the phone down.
Half an hour later, she arrived. ‘OMG, you look awful!’ She said when I opened the door.
‘Gee, thanks,’ I said.
‘Seriously, Tabs. You should go to the doctor.’
‘There's no need, honestly. It looks much worse than it is.’
‘Have you been to the police?’
‘No, there's no point - there's so much crime on this estate - they’d never catch them. I couldn’t describe these guys, it was dark, I was drunk and they were all hoodied up, anyway.’
Jess frowned at me, but I couldn’t face telling her the truth. She’d make me leave Jonathan, and he’d been so tender to me on Sunday that I’d believed him when he swore he would never do such a thing again. I believed that we'd work it all out. I deflected her questions by suggesting cracking open a bottle of wine I had found in the back of the fridge. I feared Jonathan would pour it down the drain when he found it, so it needed to be drunk before such a terrible waste occurred.
I hated being less than honest to my best friend, but what else could I do? I was going to have to tell her and Simon soon that I couldn’t see them any more - this might be the last time Jess and I sat and had a drink and a giggle together. I didn’t want anything to ruin it.
But Jonathan did. I’d had a glass and a half of wine and was starting to feel relaxed when the phone rang. ‘I called yo
ur office, and they said they'd sent you home,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way home to look after you. I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘I really don’t need looking after,’ I said, desperately. The last thing I needed right now was for him to come in and find me here with Jess and half a bottle of wine.
‘Clearly you do, or you’d still be at work. Besides, I’m already on the bus.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. I came home and had a little sleep and I’m feeling much better. In fact, I said I’d go and help Inspector Swan track down a missing person.’
‘Are you sure you're all right?’ Jess asked as I put the phone down.
I took a deep breath and composed myself. ‘Yes. I'm absolutely fine.’
She looked at me. I'm not sure she believed me, so before she could question me any further, I distracted her. ‘I'd completely forgotten about Inspector Swan,’ I lied. ‘I need to get going.’
‘A missing person?’ Jess was wide eyed as I downed the rest of my glass. ‘Are you doing psychic stuff with the police, then? You'll be good at that. I remember how you found our dog. So are you going to Scotland Yard, or what?’
‘Yes, Scotland Yard,’ I said. ‘I'm really sorry, but I'll be late if I don't go now.’ I screwed the top on the wine bottle and put it back in the fridge.
‘That's really exciting! I'd better let you go. Phone me later, yeah? Tell me what happens.’
‘I will,’ I said, steering her towards the door before she asked me any more about Jonathan.
As we walked to the tube, I called Jamie on my mobile. ‘I'm on my way,’ I told him. ‘I'm feeling much better now.’
**
Like everyone else, Jamie was horrified at the way I looked. What I hadn’t bargained for was that, by lying to him about what had happened, I was effectively lying to the police. I’d come to view him almost as a friend and nearly forgot that he was a professional crime-fighter and that he would be adamant that I should take it further - and if I didn’t, he would.
‘Honestly,’ I said, ‘I didn’t see anything. It was dark and I was so drunk I couldn’t even tell if they were black or white.’
‘There is CCTV on your estate, you know. I can get the footage from Saturday night - the whole incident is probably recorded on it.’
My face burned. I couldn’t let him look at the film - he’d see right away that I was lying. Telling a lie like that was probably an offence. I had a vision of myself in a cell in Holloway. ‘Really, there’s no need. I’m fine,’ I said.
‘Tabitha, a crime has been committed. By the look of you it’s verging on GBH. I can’t just ignore this.’
‘Don’t forget, I have to live on that estate. Who’s to say they won’t come after me for reporting them?’
‘Not if we refuse them bail.’
‘I’m really not sure about this...’
‘Well, I am. I make sure people who harm other people pay the price. It’s what I do.’
‘I’d really rather you didn’t.’
‘If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were protecting these guys,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the right to look at that footage, anyway - if we suspected there was drug dealing going on, or burglaries - we could requisition it for all manner of reasons that have nothing to do with you. I’m going to get it looked into. These people are obviously dangerous and have to be tracked down before they hurt anyone else. They're not going to get away with this.’
I knew he wouldn't be dissuaded. This was his job. I cringed at the thought of him discovering I'd lied. I hoped he wouldn't manage to get the footage.
The plan had been that I would meet the parents of a missing girl, but we decided that my appearance would not instil them with confidence, so I would do a remote reading using a photograph and an item of her clothing.
My hands shook as I took the items in my hand. ‘I’m not getting anything,’ I sighed. ‘Could I take this stuff home and try later?’
‘I’ll have to ask the parents, but I don’t think they’ll mind.’
Jamie went off to ask them, and they agreed, so he came back with a carrier bag. ‘Will you be all right to get home? You look awful, you’re shaking. I can call a cab for you.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘It's really not as bad as it looks.’
‘I insist,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ll walk you out and make sure you get a cab.’
He took me by the arm and led me out of the room. I still felt a little shaky and was grateful for someone to lean on. I tried to make small talk so he wouldn’t ask me too many questions about what had happened to me. I asked after his girlfriend. ‘I don’t have one,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ I was taken aback. ‘I thought you did. I saw you in the King’s Arms, that night when there was a raid and somebody got killed. A blonde woman.’
‘Ah. That night. No, she wasn’t my girlfriend. That was just Christina.’
‘Just Christina? You looked pretty friendly with her.’ They’d been all over each other, if my memory served me correctly.
‘Ah. Well, it was all an act. She’s a colleague of mine. We were part of the covert observations, acting like a couple so we’d blend in. She’s actually a lesbian, and in a civil partnership with another woman.’
‘Oh. Silly me.’
‘Looks like we made a good job of being convincing,’ he grinned. ‘How’s your guy? The one who doesn’t like psychics?’
‘We split up. He found out I was doing this and that was it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. That seemed to have sent the conversation well and truly over to the spirit world. Neither of us spoke until we reached the reception area, when he turned to me and started to say something. ‘Tabitha, I...’ I never found out what he was going to say, for at that point a familiar voice cut in.
‘I’ll take her home now.’ Jonathan was standing in reception, cool as you like.
Jamie looked taken aback for a second, but quickly recovered and said smoothly, ‘And you are?’
I thought I had better step in at this point. ‘This is Jonathan. My new boyfriend. Jonathan, this is Inspector Swan.’
The two men appraised each other, like two stags in the rutting season deciding whether the other was worth attacking. I could sense Jonathan’s hackles rising, seeing me with another man.
‘Call me Jamie,’ Jamie held out his hand with a smile, but Jonathan firmly grasped my elbow and pulled me towards him. I felt like a prize leg of gazelle being disputed by two hungry tigers.
‘We’d best be going,’ Jonathan said. ‘Tabitha is still a bit shaken up after what happened.’
I allowed myself to be escorted outside, but did turn and give Jamie a wave. He stood and watched us go, scratching his chin.
‘So. Solve any big crimes today?’ Jonathan asked as we walked away from the building. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
‘Not today. I was too shaken up to get anything. I’ve got some stuff to work on though. Missing person - parents want to know where she is. When I’m feeling more relaxed I can see if I can tune in. Why, you could even give it a try yourself.’
I held the photograph of the missing girl out to him.
‘She’s dead.’ Jonathan took one look at the photograph of Monica Harman and made the pronouncement without even holding it, or even slowing his pace.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘I can tell by the eyes.’
‘In a photograph?’
‘Yes. One often can. She’s gone, there can be no doubt.’
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted to believe that Jonathan was mistaken.
As soon as we were back in my flat, I sat on the sofa and took the jumper out of my bag. It was light and silky, a beautiful shade of blue. I closed my eyes, and took three deep breaths to centre myself. I could only get the vaguest impressions of Monica - a beautiful, delicate looking blonde. Then I kept getting images about football. Goal posts. A cheering crowd. A thud as a booted foot hit the ball. Perhaps she was a
football fan. She didn’t look like one, but both Jonathan and my grandmother had always taught me not to judge what came. It didn’t tell me anything about how she died or where her body could be found, and there was no message for the grieving parents. At best, it would confirm that I was linking in to her. But no more than that.
I told Jonathan. ‘Perhaps you were right,’ he said. ‘The information you get isn’t detailed or reliable enough to be of interest to the police.’ I know I had often said this myself, but coming from Jonathan, it stung. Especially since I’d proved to myself that I could do it in the Molly Baker case. He reached out and took the jumper from me. ‘You’re tired,’ he said. ‘Go to bed.’
I wasn’t tired. It was only nine o’clock, but I let him lead me into the bedroom. I was hoping that he was taking me to bed for some activity other than sleep, but after he had gently undressed me and whipped up a frenzy of desire in me, he picked me up, put me in bed and tucked me in as if I were a small child. Then he kissed me chastely on the forehead, put the light out and left the room. I lay there for a long time, frustrated, bored and not sleepy at all. Eventually I put the bedside light on and reached for a book.
Sometime later I was vaguely aware of Jonathan taking the book away from me, tucking me in again and climbing in beside me.
I began to dream. I had shrunk to the size of a Mitzi Doll and was standing waist-deep in bracken, watching two stags rutting. Deciding the fight was not going to be resolved quickly, I turned to walk away and found I was Monica Harman. I was carrying a soccer ball and bouncing it as I walked along a dark street. I felt happy and proud - we had won! Suddenly I was choking. Something, or someone, had crept up behind me and grabbed my red and white football scarf and was pulling it tighter and tighter...
I woke with a start and sat up in bed, clutching my throat. Jonathan’s arms were around me at once, and I knew I was alive, and safe. But Monica Harman was not. I told Jonathan about my dream. ‘She was strangled with her football scarf,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to tell Jamie tomorrow.’