The Family Remains(29)
‘That is not the point, Rachel. Jesus Christ. That is not the point.’
‘Then what is the point?’
‘The point is … you. You’re the point. I thought I knew you. I thought I knew who you were. That golden girl in the pharmacy. That girl with the lustre, the class, the elegance. The girl who’d been waiting for her prince.’
‘Waiting for her—? Oh, come on, Michael. You know that’s bullshit. You know it is. You knew I’d had other boyfriends. Loads of boyfriends. I mean, Jesus Christ, when you saw me in the pharmacy that first time, I was a total mess. I had a hangover, and I was waiting for the morning-after pill, for God’s sake.’
She saw a muscle twitch in his cheek as he assimilated this reminder into his rewriting of their story. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should have seen what I was getting into right there and then.’
‘What you were getting into?’
‘Yeah. Damaged goods.’
Rachel felt a punch to the back of her gut at these words and the burn of bile at the base of her throat. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Yeah. I guess I was duped by the English accent. Fooled into thinking it somehow equated with class. Yet again.’
Yet again. He meant Lucy.
‘I never, ever told you I was classy. Not ever. I fucked you on our first date. What on earth made you think I was classy?’
He flinched at her language. ‘That’s a really good question, Rachel. A really good question.’
He’d been pacing the room during this exchange, but he stopped then and glanced at Rachel. ‘Bend over.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I said, bend over.’ He took a step towards the bed.
Rachel inched away from him towards the bedhead. ‘Michael—’
‘Turn around. Get on all fours.’
‘But—’
‘Do it, Rachel. Do. It.’
Rachel did as she was told. Maybe, she thought, maybe this would fix things. If she just let him do it to her this way. Just this once. He’d get over whatever weird insecurities he’d been nurturing since that night in the Seychelles. Maybe it would blot out the ‘line of men’ he’d allowed to take residence inside his head. Maybe it would get them back on track. Because, Rachel realised, very strongly and with a pathetic sense of shame, all she wanted was for things to be back on track. Back to normal. Back to morning hugs and late-night dinners in wine bars and hand-in-hand walks down the riverside and Michael breathing into her hair and telling her she was beautiful, that she was divine, that she was out of his league in every way.
Slowly, silently, she turned around and put herself on to all fours.
What happened next was hard and fast and brutal. He tugged on her hair so hard that it made her wince. He gripped her hips with fingers sharp enough to leave small, finger-shaped bruises the next day. Afterwards, when he was done, he pushed her roughly to one side and stalked to the bathroom.
‘Well,’ he called through to her over the sound of the tap running in the sink. ‘I can see why you like that kind of thing now. Rough sex. Isn’t that what they call it? Maybe you can dig that stuff out of your suitcase, Rachel. For next time. Yeah?’
She listened out for a hint of softness in his voice. A hint of playfulness. But there was none.
26
June 2019
It had taken me roughly thirty seconds the night before to locate Kris Doll using just my thumb and a search engine. He appeared to be running some kind of city tours company from the back of a huge motorbike, quite possibly the biggest motorbike I’ve ever seen. There was a photo of him on his website, sitting astride the huge bike, wearing jeans and leather boots and a white T-shirt. On the panniers on either side of the bike were bottles of champagne chilling in ice. The text above the photo announced ‘The Five Star Way to See the City’. Underneath it said:
Exclusive, one-on-one tours of the lake and the city on a fully customised Honda Gold Wing in the company of a city guide with over twenty years’ experience of living in, working in and riding the streets of this magnificent city. Create your own tailor-made itinerary, or work with one of Kris’s classics. The tour lasts for three hours and can be upgraded to include a final stop for champagne as the sun sets over Lake Michigan. Please fill in the form to make your booking or call the number below.
Yes, I think, looking at his picture again now, oh, yes please. Please put me on the back of your huge motorbike, Kris Doll, and transport me around the city and pour me champagne at sunset and tell me stories. Please.
I dial in the number at the bottom of the page and leave a message on Kris Doll’s voicemail: ‘Hi! Kris. My name is Joshua Harris. I don’t know if it’s rather short notice, but I’d love to book in for one of your city tours, maybe today? But if not, then any time tomorrow. Please give me a ring back when you get this message.’
His call comes through a moment later. ‘Sure,’ he says (he sounds sweet, much nicer than Rob with his tattoo sleeves and his air of turgid rage), ‘I just happen to have had a cancellation tomorrow. How does five thirty work for you?’
‘Oh,’ I reply, ‘yes! Perfect! That works beautifully!’
He talks me through what I need to do and when I need to do it (‘Sunscreen – even with a helmet on you’ll be amazed how much sun you’ll soak up and it’s set to be blue skies all the way tomorrow. Oh, and wear pants. I’m not going to tip you off my bike’ – I laugh – ‘but if I do, then you’ll want to avoid the need for skin grafts. And as it’s the afternoon spot, would you be interested in the sunset champagne upgrade? It’s an extra twenty dollars?’).