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chapter 13
stacey
Stacey stares out of the window of the black cab. While they’ve been at the charity fundraiser, a sudden thunderstorm has broken the summer heat. The London streets are slick and the cab’s tyres whoosh through the glistening puddles.
Her heartbeat quickens as the taxi turns into their road. She knows what’ll happen when they get home.
She still has the bruises from last time.
‘Nothing like a good storm to clear the air,’ the cabbie says over his shoulder. ‘And we need the rain, the summer we been having—’
Felix leans forward, and slams the partition shut.
When the cab pulls up outside the Glass House, her husband gets out and stalks into the house, leaving her to pay.
‘Everything all right?’ the cabbie asks her.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘He’s just tired. Long day.’
The driver makes a tepid attempt to proffer her change, and gives an old-fashioned doff to his forehead when she indicates for him to keep it. ‘Thanks very much, miss.’ He pauses. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I love your show. Me and the wife, we watch you every day.’
‘Thank you—’
‘That Brendan. He seems like a decent bloke?’
Stacey’s co-host onMorning Expressis a misogynistic, homophobic, smug bigot. She’s supposed to be the lead anchor, but the show’s – male – executive producer lets Brendan get away with murder.
‘Lovely man,’ she says. ‘A real sweetie. One of the good guys, you know?’
‘That’s nice to hear,’ the cabbie says, satisfied. ‘You never want to find out Tom Hanks is a wife-beater, do you? Take care, love. Mind how you go.’
Stacey’s stomach fizzes as she walks into the darkened house. Felix hasn’t left any lights on for her, and she gropes around in the dark for the switch.
A shape looms out of the darkness. Felix shoves her against the wall, his forearm pressed against her throat, choking her. She gasps and scratches at his arm, trying to loosen his grip. His breath is hot and wine-sweet against the side of her neck.
She can’t breathe.
The room starts to spin. Black spots dance before her eyes, and she’s about to pass out when he suddenly releases her.
Stacey sags forward, her hands on her knees, and inhales deep, ragged pulls of air.
Felix stands there, watching her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He’s breathing heavily, as if he’s just run a race. She waits to see what he’ll do next.
Sometimes he walks away.
Sometimes he sobs, and begs her to forgive him.
Sometimes he hurts her more.
Tonight, he lunges at her and grabs her wrist, yanking her towards the bedroom. She kicks off her heels as she stumbles behind him so she can keep up without falling.
Felix flings her onto the bed and she scrambles across the mattress, trying to get out of his reach, but he’s too quick for her. He seizes her leg, and hauls her towards him on her stomach, jamming his knee against thesmall of her back and forcing her face into the bedcovers.
For a brief moment, he relaxes his grip, and she gasps a lungful of air.
‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ he says. ‘You can make all this stop, Stacey.’
She turns her head aside, refusing to look at him.
