‘Make it an Americano then with hot milk,’ he snarls.
‘So now,’ he says. ‘Two friends? Two lovers? Or a beautiful woman having coffee with her architect? Which do you want it to be?’
I don’t reply. He loosens the grip on my arm. I shake it in relief and the circulation begins to flow back.
‘Let me see the film then, Jonah?’
He taps into his phone, starts the film and hands it to me. I sit watching myself undressing and pulling Jonah towards me, I am beginning to tear off his clothes. I cannot bear to watch any more. Still holding the phone, I stand up and run to the toilet as fast as I can. Pushing past the waitress who is walking towards our table with Jonah’s coffee.
I burst into the single cubicle, locking the door behind me. Hands trembling, I throw his iPhone down the toilet, and flush it. I sit on top of the seat and wait for my heart to slow. I hear a fracas outside. Jonah is banging on the door of the cubicle, yelling at me to come out. The waitress tells him to back off. I look down. Somehow I managed to bring my handbag with me. The frosted window of the toilet cubicle is open a crack. It looks out onto the road. I push it wide open and manage to scramble through. I run around the corner to my car, heart pounding, and drive home, still feeling the pressure of Jonah’s fingers pushing into my arm. His shouting resonating in my ears. The movie he showed me plays in my mind, on constant rewind. I cannot make it stop.
162
Erica
Alone in my cosy cottage. Not so cosy when Mouse isn’t here. Weybridge is prettier than Twickenham. Posher, I’d say. Larger houses with football-pitch-sized gardens. Wider, leafier streets. Double the number of thriving shops.
It’s raining today. I feel like a caged animal pacing up and down my sitting room, thinking about Mouse. About how he braved the drizzle to come and visit me in prison. About how I always used to play chess with him to distract him when it rained. He visits me once a week like he promised, but when you’re used to seeing someone every day, once a week is not the same.
The rain is falling harder now. Bullets pelting against the pavement. A rumble of thunder in the distance. The sky explodes with light. Mouse will be cowering beneath his bed covers crying. I cry inside.
I continue pacing to calm myself. Through the sitting room into the bathroom. I glance in the mirror. All the jogging I have been doing in the woods by the station has really paid off. A woman who I don’t recognise looks back at me. A skinny woman with long, shiny hair. Svelte and sophisticated. Not someone who ended up in a children’s home because her foster parents couldn’t cope with her. A woman who is not a caged animal. A woman who is brave enough to go wherever she wants.
163
Faye
Jobs seem to be ‘pouring in’ now, at least compared to my career so far. I am beginning to contribute towards the family finances again, as I did when I got my lucky break with Accessorize and M&S Foods. That only lasted a few months. Let’s hope the steady build-up so far will give me some traction now.
This time I am several miles from home, modelling some pieces for the most stylish dress shop in Richmond. Silky and elegant. Top-end sophisticated. Pale pinks and purple from Italy, looking good with my eyes and hair. Usual routine. I sit back while the make-up artist covers me with grease. But I am distracted. Even though I haven’t seen Jonah for weeks. The film he showed me plays continually through my mind. When he shows it to Phillip my world will explode.
164
Jonah
An organic café, Hill Rise Richmond, two doors down from the dress shop where your make-up is being applied, sitting at an outside table on the pavement, waiting for you to come out. I’m so good at this. You don’t know I’m here do you, Faye?
You made a mistake damaging my iPhone and running away. Did you really think I wouldn’t have the film backed up? You haven’t apologised. I’m losing my patience, Faye.
165
Phillip
You are sitting at our dining table opposite me, face still slightly bronzed, an aftermath of the heavy make-up you’ve been wearing today. We are eating early with the children. Fish fingers and salad for you. Fish fingers and chips for the rest of us. So many fads and dislikes with the children, finding something we all like is a challenge. But we’ve almost managed it today.
‘My friend Ashmolean says models are vain,’ Tamsin chirrups, fork in hand.
‘Well,’ you reply with a smile, ‘we do need to look after our looks, so I suppose we can come across that way.’
‘If someone is vain their looks are more important to them than anything else,’ I say, as I put more salt on my chips. ‘And with your mother that most definitely isn’t the case.’
You look across at Tamsin, eyes shining with love. ‘Yes. That’s right. I love you, Georgia, and Daddy, more than anything else.’
‘Would you look like a pig to protect us?’ Tamsin asks, with a snort and a giggle.
You smile as you push your salad around your plate.
‘Yes,’ you reply. ‘Or even a warthog, and warthogs are even uglier than pigs.’
Our daughters are both giggling, small milky teeth pressed together, lips wide and stretched.
‘What about you, Daddy?’ Georgia asks, turning to me, eyes wide and inquisitive. ‘What would you do to protect us?’
I do not reply. I keep my secrets to myself.
166
Phillip
I dial Jonah’s work number from a cheap new temporary phone I bought at Tesco. I have to use a phone number he won’t recognise. He picks up. I put on my best, drawled-out West Country accent. The one I’ve always been so good at.
‘Good morning. Noel Thoroughgood here, from the Consumer Research Association. You have been randomly selected to answer a few questions about your eating habits. Would you be willing to help us?’
Silence down the phone line. Silence so loud it presses against my eardrums. Then, ‘How long will it take?’ Jonah snaps.
‘Less than one minute.’
‘OK,’ he says reluctantly.
‘It’s very simple. We just want to know your top five favourite cakes and biscuits, in order of priority.’
‘That’s easy,’ he says. ‘My favourite is a simple Victoria sponge with lashings of strawberry jam, and icing sugar on top.’
‘Good. Good. And the second?’
‘Chocolate brownie.’
‘And then?’
‘Lemon tart, millionaire’s shortbread and apple strudel.’ There is a pause. ‘Is that all you need to know?’
‘Yes. Thank you very much. And we’ll put you in the free draw for a luxury version of your favourite confectionery.’
167
Faye
We have run out of milk. I pop to the newsagent around the corner to fetch a few pints. My body stiffens as I see Jonah’s car pull up in front of me. He springs out, slams the door, and walks towards me. Before I can step away he clasps his arms around me, in a pseudo bear hug that feels more like a wrestling hold. I can hardly move. I can hardly breathe.
‘How lovely to bump into you again, Faye. How are you?’ he almost shouts.
My heart thumps against my ribcage. He presses against me.
‘Let me go. You’re hurting me.’
‘You’re coming into my car for a chat.’
‘No I’m not,’ I say struggling to pull away from him, but he overpowers me and bundles me into the passenger seat of his car and locks the door.
My whole body trembles. He walks around the car, uses his key fob to unlock the driver’s door only, and slides into the car next to me.
His eyes burn into mine. ‘We need to talk. I am prepared to overlook the way you have been treating me lately, injuring me, running away, damaging my property. I need to explain how we are going to move forwards. You are going to leave Phillip and come to live with me. I will forgive you for having children with another man. I will treat them as if they are my own.’
‘If you don’t stop threatening me, I will
go to the police.’
He laughs. ‘Then they will find out what you have done. Everyone will know. Did you really think I wouldn’t have copies of that film?’
I take a deep breath. Give a light shrug. ‘Phillip already knows. He’s cool with it,’ I lie.
‘Phillip’s not cool with anything. Don’t make the wrong choice, Faye.’
‘Do whatever you want. I can take the fallout.’
He is smiling and shaking his head, letting me know with his eyes and his mouth that he doesn’t believe me.
‘I don’t love you, I hate you. Whatever you do or say I’m not leaving Phillip.’
168
Jonah
‘Whatever you say or do I’m not leaving Phillip.’
Your words burn into me. I look into your beautiful face contorted by rage, and something inside me snaps. I have loved you so much for so long, begged you so many times to be with me. I had come to terms with the fact you weren’t interested in me, but then when we finally made love, hope soared again.
But your attitude today is devastating. It is over between us. You are a heartless siren; attracting me, playing with me, dumping me.
That was your last chance to come with me voluntarily, Faye.
169
Faye
He lunges across the gear stick, pulls my body roughly against his and attempts to kiss me. I close my mouth; he snogs my skin. I can hardly breathe. At last he pulls away. He presses a tab on the steering wheel and the passenger door clicks to unlock. Relief floods through me so quickly my body feels empty. I open the door and begin to slide out of the car.
‘One week, Faye. I’ll give you one more week.’
170
Erica
The doorbell rings. I open the door of my cottage to my supervising officer.
‘Come in.’ I beam cheerfully.
She enters my home, eyeballs sliding up and down my body. Round and round my cottage. Radar eyes. Eyes that do not respect my privacy. I scrubbed, cleaned and tidied before she arrived. She cannot fault my home-maker skills.
‘Do sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘No thanks, I’m fine.’
I sit down opposite her. She is young and snappish. Dressed in grey and black.
‘How are you settling into Weybridge?’ she asks.
‘I love it. I much prefer it to Twickenham,’ I lie enthusiastically.
Her eyebrows quiver. ‘That’s unusual. Most criminals prefer their hometown.’
The word criminal sears into me. I like to think of myself as a person, not a criminal. I have done my time now.
‘Why do you prefer it here?’ she asks.
‘It’s prettier. The architecture is more characterful.’ I frown a little as I think. ‘Also it’s bigger. There’s more stuff to do.’ I shrug my shoulders. ‘It’s an opportunity for a fresh start.’
‘Is that what you needed? A fresh start?’
‘I think so. Most of us criminals do.’
She leans forwards. Her eyes burn into mine too intently. ‘Are you looking for a job?’ she asks.
‘I will be soon.’
Her eyes keep burning. ‘Why not yet?’
‘I’m just settling in first. Learning to keep my head above water, out of gaol. Learning to keep my cottage nice.’
‘You’re certainly doing well at that.’
She smiles, but her smile is condescending. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
Middle-class stupid. Degree, but no brain. I’ll get a job when I know Faye and Mouse are safe.
‘Claiming benefits, are you?’
‘I’ve managed that yes.’
She stands up, still pretending to smile. ‘Well as everything seems to be in order here, I’ll be off. Thanks for letting me in, Erica.’
171
Phillip
Jonah has won a Victoria sponge, from a local celebrity baker’s. He’s a lucky, lucky man. I have laced it with lashings of the finest strawberry jam, and sieved a splash of icing sugar across the top. Trimipramine from the dark net is mixed in with the jam. A double dose in fact. The strongest dose that I have fed him yet.
172
Jonah
I have been feeling so tired. Sleeping twelve hours a night, dragging myself out of bed in the morning. Soon we will feel tired together, Faye. Together for ever.
173
Erica
The svelte young woman who I hardly know has been busy shopping. She has managed to find timer switches at the local pound shop. Now she is moving routinely through her whole flat, plugging in appliances. The TV is set to come on from 9 p.m. until 11. Radio 2 from 7 to 9 a.m. in the morning. Blinds down. Bedroom curtains drawn. No one will know whether she is away or at home. Everything is set up. Her next meeting with her supervising officer is over a month away, so she can have some freedom for a while. But she has to come back here to sign on. Until she gets a job she really needs her benefits. So the unrecognisable, svelte young woman can leave Weybridge, but not for very long.
174
Jonah
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is pounding out of my Sonos system, resonating around my house. So positive and vibrant, filling me with energy, reminding me of the special time when we made love. Faye, soon you will be with me for ever.
My hands tremble with excitement as I rummage through my bedside drawers. Diazepam. Fluoxetine. Zopiclone. Tranquilliser, antidepressant, sleeping tablet; the strongest on the planet. The stockpile of my prescription drugs that I have not taken for over a year, except for zopiclone, which is an addiction for me; I have to take it all the time. I couldn’t stockpile so I lied. Pretended I left my tablets behind when I went abroad on holiday, so my doctor was fooled into prescribing them for me again.
I scoop the drugs into a carrier bag and take them downstairs, into my kitchen. First I crush the diazepam tablets with a pestle and mortar, pulverising them into powder. I weigh the powder carefully and divide it in two. Half each. We will share everything from now on.
Then I break the fluoxetine capsules open with a knife, one at a time, and then once again weigh the powder and divide. Zopiclone last. Zopiclone is my favourite, a powerful finishing touch.
175
Erica
Checking my reflection in the mirror before I set off to the railway station, I hardly recognise myself. A different woman from the one who went to prison. Mulberry handbag. Size 10 Hugo Boss trouser suit. Both rescued from a local charity shop. The charity shops in Weybridge are a treasure trove.
I set off down the side passage at the back of my cottage, turning onto the wood-lined main road. The woods where I jog every morning. Nothing much to look at except for passing cars and trees. I’m the only person on the pavement. Walking isn’t very popular around here. At last I arrive at the roundabout by the station, walk through the car park and down the steps to the station.
I have practised this moment so many times. The moment I am pretending to be a normal person; a person who is allowed to step on a train heading towards Twickenham. It is mid-morning. Not too many other people around. I mustn’t do anything to draw attention to myself. I buy a ticket from a machine, not the kiosk. I find out that the train I need leaves from platform one. I do so from the screen, not by asking anyone for help.
Ten minutes to wait. I stand halfway down the platform, watching the other passengers from beneath my hat. An elderly couple with too much luggage, rearranging it on the platform. A young woman wearing mascara so heavy it looks like spider’s legs. A middle-aged man in a blue North Face jacket and a bobble hat. A woman with a baby.
The woman with the baby is holding it against her chest in a sling. She is looking at it, transfixed. I can only see the top of the baby’s head. She stretches her neck to lean forward and kiss it. So softly, so gently, such tenderness in her eyes. And, for a second, I want to die. The enormity of what I did to Faye hits me. The cruelty of taking away someone she loved so much. I cannot bear to watch. I walk to the furthest
end of the platform.
The train I am prohibited from boarding arrives. My limbs feel heavy as I walk towards it. The judge’s voice shouts in my head. I hear the buzz of electronic locks closing behind me. My legs weigh a ton. I can hardly walk. The guard blows a whistle and I have to push my heavy legs through mercury to run. One foot on the train. The doors start to close. I raise my other leg from the platform, and step forwards. The doors slice shut. I am on the train. It starts to move and I feel jubilant. I have done it. I am on my way to Twickenham.
176
Jonah
Faye, you don’t recognise my new car do you? A grey VW Polo. So many of them around, like chewing gum splatters on the pavement. No one notices what I drive now.
Faye, I know you hide the spare set of keys to your house, under the rock beneath the Choisya. I borrowed them and had my own set cut.
177
Faye
I turn the key to the front door, glad to be home, laden with shopping. Rushing around after my exercise class, looking forward to a break. To sitting down for ten minutes and having a cup of coffee.
Since Georgia started at nursery school, after thinking life would be easier, I have been busier than ever. But busy is good. It almost takes my mind off Jonah. Sometimes the film of us together stops rolling through my mind. Sometimes I stop feeling his hands pressing into my skin and hurting me. Sometimes I forget the claustrophobia of his greedy kiss. He threatened me with a week. What is he planning? What can he do? Nothing. If the situation gets any worse I will have to come clean with Phillip and we will both have to go to the police. I tremble at that thought as I dump my shopping bags by the door, and step past the cloakroom, towards the kitchen.
Envy Page 21