The Girl I Used to Be(65)

“I’m always worried something’s happened to you, Coco!” he’d say. “I can’t help it; I love you so much, and if you don’t reply I think the worst.”

It was romantic, really, I knew that, but I wanted to be seen as a professional, and more than once in that first month at work I’d looked up from replying to see clients exchanging glances. I’d make up an excuse, but I knew it sounded pathetic. Once I’d been warned, though, he backed off. The last thing either of us wanted was for me to lose my job.

I was so glad he was going to be home late. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, I could see how shocked he’d be to see me like this. My eyes were pink and all of my makeup had gone. My skin was shiny and my hair looked damp and bedraggled. I winced. I’d have to get back quickly and get into the shower before David got home.

It was rush hour now and the traffic was congested on the route home. My mind was full of the things Gemma had told me. Voyeur sites. Her underwear. Naked photographs.

I wanted to disbelieve her. I wanted to be able to laugh at her and tell her she was mad. That if those things had actually happened to her—and after all, where was the proof?—that David had nothing to do with it.

I couldn’t.

None of this really surprised me. Not really. There was a dark side to David; I knew that. I hadn’t been married to him for a year yet, but I knew what he was like. He liked control. He liked secrets.

He liked to mess with people’s minds.



* * *



*

ONCE I WAS home I got straight into the shower and washed my hair and face, to cover up the fact that I’d cried away my makeup. I’d just stepped out of the shower when I heard David come into the apartment and call my name.

My body went into full alert then. I could tell, just from the way he’d called my name, that he wasn’t happy about something.

“Hi, David,” I called.

He came into the bathroom and stood in the doorway watching me.

“How come you’re having a shower?” he asked.

“I was so hot today,” I said. “I just couldn’t cool down at work. And I’ve been stuck in traffic for ages.”

He said nothing and I knew he wasn’t convinced.

“And Sophie had styled her hair in a different way,” I said. “I thought I’d have a go at doing it myself.”

Sophie was always safe ground with David. He found her absolutely no threat at all.

“I would have thought you’d be cooking dinner,” he said. “It’s nearly seven o’clock.” He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How long does a guy have to wait round here for his dinner?”

“We’ve got chicken and salad in the fridge,” I said. “Remember? You said last night that that’s what you wanted today. I went out to Tesco, remember?”

He stood watching while I put on my robe, then walked behind me into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Your eyes look pink. Has someone upset you?”

Yes, you have, I wanted to say, but instead I said, “No, I squirted shampoo in them when I was washing my hair.” I smiled up at him. “I’ll put some makeup on after dinner, sweetheart. You won’t notice it then.”

David was the sort of man who liked women to look immaculate. I think he thought it reflected on him, somehow. When Gemma had taken him out to view the properties that day, he’d bitched about her all evening, talking about the state of her car—apparently, Rory had left his mark on the backseat—and the fact that she looked tired and didn’t have much makeup on. He kept saying how unprofessional she looked, though really she just looked like any other working woman. Her flaws needled him; I never knew why.

Tonight he seemed on edge. I wondered whether there was a problem at work, but I didn’t dare ask. He’d already fallen out with a woman at work who’d picked him up on a mistake he’d made. Apparently she’d been promoted beyond her capacity and would soon be found out for the charlatan she was. I’d heard quite a bit about her for weeks; I used to want to write to her and ask her to quit, just for my sake.

We sat and watched television—there was a film he’d been wanting to watch on Netflix—and I brought him a bottle of beer and then another. He asked me to get him some whiskey while I was in the kitchen and refused to pause the film, so I missed a crucial scene. I knew that appeased him in some way and I wondered what I was meant to have done to him. When someone is like this, you spend all your time trying to second-guess them and it is really, really tiring. Yet I massaged the back of his neck when he complained it was sore from driving, and I laughed as he told me about a guy at work who’d made a fool of himself. All the while I knew something was wrong. I would probably never know what it was; I was used to that.

At ten o’clock I was ready for bed. David said he was going to stay up for a while; he was looking at something on his iPad, and he put it facedown when I kissed him good night. I was used to this, and normally I never let myself think about what he was looking at, but that night as I pressed my lips against his cheek, I thought of the website that Gemma had told me about. And though I smiled and said good night, all I felt was disgust. Disgust with him and disgust with myself for putting up with it.





FORTY-NINE