Thorn in the Flesh (24 page)

He waited.

When at last she spoke, it was as if she were dredging words she didn’t know she possessed from the heart of her.

‘There’s something I haven’t told anyone,’ she began. ‘Not the police, not Nicky and, until recently, not even myself. At least, not directly. I’m telling you this now, as I think it’s important. It seems to be the right thing to do, and the right time. That’s all I can say.’

In the silence as she closed her eyes, she could hear David’s breathing, but he said nothing, and she was glad of it.

‘When I was attacked,’ she continued, ‘the man wore a mask so I couldn’t see his face. But he couldn’t hide his eyes and his hands. Nor some of the things he said to me, which I didn’t understand then – I was too terrified – but I came to understand later, in spite of myself. I don’t know if Nicky told you, David, and it’s something she didn’t know until recently herself, but while I was at university I had a son whom I gave away. I had him adopted. His name was Stephen. I believe it was Stephen who attacked and raped me. It’s why I’ve been searching for him, when I never have in the past. It’s why …’

But Kate was unable to complete the sentence. As the words left her, burning their meaning into her throat, a wave of grief and guilt swept up in their wake and she unexpectedly found she was crying. After such a long time of not crying about
this
, or not allowing herself to, she was knocked down, overwhelmed by it.

From somewhere, she found she had tissues. Perhaps David had thrust them into her hand, she didn’t know. There was no way of telling. The tears were blinding her and she couldn’t stop the sobbing. The days and weeks of trying to trample down the knowledge of what had really happened to her on the night of the attack were torn away and she was left for the first time naked and vulnerable. The rape. The knowledge of incest. The guilt of that realisation adding to the horror of the rape. And underneath it all, the thought that her son –
her own son
– was a violent criminal who hated her beyond all things.

She kept on crying, the very fact of it bringing a strange kind of relief. And glad too that David made no move to touch her or comfort her with platitudes. Even in his presence, the solitude of her grief seemed to be its most important component. For a while then, she let that grief have its way.

Finally, although she didn’t know how much later it might have been, she was quiet. She dropped the last crumpled tissue into the wastepaper basket she could now see beside her before gathering up the others from the floor also. Then she was still. It was David who spoke. He sounded tired and distant.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Your son – if it was your son, and you only have your own suspicions to tell you that, Kate – raped you, and might have taken Nicky. Why? To make you suffer again? To take revenge for being abandoned? The rape, the incest – if that was what it was – isn’t your fault. You didn’t make it happen; he did. Other people are adopted and don’t do this. But it doesn’t matter; there’s nothing I can say or do which will make any of this any better, and, to be honest, as far as I’m concerned the only thing I’m worried about is getting my wife back. Everything else is meaningless. I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, but I can’t deal with it now. And maybe, until Nicky is back, safe and well, neither can you. Do you understand?’

As he finished, he leant forward and gripped her arm. His fingers dug into her skin through Nicky’s nightgown and she could see the compassion in his eyes. Somehow the very fact of his practical kindness gave her strength. It was better than if he’d wept with her. She nodded.

‘Yes. I understand.’

For a moment longer, he gazed at her, and then let go before drawing back. The moment of shared understanding drifted into the beginnings of awkwardness.

‘You’d better get some sleep, if you can,’ he said. ‘We both should.’

‘All right.’

She got up, the weight of her body seeming to battle against the movement. At the same time, somewhere inside she felt lighter for having spoken.

At the door, she turned. David was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring ahead blankly.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for letting me say what I believe to be the truth. And not judging me.’

He looked up at her, his eyes seeming to focus slowly. He nodded.

‘What would be the point now, after everything that’s happened?’ he said. ‘But thank you for telling me. I know how difficult it must have been, especially for someone as private as you.’

Back in the spare room, Kate fell into a deep sleep at once, although she’d thought it would be impossible. Once or twice more however, she woke, with something heavy lurking at the edge of her mind. A feeling she couldn’t shake off. It was as if she was about to reach out and grasp something important that would be the key, resolve everything and give her the answer she needed. About Nicky, about Stephen. She could call her attacker that now. She was sure of it, whatever David might think. It was both a terrible knowledge and also, somehow, a relief. If only she could work out what it was that … But each time she reached out for it, the glimmer of understanding floated away and she sank into sleep again.

When she next awoke, it was fully morning. It was then that the memory came back to her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

God, God,
God
. She knew it. She could see it now, the unread writing she’d ignored floating to the front of her mind at last. The studio. Nicky’s leaflets. The way they’d fallen after David had appeared at the studio yesterday morning. So that what had been on the back had been in full view to her for a second, but then ignored. Not read. Discounted.

‘David?’ she cried out, stumbling out of her bedroom towards his. ‘
David?
’

She met him on the landing. He had a towel wrapped round his middle and was wet from the shower.

‘What?
What?
’ he demanded.

‘The leaflets. The one for the Pepperpot. Yesterday morning,’ she gabbled, knowing she was making no sense but unable to be any clearer, her heart beating its own urgent rhythm against her tongue.

‘Nicky’s exhibition?’

‘Yes. I was holding a leaflet for it, when you came in and … no, never mind. I’ll get dressed. I need to get into the studio, look at it again.
Now.
’

Even while talking, she was running back towards the spare room and slamming the door shut behind her. She tore off the nightgown, gathered the clothes of the day before and began dressing, fingers tearing their way through buttons and the zip of her skirt.

In the short time it took to get ready, David had also found a pair of cords and an old tee-shirt, and was halfway down the stairs when Kate exited her bedroom again.

‘I’ll go,’ he said, shouting the words behind him. ‘Get them for you.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll come.’

She followed him down and a few moments later David was pushing open the studio door. As it had yesterday, the sun shone through and made the dust glitter, lighting up the shelves and the lone easel.

Kate brushed past him and rifled through the leaflets, still piled up where she’d dropped them on the shelf.

She found it. The last one she’d picked up. Something was scribbled on the back corner of the Pepperpot leaflet, something she’d not paid full attention to before. Her skin turned cold and everything around her seemed suddenly extra loud: David’s breathing; the rustle of trees; birdsong.

‘It’s here,’ she said. ‘This is it.’

Although barely visible, the words sang out, words written in the same hand as the notes she had kept.

Where will you find what you’re looking for, bitch?

Unable to move, unable even to speak, she passed the note to David and watched as his eyes scanned over it.

‘What’s it mean?’ he whispered.

She took a deep and shuddering breath.

‘It’s a clue,’ she replied, her voice sounding rough, old. ‘If only I’d read it properly before. If only …
no
. I can’t believe it will be too late. It can’t be too late. The exhibition is for next week, David, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Nicky’s been preparing for it, hasn’t she? I don’t mean the painting, but has … has she been looking at the venue?’

David shook his head. ‘No. Not the Pepperpot. It’s rarely open anyway, apart from Monday evenings during term, and they only let exhibitors in a day or so before to prepare. Though she does have access to a key and if she went into town on Wednesday, she might have gone there.’

He broke off and gave Kate a searching glance. ‘Do you think …?’

‘No. Yes. I don’t know, but it’s the only possibility we have at the moment. Come on, let’s go.’

They ran out to the car, Kate still clutching the leaflet in her hand. David revved the engine and slammed his feet down onto the accelerator. They skidded out of the road and down the hill towards the town. She could feel her legs shaking against the leather of the seat.

‘We should ring the police,’ she said, staring straight in front of her and trying not to think. ‘Let them know what’s happening.’

David pulled his phone from his pocket and tossed it at Kate. ‘Dial them.’

For a few moments, Kate struggled with the mobile, but there was no response. ‘It’s no good. It won’t work; the battery’s dead. And mine’s at home.’

‘
Shit.
I left it on all night. Then we can’t ring anyone, can we?’ he spat the words out as if they were a bad taste in his mouth. ‘But at the moment we’ve got nothing to say to them anyway. Just a few words written on a flyer and your hunch, Kate. What the fuck is that going to make them do? No, we’ll go there first, see for ourselves what the hell is going on. This is
my
wife, Kate, my
wife
we’re talking about, ok
ay
?’

She closed her eyes. ‘Yes. All right. You’re right. I’m sorry.’

They drove the rest of the way in silence. When at last they arrived at the intersection between Church Street and the High Street, David slammed to a halt and shoved the car door open. He reached the Pepperpot first, slipping like a shadow under its wide, open arches and heading for the door leading to the small upstairs gallery. A second or two later, and Kate was with him. She found him pushing and pulling at the handle, the door creaking but refusing to give. No-one was nearby.

Sweat dripping down her skin, she glanced upwards, trying to see through wall and plaster and paint as to what or who might be inside, then grabbed at his arm, joining her force with his.

‘Someone else must have a key,’ she panted, foolishly, knowing already that neither of them would have the strength of mind to leave now. ‘At the museum?’

‘
No.
Here, let go, let me do it.’

Shoving her to one side, David took two steps back and, with all his weight behind him, kicked the door. The wood above the lock buckled but didn’t break.

‘Do it again,’ Kate said, but David was already in motion.

This time, the door cracked, split again and, with surprisingly little noise, swung open.

‘Nicky?’ David yelled as he raced up the winding, wooden stairs, Kate close behind him. ‘
Nicky?
’

Reaching the first floor still just in front of her, he headed across the small corridor towards the one main room of the building.

‘
Nicky?
’ he yelled again, this time his voice hoarse with suppressed tears.

An impression of magnolia walls, the threshold, a glimpse of something dark and long. Kate tried to call a warning, but it was too late to stop the thin, black length of pipe plunging down onto David’s head. Too late to cry out as he crumpled to the floorboards, blood streaming through his hair, or to stop her own rushed impetus and the grasp of fingers as they encircled her arm.

She found herself whipped round and flung back against the edge of a cupboard. Her head landed against wood and plaster with a sharp crack.

Just before she lost consciousness, a familiar voice spoke.

‘Hello, Kate,’ it said. ‘I thought you’d never come.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kate groaned. Her mouth felt dry and she seemed to be lying on something rough. When she opened her eyes, the lights above her were dazzling, and she caught a glimpse of white before closing them again. Where was she? She couldn’t remember. She tried to move but her legs felt weak.

‘I wouldn’t try anything, cow, if I were you.’

The sound of the voice filled her with dark memories and she began to shake. More than anything, she wanted the toilet, but tried to control her spasms. She didn’t know what might happen if she lost control. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and tried to place herself, easing her head to one side so she could get a better view of her surroundings.

She was in the Pepperpot, she realised. The whiteness she’d seen before was the ceiling, interspersed with a section of the cupboard. She’d fallen against that, she remembered now.
He’d
pushed her.

‘Where’s …?’ she croaked, swallowed, and tried again. ‘Where’s Nicky? And David? What have you done with them?’

The response was laughter. Brief, high-pitched, wild. Followed by a low humming. That too she knew. The echo of it had kept her awake in the long nights after her return from hospital. She’d been right about what had happened then, but the understanding gave her no comfort, of course.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ the answer came at last.

Trying to breathe normally and controlling the bile that rose to her throat, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Please, please God, let her friends be all right. Please God, whatever happens now, let them not be harmed.

‘Mind you,’ the man who must surely be Stephen spoke again, ‘there’s a shit-load of things I bet you’d like to know, isn’t there?’

When she didn’t answer, he repeated the question.

‘Isn’t there?’

She turned her head in the direction of her questioner. For the first time, she saw his face without a mask. Blue eyes which darted here and there, dark blond hair. Peter’s eyes, though the hair was darker, as she’d thought, and then chided herself for thinking, all those weeks and months ago. And he had her mouth. As her heart beat faster, her vision blurred again. Quickly, she looked away.

‘Yes. Yes, Stephen,’ she whispered. ‘There are things I’d like to know.’

‘Good. Glad to see you’ve worked it out at last. Glad to see you do at least know who I am. And answering me is better, isn’t it, Kate? You know how much nicer I am to you when you do what I tell you, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I know that too.’

He chuckled. ‘And if you do what I tell you this time, then you won’t get hurt. See?’

Unsure whether she could find the will to reply, she nodded, but the shaft of pain and dizziness brought on by the movement sent a wave of nausea powering through her.

Her son didn’t appear to notice either her silence or her pain. He simply carried on talking.

‘You see, I’m a fair man. I don’t give anyone anything they haven’t deserved. So, seeing as we’re here, having such a nice time, you and me, I’ll let you find out about the things you want to know. We can find them out together, can’t we? Isn’t that what mothers and sons should do? They should be together, shouldn’t they? It’s only natural. What was it you wanted to know first? About the bloke? What’s his name then?’

In the silence that followed, she whispered, ‘David. His name’s David.’

He coughed and fell silent for a moment. From outside, Kate thought she could hear the distant rumble of traffic and people. She turned her head to look at her son. It was he who looked away first.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you see him.’

He was upon her before she could register his movement. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he hauled her round so she was lying on her stomach on the floor, facing the way she’d come in.

‘Look then,’ he said.

She did. David lay near the door, where he’d fallen. His body appeared inert, fragile, as if something had been removed and he was waiting for it to be replaced. His head was turned towards her, and she could see that a stream of blood had flowed down through his hair, over his cheek, and was congealing next to his mouth. His eyes were closed but she could see he was breathing. Thank God.

‘David? David?’ she tried to whisper, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. She couldn’t stop the shaking, and didn’t know whether it was relief that David was alive, or fear of what might happen next.

‘What? You want to have a closer look, eh?’

His breath, warm and stale, burnt into her cheek and she gasped and tried to turn away.

‘No,
look
,’ he grunted. ‘I asked you to.’

The next second Kate found herself pushed unceremoniously against David’s body. He didn’t stir, a fact for which she was grateful, as who knows what Stephen might have done then. She could smell blood, the iron sharpness of it filling her nose and mouth. She had to get Stephen away from David before he became even more violent. She had to. For Nicky’s sake.

‘Please, please,’ she panted before she could stop herself and was rewarded only by a sharp punch in her ribs and the sound of laughter.

‘See?’ he said. ‘You wanted to be close to him, but he doesn’t want that from you, does he? You’re used goods, aren’t you? Mind you, you always were. Cow.’

This time she said nothing in response to his taunts, and he gave another short laugh before flinging her back, away from David. As behind her the silence lengthened, she tried to control her breathing and the fierce thudding of her heart. And to find a way of framing the next, most important question.

‘Wh-where’s Nicky?’ she said, or rather stammered. ‘Where’s my friend? I know you took her.’

Two footsteps, heavy with menace, strode across the floor towards her, although she didn’t turn to look at him. There was no need; she could sense the sudden impingement of darkness over her. She froze, wondering what he would do, and what his plan might be, but nothing happened. Instead the sound of his tread again, this time heading away from her, enabling her to breathe once more.

‘Okay,’ he said and this time there was no laughter, a fact that squeezed Kate’s heart tighter with fears she refused to name. ‘Okay, I’ll show you that too.’

As he hauled her upright, she tried to make herself as small as possible. The touch of his hands brought a further wave of nausea and memory to her throat, and she gagged, spitting out bile and saliva.

‘You bitch,’ he said, shaking her. ‘Don’t make me angry. Just don’t.’

He propelled her, still shaking, across the room. Kate tried to focus on something other than the man behind her and had a brief glimpse of a row of green chairs and a picture on the wall on the other side of the door. It reminded her of Turner and she focused on the thought, but she had no time to clarify the assumption as the next second she was being pushed out onto the landing again, past the toilets and then into the tiny corner kitchen.

Here, she took in the window overlooking the town, a sink, several mugs scattered round the draining board along with spoons, forks and a pair of bright silver scissors. And a crumpled figure lying slumped on the floor against a cupboard.

‘
Nicky.
’

She didn’t think she’d spoken aloud, but a sharp slap on the side of her face and a muttered curse told her otherwise.

‘You talk way too much, cow. Why don’t you just shut up once in a while? But see how good I am to you. That stupid cunt of a friend of yours is here too.’

Kate ignored him. She fell down onto her knees in front of her friend and, hardly daring to think, wrapped her in her arms. Nicky’s hands and legs were tied together and she smelt of alcohol and sweat. She had a bruise on her face and blood on her mouth. But she was breathing. Like David, she was breathing. Kate could see it, feel it too. She could almost taste it.

‘Thank God, thank God,’ she found herself saying over and over again, rocking Nicky’s small form in her arms. ‘Thank God.’

Just as her captor aimed the first of a series of kicks at Kate’s body and head that knocked her unconscious again, Nicky’s eyes fluttered open.

‘Kate?’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay, I’m okay. I knew you’d come.’

***

The moment Kate woke, she could taste blood and vomit in her mouth and her face felt sore. When she tried to move, a sharp pain coursed through her body like a wild storm and left her weak and panting. For another moment or two, she could remember nothing. Then the knowledge of what had happened, where she was, came flowing back. She groaned and tried to open her eyes, but it was impossible. Something – a strip of cloth or linen – was wrapped tightly round her head, blinding her. When she lifted her hands to ease it off, she discovered they were tied together and held fast also round her waist. She could only move them a few inches. When she tried moving her legs they too were bound at the ankle.

From somewhere close by, she heard soft laughter. And then silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

‘
Nicky?
’ Kate struggled to sit upright and turned towards the sound. A further jab of pain round her stomach told her she was tied there too, to something immovable next to her. From her right, the window’s square of light flashed across her darkness. ‘What … what are you doing? What’s happening?
Nicky?
Talk to me,
please
.’

More soft laughter. His. Then his voice.

‘Oh no,’ he whispered. ‘Your friend, she’s saying nothing.’

‘Why not?’ Kate almost shouted, any concept of personal danger suddenly left behind. ‘
What have you done to her?
You
bastard
.’

‘Me?’ he said, cutting across her flurry of words as if they were mere puffs of air and nonsense. ‘I’ve done nothing. You don’t have to worry about that. It’s
you
I want, not her.’

‘Then why won’t you let her talk?’

‘
Shut up.
If you just shut up, then I’ll let you know. Your friend can’t speak because of one simple fact. Because I’ve told her not to. If she does speak, or make any kind of sound at all, no matter what happens, then …’

He paused, but Kate knew enough not to interrupt him. His answer when it finally came was both a relief and a threat.

‘… then I’ll really make you suffer,’ he said.

All right, she thought. That was how it would be. She could accept it now. He would attack her, kill her perhaps, and Nicky would have to let it happen. Well, Kate knew what his body and hands were like, what they could do; she’d borne it once, she could bear it again.

‘All right,’ she said, before he could fill the slow silence, and turned in the direction she thought her friend might be in, the direction of that sharp drawn-in breath. ‘Nicky, whatever he does to me, say nothing. It’ll be all right.
Please
understand, it’ll be all right. We can get through this.’

Another short burst of laughter, this time mocking, and then he was in front of her, the shape of him blocking out the faint square of light, his finger running down the side of her face and touching the soreness there.

‘You assume a lot, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘Even after what I’ve done. What
you
made me do.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said, and was surprised by the steadiness of her voice. From nowhere, words echoed in her mind:
keep him talking, Kate, keep him talking. If he’s speaking, then he’s not doing anything.

‘Don’t be stupid. You know.’

She swallowed, trying not to flinch from his hand and cursing the fact that she couldn’t see him. ‘No, I don’t know. And I’d like to. Why don’t you tell me what I made you do and why you did it?’

A slight change in the air in front of her told her he was moving, but in which direction she couldn’t tell. For a long time, he said nothing.

When he spoke again, he was close, but not as close as he’d been before. ‘Bitch. I can hurt you.
Really
hurt you.’

‘Do you think I care about that?’ she gave a short laugh, and was surprised to hear the bleakness of it. ‘Do you think I’d have come after you here if I thought you could frighten me? Listen, I don’t care if you kill me and, yes, I think you’re capable of that, but I don’t care. Because what I care about most is knowing why. Why you’ve chosen to do what you’ve done, both before and now. Why does hurting me, and those I love, mean so much to you?’

This elicited a grunt and then nothing. He was still close. Taking her cue from his breathing, ragged now, she reached out for him as far as she was able to, and her fingers made contact with skin, nails digging into the flesh of what she realised was his arm so she felt him wince. He gasped but didn’t pull away. Neither did he strike her, a reaction she’d been prepared for. He was trembling, but her hand was steady. Second by slow second then, she continued to hold him.

‘Look at me,’ she said. ‘Are you looking at me?’

He gave no answer, but she knew without being told that his eyes, shadows of blue, would be taking her in. He would be looking at her, his slim, emaciated face, his hair, greasy and curling a little where it touched his neck. It made her shiver.