‘There’s nothing wrong,’ Layla said carefully. ‘I’ve been a bit stressed lately, that’s all.’
‘OK. OK, good.’ Ruth looked relieved. ‘Cameron is a sensitive man. He was only thirteen when his father left, and it affected him quite badly.’
‘I know.’
‘Did he ever tell you he got a warning from the police after he started stalking the other woman?’
‘What? No.’ Layla put down her cup and stared at Ruth.
‘It didn’t last for long, and he didn’t do anything serious. He followed her home from work a few times … I think to see whether his father was staying with her, but of course it didn’t look good. It wasn’t until he graffitied a certain dirty word on her car that she called the police.’
The image of her own car windscreen, shaving cream slashed across it, flashed into Layla’s mind. How could she not have known this about the man she’d married? But then, she’d kept her own share of secrets from him. This gave her an even deeper insight into her husband’s feelings about infidelity, and all the more reason to make sure her secrets remained hidden forever. ‘What happened after that?’
‘He stopped harassing the woman and started shutting himself in his bedroom for hours at a time. I think the police visit frightened the bejeezus out of him. And so it should have.’ Ruth smiled. ‘But I’m not telling you this to shame him. I’m telling you because that whole episode with his father left its mark on him. It was a terrible shock for him to realise how ugly people could be.’ Layla shrank beneath her own ugliness, but Ruth didn’t seem to notice. ‘As he grew up, he was determined to not become his father. And he’s succeeded, with you. But now you’re having … difficulties … I guess he’s worried you’re going to abandon him like his father did.’
Layla felt a tremor of annoyance. ‘I’ve got no plans to abandon him.’
‘I’m not attacking you, Layla.’ Her eyes were soft. ‘But he’s my son, and he deserves to be happy … as do you.’
‘Are you saying he’s not happy with me?’ Layla’s voice shook.
Ruth gave her a gentle smile. ‘I’d never seen him happier than when he met you. And I think you feel the same. I’m saying that it’d be a shame to let that go because you’re having trouble communicating with each other.’
Layla was silent. Things had been tense between Cam and her ever since she’d got that first message from Jodie, but she hadn’t realised the effect it’d had on him. She hadn’t realised that he thought their marriage was in trouble.
Ruth reached across the bench and placed her hand over Layla’s. ‘You can fix this together.’
THEN
The doorbell rang and my belly swooped. Now that this was actually happening, I was no longer sure I wanted to go through with it. But Scott had been so excited when I’d told him I’d have the house to myself for the whole weekend. I couldn’t back out now, not when he’d already been so patient.
It wasn’t that big a deal anyway. My friends had been having sex for two years. It was immature, being scared like this. Once I got it over with, everything would be easier.
I opened the front door and Scott stepped inside quickly, looking over his shoulder in case anyone was walking by. But the street was dark.
‘Did you have any trouble getting away?’ I asked when I’d closed the door.
‘I said I was going to my mate’s place,’ he said.
We stared at each other for a second. He was holding a bottle of Jim Beam and I gestured to it. ‘That’s different.’
His face went pink. ‘God, I just realised how dodgy this looks. You don’t have to have any if you don’t want … I thought it might relax you a bit. Or me.’ He laughed self-consciously.
‘I’ve got some Coke,’ I said.
We both went quiet again. Then he put down the bottle on the hallway table and stepped in close to me. We kissed for a bit, my back against the door, until we were both breathing fast, our hands under each other’s shirts. When we came up for air, he had a look of anticipation on his face that set off my trepidation all over again.
‘How about that drink?’ I said.
We went to the kitchen and I got two tumblers and the Coke. He poured us both drinks and we sat down at the round table and sipped at them. I didn’t like Beam; the treacly maltiness was too overpowering, the sweetness of the Coke not enough to offset the sharpness. But I was already so on edge, and maybe it would help still my anxiety.
‘I’m so glad you invited me over, Layla,’ Scott said.
‘I’m sorry about calling your house. I wasn’t sure how else to get in contact with you.’
‘That’s OK. It was lucky Jodie didn’t answer.’
‘Sorry.’
He smiled at me. ‘Don’t apologise, Layla. I’m happy to be here with you.’
I looked into my drink. ‘I didn’t thank you for what you did last night. With Matty.’
‘I wasn’t going to let that arsehole get away with scaring you like that.’
‘How did you explain this?’ I nodded at his knuckles, which were bruised and scabbed.
He closed his left hand over his right fist. ‘I told Jodie I got in a fight with him.’
‘She wasn’t upset?’
‘Oh, I didn’t tell her about you. Matty and I have a history. She understands.’
I stiffened. That rage I’d witnessed, that I’d thought had risen from his instinct to protect me … it’d never been about me. The realisation was crushing. ‘It was her, wasn’t it?’
He gave me a questioning look. ‘What was her?’
‘What Matty said about your girlfriend … that was Jodie?’
‘Yeah.’ His jaw tightened. There was that violence in his eyes again, so incongruous in his normally amiable face.
‘Oh.’ I stared hard at the wood-grain surface of the dining table, hoping my hurt didn’t show on my face. If he didn’t love her anymore, why had he been so eager to defend her honour? And if he did still love her, why was he here with me?
Then his finger was under my chin, tilting my face up to look into his. ‘That’s all in the past now. It was you I was worried about.’
And there was that look again, the warmth in his eyes that told me how much I meant to him, and all my doubts dissolved. ‘Well, like I said, I’m grateful.’ I hesitated and clutched my glass tight between both hands. ‘And I want to show you how grateful I am.’
‘Layla, I didn’t beat up Matty so you’d sleep with me. I want you to want to.’
‘I do.’ I held his gaze. ‘I do want to.’
He reached for me and pulled me into his lap. His mouth was cold and tasted of bourbon. His hands were urgent on my body. ‘Should we go to your room?’
I swallowed down my fear and stood up, took his hand and led him to my bedroom. I’d changed the pink ruffly quilt cover for a plainer yellow-and-white-chequered one, but my face still went hot when Scott laughed.
‘A single bed.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re so mature it’s easy to forget this is the room you grew up in.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Layla.’ He put his arms around me. ‘Stop apologising. I’m here to be with you. I wouldn’t care if we had to do it on a rug on the floor.’ He kissed me again. ‘Can I take your clothes off?’
I nodded, lifting my arms so he could pull my T-shirt over my head. He took off his own and threw it on the edge of my bed. Despite all our encounters up until now, this was the first time I’d seen him without a shirt. I ran my hands over his muscled shoulders and down his back. He unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down with my underwear, and I kicked them off my ankles. Then his were off too and we stood facing one another, naked together for the first time. He was gorgeous, with his trapezoid shoulders narrowing down to his waist, the bulge of his biceps, the light dusting of hair on his chest, just enough to look manly but not enough to be off-putting.
‘You’re so beautiful, Layla.’ His eyes traversed my body, and this time I didn’t shrink away. His desire f
or me was intoxicating.
‘So are you.’
‘God, look at you.’ He ran a hand down my waist to my hip. ‘You’re perfect. There’s nothing in the world sexier than a woman in her prime.’
We kissed again, our naked bodies pressed together. It felt different with nothing between us. My nerve endings felt alive. Together we moved backwards until we were lying on my bed.
‘We’re going to take it slowly, OK?’ he said. ‘As slow as you need.’
I nodded, grateful that he wasn’t going to push me. The bed was so narrow that we had to lie pressed up against each other. His body felt amazing against mine. He kissed my neck and my shoulders, then moved down to my breasts, unhurried, his breath hot against my skin, his hand already between my legs, stroking lightly. He took his time, pausing every now and then to look at me with a half-smile. My body began to feel soft, warm, like it was melting. At last he was lying on top of me, his weight deliciously heavy, and there was no fear anymore, no voice whispering to me to flee. I was ready to give myself to him.
‘I love you, Layla,’ he said. ‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too.’
He traced a finger down the side of my face. ‘Are you ready?’
I nodded breathlessly. ‘Do you have a condom?’
A flicker of something – irritation or impatience – crossed his face. ‘I don’t like using condoms. I can’t feel anything with them on, and they don’t usually fit me anyway. I won’t come inside you, I promise.’
My certainty faltered. ‘But … but what about STDs?’
His expression turned hard and he sat up, legs over the edge of the bed, facing away from me. ‘I’ve been married for the last eight years, Layla, where do you think I would’ve picked up an STD? Jesus.’
My body felt cold now that we were no longer in contact. I started to think I’d made a mistake, bringing up the condom thing this late, and now I’d forced him to think about his wife when this should’ve been about us. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘So you think I sleep around, is that it?’ He threw an accusing look over his shoulder. ‘You think this doesn’t mean anything to me?’
‘No! Of course not. I’m sorry.’ I tugged at his shoulder. ‘It’s OK, we don’t need to use a condom. It’s fine.’
But he wouldn’t turn around, and I started to panic. The softness I’d felt had drained out of my body, but I couldn’t lose him, not now.
‘Scott, please. I want you. Please come back to me.’
He swung his legs onto the bed and lay on top of me again. But there was a change in him. He felt heavier than before, and that hardness hadn’t left his face. It reminded me of how he’d looked when he had Matty around the throat, as if he was punishing me for what I’d said. It frightened me a little, but I couldn’t back out on him, not when we’d come this close. My body felt less pliant; I was no longer ready for him. I wished he’d slow down, bring me back to where I’d been before, but he was already between my legs, pushing, pushing. He held my shoulders down, his face red with the effort, or with impatience, I couldn’t tell. Little by little, he began to edge inside me. It hurt, but I could handle it because his expression was changing now, his anger dissolving into something else as he moaned in pleasure.
‘Oh, Layla, you feel so good.’
He tipped his head back and thrust hard into me, and the sudden, searing pain made me cry out. But he didn’t seem to notice, his fingers digging into my shoulders, pinning me to the bed. I couldn’t move, and the pain kept getting worse. I pushed at his chest. ‘Scott, stop! It hurts, please stop!’
But he held onto me tighter, pushing me down into the bed, his pace getting faster and faster. ‘Try to relax, it won’t hurt for long.’
Fear flashed through me as I realised he wasn’t going to get off, he wasn’t going to stop.
And then, just as I thought it was never going to end, it did start to hurt less, and then less. It wasn’t exactly good, but it wasn’t too bad either. Scott gave a long groan, grimaced, then pulled out of me and came on my chest. He reached over and plucked a couple of tissues out of the box on my bedside table and wiped my chest. There was a tender smile on his face.
‘That was amazing,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’
I felt small as I looked up at him. ‘I asked you to stop.’
He looked confused. ‘But you said you were ready. You said you wanted it.’
‘I thought we were going to take it slow.’ My chin quivered. ‘It really hurt.’
‘I know.’ He lay down beside me and pulled me close. ‘But you don’t know how hard it is for me to stop once I get going … You felt so amazing. And I did it for you, really. If I’d stopped then, it would’ve hurt again the next time.’
I was silent. He was acting like that had all been for my benefit, but the look on his face when he’d held me down had said otherwise. The tender spots on my shoulders said otherwise. But his words reminded me that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. There would be no more first time. The relief was absolute, and my feelings towards him softened. Maybe he was right. Maybe it had been better to get it over with.
He smoothed my hair back from my face. ‘It’ll be so much better next time, you’ll see. I can’t wait until it feels as good for you as it does for me.’
‘Me too.’
‘You’re mine now, Layla.’ He hugged me close to him. ‘You’re mine.’
His words gave me a perverse thrill and I lifted my head to kiss him.
We lay in silence for a few more minutes, then Scott propped himself up on one elbow. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘Oh. Already?’ I couldn’t hide my hurt. I’d known what was going to happen when he came here, but I’d assumed he’d stick around for a bit afterwards.
‘Sorry, I wish I could stay, but if I lie here with you much longer I’m going to fall asleep.’ He touched my face. ‘Can I come and see you again on Sunday? Jodie and her parents are taking the kids to the park for the Easter egg hunt, so I’ll have a couple of hours free in the afternoon.’
A heavy blanket of guilt settled over me. I didn’t like to hear the lies he told his family so we could be together. It made it too real; the bubble that surrounded us too fragile to hold. But then, hadn’t we just crossed the ultimate line? Maybe I needed to know the details of what he had to do for us to be together.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Only if you can get away.’
‘For you, anything.’ He sat up. ‘Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’
I watched as he dressed and put on his shoes. He smiled and came over to kiss me again. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
After he’d left, I sat up. There were spots of blood on the quilt. The sight of them filled me with a crushing sense of shame. I felt hollowed out, vacant, insubstantial. Worthless. I stripped off the quilt cover and left it to soak in a bucket of water in the laundry, then got in the shower. Desolation swelled inside me. I’d just lost my virginity to the man I loved, but I’d never felt so empty.
NOW
When the Me Too movement had soared across the world a few years ago, it had brought up a lot of memories that Layla had forgotten about, or buried deep inside herself. As she read countless stories from women who had been sexually harassed or assaulted, she felt raw, as if each had happened to her. And in a way, they had: the catcalls, the gropes in pubs and nightclubs, the men who had exposed themselves to her on public transport, the guys who had tried to get her drunk at parties when she’d been at uni. The casual sense of entitlement to her body that had sometimes made her scared to risk their reaction if she rejected their advances. The near misses with Matty, accompanied by the guilt of not reporting the incidents. The uncertainty because nothing serious had actually happened. The terrible thought that he might have gone on to assault other women or girls. The things she’d always accepted as part of being a woman had been laid bare, each leaving its mark on her, like motherhood had left the silvery marks that str
iped her belly and hips.
But even then, she’d still hesitated to put a label on that first time with Scott. Her mind shied away from the word. She’d consented to the sex, had encouraged it even. But she’d asked him to stop – she’d asked him to stop – and he’d held her down and kept going. And she’d continued to justify it to herself, even after things had started getting ugly between them. But now she realised she had only ever been a conquest to him, someone to be possessed, claimed, controlled. And she’d let him do it, like the naive child she’d been. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, both with herself and with him.
So when Jodie messaged her again to tell her she knew about the reunion and that she expected her to come and talk to her, for the first time, Layla was tempted. Suddenly, she wanted to talk to Jodie about him, to apologise for the hurt she’d caused, to explain what he’d done to her … what he’d done to both of them. But if Jodie wasn’t bluffing – if she really did know what Layla had done – it could ruin Layla’s life, tear her family apart. Her marriage already felt stretched and weak, and after her conversation with Cam’s mother, the risk seemed too great. If Cam knew what she’d done, he’d want nothing more to do with her.
She sent a message to Renee telling her that she was sorry, but she had something else on that night and wouldn’t be able to make it to the reunion after all. She’d been looking forward to catching up again, but maybe they could all have dinner together in Adelaide sometime before Shona went back to London.
Forget it, Renee wrote back. I knew you wouldn’t come.
Pain twisted inside her. She hadn’t realised how much she’d been counting on the chance to reconnect with her old friend. It was like losing her anew, like the moment when Renee had told her she never wanted to speak to her again.
She wrote and deleted several different responses, but they all sounded like weak excuses. She read her previous message from Renee’s perspective, and she saw how it looked: like she had better things to do. Like she didn’t care at all. She had the urge to tell Renee the real reason she couldn’t go, but that hadn’t been what caused their friendship to stretch so far in the first place that it had never snapped back into place. She didn’t know if she could ever make up for that. Instead she wrote, I’m sorry, Renee, and closed Messenger, not expecting to hear from her again.
The Girl She Was Page 14