by Shaw, O. C
“You’re tired,” James tells me. “You just need to rest and focus on getting better. We can discuss all this when you’re feeling more yourself.” I decide to nod, as I don’t have the strength to argue any more. “The doctor said you’d probably be in for another couple of days, but then you can go home. Lily, I want to look after you, will you let me do that?” he asks intently. I nod again, not trusting myself to speak, a warm feeling building around my heart at his words. He smiles at me then and strokes my hair until I fall asleep again.
The next couple of days I am put under relentless pressure to press charges against Greg. The police make it clear they believe they have enough evidence to press charges against him with or without my support, but I can tell they would prefer not to have to do it without. Greg has no previous record, and the chances are he would be given the benefit of the doubt without my testimony. For a while I’m concerned when Emma and James gang up and threaten to give evidence against him; they certainly know enough about us to make more of a case, but in the end I plead to them not to hurt my boys and me any more, and they relent.
The first time I am allowed to see myself in the mirror, I am appalled. Greg has destroyed my face – these bruises will take quite some time to heal. The emotional damage is harder to understand – I find myself crying continually. On one level I can rationalise what happened as a purely physical act, one I had performed with him countless times over the years, often when I wasn’t particularly into the idea, just letting him get on with it. On another level I feel I have been invaded. I had always consoled myself that if I had said no it would have been enough for him; I trusted he would stop. I feel vulnerable in a way I have not felt since I was a child. It’s hard to explain; I feel alone and afraid.
The boys have still not visited me, although I did get a ‘get well soon’ card that gave me hope we could rebuild bridges eventually. I have to believe it’s going to be possible, as I can’t imagine not having them in my life. Finally, I haven’t heard anything from Greg, and for that I am grateful. I am terrified of being alone with him again. James has become my own personal guard dog, taking my safety as his cause and rarely leaving my side. He insists on working in my hospital room beside me, much to the nurses’ annoyance. I have finally agreed with him and Emma I would stay with James during my recuperation before looking for a bedsit to move to. He grumbles when I say it, but I’m determined not to force myself into his house permanently under these circumstances. If we were ever going to live together it would be because he wanted me to and had invited me and I had accepted, not because I was an invalid and he felt guilty.
When the day finally comes for me to be discharged, James arrives bright and early. Emma had taken it upon herself to borrow my keys, go to my house and collect some clothes for me. Fortunately Greg was not there when she did, or if he was he was sensible enough to stay in the shed and did not come out to see her. He must have known he would be skating on thin ice if he made any more trouble. My clothes, apart from one set she brought in for me to wear home today, are already at James’ house waiting for me in my case where Emma had dropped them off. She was beside herself after she saw James’ house.
“Bloody hell, Lil,” she had said, “I want to play at your house, please.” I had smiled and reminded her it wasn’t my house, and I was only staying there until I was well enough to live on my own again. “Whatever,” she’d replied.
Christmas is now just over a week away, and as I’m wheeled out the hospital to the waiting Range Rover, there is a real nip in the air. It’s nice to be out in the seasonal cold. James is treating me like I’m wrapped in cotton wool, as he insists on lifting me from the wheelchair into the car. I still hurt a lot, especially my ribs, but I’ve had enough injuries over the years to know all I need is time to heal the injuries on the outside. I think it might take longer to heal the ones inside. When we get to the house James insists on carrying me in and up to the bedroom where he settles me into the bed and then proceeds to offer me every type of food he can think of. It’s sweet, and I enjoy being looked after for once.
“Thank you,” I say when he brings me yet another cup of tea in bed. “I’ll be able to be up and about a bit more soon, and I can start helping a little around the house,” I reassure him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, “you are not to lift a finger. I have a housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, who sees to all that. I’ll introduce you to her tomorrow.” And with that he kisses me sweetly on the lips and curls up beside me. I feel safe for the first time in days, and it feels like heaven.
Chapter 33
I’ve been here a week now, and the time with James has been wonderful. He has taken remarkable care of me. The only fly in the ointment has been the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds. I can tell she hates me, and I don’t know why. I can’t think what I have possibly done to upset her. I’m now up and about; my bruises are still awful and unsightly, but I am healing well. Every time we are in the same room I can feel her eyes on me, watching everything I do, everything I touch. I try to discuss it with James, but he brushes it off and tells me not to be so silly. So now I just feel awkward. I try to clear up after myself constantly, but that just gets James irritated with me, and he insists I sit back down and let Mrs Reynolds help me. James has to work quite a bit, so I spend long hours in the house with just Mrs Reynolds, and frankly it’s a nightmare. Fortunately the house is big enough so I can avoid her a fair bit, but it could never be big enough for me unless she wasn’t in it in the first place. This morning I have miraculously managed to avoid her entirely, which has been heavenly. I am just sitting in the corner of the brilliantly stocked library, curled up in one of the large armchairs, when she sticks her head around the door. I know she hasn’t seen me because she would have scowled if she had. I’m about to say something to alert her to my presence when something stops me. I hear her go out into the hall and pick up the landline phone to make a call. I can’t hear everything she says, but what I do hear makes me curious:
“I’m sorry to bother you at work ........................... yes, very well, thank you.................. so are you planning a trip here soon?............................. we have one of Mr Lattimer’s guests..................seems very settled here...............no, I don’t think she does.....................yes, I think that would be best, I hope you didn’t mind me calling..................no, quite, that’s what I thought..................yes, whatever you think best. Goodbye, goodbye.”
I wonder who on earth the person on the other end of the phone could possibly be, because I know from what I heard Mrs Reynolds say on this end they can only be discussing me. It bothers me a lot for some reason to think she’s talking about me, and I resolve to call Emma and get her to drive me round some of the bedsits I have found so I can move out straight after Christmas. James keeps telling me he wants me to stay, but I don’t think I can, given the current climate in the house.
Emma is delighted to help when I call, and we agree to go to a couple of shops while we’re at it so I can pick up gifts for James and the boys. I’ve already got Emma’s present; a beautiful handbag I saw online that is big enough to hold stuff for the baby but means she won’t have to sacrifice style entirely. I can’t really afford much else, given my current predicament, but I decide it would be best to save money after Christmas; I want to enjoy the here and now. Fortunately work have been very kind and insist I should take as long as I need, giving me extended paid sick leave – I guess being a reliable employee for so long has finally paid off. They even sent me some beautiful flowers and a ‘get well soon’ card that everyone had signed. The benefit of being as accident-prone as I am is that I have had very little challenge to my story about falling down the stairs at home.
Emma and I have a wonderful day; we are a right pair with her enormous bump and my ribs, so we can’t walk far. We see three different bedsits, which are all fairly grim but will do at a push, and then head to the shops. We pretty much only make it to one department store a
nd stay there, given our combined invalid status. But we find everything we want, and the rest of the day we have coffee and lunch and chat like we always used to. I get the boys a shirt each from the designer I know they like, and I buy James two gifts: a first-aid kit that I figure he’ll need if he’s going to spend any time with me, and a book of walks in the Peak District. I hope he’ll take me back there one day and we can do some more walking together. Emma laughs a lot at the first-aid kit. The shop agree to wrap all my parcels for me which is a bonus.
By the time we get home my mood is much lighter. James comes to the door when he hears Emma’s car in the driveway, and my heart does a little flip when I see him again. He’s pleased to see the smile on my face and tells me so as we stand there holding hands while we watch Emma drive off. She’s offered to drop the presents for the boys off at the house on her way home as it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow; I want the boys to have them before Christmas Day, but there’s no way I want to go near the house yet. I know I’ll have to soon, but just not yet. I realise I’m going to need to find a lawyer after the New Year and start to sort my life out properly, but I decide I’ll worry about it ‘tomorrow’.
“Is Mrs Reynolds here?” I ask as we turn to walk into the house.
“No, she’s already gone home. Just you and me,” he says with a smile. We haven’t made love since Buxted Park – I’ve not been well enough – but when I look at him and he smiles at me, I feel the heating of my body that only he provokes in me. He senses it and laughs. “You seem to be feeling better, Lily.”
“I am,” I say, giving him a coy look as I walk up the stairs.
We have to be careful; he can’t lie on me at all, but we find a way. And when he’s inside me at last, having touched and kissed and licked me to the point of climax, it feels so good that neither of us can last long. I have missed this closeness with him.
“God, Lily, I’ve missed being inside you,” he says as if reading my mind.
“I love you James,” I say, looking into his beautiful blue eyes.
“I love you too,” he says simply.
We spend the rest of the evening making dinner and planning what food we want to buy for our Christmas dinner – he promises to go out and buy it all in the morning – and he gets excited when I show him the two parcels I have bought for him. He looks like a little boy again when he gets excited, rather than the 42-year-old man he actually is. When we finally fall into bed again, close to midnight, my heart is much lighter. I’m up for a replay of earlier, but James insists we need to take it carefully so that I don’t end up hurting my ribs again. I grumpily agree, only cheering up when he proceeds to kiss and cuddle me until I proclaim I’m finally happy with him again. I fall asleep in his arms, and it’s heaven.
I’m disturbed in the morning by the sound of a door slamming. James is still wrapped around me, in the same position we fell asleep; I don’t think we have moved all night. I assume it’s Mrs Reynolds arriving for the day until the bedroom door is slammed open, causing James and me to sit up quickly. I wince as my ribs protest about the sudden movement.
A vaguely familiar blonde woman is standing in the doorway staring at us. She is stunning, and I become acutely aware of what a wreck I must look. I realise I am naked beside James and pull the sheet up to protect my modesty. James is staring at her, his mouth open.
“Close your mouth, James,” she says in clipped tones. Her accent is American. I realise she is familiar because I recognise her from the photo in the Peak District; it’s the woman James was with who he mentioned was his ex-partner. “Can I suggest you get your clothes on and pack your bag,” she says to me coldly, “you’re not welcome in my house.” Her house? I think. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she says to James before sweeping out.
“Amanda,” I hear James saying as he gets out of bed, grabbing his robe and trying to follow her while putting it on at the same time.
I sit there for a moment after they leave, and then I slowly get out of bed and begin to dress as quickly as I am able in my clothes from yesterday, which are the first things I can find. I need to know what’s going on. I throw my things into my case but struggle to carry it, as my ribs are just too sore. When I see the little wrapped parcels for James I pause for a moment, wondering what to do. In the end I leave the little gifts on James’ pillow. Eventually after the pain of trying to move my case becomes too much, I decide to leave it at the top of the stairs and make my way down towards where I can hear raised voices in the kitchen. Mrs Reynolds is standing in the entrance hall, a smug expression on her face, just watching me as I descend the stairs. I hold my head up and walk past her, determined to uncover what is happening. When I walk into the kitchen I see James by the table. He has his hands on it, and he is leaning heavily on them; he looks like a broken man, and my defensive hackles immediately rise.
“Ah, here she is,” Amanda says as she sees me walk in. James lifts his head briefly, and the look in his eyes nearly breaks me; I have to stop myself from running to his side. “I must say, James, you’ve lowered your standards somewhat,” Amanda continues, giving me a scathing look.
“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” I say quietly.
“Why yes, dear, I’d be delighted,” Amanda says.
“Amanda, don’t do this,” James beseeches her.
“Why, James? The poor girl deserves to know the truth, don’t you think?” I look at her expectantly, knowing she’s delighting in her little performance. I try to hold my head a little higher in order to retain some shred of dignity. “In case you don’t know who I am, my name is Amanda Lattimer. I’m James’ wife,” Amanda announces grandly. My head swivels round to James, whose head has dropped even further.
“You’re married?” I say, shocked, my mind trying to process what I’ve just heard.
“Yes, he’s married,” she answers for him. “Has been for nearly fifteen years. I live in America. I’m an actress – you probably recognise me?” I shake my head absently.
“I don’t watch a lot of films,” I murmur. She seems annoyed by this.
“Well, anyway, while I’m over there, James seems to prefer to spend all his time in this godforsaken little country; for the love of God, I have no idea why. We have an arrangement. It suits me to have a handsome English husband to roll out when I need him – they’re quite the fashionable accessory these days, you know – and it suits him to have access to my money,” she says, gesturing to the room around us.
“All this is mine, you see. James has burned his way through his own money, it seems, what little he had to begin with.” I look at him, hoping to hear his side of things, but he won’t even look me in the eye. I realise Amanda is still speaking, “So you see, while I am quite modern enough to tolerate the odd dalliance with some local slut, something James has always seemed so fond of, I will not tolerate one of his sluts moving into my house,” she says, looking at me. She looks at James now when she hisses.
“I will not be made a laughing stock of, James. The maid had to call me to let me know what was happening.” I knew Mrs Reynolds was a snake. “You’re only lucky the paps didn’t get wind of this; you know how they lap up sordid stories like these. So anyway,” she says imperiously, turning back to me, “please say your ‘goodbyes’ and crawl back under whichever stone you crawled out from in the first place. There’s nothing more for you here.”
“James,” I whisper, unable to believe he’s just going to stand there and let her talk to us like this. No matter what has happened, I have to believe he loves me enough to defend me. I wait, but he still doesn’t even look at me.
“Oh, how sweet, she thinks you’re going to choose her over me! Oh, that’s delightful.” She actually laughs like I made a funny joke and claps her hands, before she leans forward again. “Now listen to me, darling, because I’m getting tired of having you in my house and I want you gone: James will never leave me. He’s too fond of the money, you see, and he knows if he leaves me he gets nothing. Now I know you
’ve had your fun, but it’s over now, and James knows he needs to be a good boy again, so get your bag and get out.”
I’m mortified, mostly because I realise James’ silence means I was merely a meaningless dalliance to him; he can never really have cared for me if this is how he treats me. I rush out of the room and up the stairs. I grab my case, dragging it down the stairs and ignoring the protests my ribs are making.
I have no idea where I’m going; I just know I need to get out of this house and away from this shit. I open the front door and, only then, as I am leaving, I finally hear an agonised voice say: “Lily.”
I turn to look at him. He is standing there in the hallway watching me leave, his face twisted in despair. “Where will you go?” he asks.
“I don’t think that’s really your concern,” I say as I lug my case out the door, tripping along the gravel until I am beyond the gates. I must look a complete sight with my face covered in bruises, my hair ratty and un-brushed, my clothes creased from yesterday. I stand on the pavement for a few minutes until I collect myself enough to find my phone and call a cab. When it arrives I give him Emma’s address.
I sit in the back, dry-eyed. I really thought he loved me. I thought he was different, but it seems it was all a lie. So much makes sense now I think about it; his caution about being seen even after Ethan saw us, his reluctance to invite me to his home. He was so clever telling me she was his partner but that they were separated. It was all technically true, but the more salient points, like the fact he was still married, he omitted to mention. I never questioned him, more concerned with righting my own wrongs first. Well it sure all came back to bite me. I feel such a fool.
As if a man like him would ever choose someone like me when he had a beautiful, rich actress like her at home, I think. I was exactly what she described; a stupid little slut, and now I have nothing. The cab pulls up outside Emma’s, and I climb out, pulling my case with me. I throw a ten-pound note at the driver, not waiting for any change, and then stumble up the path to the front door. I don’t know what I will do if she says I can’t stay. I ring the bell, and when the door opens she is standing there, all pregnant and beautiful. She takes one look at me and my case before opening the door wider and pulling me into her arms, where finally my tears begin to fall.