The Dead Ex(80)

‘Don’t give me that.’

His fists are clenched. I try to move back, but my feet won’t budge for fear. Then he seems to realize what he’s doing and turns away. ‘I haven’t got any money to pay you off.’

‘Of course you have! You own a massive company. Look, David. I meant it when I said I didn’t intend to get pregnant. But you can’t just expect me to manage on my own.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘They’ll be there for me. But why should they bail me out when you got me into this mess in the first place? That’s what Dad said, anyway. Perhaps you’d like to talk to him about it.’ I hold out my mobile.

He brushes it away.

‘Why can’t you just get rid of it?’

I can’t pretend I haven’t considered this. ‘You won’t change my mind, David. If you don’t promise to do your bit, I’ll tell everyone – including your wife. And Perdita too.’

He scowls. ‘How do I know it’s mine?’

‘When it’s born, we can do a DNA test. Then you’ll see it’s yours.’ I spit the words out, furious. ‘I can assure you that I haven’t slept with anyone else.’

‘Not even that kid from the IT department who claims he’s already got into your pants?’

‘Nigel? That creep? He’s making it up because I wouldn’t go out with him.’

His mouth twists in a way I’ve never seen it do before. ‘You expect me to believe that? Just get out. Do you hear me?’

I can’t help it.

‘How dare you!’ He’s staggering back, rubbing his cheek where I’ve slapped him. I’d never done that to anyone before. But if anyone has earned it, David has. In fact, he deserves a whole lot worse.

Not long afterwards, I hear him leaving the office, declaring he’s going to a meeting.

The next day Perdita comes into my office. She looks terrible without make-up. I hadn’t realized how much she relies on under-eye concealer. ‘Have you seen Mr Goudman?’

‘Not since yesterday.’

‘Are you sure?’

Something’s up. Perdita isn’t just looking terrible. She’s shit scared, twisting her hands and interlacing her fingers like she’s playing an invisible cat’s cradle.

‘He didn’t turn up at an important meeting last night. That’s really out of character.’

She’s staring at me as if she has X-ray vision.

‘Sorry,’ I say airily. ‘I’ve no idea where he is.’





43



Vicki

27 June 2018


Penny still wants to know more about my relationship with my ex. She thinks it might help in the trial. So I fill her in on our brief relationship which had initially blown me away but ended by blowing me apart.

‘David sounds a bit like a Jekyll and Hyde character,’ she says thoughtfully when I finish.

I give a rueful shrug. ‘He was. But I didn’t realize how bad it was at the beginning.’

My solicitor looks reflective. ‘How do we really know what someone is like underneath?’

Her words make me nervous. Is she talking about me? I think back to the woman I was when I married David. ‘I used to have a friend during my thirties who worried about not finding the right man. I thought she was silly at the time. But when I met David, I’d got to forty and was beginning to feel the same.’

‘Ah.’ Penny nods as if she gets this all too well. ‘The old marriage clock! Has it ever occurred to you that if you swap the letters around in “marital”, it makes “martial”?’

‘As in martial arts?’

‘Exactly.’

It sounds like she’s been hurt too. But I’m not prepared for the next question.

‘Did David ever hit you?’

‘No.’ I feel nervous. ‘But there were times when he could be quite forceful. He wanted his own way, even over silly things like where we’d go out for the evening. Sometimes he’d pick something for me from the menu and then get huffy if I didn’t agree. Or he’d want to stay in when I suggested going out. Since we didn’t see each other as often as other married couples because of our work, I usually gave in for a quiet life.’

‘So he bullied you?’

I’m feeling even more uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t see it that way at the time. Maybe a bit controlling. Occasionally I dug my heels in, and he didn’t like that.’

Penny is writing all this down. ‘So it wasn’t the marriage you expected, then?’

‘No,’ I say slowly. ‘It wasn’t.’

Our late July wedding in 2012 was going to be much bigger than I’d wanted. David needed to invite several important business contacts who were ‘far more like family than any blood relative’. Apparently the latter were almost as thin on the ground as my own, the closest being a sister who lived in the States and with whom he’d lost contact. Their father was long dead.

Despite not attending a service every Sunday, I’d always assumed I’d get married in church. But my fiancé persuaded me otherwise. ‘Sorry, darling, but I’m not into that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter where we get married does it, as long as we’re together?’