The Wife Before Me(56)
‘No. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Sooner or later, we have to talk. But for now, you need to rest. Yvonne will come over tomorrow with food.’
‘There’s no need for her to call.’
‘There’s every need.’ His eyes narrowed as he brought his face closer to the screen. ‘Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You’re drunk.’
‘I had a glass of wine, Nicholas. I’m far from being drunk.’
Could he detect her panic? Suspect that Jay’s arrival had lifted her from the dulled apathy she had been unable to shake off since the loss of her baby?
‘If you say so, Amelia. You can’t blame me for worrying about you when I’m away from home. It’s lonely here without you. Have you any idea of how desperately I miss you? I love you so much.’ His mood changes could occur in the middle of the mildest conversation and she could never gauge when his tone would soften or harden.
‘Do you miss me?’ he asked. His question was pointless. No matter how often she answered it, the constant reassurances he demanded from her would never be enough to satisfy him.
‘Yes, I miss you.’
‘Then say it as if you mean it.’
‘I’m tired, Nicholas.’
‘Too tired to talk to your husband?’
‘Yes.’
‘Obviously the wine has loosened your tongue.’
‘Probably.’ She knew this was true. Alcohol begot recklessness and blunted her fear.
Unable to endure the sight of his face any longer, she ended the call. She entered the small room she used as a home office and rummaged through a folder of documents. She removed some, including the house deed and the copy of her father’s will that she had secretly requested from David Smithson. She stored these in a separate folder and replaced the original one in its filing cabinet. She shredded her marriage certificate, shoved the pieces into an envelope and added it to the new folder. Tomorrow, she would remove it to the ice house. No danger of Nicholas ever finding it there; the hostility between him and Billy Tobin had become irreconcilable since the removal of John’s cross. He and Jodie, Billy’s late wife, had been like second parents to Amelia when she was a child. Now, her life had reached such a pass that she only visited Billy in secret.
She collected albums of photographs and spread their contents over the desk. How carefree she and Leanne looked; all those different teenage phases: brash Spice Girls, theatrical goths, the edgy post-punk rebellion of their late teens and the androgynous stage when they were in art college. Jay was in the photographs until he was sixteen. All those tears after he left. Amelia had believed she would never stop crying. She laid her hand over the dark eyes that stared back at her from a photograph taken at a school disco. Tonight, he had been wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a print of a music festival he had attended in Australia. His world seemed so expansive compared to her own narrow confines. Heat flowed through her as she recalled how they had danced together, laughing over his clumsiness when he stepped on her feet. The music had slowed and silenced them, late-night blues stirring old longings. Like a dream that had lain dormant for years until the touch of their hands brought it back to life. Could the past be resurrected so easily? she wondered. Or had she simply snatched a brief respite from the heartache of her marriage? Afraid to answer the question, Amelia switched off the light and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
The doorbell rang as she was undressing. She dressed again quickly and ran downstairs in her bare feet, alarmed in case something had happened to Billy. No one else would call at this hour of the night.
Jay was standing outside and the lights of a taxi were disappearing round the bend in the driveway.
‘What is it?’ She was instantly alert. ‘Is everything all right with Leanne?’
‘She talked to me—’ He stopped, swallowed, steadied his voice. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She opened the door wider and walked ahead of him into the living room. ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘Enough to know you have to leave him.’
She sank down onto the sofa. That was the worst thing about confiding in others. Pretence was no longer possible. A truth she had tried to contain was loose and already beginning to change its form.
‘This is my home. I can’t just walk away from it. I’ve already discussed this with Leanne.’
‘Yes, I know. Like me, she can’t understand why this house is more important than your own safety.’
‘It belongs to me. My father refused to allow Nicholas to have any share in Woodbine. I didn’t understand his reasons for doing so but now, even though it’s too late to make up for anything, I’m going to honour his wishes. I accused him, you see, and hurt him deeply. I deserve everything that’s happened to me.’
‘Accused him of what, Amelia?’ Jay sat beside her on the sofa and pulled her into his arms.
Overwhelmed by this memory, she began to cry. How easily she had allowed Nicholas to warp her mind, seeding it with innuendo and resentment, while the truth, the undeniable spark of his violence, had been hidden from her behind a gloss of charm. All this she told Jay, who gave her space to cry when she found it difficult to continue.
She was acutely aware of his nearness, and that his body, having shed the gangling awkwardness of those teen years, had the strength and fullness of a man in his prime. Finally, when she fell silent, it seemed so natural to lift her face to his, and to kiss his lips, as she had longed to do when they had been dancing together.