What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story)

by Shaw, O. C

  Greg is still looking straight at me. I can’t believe now everyone is telling lies to protect me.

  “My wife’s more a cardigan sort of woman, but you did a good job on her,” he says, putting me firmly back into the dowdy box I’ve been living in for the last eighteen years. I see pure anger flash over Annie’s face at that, and I pray inwardly she lets it go. Stuart must see something in my expression because he suddenly moves to hug Annie and suggest they should make a move. Everything about the way he does it suggests he can’t wait to get her home to bed, but I suspect he just wants to get her away from Greg before she says something we’ll all regret. I could kiss him, but that would only make matters even worse. We spend a few minutes saying goodbyes; Greg promises to bring some pieces in to show Annie while I exchange hugs with them both. Annie says, “I’ll call you,” to me. I can tell she wants to say more but doesn’t know how to in front of Greg, and then we’re left with just Greg, Emma and me. I can tell Emma doesn’t want to leave me with him, but I know I have to get this over with.

  I reach for his hand, which seems to surprise him, before saying, “Do you want another, or shall we head home? I’m tired. You must be shattered, Em, carrying that baby around all day.” She nods and smiles thinly at us.

  “Oh, I think we should go home, love,” is all he says, and it sounds completely innocuous, but I know there is an implied threat in there, and so does Emma. By the time we are hugging our goodbyes in the car park she is almost crying. She seems reluctant to let me go.

  “I’ll call,” she promises before whispering, “if you need me, you know where I am – anytime. I mean it, Lil, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  But that right there’s the problem, isn’t it? Because I have. With a heavy heart I wave to her again before heading to our car where Greg has already positioned himself in the driving seat.

  Chapter 21

  We don’t speak at all until we’re inside the house standing in the kitchen together as I put my bag on the side. The first thing he says surprises me: “I didn’t know you were friends with Annie Lord.” Maybe the lure of a chance with a gallery, now that I am friends with the owner, is going to outweigh how pissed off he is with me for being in the pub with an unknown couple of guys.

  “Well, it’s only been a few weeks, really, we were put together as roommates for the trip, but we just really got on. She’s met Emma and me a few times now at the pub. She gets on really well with Emma, too, although most people do, I suppose.”

  “Was that bloke she was with her boyfriend or husband?”

  “Boyfriend. He’s one of the instructors at the gym, the one who organised the trip.”

  “And the other bloke? Did you fuck him?” I roll my eyes, thinking here we go.

  “No, Greg. No, I didn’t ‘fuck’ him.” I’ve already mentally decided that I am going to answer his questions honestly – if he asks if I fucked anyone else, I will tell him the truth. I hate all the compounded lies that are filling my life now.

  “Did you want to?” he persists.

  “No, I didn’t want to.” I answer honestly. “He’s a friend, that’s all. Or I thought he was going to be a good friend, but after your little performance tonight I’ll be lucky if he even says hello next time I see him at the gym.”

  “So you like him, then?”

  “Yes, I told you…as a friend. That’s all.”

  “So who was that performance with the dress for, then?” I have to give it to him, he doesn’t miss much. I think about how to answer him as honestly as I am able.

  “I got dressed up first and foremost for myself.” It’s true – I was planning to wear the dress before I’d even met James. “I wanted to feel good about myself and the weight I’d lost – the dress, hair and makeup did that. Annie helped me feel attractive for the first time since, well, ever. Everyone was getting dressed up, and I just wanted to do the same – be the same as everyone else. Is that such a big deal? Really?”

  “I’ve never seen you look like that.” He sounds so sad the way he says it that for a moment I can’t reply. It’s sad we would never do that sort of thing for each other.

  “No,” I agree, “we haven’t really ever made time to do that sort of thing. Maybe we should.” He moves to me and wraps his arms round me in an unusually gentle way. I lean in to him.

  “I saw the way he was looking at you, Lil. He wants you.” He breathes into my hair.

  “Who?” I say confused, momentarily losing the flow of the conversation as this rare tender moment overwhelms my senses. If only it could always be like this.

  “That guy in the pub, Pete.” And so quickly I’m back in the real world, and I can feel the tension radiating off Greg again. I don’t speak. I can’t be bothered to keep repeating the same things, and he’s not listening to me anyway. Typical Greg, he’s made his mind up, and now nothing will change it. His touch on me has changed, his grip on my arms tighter, as he pushes me back towards the table. I stumble, but he doesn’t slow at all, half dragging me until I can feel the table edge pressing against my arse. He pushes me down so I’m sitting on the table and reaches for the button on my jeans, yanking both my jeans and pants off in a couple of pulls. I start to protest:

  “What about Ethan? We can’t do this here.”

  But he’s not listening; instead he’s pressing my thighs wide open now and unzipping his fly, pulling out his cock. I realise what’s happening here – this has nothing to do with love; this is about possession. He couldn’t make it clearer if he pissed on me. He shoves into me, heedless of my lack of readiness, as ever, grabbing my arse and pulling me closer, pressing deeper into me, bruising my thighs. A part of me tells me to fight him, that another person should not do this without me wanting him to, but a bigger part of me that has developed a coping mechanism for this over the last eighteen years tells me just to lie there and let it happen, that it will be over sooner if I do. And that’s what I do in the end. I look up into his lust-crazed face as he thrusts into me, just willing it to be over soon, hating the anger I see there.

  He sees me looking and doesn’t like what my expressions must be telling him, withdrawing from me before flipping me onto my stomach. When he plunges back into me, it’s with a renewed vigour. His balls slap against me with each move he makes. It’s taking him longer than normal, but my body isn’t responding this time – it’s like it’s finally learnt sex doesn’t have to be like this, plus I’m terrified of Ethan coming home and seeing this. No kid should have to see his mother like this, however old he is. Eventually, after what seems like an age of him using my body like one of those blow-up sex dolls, he grunts and pours himself into me. Immediately after he’s done he pulls out, wipes himself on one of the tea towels and leaves the room. My legs feel like jelly as I try to stand; the circulation has been cut off while I was pressed against the table. I gather my pants and jeans and shuffle back into them, grabbing the soiled tea towel and pushing it into the washing machine. Once all that is done and I can relax for a second, I collapse heavily onto a chair. My body has started to shake, and I no longer have the strength to stand.

  I don’t know how long I sit there, but the noise of a text coming in eventually rouses me to find my bag. I know Emma must be worrying about me. When I eventually dig my phone out from the depths of my bag, there are five unread texts. The first two are from Annie and Emma, just checking I’m okay. I reply quickly to them both, reassuring them I’m fine. The other three are from James. I read them in the order they arrived, the first obviously having come in while I was at the pub with the others. I just hadn’t checked my phone all night.

  Shall I pick you up from work about 12.30 tomorrow?

  I decide to read the others before replying.

  I heard about the pub tonight. Are you ok?

  Good news sure travels fast in this town, I reflect. I can only think Stuart spoke to him about what happened. I scroll down to the last message.

  Jesus, Lil, if you don’t let me know you’re ok I�
�m going to come and get you.

  I think my heart actually stops beating for a moment as I wonder how long it was from when he sent the message to now. The very last thing I need right now is James hammering on the door, however well-meant his intentions. I reckon it’s been no more than ten minutes. I quickly reply,

  I’m ok, don’t do anything silly. I’ll see you in the surgery car park at 12.30

  I wait holding my breath until the response comes back:

  OK, but just call if you need me – any time day or night

  For some reason the thought of everyone, especially James, worrying about me makes me cry. I sit there sobbing into my sleeve until I hear Ethan quietly opening the front door and letting himself in. I quickly rinse my face, knowing full well my puffy red eyes will be evidence enough of my tears, before letting myself out the kitchen.

  “Oh, hi mum,” he says, surprised to see me still up. “You okay?” he asks, sounding concerned and peering closer at me.

  “Yeah, fine,” I reassure him as I pat his arm. “Think I’m getting a cold, and it’s making my eyes and nose run. Your shift okay?” I don’t think he buys the cold comment, but he’s happy to be distracted off an awkward emotional topic to talking about his shift and the famous people who were at the tables this evening.

  I nod and smile at the appropriate times until he’s done, before we wish each other goodnight. He surprises me by reaching out and giving me a quick hug, it’s kind of stilted and awkward, like he’s not used to doing it, but I’m touched by the gesture and feel tears pricking my eyes again. I quickly wish him sweet dreams and scurry up the stairs, before he spots my renewed tears.

  Greg is already asleep when I let myself into the room, thank the gods. I have no more energy tonight for conflict. I move as silently as I am able, getting ready for bed, before slipping under the duvet beside him. Once there I lie rigidly, waiting for sleep to enfold me, only to still be there an hour later. My mind is restless, flitting between the events of the evening and thoughts of James. At about 2am I suddenly have the thought that I don’t actually have to put up with any of Greg’s crap anymore. I could actually leave if I wanted to. Do I want to? I ask myself. I’m not certain. If I break up the family, would the boys mind? They are older now. But if I left where would I go, what would I do? What would Greg do without me to look after him?

  The thoughts buzz around in my head until the early hours of the morning. I eventually fall into an exhausted sleep where I dream I am cowering in the kitchen from an angry crowd, with Greg and the boys at the front, all shouting at me and calling me a whore.

  It’s actually the silence of the house which eventually wakes me. I have slept through my alarm and only have the minimum time to get ready for work. I shower, trembling as I wash the dried come from my legs, hating the tenderness I feel between my thighs as I notice a couple of bruises. I half contemplate cancelling James given my fragile emotional state, but I figure it will likely cause even more stress if he’s determined to talk to me. I resolve to see him and finish it. It was a decision I came to last night: if I was going to leave my husband, it was a decision I needed to make based on our relationship (or lack of it), and not to just run into the arms of another man, however lovely those arms, chest and face may be. Having made the decision I am somewhat disturbed to find myself putting significantly more care and attention into my dressing preparations for the day. I wear a skirt for once that has a plaid design, with opaque tights and a fitted V-neck black jumper. It shows off my curves in the right way. I even add a little mascara for a change. For someone who is breaking up with a guy today, I sure am making a lot of effort, I reflect as I look at myself in the mirror before grabbing my bag and coat and heading out the door. I don’t have time for breakfast, and I don’t bother calling out to Greg to let him know I’m leaving.

  Chapter 22

  The new look at work has caused quite a stir, and I feel uncomfortable about all the attention I’ve drawn to myself. Several of the patients even comment about how lovely I’m looking, and I guess the fitted outfit has shown my weight loss off because most of the practice staff remark on it and tell me how great my figure is now and how well I appear. Well, my body is, but I see big, dark bags under my eyes as I look at my reflection in the staff toilet’s mirror. The time actually flies for once, maybe because of how apprehensive I’m feeling about seeing James and telling him what I’ve decided. At dead-on 12.30 I walk out of the surgery and into the car park. I can’t see the Mercedes as I scan the car park, but the door to a new model Range Rover with darkened windows opens and I see James step out and wave at me before moving round the car. I quickly step over to where he’s waiting, holding the passenger door open for me, and climb in. He closes the door behind me before moving back round to the driver’s side and climbing in beside me. For a moment he just looks at me – I see his happy smile fade as he takes in my appearance and sombre expression.

  “What the fuck did he do to you?” he growls at me, evidently furious at what he sees in my face.

  “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. We can’t talk here,” I say, looking anxiously around at the other cars. His jaw tenses, and I see his grip tighten on the steering wheel before he nods and starts the ignition.

  I have no idea what his plans are for the afternoon. Didn’t even think to ask. Is he taking me somewhere planning to have sex? I wonder. If he is, what am I going to do? I really don’t know. Now I’m sitting beside him, looking at his profile as he silently grips the steering wheel driving us to our unknown destination, and I feel the same magnetism I always feel around him. I want to lean against his shoulder, I want to feel his arms around me again, I want him to make love to me until the orgasms tremor through my body. Something of what I’m feeling must transmit to him because the next time he looks at me his expression softens and he reaches out to clasp my hand in his own. We stay that way until we pull into a small pub in the middle of the Ashdown forest. It’s beautiful here, especially in the autumn when all the leaves on the trees are changing colour to rich gold and red before they fall to the ground at the onset of winter. The pub is tiny, with just one main sitting room area where we find an alcove to sit in. We order drinks and a bowl of soup each before settling in and finally turning to really look at each other. Before I can say a word he is pulling me towards him and crushing my lips to his own. All my protests are silenced as his lips begin to move against mine, and rational thought is lost to sensation as I respond enthusiastically. I move closer to him, wanting to press myself against him and feel that same urgent press from him against me. It’s only the slightly embarrassed coughing of the waitress bringing our soup over that breaks us apart.

  Jesus, we were nearly dry humping in a pub, I realise, flushing with embarrassment while James murmurs our thanks to her. She gives him a coquettish smile, clearly not put off James in any way, having seen him making out with me. I want to growl at her. He laughs when he looks at me and sees my expression.

  “I only have eyes for you, Lily,” he says, kissing me again. I have to grip the chair to stop myself falling into his arms once more. He’s looking at me intently now, and I can see the tension in his face before he finally asks me: “What happened last night?”

  I deflect the question by asking my own, “How did you know something happened?”

  He looks guilty for a moment before admitting: “Stuart told me he was meeting you and Annie at the pub last night, and I just texted him to find out how it was, how you were. He knows I like you and worry about you – it seems I’m not the only one. He told me Greg turned up at the pub and was pissed at seeing everyone, but especially Pete. He said he looked really angry with you.” He looks at me hard before asking in a cold flat voice: “Did he hurt you, Lily?”

  I can’t speak immediately; I just shake my head mutely. It won’t help to tell him what happened in the kitchen, and it won’t change anything. Physically I’m okay, anyway, even if emotionally I’m a mess.

  “If he ever hurts yo
u, Lily, I swear I’ll kill him.” I have no doubt when he looks at me that he means every word he says.

  “I’m okay, really,” I reassure him, wanting to diffuse the anger. It works, as he reaches out to brush the back of his hand down the side of my face. I automatically close my eyes and lean in to the touch.

  “I couldn’t stand anything to happen to you,” he says fiercely, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “He doesn’t deserve a wife who is unfaithful,” I say sadly.

  “If he was good to you, if he treated you as you should be treated, you wouldn’t have looked at me in the first place.”

  I have to smile at that. “I think I would always have looked at you, James,” I say with a grin, “I just might not have done anything else but look.”

  He smiles back at me and reaches for my hand again. “I’m so glad I met you. I’ve never met a woman like you. You’re all I can think about – I’ve never been like this with a woman before.”

  “It’s just because you can’t see me all the time. I haven’t had the chance to annoy you yet. If you were with me all the time you’d soon get bored with me.”

  “No,” he says adamantly, “I wouldn’t.”

  “How do you know, though? We barely know each other.” It’s true; we haven’t exactly spent much time with each other just talking. It’s always ended up becoming physical.

  “Well, I’m going to put that right this afternoon,” he says. “We’re going to stay here and talk about our views on life, the universe and everything until I convince you we are meant to be together.”

  And so we do. We talk about everything – where he grew up (his parents are titled but relatively cash-poor while land-rich), went to school (a minor boarding school from the age of eight, followed by Durham University), made his first money (an early investment in a low-budget British rom com that did really well and which I happen to have seen and loved) and how he ended up in the same town as me – he’s a little evasive but seems to have ended up here because a partner had property here.