Cross Her Heart(43)

She takes a moment to stand in the house, the flimsy walls of her playing card castle, and then she’s ready when the car comes. She doesn’t cry, she never does, but her heart empties as she closes the door.

Goodbye, Jon, she whispers. I’m sorry. She doesn’t look back as they leave. She’s so tired of looking back. Instead she holds her tearful daughter tight and points at buses out of the window. ‘Don’t cry, Ava,’ she says, sucking in the smell of her child. ‘Don’t cry.’





35


NOW


MARILYN

I’m on autopilot, watching my movements from the inside, in awe of my body’s ability to get all the shit I need doing done. Despite the awful pain – this time a rib or two are definitely cracked – I get up, get dressed and head into work. On my way I stop at the bank on the high street and wait outside until they open. I’m the first customer through the door and I hear myself speak. ‘I’d like to empty these accounts, please.’ I smile, confident. There is barely five hundred pounds in one, but there is a thousand in another. Money I’ve been squirrelling away as an emergency fund, never thinking I’d actually use it. An illusion that I may one day be brave enough to break away.

When I first found out about Richard’s debts I’d considered telling him about it, but my thousand wouldn’t touch the sides of the well of his poor financial judgement, and once his gratitude had faded he’d want to know why I’d been hiding money from him. And what would I say then? Because when I vowed to love you until death do us part, you beating my ribs into my spleen isn’t what I had in mind …

I don’t close the account – I’ll need it for Penny to pay my salary into, somewhere Richard won’t be able to get his hands on it – and then when I get to work I go straight to her office and tell her Richard and I are ‘having problems’ and that I need a couple of days to sort myself out. She doesn’t ask any questions – she probably thinks it’s all down to Lisa, and in some ways it is, but this fire was smouldering before the petrol of Lisa and Charlotte was poured on it – but tells me that she won’t take the days out of my holiday. I say I’m going to stay with a friend and I warn her Richard might call looking for me so I won’t tell her where. I also give her the new bank details for my wages. I see her pity. That bad? If only she knew. I’d hate for her to know. It makes me cringe that I’ve become this beaten woman. This is not who I am. It’s who he is, nothing to do with me, but if I find it hard to see the distinction sometimes, then there’s no hope for other people. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and she impulsively gives me a hug that almost makes me shriek in pain.

I tell her I have my mobile if they need me for anything. I would have left that at home too – God, I want some peace and quiet – but I can’t bear the thought of the police not being able to get in touch about Ava. I’ve blocked Richard’s number because I have no intention of answering any of his calls, and I’m not a fool, I’ve turned the ‘find my iPhone’ setting to off. Let him stew.

Before I leave, I turn on my ‘out of office’ email and quickly get the number I need from Lisa’s files. It’s barely ten in the morning but I haven’t slept and I’m in so much pain all I want to do is go to Tesco, buy a bottle of wine and neck it in the car. But that can wait. Instead, I swallow what little pride I have left and make the call. I speak quietly, sounding like a powerless child. It’s how I feel too, even though technically this is the first step in getting the power back. Right now, it seems more like straightforward running away.

He’s awkward on the other end of the line, and he doesn’t agree straight away, but then from nowhere, I’m sobbing, every hitching breath causing my fractured bones to grind together, and he tells me he’ll get it sorted and it will be in his name. I’m still thanking him repeatedly when I realise he’s already hung up.

I have nothing with me, not even my toothbrush, just a bare minimum of make-up in my handbag and a tube of hand cream. I couldn’t risk sneaking anything out of the house during my getaway, but I can buy a spare set of cheap clothes and the hotel will have toiletries. I keep looking in my rear-view mirror, but there’s no sign of Richard following me. Still, I don’t begin to relax until I’ve checked in and when I get up to the room – a junior suite, God love him, not some claustrophobic single – he’s waiting there for me. Simon Manning.

‘What the hell is going on?’ he asks. There’s no edge or growl as there is whenever Richard asks the same question. Instead, he’s concerned and curious why a woman he barely knows would need him to let her stay anonymously in one of his hotels. ‘Marriage problems,’ I say, my eyes filling again. I’m so tired and sore. His face tightens, and I don’t blame him for feeling a shift. No good ever comes from getting in between warring couples. ‘He wanted me to sell my story. To the Mail. I said no, obviously.’

‘Oh.’

The wheels are whirring in his head. Must have been some fight. I drop my handbag on the bed. How much is this room anyway? Why should he let me use it? How long before he picks up the phone to Penny and pulls his business from her because we’re all barking mad in one way or another and this was not what he signed up for. I need to explain and I don’t have the words for it, so I simply lift my blouse and sweater to show my midriff. I don’t worry about the fat there. He’s not going to notice it against the blooming colours. I see his eyes widen.