Thoughts tumbled and rolled through her mind. Would it be best to make a joke now or perhaps simply tut and leave it? Words refused to collect in any sort of order. “Jacob.” That was it, just his name and he didn’t respond. “I…” it was hopeless she gave up.
Now he shifted on the chair, raised his eyes to hers. She couldn’t read his expression, was he upset, amused, or was he angry? Impossible to tell.
The moments ticked by, she wanted to take some action to break the silence and move things along. The happy mood was lost. She couldn’t make out what had replaced it but there was a threat in the air, something unfathomable and deeply uncomfortable. As she tensed her fingers on the table top ready to push the chair back he laid his hand on top of hers.
“Toy boy?”
“Not my words Jacob, never my words. I haven’t spoken to my mum about you, not at all. Jane called her and poked her nose into my business and my mum has overreacted. I haven’t said anything to anyone about us, well not about how we are, how we’ve been, you know.”
“How have we been Mary? Tell me, in your opinion, how have we been?”
“Well, you know the erm, the sex and the closeness all of that.”
“You know everything was alright before you told Jane about us. It was lovely, I thought you were happy and we were good together.”
“Yes, we were, it was lovely, it really was and I didn’t mean to tell Jane. It just came out, I never meant to talk about you to her but well, I suppose I just wanted to share how I felt with my friend. I think that but anyway I see now it was silly.”
“Is it still lovely Mary, do you still think it’s good?”
“Well, I was upset you know, with Jane’s reaction.”
“Yes, but what do you think, do you think it’s still lovely?” His face had hardened and the grip on her hand was tight, painful. She fought back a flicker of fear and took a deep breath.
“I like you such a lot Jacob. I have done since the first time we met, that silly day in the road.” She tried to drag her hand away but he moved his own to trap it more firmly against the table top. The delicate bones of her fingers ground under his grip. “I didn’t expect this thing to happen and I was so happy, I couldn’t believe it but then…” He tipped his head to one side, narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak. She needed him to speak, the better to read his mood and judge how to continue. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so physically threatened. It was a gut instinct fed by his stillness, the dead stare of his eyes and the pain of his grip on her hand. From somewhere she summoned up bravery to speak honestly to him.
“I think maybe Jacob I have made a mistake, well that we have. I didn’t think enough about the differences between us, the age thing of course but really everything, I was swept along and lost control. We are in such different places in our lives, aren’t we? You are so young. You have such a lot of stuff still to do. I don’t think I’m right for you just now. This relationship, maybe it’ll hold you back you know, stop you doing things you should do. I didn’t feel so comfortable with your friends the other day. I felt old and I was worried about what they would think of me, if they knew and – oh Jacob I just think maybe this is wrong, for you, for us.” She shook her head as she finished speaking and tried again to pull her hand away. The tension in her muscles was screaming and panic was creeping in.
His face creased with anguish and great tears ballooned on the bottom lids of his eyes ready to overflow and run across his cheeks. “I thought you liked me Mary, I really thought you did. I thought you were different, genuine. You in your pretty blouses with your shining hair, your sweetness, but now I see I’m just a joke to you, fuel for gossip, a toy boy!”
“No, no, I told you I never said that, they weren’t my words.” As he raised his hand to brush away the moisture on his face she leapt up from the table. Her instinct was to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and rock him like the child she had never had. Her heart urged her to comfort him but, the tension of the last few minutes, the violence that pulsed in the air between them held her back and she stood looking down at him as he angrily dried his cheek.
“You’re all the same aren’t you? Always the same, gossiping and twittering like caged budgies. Talking behind our backs and laughing at us. I thought you were different, I thought you were nicer but you’re not. You, you Mary, you’re just the same as all the others.” The outburst was shocking, she raised a hand to still the words, to quiet the escalating level of his voice. His face was flushed with fury, his nostrils flaring. She stepped around the table and held out her arms palms upwards, entreating, begging for peace.
“Jacob, there’s no need for you to be upset. I told you, I didn’t mean to talk about you but I shared my thoughts with my friend.”
“Why, why? I thought I was your friend. You care more about bloody Jane than you do about me. I thought what we had, what we did was special and now I find that you’re just like all the rest. Like my mother, Lyndsey, all of you.”
She didn’t understand where the fury had come from and was shocked and afraid, and out of her depth in the face of such passion. As she leaned to him he raised his hand, she saw the threat but didn’t believe it. The possibility of physical attack was ludicrous, so far off her radar that she continued to approach him. He flung his arm towards her, the power of his shoulders behind the swipe and as his hand connected with her cheek she was flung sideways away from him to collide with the kitchen cabinet which struck her at the waist winding her and sending her into a heap on the tiles.
“See, see what you did, see what you did? Are you happy now that you made me do that? Mary, how could you?” Before she had time to catch her breath and fully register the enormity of what had happened he stalked across the tiles and dragged her to her feet. His hand moved to her head, fisting in her hair and pulling her face towards his. She thought that he would kiss her and closed her eyes. Instead he hissed at her, “You let me down, you are a disappointment, that’s what you are.” Before she had a chance to speak or squirm from his grasp he lashed out again backhanding across her face. Her ears rang and flashes of light exploded behind her eyes and then suddenly it was over. He released his grip on her hair and let her drop to the floor where she sat sobbing in confusion. He swung away and grabbed his jacket and backpack storming from the room which descended into surreal quiet, the clock ticking happily and the kettle beginning to hum.
Afterwards when she tried to replay what had happened her brain refused to form the pictures. As she sat on the settee with a cold cloth on her face to reduce the swelling and to minimise any bruising she was unable to piece it together. All she could remember was the sudden yelling, the sound of his hand as it swiped at her face and the scream that seemed to come from somewhere far away but which left her throat raw. The moments before she heard the slam of the door and the rattle of the little metal gate at the end of the drive were so unspeakable that as she sat alone and shaking in the quiet dimness of her living room her mind refused to let her see them.
Chapter 37
She locked the door and put on the safety chain, set the alarm and then creaked up the stairs. The hot water in the shower hid her tears and in truth she didn’t know when the crying started but stepping out into the steamy bathroom she was wracked with great shuddering sobs. Her hair, rubbed dry with the towel would look like a rats nest in the morning but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be going to work, couldn’t with the marks on her face. She had been at the surgery for a long time and seen the cowed and frightened wives and girlfriends and had heard the excuses; cupboard doors and familiar windows suddenly and inexplicably unseen obstacles and dangerous barriers bruising and cutting tender flesh. She had heard some of the tales and read the reports and she was not going down that road.
No matter what happened there would be no lying, no making excuses. She didn’t think that she would go to the police, probably not. She could see how it would look, an older woman, lonely and desperate for attention and a young man dr
iven by passion and hormones; they would hide the grins and deny the judgements but they would be there. Oh she had no doubt they would pay lip service, be polite, probably send an officer around to comfort and cajole and lead her to a court hearing but she wouldn’t do it. Right now, at this hour she didn’t know what she was going to do, the shock and the pain had deadened her brain and she was drifting in a strange place and didn’t know her way around.
She climbed under the covers and wrapped herself in the scent of fabric softener and sanity. Quietly in the darkness she lay with eyes closed fighting back the fears and the anguish and waiting for the dawn. Eventually she slept.
The sounds of the street woke her. For a moment the unfamiliar feel of her face, eye swollen shut, and soreness on her lips and cheekbone was puzzling and then it swept back and she knew there were things to do and quickly. She called the surgery and told them she was ill and asked for permission to take some holiday time. They were put out and sniffy but it couldn’t matter, maybe later she could tell them, the ones that could be trusted but for now the lie was almost the truth and it had to suffice.
She threw some clothes into a bag; continually she would peer through the bay window in the living room and when the gate rattled she scuttled into the corner to hide until it was clear it was only the postman. She was afraid. Though she wouldn’t stand for this, wouldn’t be a victim, she was afraid that if he came back and found her he would be violent again or maybe that he wouldn’t, that he would be tearful and bereft. If he came and told her he was sorry, that it was a moment of madness, that he didn’t know why he had done it she knew her fear would make her tell him that it was all alright, that she forgave him. It wasn’t alright, not at all and she would not forgive him ever, and to give voice to such a thought would be unbearable and so she must go away until she could make her world safe again. Right now she wasn’t sure how to do it but the first thing was to flee.
The small black travel bag sat on the landing and her soft wool coat wrapped around her like a friend. Mary stepped back into the bedroom for a last glance to make sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked and her eye caught the glint of reflection on the picture of Bill sitting on the dresser. His shining eyes and laughing mouth called to her and she crossed the floor to lift the small frame and stroke the image with a quivering finger. “What are you doing?” She heard him deep inside her ears, she heard her husband not as a ghostly whisper but as a vivid memory. Quiet and kind as he had been even when he was riven by the illness and made short-tempered by the pain, he had never turned on her, never been anything but gentle. “What are you thinking?”
Right now the need to speak to her husband and to have him hold her hand was a physical ache. They had moved into the little house about ten years before the start of his illness and they had loved it. They had decorated and improved it together and when the time came for him to die he had come home to their place. What would he think if he saw her now preparing to run away and leave it when they had faced so very much here? Bill had been brave and taken strength from the love within the walls, surely she should do that now. Facing this awful thing, why would she run?
Her eyes swept around the bright bedroom, this was her home, her haven. The things that rested in this room had meaning to her and still resonated with Bill’s touch. She didn’t want to go away, to sleep in some cold hotel and eat her meals in cafés and bars. She wanted to be here, here with the things that she loved. The new found resolve that swept her body now was absolute. She had made a mistake, Jane had been right in some of what she had said, she felt herself a fool but was not to be a coward as well. No, she would stay and face what had happened and would act, and though it would be impossible to obliterate the violence, after all the blow had fallen quite literally, now was not a time to run and hide, now was a time to fight back and to balance the scales.
She took out her digital camera and recorded photographs of her ruined face from each angle that she could manage, she shrugged off her coat and moved the bag back into the room, she would unpack later. Running to the computer she downloaded the images and saved them both on the hard drive and then on a memory stick which she placed in the very back of her desk drawer.
The plan that was forming was still a wisp in the ether but the need to put things right was strong. She went back upstairs and experimented a little with her make-up she would need to go out later, and though she couldn’t hide the bruise totally she thought that she could lessen it enough so that it wouldn’t be very visible in the dimness of her car. She turned back to the picture of Bill and kissed the end of her finger before stroking it gently against the glass. She would regain her pride and her self-respect and no violent, selfish boy would drive her from her home.
Chapter 38
The kitchen was in disarray and so, as the kettle boiled, she loaded the dishwasher and wiped the surfaces. Sunshine winked on the reflective points and the morning was bright, but as she glanced at the chairs tumbled away from the table and the dried food still smeared on spoons and pans, the whole nasty episode flooded back. She straightened her back and took in a deep breath. She had made a terrible error of judgement but was not the guilty party. What Jacob had done was wicked and such violence could never be justified. She wasn’t a vengeful person and didn’t normally hold a grudge but had never before been the victim of physical violence and it had unlocked in her something powerful and undeniable.
She glanced at the kitchen clock and was stunned to find that the morning was almost gone. The first part of her plan needed her to be outside the college when they broke for lunch and if she didn’t leave within the next few minutes it would be too late. As she made her way to the coat cupboard the phone rang and with a sinking heart she heard her mother’s voice over the answering machine. “Mary, what is going on? You didn’t call back and when I rang your work this morning they said that you were sick. Dad and I are coming down this afternoon. This is not like you, I’m quite upset.”
No, they mustn’t come, they mustn’t see her bruised and swollen face. They wouldn’t be put off with an invented story of a fall but would want to know every detail and nuance and she knew that it would be impossible to weave a convincing tale. She leapt forward and snatched up the receiver. “Mum, hi. Sorry I didn’t get back to you. To be honest that headache really was awful and it turned into a migraine.”
“I didn’t know you had migraines.”
“Well no, no I don’t, not normally but oh you know. I rang NHS direct and they reckon it could be the menopause. Anyway I’m going to take a few days off work and then when I’m back I’ll have a word with Doctor Ormerod.”
“Oh, well okay. Are you alright now though? It’s not like you to take time off work.”
“Yes, I’m fine but I’m tired you know and I thought well, rather than take sick leave I’d just take some of my holiday.”
“Well, why don’t I come down and we can go out for a look around the shops and have a bite to eat, would you like that?”
“No, no. Maybe in a day or two.” She glanced around desperately, this was getting out of hand and the more it went on the deeper she would dig. “Oh blimey mum, I’m going to have to go, I left the tap running. I’ll call you, don’t bother coming down though, really there’s no need and I’d rather have a trip out when I’m completely better.”
“Oh, well yes, go on, run. I’ll call you again this evening.”
“Great.” She hung up the phone and stood for a moment trying to clear her mind. Now she felt guilty, Mum and Dad meant well and they in their turn had done nothing but care about her and because of her involvement with Jacob she was lying and trying to avoid them. She shook her head in disbelief, life had become so complicated so very quickly. A throb started over her eyes and a genuine headache threatened. She took a couple of aspirins and checked the time again. Maybe if she hurried she could still make it.
She raised a hand to slide the chain from the little catch and the next thought struck like a
blow.
He had a key.
Jacob had a key and if she left the house now there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t let himself in to wait for her. She was trapped, he had imprisoned her in her own home. Now she slid the safety chain back in place and turned the deadlock. Tears sprang to her eyes as she took a couple of backward paces to lower herself onto the bottom stair and hide her face in her hands. His influence was creeping into every part of her life now and this thing that had begun as such a thrill was a black monster threatening to destroy all that she held dear.
Chapter 39
The locks would have to be changed. The one on the back door was probably okay but the two on the front must be done quickly. She dragged out the Yellow Pages and looked for an emergency number.
“Hello, Marsden Locksmiths, can I help you?”
“Yes, I need a new lock on my front door. Someone has a key. Sorry, what I mean is someone I don’t want to come in has a key.”
“Okay, do you know what sort of lock it is madam?”
“One is a Yale I know that, with extra levers I think you call them, and then there is a mortice. Does that make sense?”
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t I send one of our locksmiths round to have a look? He’ll have some replacement parts with him but if he needs anything else we carry a very extensive stock. How urgent is it?”
“It’s urgent, there is someone out there with a key and I don’t want him being able to get in at all. I can’t go out unless I know the house is secure and I have to keep the chain on while I’m here.”
“I’ll send Barry round, he should be with you by three o’ clock, is that okay?”
“Three o’ clock, oh not sooner?”
“Well, not really that’s about the best I can do. If you are in danger your best bet really would be to call the police.”
“Yes, of course, sorry it’s just such a worry. I’ll be fine thanks; yes three o’ clock will be great.”
PICTURES OF YOU: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Page 10