Author: Amanda Robson
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/amanda-robson/page,16,560635-my_darling.html
Your face rotates in front of me. Your green eyes scream no. Your delicate cheekbones. Peach skin. Julia Roberts smile. Too rushed. You don’t love me. Heather didn’t love me. My blood coagulates and steams up through my body, pushing and throbbing. Too rushed. I’m feeling hotter and hotter. I cannot contain my hurt, Emma. How can you treat me like this?
105
Emma
You are sitting in my kitchen spoiling me, and I am enjoying it. Canapés that melt in my mouth. Vintage Champagne so fine my taste buds explode. Smiling at me, over red roses and candlelight.
And now you are asking me to marry you. Offering me a ring; sapphire and diamonds, exquisitely pretty. Asking me to move to Marlow. With Stephen. My heart contracts. With your mother.
‘Alastair, this is too rushed.’
Your face becomes red, then purple. Your eyes bulge. The veins in your neck protrude. You grab my wrists from across the table and you squeeze them tighter and tighter as if they were plywood or cardboard. But they are muscle, bone, veins, arteries, and the pain you are causing is unbearable. Searing through my whole body. My body is no longer a body, but a pain conduit.
‘Stop it,’ I scream, ‘you’re hurting me.’
You continue to squeeze. Black spots dance before my eyes and even though I’m sitting down I fear I’m going to faint. You let go and I exhale in relief. But now you stand up and throw your chair to the ground behind you. It clatters on the stone floor and cracks. No longer a chair, just splintered wood, suitable to build a fire with. I tremble inside, as you rush towards me.
I stand up, take a deep breath and turn, preparing to run. But you are behind me, grabbing me, pulling my body round, thrusting me against the wall. Pressing against me.
‘You don’t love me,’ you hiss. ‘Too rushed, is all you can say after all I have done for you.’
‘I didn’t say that I don’t love you,’ I pant.
‘Your reaction did. Your instinct.’
You press your face closer to mine. You spit in my face. Your spittle runs down my cheek. I try to move my arm to wipe my face, but you are holding my wrists again.
You pull back your arm, your fist. You smash it into my face and I feel another explosion of pain. When I can open my eyes again, I see your dark eyes contort into Colin’s. Colin is hitting my face with his fist. Colin is slapping my cheek. Harder and harder. Again and again. But it isn’t Colin. It’s you, Alastair. As I start to collapse, I feel your fist crash into my face, again. Again. Again. I feel blood, sticky against my face. I smell it, heady and heavy; like the stench of a butcher’s shop. I try to bend my face away from you, tears streaming.
‘Get out. Go away, Alastair, leave me alone,’ I scream. I scream and scream. And my world turns black.
I wake up on the kitchen floor, Casper lying on top of me. My head is in something sticky; it smells sour and heavy. I rub my fingers in it and sniff them. Blood. Oh my God. I am stretched out in a pool of blood. I pull myself to a sitting position, pain throbbing at my temples. I rub my temples, for a second oblivious to what has happened, then I remember.
You asking me to marry you.
Pain searing across my body. Your fist pulverising my cheek. Your spittle in my face. The world turning black. I look across the kitchen. The candle is still burning, almost to its base now. I pull myself to standing. Woozy and weak, about to faint. I hang on to the table and breathe deeply. The dizziness passes.
I drag my aching body to the light switch and turn the light on. As the room becomes illuminated I see the devastation I’m surrounded by. The debris of the meal that has been thrown from the table. Stinking uncooked fish. Fragmented canapés. Splattered cheesecake. Cracked plates and glasses. A cracked Champagne bottle. The smashed chair. Roses strewn across the floor, sliding through my blood. So weak I can hardly move, I force myself to reach the table, muscles aching. Mind and fingers trembling, I blow the candle out. The whole house could have burnt down. Casper and I could so easily both be dead. I collapse into a chair, and sit with my hands in my head. Why have I been so stupid?
Heather’s face moves towards me, her sad eyes warning me. She was right; you are dangerous. How many times did she try and warn me and I didn’t believe her? How could I have ignored the plaintive voice of Stephen, asking why does Daddy hurt Mummy sometimes? How could I have misjudged you so, Alastair? After all I experienced with my father? With Colin?
Memories
‘Colin, you bastard. How dare you lock me in.’
Shouting, screaming, banging with both fists on the door. Turning and forcing the door handle. Shouting and screaming again.
I rang his mobile. No reply. My husband was not getting away with this. An image of his face flashed in front of me and I hated him so much. I opened the bedroom window and looked out. Too high to jump.
No way out.
I tightened my fists. There is always a way out. I wrapped my handbag across my chest and pulled off the bedsheets. I tied them together. Attaching one end to the headboard I hung my rope out of the window. I climbed onto the windowsill. Don’t look down, I told myself. I slid off the sill and clung on to the sheets with my hands and my knees, like a monkey.
I slipped and gripped all the way down, like we used to do on the ropes at school. My body aching after what Colin had done to me. When my feet touched the ground I felt weak with relief for a few seconds. But I soon realised I was stuck in my back garden, with its tennis court and swimming pool. With its many acres and Fort Knox security. What was I going to do now?
I hid behind a large oak tree at the back of our land, to take a bit of time out and think. The back garden was bordered on each side of the house with high railings. Unless you had a key to the side gate it had to be entered from the house. My key was in the house. The gardener was the only person who ever used it. Our land was separated from our neighbours by a six-foot-high cedarwood fence.
Definitely no way out.
There had to be a way out.
I climbed the oak tree I was hiding behind. Carefully, slowly. Limbs bruised and aching. Balancing along a thin extended branch and jumping down, into the woods behind our house. Running, pain slicing through me, wind in my hair. Running until I fell in a heap, exhausted, and slept beneath a tree.
I woke up shivering, hungry, aching all over. I reached for my iPhone. Twenty missed calls. Colin. I switched it off. I didn’t want him to find me. I wasn’t too worried, though. It wasn’t like on TV dramas. He wasn’t a whizz with technology. Only with teeth. I heard the hiss of cars sweeping past. I followed the sound, limping my way to the main road. Walking along the side of the road into a café in town.
I sat drinking coffee and tucking into scrambled eggs on toast, dwelling on my situation. Should I call the police? Should I leave him? Should I go home and confront him, make sure he never locked me in again? I paid my bill and, without being conscious of having made a clear decision, my feet began to carry me home.
106
Alastair
I ring your mobile. You pick up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as I sit in my living room, staring at the off-white wall that needs a lick of paint. Tapping my fingers nervously on the arm of my sofa. ‘So sorry. We need to talk.’
I hear you swallow. ‘No we don’t. There is nothing to talk about. I don’t want to see you, Alastair.’
Silence festers down the phone line.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m begging you to …’ I pause. ‘I need to explain properly.’
Silence, louder than sound.
‘Alastair, after what happened how do you ever expect me to want to see you again?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I know what to do, if that’s how you want to play it. You have to see me. I have a very interesting tale to tell the police about how I doctored the evidence because I was in love with you. But that I think you’re guilty. You’re the murderer, not Jade.’
You laugh. A false half-hearted laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Alastair. You kno
w I didn’t do it.’
‘Try proving it.’
You open the door to me, as I knew you would. I step into your hallway, towards your bruised, unsmiling face. Your swollen nose. Your swollen lips. A kaleidoscope of colour dancing around your cheeks. A hundred shades of purple. A hundred shades of green.
You deserve it, for the way you treated me. And I thought you were so much better than Heather.
But I also know that I love you. I want to keep you forever. I just couldn’t help it. You hurt me. You had to learn a lesson.
You turn. I follow you into your drawing room, decorated in delicate shades of gold and cream, laden with elegant antiques. Georgian sofa and chairs with walnut frames, engraved with leaves and flowers. A Regency crested mirror adorning the fireplace. The crystal chandelier centrepiece. Your life that drips with money. Money oozing out of every pore.
We sit in chairs on either side of the marble fireplace. You put your head in your hands and begin to weep. ‘I cannot believe you brutalised me,’ you manage between sobs. You lift your face. ‘Look at what you did to me.’
Closer to, your face looks even worse. Pulverised flesh, red as raw meat, beneath the purple and green bruises. I lean towards you. ‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry. I just love you so much. I couldn’t bear it that you rejected me. I know that I was wrong.’
You pull your face away. ‘You assured me you were never violent and that Heather was lying.’ There is a pause. ‘Then you beat me to a pulp. When I came round, the candle was burning down – the house could have been set on fire. Alastair, I’m lucky not to have died. You nearly killed me.’
I try to take your hand but you snap your hands behind your back. ‘I just lost it, Emma. I don’t normally behave like that and I will never do it again.’
‘Normally isn’t good enough, Alastair. It should be never.’
Tears pour down your face. You fumble up your sleeve to find a hankie, blow your nose and wipe your tears away. You sit staring at me, lips tight, jaw stiff and strained. Another shake of the head. ‘You shouldn’t hurt your girlfriend. It’s unforgivable.’ You stretch your legs in front of you and sigh from the bottom of your lungs. ‘Before this happened I thought I loved you but …’ You pause. ‘You were rushing me. I didn’t want to live with you and your child. Not yet. That’s how I felt.’ You shrug your shoulders and raise your hands. ‘It’s not unreasonable to take your time in a relationship.’
But your eyes and body language tell me that ‘Not yet’ means ‘Never’.
‘And now this.’ You point to your face. ‘How did you think this would help? What possessed you to do something like that?’
I do not answer that question.
‘We’ve known each other for a year now,’ I tell you instead, anger building inside me like a rising tide. ‘Long enough to fall in love. You’ve had enough time.’ I pause. ‘I find your reluctance intolerable after all I’ve done for you. I could have gone to prison for tampering with police evidence; perverting the course of justice is serious.’
Your body shrugs. Your eyes and shoulders widen. ‘But I’m innocent. So how could you be perverting the course of justice? Don’t you dare threaten me.’
Anger is bubbling in my skull, beneath my fingers, itching to clasp together and punch you again. ‘I’m not threatening you. But I did break the law for you. Risking a prison sentence in order to protect you. I hope you fully understand that.’ I pause. ‘I love you, Emma. I want to make this right. And I want to move in with you.’
‘I can’t do it.’ There is a pause. ‘Not now, after what you’ve done.’
A river of anger bursts its banks. My fists clench.
‘You must,’ I shout.
You stand up, walk towards me and lean down to push your bruised face into mine. ‘What are you talking about? You can’t make me. You don’t control me.’
I stand up and push you back. ‘Oh yes I can,’ I shout. ‘If you don’t honour your commitment to me, as I said on the phone, I’ll tell the police what I’ve done. Tell them the truth. I was overwhelmed, bamboozled by my love for you.’ I pause. ‘You’ll go to jail. Yes, I’ll be investigated. I may lose my job, but actually, when I really think about it, I won’t be prosecuted. I can turn Queen’s evidence. I will be the main prosecution witness. And you’ll lose your freedom. You’ll lose everything.’ I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. I mustn’t hurt you again. Not now. Not yet.
‘Emma, I’ve risked everything for you. You will do what I say.’
107
Emma
‘You will do what I say.’
Your face darkens.
‘So you’re threatening to destroy my life if I don’t obey. As if it’s a line of command, not a relationship. You must be mad.’
‘That’s not fair. You know I love you, Emma.’
Do you really believe that might somehow smooth everything over? Are you crazy? You must be. I really need to tread carefully.
I take a deep breath. ‘And I loved you. But I was unsettled by the speed you were moving. And then you tore us apart with your violence,’ I reply.
‘It was a mistake, Emma. You need to forgive me,’ you insist.
In that moment, I reach a decision. I know what men like you need to hear. I know how to play the game, you foolish man. I take a deep breath.
‘I understand that I need to forgive your violence. It only happened because I had upset you, and you were afraid of losing me. I can see we need to heal and move forwards. But Alastair, you didn’t need to threaten me to do that.’ I pause. ‘I will marry you.’
Your body eases at once. Your shoulders relax, your head and neck become less strained. Your face softens. You look at me and smile. Body trembling, I force myself to smile back. You fumble in your pockets and pull out the jewellery box. Black leather gold clasp and letters. How did you have the nerve to bring this with you? You are so dangerous. So presumptuous. I must keep calmer than calm, to play along with you. You pull the ring from its box, take my left hand in yours and push it onto my finger. It’s so tight, it cuts into my skin, reminding me of the pain you have caused me. You stand up, pull me towards you and kiss me hard on the mouth.
I kiss you back, but I want to bite you. Maim you. Kill you. Are you stupid? Do you really think I’ll put up with this pantomime of a relationship, after what I have been through with my father? With Colin? Do you really think I’m willing to be a passive victim?
108
Jade
Visiting time. A real visitor today. So far, since I have been incarcerated, the only people who come to see me are duty-bound professionals who will then fill in their time sheets: my barrister, my psychiatrist, my psychiatric nurse, my appropriate adult, my psychotherapist.
For the first time, I walk past the guards into the visiting room, drinking in the air of excitement. The opportunity to brush with someone leading a normal life.
I walk towards a grey plastic table in the middle of the room and sit and wait. The guards are standing at the side, backs to the wall, watching us like hawks. My visitor walks towards me. Your lover, Tomas. The Stereotype. The one who killed you. She is wearing a black miniskirt, showing off her slender, suntanned legs. And a crisp white blouse. Shaking her blonde hair so that it ripples across her shoulders. Smiling at me with glossy dark-pink lips. She is wearing rather a lot of make-up and her right eye is bloodshot. She sits down opposite me. She has put on too much perfume. The heady scent catches in my throat.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ I ask.
‘I need your help,’ she says.
‘What with?’
‘It’s Alastair. He’s become a danger to me – but also the solution to both of our problems. We need to talk.’ A pause. ‘If you help me, I can get you out of here. All I need from you is some advice.’
Memories
Despite everything he had done, my subconscious carried me home to confront Colin. My conscious mind told me to contact the police, and run. But somewhe
re deep inside, after everything that had happened to my mother, I knew I had to deal with this myself.
I walked out of the café, noise from passing traffic crashing like waves against my eardrums. I turned right along the high street, then right again into our loosely tarmacked private road. Past the neighbours’ houses. The neighbours we had never met. Ghost neighbours, not friends we ever saw. Let’s put it this way, it wasn’t a road for a street party. It was a road stuffed with ‘look at me’ houses for entertaining, to impress your guests. Since Colin and I never invited anyone around, its ethos was rather lost on us. At least it had a lot of space for us to ignore one another in. If our house hadn’t been so large our marriage would have been even harder to bear.
Walking through our gilded gates, crunching across gravel. I had my front door key in my bag, so I let myself in. As soon as I stepped into the hallway I could see him through our walls of glass; lying on the sofa watching a snooker match on our outlandishly large pub-sized TV. Two men in dinner suits were circling the table, taking it in turn to shoot. One was wearing a burgundy velvet jacket and a yellow bow-tie with dots on. He had curly hair touching his shoulders, dripping with grease. The other man, who appeared to be losing, although less unsavoury, was less smartly dressed. Waistcoat. Bow-tie. No jacket.
Colin seemed to be having a duvet day. He was still in his striped dressing gown and UGG slippers. He hadn’t heard or seen me. I marched into the drawing room and hijacked the controller, snapping the TV off.
A slow smile. Artificial. ‘So the wanderer returns.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘We do indeed.’
I sat on the sofa opposite him, wondering what I had ever seen in him. He was thin and wiry and hairy. Hair like a werewolf on his chest and legs. Mean, diminished eyes.