The Dead Ex(77)

Nothing.

Is he in? I hope that decoy present did the job. It was only a cheap copy of a designer pen, but it looked pretty good.

I am carrying something bigger now. A framed photograph of his office taken from a rather unusual angle which involved some gymnastics on my part, leaning out through my own office window. I am rather proud of it.

But if he doesn’t bloody open the door, I can’t give it to him.

I try again. Still nothing. I am nervous now. Freezing, too. I should have worn something warmer than a short skirt on a cold winter night like this. But I know he likes my legs. And I need to keep him happy.

It’s dead on 8 p.m. now. Where the hell is he? I ring the bell once more. ‘Hello?’ says the voice on the intercom. At last!

‘It’s me. Helen.’

‘Come on up.’

He’s waiting for me as the lift door opens. He kisses me long and hard.

‘I’ve been ringing the bell for ages,’ I say, finally breaking away.

‘Really?’ He checks his watch. ‘But I thought we said eight.’

‘I was early.’

He gives me a sideways look. ‘That can be as bad as being late. My dad would lock us in the cellar if we weren’t exactly on time.’

So that explains his fear of being cooped up in small spaces. I’m sure that David has kept me waiting deliberately, but it won’t serve my purpose if I accuse him and get even more on his wrong side. So instead I follow him in. The lighting is low.

‘Sit down. Please. Champagne?’

I take a small sip. It tastes sharper than last time.

‘I could get used to this,’ I joke, trying to introduce some levity into the air.

‘I expect you could.’

There is no sign of food. My stomach feels empty.

He gives me another hard look. ‘What are you doing next weekend, Helen?’

‘Seeing friends,’ I say casually. ‘What about you?’

‘Working.’

I wait for him to suggest a date, but there’s silence.

‘That’s some television,’ I say, eyeing the huge screen on the wall. It’s one of those cool designs with a static screen picture, presumably to make it a feature in its own right before it’s switched on. I’ve seen them advertised in glossy magazines. This one shows a beach with a long line of palm trees and parasols.

He seems amused. ‘You like it?’

‘Course I do.’

‘I love hot places,’ he says, as though talking to himself. ‘Especially when they’re remote and no one can get to you.’

It’s all right for some. I’m still eyeing the telly. ‘Shall we watch a film?’

‘Like a couple, you mean?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘But we’re not an item, are we? Come on, Helen. I know you’re only here for one thing.’

My throat goes dry in terror. Somehow he’s sussed me out.

Then he drapes an arm along the back of the sofa behind me and kisses me so hard that it hurts.

‘Hey,’ I say, trying to push him away. But he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he moves away and is now studying me closely.

‘You weren’t really in my office to hide a birthday present for me, were you?’

‘Yes!’ Fear makes me sound indignantly righteous. ‘OK. I know that pen was crap. But it was all I could afford. That’s why I’ve made you something else. It’s not great but …’

I hold out the package. ‘Sorry – I didn’t have any wrapping paper.’

He pulls the photograph from the supermarket carrier bag and examines it. ‘You have a certain knack for capturing the ordinary things in life from an unusual angle.’

The next bit happens so fast that, at first, I barely realize what’s going on. One minute we’re looking at my picture and the next I find myself being yanked up and pushed against a wall, face first. My hands automatically go up against the cold surface, palms flat, like one of those films where the heroine is about to be shot and knows it. Except that there is a hot body behind me. David’s. Pulling down my knickers and pressing me into the wall even harder.

‘You’re hurting me,’ I gasp but he puts a hand over my mouth. Presumably it’s to stop me making any noise in case someone hears us, but for a few minutes (though it feels far longer) I am genuinely scared. His urgent movements and the animal-like grunts are so very different from the other, gentle side of David that I’ve seen in the last few weeks. This one is out of control. Dangerous. To my shame, I find myself coming harder than I’ve ever done before.

Then it’s over. Just as abruptly as it had begun.

I sink to the floor, trying to gather myself. When I look up, he is gone.





41



Vicki

26 June 2018


I’m on the cleaning work party today. This can mean anything from scrubbing floors to wiping excrement off bathroom walls like I’m doing now. I wish I could wipe away my memories too. It’s five months since the night David went missing. I remember the last words he spoke to me all too well. Of course, I shouldn’t have done it. But it was too hard not to.

I rub harder now on a dried brown lump to try and block out the thought. The action makes a hole in the rubber gloves. They’re the cheap, thin variety. I could lodge a complaint but I’m not sure it will do any good. They all hate me here.