Anything for Her (9 page)

‘What do you mean, it’s nothing to do with me?’ She zips her dress up the back. ‘You broke up
because
of me.’

‘That’s not something to be proud of, Denise.’

He won’t look at her as he tucks his shirt into his
trousers and fastens his belt; it’s as though he felt disgusted and sickeningly guilty the moment he ejaculated inside her.

Denise looks at him, baffled. Her bewildered stare turns into a scowl.

‘Why am I being made to feel like the villain, here? We both did this. We both made this choice.’

‘Choice to do what? Fuck?’

‘To be together, you pig.’

‘We’re not together. I love my wife.’

‘But you fuck other women in your office?’

‘You wanted me. I wanted sex. My wife doesn’t. I did what I had to do.’

He tightens his tie, and searches for his socks and shoes.

‘So I mean nothing to you?’ she exclaims, her eyes brimming with furious, wounded tears.

‘Shut up, someone will hear you!’

‘But the sound of us fucking is acceptable, is it?’

‘I’m not doing this with you,’ he tells her, shaking his head.

‘Well, tough. You should have thought about that before you got us into this. We’re both involved.’

‘Leave,’ he commands, pointing to the frosted glass doors.

She snatches up her high heels from the floor and throws her coat around her shoulders. Michael looks at her with utter disgust.

‘I love my wife and you’re trying to ruin everything.’

‘How is our relationship
my
fault? Take some fucking responsibility.’

‘We don’t have a relationship. We have an arrangement.’

‘What am I, some hooker?’

‘Will money make you leave?’

She launches a shoe at his head, but hits his shoulder, and heads for the door in bare feet, picking up the shoe as she goes.

Denise stands before the door, her hand on the steel handle as she slips into her shoes. She turns to him with tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘I’m pregnant, Michael.’

She stands in the doorway for a few seconds – although it feels like a lifetime – as they stare at each other without blinking. He looks her up and down with contempt, as if trying to decide if she is telling the truth.

‘You’re lying,’ he says, pulling at his collar as though it has become too tight for his neck.

‘I don’t lie,’ she replies, before opening the door and sauntering off down the office filled with Michael’s employees. Colleagues whisper to one another about the woman in the sleek, red dress, which reveals her long legs – and the fact that she is clearly not wearing underwear.

She was in there almost an hour
.

She’s hot. Lucky bastard
.

You can tell she’s a slut just by the way she walks
.

Fifty quid says she’s a call girl getting £500 to wank him off in his lunch break
.

Michael stands at the blinds that cover the glass partition and looks out over the office.

Denise presses the button for the lift. She turns and looks back at him in his office; as she catches his glare, she slips her hand from her coat pocket and rests it on her dress above her womb. She doesn’t smirk with her lips, but with her eyes.

She turns and enters the lift. Looking out at his office, she keeps her hand on her abdomen until the doors close.

Chapter Twenty-two

Louise and Brooke stare silently at the open box of dead birds.

When Louise lifted the lid, the smell had hit them like a slap from death.

Each of them holds a mug of tea. Louise wishes hers had wine in it.

‘How did the person get in to leave them on your bed? Did you not lock the door?’

‘I locked it, bolted it and attached the chain. I checked every other door and window as well. There was no way the person could get in the house without a key to the back door.’

‘Who else has a key?’

‘This is the only one,’ she replies, holding it up.

‘Maybe it isn’t,’ Brooke replies, before taking a sip of tea.

Louise takes in the sight of her grown-up daughter, who was once a girl and is now in limbo, held back by trauma.

‘Mum, I’m scared,’ Brooke has turned extremely pale, as though the life is slowly draining out of her.

‘I am, too.’

‘I don’t know what we should do.’

‘I don’t feel it is safe for you to stay here.’

Brooke’s brow creases.

‘What? There was a man at the back door, Mum.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t come inside, did he? And your father was there to protect you. Here, someone seems to enter whenever he or she pleases. It isn’t safe here.’

‘Well, come back with me, then.’

‘You know I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘I’m not returning to London, Brooke. I need time away from my life there.’

‘And stay somewhere that isn’t safe?’

‘Brooke, I’m not coming home. Not yet.’

‘Why do I have to, then?’

‘Because you’ll be safer there.’

‘You just don’t want me here,’ she replies, looking away with a sour expression.

‘It isn’t that, Brooke, I promise. Your safety trumps everything else.’

‘So I travelled here for nothing?’

She sits up straighter, her eyes growing colder.

‘Brooke, don’t turn on me. We need each other.’

‘Well, we won’t be much help to each other being on different sides of the country.’

‘I need to know you’re safe. Your dad can protect you.’

‘I thought you were a feminist? Aren’t men and women equal? You need a big, strong, dependable
man to protect me because us women are so delicate and dainty?’

‘I’m too emotionally weak to look after anyone. I can barely look after myself.’

‘That’s comforting. Thanks for sending me back to my father who slapped me around the face, by the way.’

‘Stop being so selfish!’

‘
I’m
selfish?’ Brooke spits. ‘I’m selfish for wanting to be with my mum at a time like this?’

‘All right, I know I’m being selfish too – don’t I have the right to be? My whole life has fallen apart, and still I’m expected to be the rock of the family, to hold everything together, to do my duty and tell you all that everything is going to be okay. How can I be expected to be the strong, sturdy rock when I’m so weak? Why should I be the one to make everything better, when I’m the one who has been hurt the most? Your father should be holding the fort, and you – as an adult – should understand why I need to be alone. I
deserve
the right to fall apart.’

‘What sort of mother sends her daughter back to her father that hit her the night before? It’s deluded.’

‘A bad one. There – I’ve admitted it. I’m a bad mother now. I didn’t used to be, not until you dragged me into your mess!’

‘That night?’

‘Of course!’

Brooke’s eyes shimmer with assembling tears.

Louise stands up; her legs shake as rage overcomes her.

‘I had a happy marriage, happy children, a good life – until
you
screwed it all up!
You
did this to me – to this family – and still,
I’m
supposed to fix everything. Well, I can’t. I’ve kept secrets for you, I’ve ruined my marriage for you, I’ve covered up a murder for you, I’ve—’

Louise stops, in order to hide a dark secret of her own. The mist of her fury begins to clear. Her eyes settle on her daughter sitting in the armchair, sobbing. Her own tears begin to form. She instantly feels awful.

‘Brooke, I’m sorry. This isn’t–—’

‘You’re right,’ Brooke replies, looking up at her mother with glistening cheeks. ‘I did this. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘No,
I’m
sorry. I should have never said those things. I’ve ruined my own marriage. I should have told your father about that night, instead of trying to protect him from it. If it weren’t for me, he would be helping us right now. He probably wouldn’t have cheated. This is
my
fault.’

Louise takes her daughter’s hands. Brooke stands and, still sobbing, allows her mother to embrace her.

‘Of course you can stay,’ Louise says into her daughter’s ear.

‘No,’ Brooke says, pulling away and wiping her
cheeks. ‘I want to go home.’

‘Brooke, I want you to stay. We can get through this together. I don’t know what I was thinking before. I want you with me.’

‘I want to go home. I should be there for Dominic, for Dad; I should let you grieve.’

‘Brooke, stay here. I
need
you here.’

‘Mum, I want to go home. Really. I don’t want to be here.’

Louise stares at her daughter, her own cheeks wet with tears, wondering how she can make her stay.

‘I’ll go home tonight.’

‘No,’ Louise protests. ‘You need to sleep. You need rest.’

‘I’ll nap before I go. You can’t stop me, Mum. I’m going home.’

‘Well, I’ll drive you,’ Louise insists.

‘I’m getting the train.’

‘But—’

‘Mum, listen to me. I want to go home, and I want you to stay here.’

Louise stands before her daughter feeling utterly helpless. Her face contorts with overwhelming tears.

‘I’ve been such an awful mother to you, haven’t I?’ Dismay washes over her like waves. ‘I wish I could turn back the clock and make our lives okay. I wish I had protected you.’

She hunches her shoulders as she sobs into her
hands.

‘We’ve all played a part in this,’ Brooke says, composing herself as though she had never fallen apart at all. ‘None of us are free from guilt. No one can take all the blame. We’re just one big fucked-up family.’

Chapter Twenty-three

Brooke gets into the car, shivering from the winter chill, and hovers her hands over the heating vents in the dashboard, while Louise sprays the windscreen and windows with de-icer.

Brooke watches through the windscreen as Louise scrapes at the ice. She wonders what it must be like to be her mother, to face everything that is going on in her life. For the first time, Brooke feels lucky for being who she is.

Looking at her mother’s face, she notices how defeated she looks. Her eyes are constantly filled with melancholy; she never smiles naturally any more. Brooke blushes and looks down at her lap as her mother catches her staring and gives her one of those forced smiles.

Louise gets into the car, and shivers despite the heat blasting up at the windscreen. They look at each other awkwardly, and give each other a strained, timid smile.

They drive to the station in silence. For the first time in their lives, they don’t know what to say to each other. They are both in on a secret that no one else must know, but both are lost on how to proceed.

When they arrive at the station, Louise parks in a
free space outside.

They sit for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

‘Why stay here, Mum, if you don’t feel safe?’

Brooke watches her mother digest the question and search for the answer in her muddled mind.

‘Because facing reality is far more frightening.’

They fall prey to the silence again.

‘Are we going to die?’ Brooke asks.

Her eyes glisten with tears as she waits patiently for her mother’s response.

Louise strokes her daughter’s soft, cold face.

‘I promise you we are not going to die.’

Louise pulls her into her arms and strokes her hair.

‘But how do you know?’

‘I just do. Mothers know these things.’

Brooke doesn’t believe her, and she isn’t sure her mother believes her own words, either.

After a minute of holding each other, desperate not to let go, they pull away. Louise gets out of the car to retrieve Brooke’s suitcase. Brooke follows.

They stand staring at each other, reluctant to part. Brooke looks at her mother, wondering if she would miss her daughter if she ran away, started a new life, and was never heard of again.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Louise says. ‘I’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine.’

‘You promise?’

‘With all my heart.’

They hug once more.

‘Why did this happen to us?’ Brooke asks, sniffling, as tears roll down her cheeks. ‘I just want a normal life. I don’t want any of this.’

‘We will get through this together. We’ll be free of this one day. One day soon. I promise.’

Brooke doesn’t reply.

She pulls away from her mother and wipes her cheeks. She gives her mother a tremulous smile and turns towards the station.

***

Louise watches her daughter walk into the station. Brooke gives her a timid wave. Even when she is out of sight, Louise continues to stare in her daughter’s direction. She wants to run after her and beg her to stay. She stands there for minutes, fighting her own wishes and her daughter’s decision.

I shouldn’t have said those things. She would have stayed if I hadn’t blamed her – if I hadn’t been such a bad mother
.

Louise eventually gets inside the car and starts the engine, completely unaware that her daughter won’t be returning to London.

Chapter Twenty-four

Louise wakes up with a terrified jolt.

Trying to compose herself as she takes in the sight of the dark bedroom, she attempts to fathom where she is, what day it is, and what her life has become. Her breath escapes in small clouds as she shivers against the ice-cold sheets.

A blaring sound calls from outside like a siren, and lights flash around the slats of the blinds at the window.

She fumbles her way out of bed and peers through a dusty slat in the blind, resting her hand on the windowsill beside the carcass of a dead fly. Her car’s headlights, indicators and rear lights are flashing insistently; the car alarm is wailing into the night. The sound rings in her ears like an endless scream.

Louise rushes to the bedroom door, slips into her dressing gown and slippers, and races down the stairs. The lights flash through the windows in quick, short bursts. The grandfather clock in the lobby chimes midnight in a deep, sinister groan, as if it has been awoken too.

The overwhelming chill of the night hits her as she makes her way along the path and her slippers instantly begin to soak in the slush and snow. Rushing
towards the car, she unlocks it quickly to stop the ear-piercing noise.