What Goes Around: A chilling psychological thriller (21 page)

‘At Maybanks?’

‘Where else?’ He climbs down from the chair. ‘When we get back into the house I thought I’d build a playhouse for Molly where the oak tree used to stand. What do you think?’

‘She’d love that, Dad. I was thinking the same thing myself. We’re not there yet though. I have a ton of forms to fill in and a battle ahead, I think. Tom’s not going to give up the house easily. And Leila’s son is in rehab so Tom is being the ideal man and supporting her. That’s what Ben tells me.’

‘Well … you can’t steal another woman’s husband and expect everything to go smoothly.’

A husband or wife can’t really be stolen; I know that – Tom must have been willing to go. He is a man who is decisive and sure of himself, not a man who is persuaded and led. After he confessed to the affair, he told me that he didn’t feel we had a future. That he needed to feel more ‘visible in the relationship’, that he wanted the emphasis to move from ‘family to couple’. I was at a loss to know why we couldn’t have both family and couple. And as for him being visible – when was he ever not?

‘I’m a great believer in do as you would be done by,’ my dad’s saying. He’s on his hands and knees now and is using a Stanley knife to straighten the edge of the lino. ‘Liars should expect to be lied to. Deceivers should expect to be deceived.’

When he says this I immediately think of Francis. It’s been bothering me that I’m lying to him by omission. He knows I’m going to Leila Henrikson for therapy but what he doesn’t know is that Leila is the woman my husband left me for. I’m going to have to speak to him because I’m worried that he’ll find out by accident – chances are he’ll meet Ben soon, maybe even this evening, and Ben might talk about Leila. Or I might let something slip – and I don’t want him to find out that way. I have to tell him first. If he thinks less of me then there’s nothing I can do about that but if I don’t tell him, he’s still bound to find out, and that will be worse.

When I get back home, I do my checks, then have another run at the financial documents, answering questions ranging from comprehensive details of my teacher’s pension to shares I owned back in the nineties that I have long forgotten about. Tom has obviously decided to frustrate me into searching just in case I never sold them. Form-filling gives me a headache at the best of times and I’m pleased when Francis knocks on the front door just as I’m close to throwing the pages across the room. ‘I haven’t got the carry-out yet,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d be sure of your order then pop along to get it.’ He follows me into the living room. ‘What are you up to?’ he asks me.

‘Divorce.’ I wave the sheets in the air. ‘This is what it all boils down to.’

‘He’s burying you under a mountain of paperwork?’

‘That’s about the nub of it. He’s not going to give up the house any time soon. Not now his new woman is ensconced in there.’ I add, ‘Bitch,’ under my breath.

‘Tackle the forms slowly,’ Francis says. He gives me a rallying hug. ‘It sounds like it could take a while but good things will happen en route, I’m sure.’

‘You’re such an optimist.’

‘I’m more of a realist,’ he says and I sense he’s thinking of his mum.

‘How’s your mum today?’

‘She’s much the same. Holding on to life by a thread.’

‘I’m sure she loves having you visiting every day.’

‘She does. It’s giving us a chance to say everything we need to say before she—’ He hesitates before adding ‘—dies. Anyway!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘Let’s get the order in.’

He pulls the menu out of his pocket and we decide what we’re having. ‘Will Ben be here too?’ he asks me.

‘No.’ I’ve had a text from Ben to say he’s staying out for a couple of nights at a friend’s house, so that means it will just be the two of us. ‘We can watch the film,’ I say. ‘Without being interrupted.’ I try to give him the money to pay for the food but he insists on making it his treat and while he’s off collecting it I do a round of checks and give the living room a quick tidy-up. I feel excited at what the evening might hold. Francis likes me – I can feel it – and I like him, so if he does make a move, what’s to stop me?

The curry goes down well, as does the beers we drink with it. We sit on the sofa with plates on our laps in front of the film. Francis is right – despite the film’s premise it is a feel-good movie and by the end I’m both crying and laughing.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ Francis says, reaching across to take my hand.

‘I loved it,’ I say. Our eyes meet and hold. I don’t breathe. He stands up and pulls me to my feet. My hipbones bump up against the tops of his thighs. He slides his hands into the back pockets of my jeans and pulls me in closer. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this for a few days now,’ he says.

I’ve lost the power of speech so I’m unable to reply.

He dips his head down and I bring my face up to meet his. I haven’t been kissed for over a year. I haven’t been kissed like this for over ten years. I let him kiss me and then I join in, matching and mirroring his moves, kissing and kissing until breathing becomes more important. I step away and smile across at him. ‘That’s—’ I laugh. ‘Lovely. Unexpected.’ I’m nodding. ‘It’s been a while. I em—’

‘I like you, Ellen,’ he says, his expression sincere. ‘I like your sense of humour and your kindness. I like your honesty—’

‘Ah!’ I hold up a finger. ‘Well, there’s the thing.’ I try for a full breath but my chest feels tight so I only manage a shallow one. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Francis, something important.’

‘What?’ He reaches for my hands, his smile faltering. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’ve been …’ I sigh. ‘I really hope you don’t think less of me.’

‘I couldn’t think less of you.’

‘I think you just might.’ I feel nauseous and try to swallow the feeling down. It doesn’t work but I press on anyway. ‘You know how I’m going to therapy?’ He nods. ‘Well … Leila Henrikson, the therapist, is also the woman who is living with Tom, in my old house. Maybanks,’ I add. ‘The one I’m trying to get back.’ He doesn’t say anything but he does let go of my hand. ‘None of my family know I’m going to therapy or that I’ve been back into my house. You’re the only person who knows.’ I clench my fists. ‘It’s deceitful and dishonest and I shouldn’t be doing it but the temptation was irresistible.’

‘Ellen, hang on!’ Francis is shaking his head. ‘If she’s the woman who’s living with your husband then how come she hasn’t recognised you?’

‘I know. I really thought she would but she hasn’t. I don’t think she’s even suspicious! I expected to be caught. I expected to be caught immediately and I’d decided I would give her a piece of my mind and then I’d leave but—’ I throw my arms up in disbelief ‘—she welcomed me in! I’m going under my maiden name, Mary McNeil, and she seems none the wiser. She is a good therapist – I think she might actually help me if I let her – but all I can see is the woman who stole my life.’ I wring my hands together. ‘Ben told me that her son has a drug problem and is in rehab, so she doesn’t have her troubles to seek, but the fact is that she is doing wrong, sitting pretty in my house.’

‘Okay.’ He steps away from me, obviously thinking. ‘This is quite a …’ He trails off.

‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’ I bring my hand up to my mouth. ‘I know how it must sound and I would never normally behave this way but I—’

‘When you spoke about revenge, this is what you meant?’

‘Well … yes, because I’m getting inside information to give to my solicitor – for example, the oak tree’s been chopped down.’ I tell him about the tree house my dad built and how long the oak tree stood there and how it’s been replaced by a hot tub. ‘And then …’ I hesitate, cover my face with my hands, then ram them into the pockets of my jeans.

‘There’s more?’ Francis asks.

‘There’s more,’ I say, his troubled expression knocking holes in my confidence.
You’ve lost him, Ellen. It’s over before it’s even begun.
‘If you give me a second I’ll just get something.’ I climb the stairs quickly, not allowing myself to think. I lift the black lacquer box off my dressing table and go back down to show it to Francis. ‘I had kept the back-door key. I knew that she and Tom were going out this morning and I was banking on Katarina going out too, which she did, and so I went inside the house.’

‘And you took this?’ The tips of his fingers trace the mother-of-pearl inlay on the lid. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It is mine,’ I say. ‘It was my grannie’s. I forgot to bring it with me when I left. I asked Tom several times to give it to either Chloe or Ben but he didn’t, so … yeah. I took it.’ I keep going. ‘And that’s not all I did. I also cut holes in some of her clothes and scraped her designer shoes with a pair of scissors so that they are unwearable.’

He makes a face. ‘I understand the need to get your own back, Ellen, but I’m not sure about this.’ He gives a nervous laugh. ‘I think that, in the long run, it might not be the best move.’

‘I thought you’d be disappointed in me.’ My shoulders deflate. ‘But I couldn’t not tell you.’

‘Because deep down you are a good person.’ He lays his hands on my shoulders and when he pulls me in to him, I close my eyes. ‘With what you’ve been through this last year it’s important not to be a victim, I can see that, and I understand that you need to seize back some control, but Ellen.’ He stares down into my eyes. ‘Promise me you’ll stop now, because I just feel that …’ He shrugs. ‘It might not end well.’

‘I will. I will,’ I say. ‘I only need to see her one last time.’

‘And then you’ll stop?’

‘Yes, I will. I promise.’

I haven’t been to bed with anyone since Tom left me. I haven’t even imagined it because when I have, I haven’t been able to get past the thought of taking off my clothes. But the alcohol and the kissing and the honesty have knocked my shyness into touch and when he starts kissing me again it isn’t long before we’re in the bedroom, helping each other to strip. I’m rushing, giggling, pleased that he hasn’t rejected me. Francis slows us both down. His fingers are unhurried, more deliberate. He likes to see what he’s getting. Every part of me is attended to. He has a lingering attention to detail and a tenderness that makes me feel like he’s been thinking about this for a while and knows exactly what he wants to do to me. By the time he pulls me round on top of him and he’s inside me, I take less than a minute to come and I gasp with the surprise of it. A few more thrusts, our eyes meet and hold, and he comes too.

I collapse onto his chest enjoying the lassitude that empties through me, spreading sweetness and warmth through every cell in my body.

After a few minutes I prop myself up onto my elbows and kiss beneath his ear. ‘You are quite something,’ I say softly. ‘I haven’t enjoyed sex this much for as long as I can remember.’ Perhaps this is an exaggeration, but in the here and now it feels true. After a year without sex, the very existence of such pleasure feels extraordinary.

‘Good news,’ Francis says. He rolls me onto my back and reaches for the bottle of water on the bedside cabinet, takes a swig, then gives it to me. ‘But I think we’ll get better.’

I sit up and raise the water bottle in a toast. ‘Here’s to breaking records.’

I stroke his chest and down to his hip where my fingers trace the line of his scar. ‘This must have hurt so much,’ I say. ‘Someone stabbing you, like that. You could have died.’

‘It was difficult.’ He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers. ‘But it was a long time ago.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ I pull the duvet aside and kiss along the line of scar tissue. ‘I feel for you.’

‘It’s not all bad.’ He laughs. ‘Look at the sympathy it’s getting me.’

‘I see.’ I give him a scolding look. ‘This is how you get women into bed?’

‘I find it gets me what I want.’

‘And what do you want?’

He whispers in my ear until he has my heart racing again.

The second time is even better and when he falls asleep with his head on my breasts, I don’t move him off. I lie awake for what seems like ages, my hand stroking his hair.

It’s true to say that, despite our efforts, past behaviour is usually the best predictor of future behaviour and so, although it’s still days away, I’m nervous about going to see Gareth. Me, David and Gareth in a room alone together? I can only imagine what will happen. When we were children we called our stepfather by anything except his actual name – not to his face, of course, or at least not until we could fight back – shitbag, prick, fuckwit. In recent years when we’ve spoken about him we’ve only ever called him Gareth and that’s quite possibly because he has lost his power over us. That’s what I hope anyway.

I’ve cancelled almost all of my clients for next week as per Maurice’s advice. All of them understood that I needed some time for myself – apart from Mary McNeil, whom I agreed to see after all, as she is at the beginning of the therapeutic process and needs the extra support. Mark and Alison were also reluctant to let go of me but I wouldn’t give in to them.

‘Is it just us that you’re cancelling?’ Mark says.

‘No. I need to take a break for a week. I’m cancelling everyone.’

‘I’m sorry about the way we behaved. We spoke about it afterwards and we realised how difficult we’d been.’

‘As I said, Mark, I’m cancelling because I need a break, not because of anything you have or haven’t done.’

I hear Alison’s voice in the background and then she comes to the phone. ‘Leila! We need to see you,’ she says. ‘What you said to us really helped and we want to talk about the promises we’ve made to each other.’ I tell her she will have to save that for the following week. ‘But please, we will try harder to listen.’

‘I’ll see you both soon,’ I say and shut out her whining voice with the press of a button.

I haven’t been back to see Maurice again because of the cat. Maurice has a sixth sense for what clients are keeping hidden and I don’t want to talk about what I’ve done. It’s two days since I broke the cat’s neck and hid his body under the bushes. I’ve been down to the bottom of the garden for a smoke several times since and there’s no smell as yet. Knowing the body is there, being eaten by grubs, his guts a nesting ground for blowflies, makes me feel powerful because I am the keeper of the secret. I am the queen of the castle. I am omnipotent.