The Marriage Act(79)
‘I had an epiphany,’ Maisy recalled. ‘I finally understood I was self-sabotaging my life so I pulled myself together and started again. And once I sobered up, I began reacquainting myself with some old friends. Including Mitchell.’
‘But you’ve never been friends!’
‘And look at us now!’
‘But after everything I told you about him? You know what kind of man he is.’
‘I know what kind of man he was with you, Corrine. But with me, he’s different. Sometimes we find our better selves in the company of others.’
‘I don’t believe this. Are you trying to get back at me? Have I hurt you in some way?’
‘No more nor less than anyone else. It’s nothing personal, Corrine, I just wanted my old life back. And Mitchell can give me that.’ Maisy and Mitchell looked to one another and smiled before kissing again.
‘Can you give us a moment?’ Mitchell asked Maisy. ‘I’ll see you in the car.’
‘It was lovely catching up with you, Corrine,’ Maisy added with a wave. ‘Let’s do lunch some time and we’ll catch up properly. And happy divorce day!’
Corrine waited until she’d disappeared behind the lift doors before she spoke. ‘What the actual fuck are you doing, Mitchell?’ she growled.
He placed his thumb and index finger on his chin. ‘Hmm, well, there’s no one-size-fits-all answer so let me explain it to you. First and foremost, I’ll be humiliating you in front of our children, your friends and our neighbours. Secondly, I’ll be ensuring that you will only be awarded the most minimal amount of my money as possible by the court as I’ll be the one in a new relationship and not you. And thirdly, I’ll be reminding you that I will not be beaten. I will always be one step ahead of you.’
Corrine closed her eyes. ‘I can’t even bear to look at you. Your children will never forgive you for doing this to me.’
‘They can add it to their other criticisms on my feedback form. But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll stand by you after your sentencing.’
‘What sentencing?’
Mitchell leaned over to whisper in his wife’s ear. And when he’d finished, he kissed her cheek and made his way towards the lift, leaving Corrine unsure if she wanted to chase after and punch him or run to the bathroom and vomit.
He turned as the lift doors opened. ‘You have twenty-four hours to decide.’ He grinned before he entered the lift and the doors closed again.
61
Anthony
Security was understandably tight at Westminster’s Houses of Parliament. Once frisked and his National Identity card verified, Anthony went through facial recognition, a blood analysis, retina and fingerprint scans and was swabbed for biohazard chemical risk before being allowed to make his way towards a reception desk in the heart of the palace, the Central Lobby.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a young man wearing an earpiece.
‘I’d like to see the MP Eleanor Harrison please,’ he asked.
‘Your name, sir?’
‘Anthony Alexander.’
‘And will she know what it’s relating to?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, but he couldn’t be sure. He watched as the receptionist dialled a number. He had chosen Harrison because as well as being his local MP, she was one of only two people he could identify from the Young Citizen Camp meeting. They had not conversed directly, but she was aware of his identity. And she was his last hope of contacting Hyde. Anthony took in the historic surroundings while he waited. He had seen this lobby countless times on television but only now could he appreciate the imposing triple aspect windows and the intricate pattern of tiles and Latin words printed on the octagonal floor. He was studying the immense chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling when a firm pair of hands grabbed his shoulders. He turned to find two armed, uniformed police officers.
‘We need you to leave the building please, sir,’ one said.
‘Why?’ Anthony asked.
‘If you don’t exit voluntarily, we will arrest you.’
‘For what?’
‘Under the Counter Terrorism and Sentencing Act. It’s in your best interest that you go now.’
A confused Anthony wanted to protest but he knew it would be pointless. Instead, he allowed himself to be escorted out of the building, along the driveway and back to the road outside. Despondent, he made his way across Parliament Square, passing statues of Winston Churchill, David Lloyd George and the most recent controversial addition, Boris Johnson. Cleaners were already jet-washing red paint from the effigy and the paving slabs below it. Finally, he reached St James’s Park station and sat on a bench at the far end of the platform waiting for a tube to return him to the Northern line and then Euston.
Like the next train, an idea appeared from a dark tunnel inside his brain. He tried to shake it off but it lingered. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if he didn’t exist? If he simply stepped in front of the next moving carriage, who would care? Matthew would, of course. And probably Jada, for a while. But they would survive and eventually thrive without him. He had when his mother did the same to him. Her image appeared and he asked himself what might’ve gone through her mind as she deliberately ploughed her car through the motorway crash barriers and into the bridge? And what had Arthur Foley dreamed of as the exhaust fumes had rendered him unconscious? How might Jem Jones have felt the second her finger released the trigger? Vibrations from the coming train rattled his bench and carried through his body. His hands slipped to his sides and then to the rim of the seat. His fingers curled around the edge as he pushed himself up to his feet.