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He shoves his leg between her thighs, forcing them apart. Her expensive dress rides up and bunches around her waist. He holds her arms above her head against the mattress and puts his mouth against her ear.
‘Tell me this is what you want,’ he whispers.
‘I want it,’ she pants.
He hits her. Not her face: he knows better than that. He punches her stomach, where the marks can’t be seen. He’s always careful to make sure her bruises can be hidden with a long-sleeved blouse or a high-necked sweater. He’s never broken a bone or left her needing stitches. She’s never had a black eye she’s had to explain away, laughing as she insists that yes, she reallydidwalk into a door.
Felix is a good man. He’s never cheated on her. He doesn’t smoke, or drink to excess, or burn through her money. He doesn’t belittle her in public, or embarrass her. He’d do anything to make her happy: he’s proved that a thousand times. He’s been a wonderful father to Archie. All her friends envy her. They have a beautiful home, a glamorous lifestyle, a wonderful life.
She’s lucky to have him.
They’re lucky to have each other.
Every relationship has its ups and downs. This aspect of their marriage, this shameful, violent, unhappy side, is a small price to pay for an otherwise perfect partnership.
Their counsellor – they don’t go any more, it just seemed to make things worse – their counsellor said their relationship iscodependent. What that means, he told them, is that one partner, the codependent one, feels worthless unless they’re needed by – and making extreme sacrifices for – the other partner, the enabler, who’s only too glad to receive their sacrifices.It takes two to tango, he said.
Stacey doesn’t understand why that’s a problem. Surely if two people have a relationship that makes them both happy, that’s agoodthing?
Except she’s not happy: not any more.
Ever since Archie went off to boarding school, things between them have escalated. Their son’s absence has allowed them to fight without boundaries. They don’t have to wait till he’s asleep and keep their voices down as they tear into each other behind closed doors. It’s almost as if they’ve come to relish the chance to plumb the depths of their sickness together.
Her head slams violently against the headboard.
It’s not rape if she’s complicit.
Afterwards, Felix cries. He cradles her against him and murmurs how sorry he is and covers her bruises with tender kisses.This has to stop, he says,we have to stop this, I can’t keep doing this to you. We need help.
Even she can see they can’t go on like this.
Something has to give.
chapter 14
tom
Harper Conway reminds me of my wife. At first glance, they’ve got nothing in common: Millie with her classic, pale, unvarnished beauty, and then Harper, all thick make-up and Scouse brows and fake orange tan, and that poker-straight Kardashian black hair almost to her bottom. One a brilliant doctor, the other a vlogger who makes a living out of videoing herself …living.
But scratch the surface, and things change. Harper’s not the airhead she appears: underneath that dim-bulb media persona she’s smart and clued-in. Maybe not as ferociously clever as Millie is – we can’t all be world-class heart surgeons. But she’s streetwise and savvy: she knows how many beans make five. You don’t get one-point-nine million Instagram followers and sponsorship deals worth tens of thousands by actuallybeingan airhead, even if that’s the part you’re playing. It’s just a pity she has to dumb herself down to be successful. I get it: it’s all about image these days. Anyone tuning in to a reality show knowsrealityis the last thing they’re going to get. And you’re never going to go broke underestimating the intelligence of your audience. Still. It’s a shame. In another life she could’ve given Emily Maitlis a run for her money.
She’s funny, too. Doesn’t take herself too seriously. What she’s doing with that dimwit of ahusband is beyond me. I don’t think he said ten words to anyone all night at the gala last week. But Harper’s got a spark to her – a whiff of mischief.
OK, I admit it: I wouldn’t kick her out of bed.
Don’t get me wrong – I’dnevercheat on Millie. She’s the love of my life. And I have a keen urge to hang onto my balls. But just because you’re on a diet it doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu.
I enjoyed myself at that gala a lot more than I expected. Harper was bloody entertaining company, actually, even if she was a bit wasted by the end. To be honest, I feel a bit guilty about that: I was the one topping up her glass most of the night, so it’s my fault. She’d clearly pre-gamed before she got to the event out of nerves. And I shouldn’t have teased her about her connection to the hospital just to amuse Millie. Obviously the girl was there for a bit of social climbing, but so what? Isn’t that what we all do? Calling itnetworkingdoesn’t make the rest of us a cut above.
Oddly, I get the feeling Harper’s in on the joke. Like she knows exactly what everyone thinks of her and doesn’t give a damn as long as she’s getting what she wants.
As I said: she reminds me of my wife.
‘Of course it’s OK,’ I tell her, getting a packet of Hobnobs out of the cupboard where I keep my secret stash – Millie’s not big onempty calories– and putting some on a plate. ‘I told you: drop by any time. Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Coffee, please.’
‘Still sobering up?’
