by Grace Lowrie
Simply hearing her name made me angry and I banged my glass down on the bar, harder than I’d intended. James pretended he hadn’t noticed.
‘I thought things were going well with her, y’know, since she came along to The White Bear and everything... you looked good together...’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ I muttered.
‘Look, if you’ve had a falling out, I’m sure it can be resolved, you just need to talk to her about it. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me in the past...?’
Great. Now my best mate was throwing my own relationship advice back at me.
‘Whatever it is, whatever has happened, I don’t think drinking is—’
‘She’s married.’
‘What...?’
James’s prolonged silence gave me an opportunity to escape to the men’s room. There was a guy in there using the urinals dressed up as The Joker in a lurid purple suit. He smirked at me, but exited before I had a chance to react. As I washed my hands I avoided my reflection; I didn’t need to see myself to know I was a fool.
When I emerged from the gents I noticed that most of the other punters had left and the staff were clearing up for the night. I staggered slightly on my way back to the bar, but I wasn’t yet drunk enough by half.
‘Did you know she was married?’ James launched straight back in.
Reclaiming my drink I shook my head. ‘She lied to me.’
‘I’m sorry, mate, that’s harsh; really harsh. But... is she happily married? I mean, she can’t be, can she? So, maybe she’ll leave him...?’
‘She lied to me,’ I repeated. ‘I loved her – I really... for the first time I really. but it was all lies...’ I could feel anger building inside me; my stomach churning like a kettle on the boil, but that sensation was preferable to feeling hurt and used. Downing the last dregs of my pint I left the empty on the bar. ‘Where else is still serving?’
James got to his feet beside me and pulled on his jacket. ‘Nowhere round here. I might have something we can drink back at mine if—’
‘What about an offy? There’s one across the square isn’t there?’
It was cold outside and peeing with rain; the wet pavement reflecting the orange glare of the street-lights in a disconcerting manner. As we approached the off licence a bloke was coming out and rudely shouldered James aside.
‘Easy, mate,’ James muttered, but the guy didn’t turn or offer any sort of apology. I recognised him as the same Joker who’d smirked at me in the gents and my irritation peaked.
‘Hey, what the hell was that?’ I said to the back of his mop of green hair.
The bloke turned around and grinned at us; the effect exaggerated by his heavy make-up. ‘You should watch where you’re going,’ he said with a shrug. Something inside me snapped and I grabbed him around the throat and slammed him against the nearest wall.
‘Whoa, Liam, just leave it, OK?’ James said, behind me.
‘Yeah, tough guy, listen to your girlfriend...’ The Joker jeered.
Blood pulsed in my ears with rage. Still holding him suspended a foot off the ground with my left hand, I pulled my right fist back level with the little shit’s head and the smirk finally fell from his face. ‘Apologise,’ I growled.
‘Fuck you,’ he spat.
‘Don’t mate, he’s not worth it,’ James muttered.
‘C’mon you pussy, do your worst, you ain’t gonna hurt me!’ The Joker was smiling again – a mocking grin that only made me angrier. I wanted to hurt him; teach him a lesson; make him sorry; make him bleed and my knuckles tightened in anticipation.
Suddenly there was a blur of motion and Mel’s face was before me. For a second I thought I was seeing things; that I’d drunk far more than I’d realised, or finally cracked, and I blinked hard.
James cursed and grabbed hold of my shoulders from behind. ‘Stop! Melody, get out of there...’ He was panicked and I realised that he could see her too.
I experienced a weird sense of Déjà vu and a flashback to when Mel had thrown herself between a tree and my chainsaw. But this time it wasn’t an ancient magnolia tree she was protecting, it was some arsehole I wanted to beat to death with my bare hands.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ The Joker said from behind her.
‘Move,’ I said, narrowing my eyes at her.
She stared back at me without even flinching; fearless, silent, and achingly beautiful. I hated her for what she’d done to me.
James tried to grab Mel’s arm but she twisted out of his grip, without taking her eyes from mine.
‘Move or you’re going to get hurt,’ I warned.
My arm trembled with the need to lash out and inflict a measure of the pain I felt inside, but she merely crossed her arms and raised her chin and James cursed again.
‘Look if you’re gonna hit me, just hit me, you fucking pussy...’ said the guy pinned to the wall.
Silent tears had welled up in Mel’s eyes and spilled freely down her cheeks, unnerving me completely. Why was she crying? In truth I didn’t hate her and I could never hurt her – she was my reason for getting up each morning; the only person who really got me; and I loved her – secrets, lies, husband and all.
Abruptly I released the piece of shit squirming in my hand, grabbed hold of Mel and kissed her. She collapsed into my arms as I desperately tried to kiss away all her tears. Behind me, James exchanged insults with The Joker, who was cocky and triumphant as he took off, but I wasn’t listening, not now that I had Mel in my arms; her scent in my nose; her taste on my tongue.
‘Right,’ James sighed. ‘Are you two going to be alright getting home...?’
*
I woke with the hangover from hell; my mouth dry, head thumping and stomach churning. I only just made it out of the bedroom and across the landing before heaving bile into the toilet. Lying naked on the cold bathroom floor, I groaned as events from the previous night elbowed their way painfully into my conscious mind. I’d nearly killed someone – a snotty little kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I’d wanted to kill him. And I would have if... Mel! Sitting up too fast I clutched my head as pain lashed through my skull and my stomach heaved. Where had she come from? She’d appeared out of the blue and, as if by magic, stopped me from ending up in court on an ABH charge. What did it mean...? Wait, how did I get home?
With great effort I dragged myself to my feet and started down the stairs, and that’s when I had another flashback – she’d helped me up the stairs. I’d staggered home with her tucked under my arm, using her like a walking crutch, and then I’d made a pathetic attempt to seduce her. Unsurprisingly she wasn’t keen. God what an idiot.
Unfortunately the rest of the night was a blank. Was she still here? Hope surged in my chest as I checked the living room and kitchen, but there were no signs of Mel at all. She was gone.
With another groan I slumped on the sofa. Of course she was gone. Last night she’d witnessed the very worst side of me – the violent drunk I usually kept so carefully concealed. What woman in her right mind would want to be around that kind of a monster? No wonder she’d run back to her husband.
But then again, why was she in town in the first place? Was she looking for me? Was she planning to leave Sinclair, like James suggested? Was that what she’d come to tell me? Did she love me after all...? Oh God, what if I’d hurt her...?
Once I’d gone back to the bedroom and pulled on clean boxers, I stumbled around the house in search of my phone before finally locating it in a trouser pocket. I sent her a text begging her to let me know that she was OK and that she’d got home safely. And then another saying I was sorry and that I loved her. And then, before I could get carried away and ring her, simply to hear her breathing, I headed to the kitchen for coffee.
Chapter Forty-eight
How could he? Gregory had clearly lost his mind. He’d locked me in my bedroom and then driven away, and I had no idea when, or even if, he’d be back. I hadn’t even been aware that he possessed a k
ey to the nursery, and now I was an actual prisoner in my own home.
He was punishing me. During the night I’d sneaked out while I thought Gregory was asleep. I’d gone to find Liam to make sure everything was alright between us. But he’d been drinking heavily, he was angry and he wanted to murder some idiot in a crazy Halloween costume. Thankfully I’d managed to diffuse Liam before he did any damage, but I was unable to get any sensible conversation out of him before he passed out.
When I crept back home and returned to my room, I found that Gregory had taken away my computer and replaced it with a can-opener and a stack of tinned foods from the pantry. It was while I was standing there in complete shock, in the murky early hours of the morning, that he had callously closed and locked the door behind me and ran away. The coward.
So here I was; reduced to breathing stale air, eating cold soup from a can, and drinking water straight from the tap; with no means of escape or communication with the outside world. Gregory had clearly postponed Yvette’s visits (if he hadn’t sacked her permanently) so I had only one hope, and the last time I’d seen him he was passed out drunk.
But he would come for me.
He would.
Wouldn’t he?
On the first day of my incarceration I repeatedly kicked and hammered at the door and windows and hurled tin cans across the room in frustration, but it had gotten me nowhere. The heavy door wouldn’t budge, the leaded windows remained sealed shut, and the cans were only more tricky to open once dented.
The time dragged, and without my computer I couldn’t work, or even email the agency to explain why. The publishing world was all about deadlines and what use was a proofreader who couldn’t be reached or relied upon? Chances were I’d be fired, if I hadn’t been already. In retaliation I set about destroying every stuffed toy Gregory had ever given me – ripping their heads off, pulling out all the stuffing and gouging out every last beady, glass eye. But the stuffing got everywhere; the cobwebby fibres clinging to the bed, the carpet, the curtains and my clothes; only increasing my sense of suffocation.
As the hours dragged by, I slept and read books and took long baths – anything to keep the panic at bay. I even smoked the rest of the joint I’d kept hidden for years, because, why not?
But on the morning of the fourth day, when Gregory had still not returned, real fear set in. There wasn’t much food left and I was hungry. Eyeing the clock I sized up the last few remaining tins with growing anxiety; obsessively counting and re-counting them and mentally calculating how long my rations might last. I had no idea how much longer I might be trapped here. How long did it take for a person to die from starvation? Was it very painful? And what did I want my last meal on Earth to be; tinned tomatoes or kidney beans...?
Where was Liam...?
I hoped he wasn’t still drinking. He wasn’t wrong when he’d said it didn’t agree with him. He’d apologised repeatedly all the way back to his house and sworn he would sober up, but what if he hadn’t managed it? And as I’d helped him up to bed he’d told me that he still loved me, but was that just the drink talking?
Given my current predicament I now wished that I’d left Liam clear written instructions to come over here and get me, but then how was I to know that Gregory was crazy enough to pull something like this?
*
Winter had crept in overnight. I sat at the window, wrapped in a blanket, and watched as the pale sun rose over the horizon. With the fresh, foot-deep snowfall, a hush had settled over the landscape so profound that I believed I might be entirely alone in the world. It weighed heavy in the naked boughs of the trees and the meshed top of the fruit cage and iced the formal lawns and terraces so that they resembled the tiers of a wedding cake.
But my thoughts could never do justice to the changing seasons. I wanted to hear Liam’s take on it all. It was like poetry when he talked about the landscape; about the trees, the wildlife and the cycle of life; the way in which we were all connected. He made me feel a part of something when he talked like that; he made me feel special.
Where was he...?
Why didn’t he come?
By eleven a.m. the rumbling in my stomach had become too distracting and I devoured the last of the peach slices as if it were the finest caviar. It was as I got up to rinse out the tin that I became aware of how chilly I’d become. With a trembling hand I pressed the main light switch on the wall, staring in disbelief when nothing happened. Then I tried the bedside lamp, the radiators, and even plugged in my hair-dryer before finally accepting reality: there’d been a power cut. Aside from the oil-powered range down in the kitchen, everything had stopped working. The temperature outside was about zero degrees and the room was getting colder. Would the residual heat leaking up from the room below be enough to keep me from freezing to death? Come nightfall, at around four-thirty this afternoon, I was going to be imprisoned in total darkness.
Liam...?
Chapter Forty-nine
This was too much. It had been five days. I’d tried being patient; tried to stay away to give her and Gregory time to sort out whatever they needed to. But she hadn’t replied to any of my texts, emails or phone calls – in fact her phone seemed to be permanently switched off – and I felt like I was going completely bonkers. I couldn’t sleep, or eat, or sit still for more than a few minutes at a time, and I was so distracted during rugby training that I was a bumbling liability.
I needed to know that she was safe; that she’d forgiven my drunken loutishness; that she still wanted to be with me; that she loved me, even half as much as I loved her. I had too many desperate questions and no answers, and my hope and optimism were depleting day by day.
During the night a minor snowfall had taken out two power lines, leaving half of Wildham without electricity. I’d always loved waking up to a crisp, snowy landscape. They were infrequent in this part of the country, often fleeting, and evoked a childish sense of glee. There was something about the fresh white shock of it which always had me spellbound. But not this time; not without Mel.
James, Lester, Olly and I had spent all morning helping salt and clear access to those homes cut off from the main roads; checking on those pensioners who lived alone, installing generators and delivering supplies. But now my feelings for Mel were overriding all other fears.
Let Gregory have me arrested; I didn’t care; I was going to go and see her.
I no longer had the means to open the grand entrance gates, and they were far too high and spiky to climb over, but that wasn’t going to keep me out. I now knew the Wildham estate like the back of my hand. Where the estate bordered the road the boundary consisted of solid steel railings backed up by a dense prickly hedge, but beyond that, where the grounds bordered farmland, a 1.5 metre high timber post and rail fence, designed to deter sheep and cattle, was all that stood in my way. Parking my van outside the front gates, I skirted along the snow-piled road edge until I came to a farmer’s gate and made light work of hopping over it before trudging cross-country back towards Wildham Hall. My tracks through the snow clearly marked my trespassing, but that couldn’t be helped. Nothing was going to keep me from Mel now.
Approaching the house under the relative cover of the trees I made my way round to the drive, and was relieved to find that the Merc was absent. Quietly I walked right around the house, but the power appeared to be out – there were no lights on, no sounds, and no signs of life from within. Not wishing to sneak up on Mel, or Mrs Daly for that matter, I traced my footprints back to the large front door and rang the clunky bell. I waited before ringing the bell again. Twice. But no-one came to the door or even a window, and anxiety crawled through me. Mel couldn’t have left, could she...?
No. She had to be here. She wouldn’t leave – not without at least saying goodbye. Unless... unless that was why she’d come to find me in town? As far as I could remember she hadn’t conveyed a single word that night – neither written, typed or mouthed. But then that wasn’t unusual for Mel – we’d gotten so close; we u
nderstood each other so well that often words weren’t necessary between us.
Oh God, had she been trying to say goodbye...?
Stomping back around to the far side of the house I craned my neck to get a look at her bedroom window. At the sight of her I thought my heart might burst out of my body with relief. She was swaddled in her bed covers and slapping the window with her palms, her eyes wild.
‘You OK?’ I shouted up.
She shook her head and slapped a paper sign up against the leaded glass and I deciphered the words: I’M LOCKED IN!
That bastard. That was it. Married or not, there was no way in hell I was leaving her with Sinclair now. En route to the back door I picked up a spare brick and when the door wouldn’t open I simply smashed a laundry room window, reached in, and unlocked it from the inside. Even in my fury and my eagerness to get to Mel, I paused long enough to brush aside the broken glass and kick off my snow-covered boots on the mat before striding through the cold, mausoleum-like house to the nursery. It took three attempts to break open the door with my shoulder, but I had all the strength and motivation I needed.
Mel leapt up into my arms and kissed me and I immediately felt restored; as if I could breathe again; as if the last few days had been nothing but a bad dream. Holding her close, I let her fill my vision and breathed her deep into my lungs, revelling in her very existence while she covered my face with sweet, smiling kisses.
‘Are you OK, baby, did he hurt you?’ She shook her head and I glanced around at the blizzard-like carnage in the room. ‘Where’s your phone, did he take it?’
Scowling she nodded.
‘And your computer?’
She nodded again.
‘Bastard,’ I muttered. ‘When’s he coming back?’
She shrugged and I released her back onto her feet.
‘Hey, isn’t that my watch?’
The wristwatch my mother had given me for my ninth birthday was lying amid an assortment of other items on the bed. Retrieving it I scrutinised it carefully, but there was no doubt it was mine; I’d recognise it anywhere. ‘I lost this months ago, where did you find it?’ Mel was blushing when I looked at her; a sheepish expression on her face. ‘You took it didn’t you?’