Forget Her Name(45)

‘And what the hell would you know about it?’ I ask him wildly. I’m sick of their lies and subterfuge. Sick of the sense of impending horror that’s been hanging over me for weeks now. Ever since the mysterious arrival of the snow globe with its vile contents, and the destruction of my wedding dress. Someone did those things to me. And my money is on Rachel. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

I pull away from Dominic’s grasp, and stumble out of the bedroom.

‘Catherine?’

Ignoring my mother, I run downstairs, past the empty space on the landing where Rachel’s chest had been, and down the next flight of stairs, all the way to the kitchen.

I grab my handbag from the kitchen table and let myself out the side door. I’m not really sure where I’m going, but I need to get out of the house, to get as far away from them as possible.

I realise mistily that I’m including Dominic in that ‘them’ now. It feels as though he’s subtly crossed over to their side. Without me realising it, he has become one of my doubters and attackers. Which is insane and appalling. We only recently got married. Nonetheless, how else am I supposed to interpret the looks he and my father were exchanging up there, and the tacit way he agreed with their diagnosis?

You’re overwrought.

The humiliation of that dismissal is almost too much to bear. Outside the side door, I stop and take several deep breaths, trying to calm down. They used to say that when I was a child. Go to your room, Catherine. You’re overwrought. Like I’m a piece of iron that’s been twisted out of shape.

I feel a sob in my chest and suppress it, too furious even to cry.

It’s quiet and dark in the back garden, though the city sky glows as always, an eerie orange-black. I feel my way along the wall, glancing back once. The magnolia is a vast shape in the centre of the small garden, far too large for its space, spiralling out with stark, winter limbs to the red-brick walls on either side. On summer nights I’ve often lain beneath the magnolia and peered up at the luminous sky through its branches.

Not tonight though. There’s a crisp, chill feel to the air this close to Christmas, and my breath is steaming. The ground is hard as ice.

Passing the lit window of my father’s downstairs study, I glance in and for a second think I see someone looking back at me. A wild-eyed creature, hair in a mess; gaunt-cheeked, eyebrows arched in a perpetual question.

I’m shocked and jump, but then realise the truth.

That wild thing is me.

It’s hardly surprising I look so mad. I’ve been driven half-crazy by the way they’re all treating me. Their absurd refusal to even discuss Rachel’s death. If she died at all, which I’m beginning to doubt.

Now that sounds crazy, I think. Even to me.

Someone touches my arm, and I cry out, backing against the wall instinctively, hands out, ready to defend myself.

‘Hey, calm down. It’s me.’

‘Oh God, Dominic.’ I clasp my chest and glare at him. He looms large in the darkness, almost menacing. ‘You startled me.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Why did you come after me?’

He’s out of breath, his cheeks slightly flushed. His gaze meets mine. ‘Because I love you. Or had you forgotten that?’

‘If you love me so much, why let my dad talk about me like that? As if I wasn’t there?’ I mimic my dad’s voice. ‘Take your wife downstairs.’

‘I know, he’s a dinosaur.’

‘Then why not say so? Why not stick up for me?’

‘I’m sorry if you felt unsupported. It wasn’t deliberate.’ He grimaces. ‘The way you were biting everyone’s head off . . . I was just trying to keep the peace.’ When my chin wobbles, he groans. ‘Hey, come here. Let me give you a hug.’

I didn’t realise until this moment how much Dominic’s apparent side-taking had distressed me. To have him come after me, apologising, offering me a hug, fills my heart with love for him.

It also pushes me over the edge into tears.

‘Darling,’ I say brokenly, and he holds out his arms.

‘Come on.’ He hugs me, his face nuzzling against my throat. ‘It’s bloody freezing out here. Let’s go and grab something to eat.’

‘I’m not going back inside.’

‘Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to. You’ve had a shock and the last thing you need is to be patronised by those two.’ Both our coats are draped over his arm. He must have grabbed them on his way out. He helps me into mine, then pulls on his own jacket and pats his pockets. ‘Good, I’ve got my wallet. How about some pizza? Sit-in, not takeaway. That Italian place down the road.’

‘With the striped awning?’

He nods, and then glances at my face. ‘Shit.’ He takes my hand and kisses it, an old-fashioned gesture that nearly makes me cry again. ‘Hey, please, no more tears. I can’t bear to see you cry. Did you think I’d let you go off on your own and not come after you?’

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘Poor love.’ He rubs the back of my hand against his cheek, which is scratchy with stubble. ‘You scarpered like a hare. I didn’t know you could move that quickly.’

I laugh shakily. ‘Good to know I can still surprise you.’

‘I would have come after you sooner,’ he says, and tucks my arm under his as he leads me down the path to the front of the house, ‘only I stopped to give Robert a piece of my mind.’