‘Is there any chutney?’ Hattie asks.
‘I’m afraid we’re out of it, Mum. We can get some when we next go shopping,’ Justin says, his face composed. He moves effortlessly, filling the plate with a graceful serenity.
‘Not too much,’ she says. ‘I haven’t much of an appetite. Too hot, isn’t it?’
‘You must eat, love. Keep up your strength.’
‘Stop fussing.’
Justin goes to the fridge and brings a tray of glasses filled with a cloudy drink to the table. ‘My homemade lemonade. Hope you like it.’ He holds my gaze a little too long as he hands me a glass. My unease grows. I honestly can’t work out if he’s on to me or not. But if he were, I doubt I’d be sitting here.
I take a sip of the lemonade. It’s crisp and refreshing. ‘Very tasty,’ I say. But I fill an empty glass from the jug in the centre of the table. I need water to quench my thirst.
‘Glad you like it.’ There it is again. The look that he holds a little too long. I can’t wait for them all to go to bed.
Hattie entertains with her random stories and anecdotes. I play along, planning my escape once it gets dark. Just me and my phone – out of here.
Hattie eats a few scraps of food, mainly pushing it around her plate. Eventually she excuses herself. ‘I’m going to turn in. I’m tired.’
I don’t want her to go. It feels safer with her here.
‘Why don’t you take Mum up, Immy? It’d do her good to get an early night.’
‘It’s a bit early, don’t you think?’ I say.
‘She’ll be fine, won’t you, Mum?’ he says in a quieter voice I haven’t heard him use before. ‘Be up and at it in the morning. I’ll clear up here.’
I don’t want to be left alone with him. ‘Sure.’ Standing up, I take Hattie’s arm. ‘Come with me. I’ll find you a film to watch.’
We leave Justin clearing up, and Hattie obediently follows me upstairs like a puppy. My stomach is in knots, tugging tighter and tighter. I close the curtains, pull back the duvet and help her get ready for bed. After she has put on her nightie, I say, ‘Let’s go and brush your teeth.’
She doesn’t move. ‘It’s strange,’ she says.
I straighten the collar of her nightie. ‘What’s strange?’
A deep frown creases her forehead. Her eyes meet mine and she says, ‘You remind me so much of Daisy.’
43
BETH
He’s playing Chopin. Again. Always the same. Piano Concerto No. 2. The drawn-out grand orchestral opening before the piano comes in. One of his most romantic pieces, and it still sends a shiver down my aching spine. I know my husband. It means trouble.
Not again. Please. My eyes well up. I try to move, but it’s too much of a struggle. This illness is taking its toll by the day. Granted, some days are better than others, but right now, I feel as though I could curl up and die. Wave after wretched wave of nausea. The incessant itching. The rawness from all the scratching. This dizziness. A mélange of pain that I’m forced to endure every damn minute of every damn day. This is no way to live. There’s not a moment’s reprieve. And now a pain has appeared in my leg.
If Immy knows what’s good for her, she’ll listen to me. I turn over. Blue sits up in his bed by my side, his ice-blue eyes gazing at me, asking me if I’m OK. I go to stroke him but roll back. Theeffort’s too much. He whimpers. I look at him. ‘What would I do without you, boy?’
Connor enters my thoughts. I can’t believe Justin got him back here. What a waste of time. Even if Justin had gone to London, we didn’t need Connor here. Our boy has his life to lead. Not worrying about us. I close my eyes, remembering when he was young. I was at my happiest then.
I must have drifted off as Chopin’s first movement comes to an end, the opening melodies playing all over again. I’m right. It’s all happening again.
The sleep has done me good, though. I roll over and grab my laptop from under the bed. Justin loaded a video of his Edinburgh talk onto our company files. I said I’d edit it for a clip to use on our corporate website. I always edit the videos of him speaking at conventions. When I fell ill, he tried to take over this job, but he was rubbish at it.
I open my video editor and find the file I loaded at the hotel. I click on the recording. There he is, Marcus Aurelius, smartly dressed, headset on, strutting along the brightly lit stage like a peacock, working the audience with confidence and charisma. I raise the volume. His hands gesture purposefully when he emphasises a point, and his voice is clear and imposing. I watch intently, making mental notes where I can cut certain bits to make the perfect clip. Question time comes around. He always takes questions sitting down. He places a palm on each knee and nods at the helper standing at the side of the audience. She zigzags around the crowd, passing a microphone to people who have a hand raised.
Blue approaches the bed, nudging my elbow. ‘Hello, beautiful.’ I stroke his fur, thinking back to the day Justin brought him home for me. It was just after the first girl. The first of six that he brought back here, each one I can still see when I close my eyes. Should I have known what he was like from thebeginning? I was naïve, vulnerable in my own way. None of it is an excuse. He is, and always has been, so utterly manipulative.
It started when he found out about my past. All of it. The opportunity he crafted for himself. The opportunity to take full advantage way beyond the oaths we made to each other on our wedding day. That first momentous event that changed the course of our lives. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was trapped before I knew what trap I was in, with Blue the peace offering. I should’ve left him then. My beloved Honey, the best horse there ever was, came next. His way of saying sorry for what he’d put me through. I thought it would end there. Silly me. I should’ve left him right there and then. But he had me. And he knew it.
