Jasmine shrieks again. It’s almost a default setting with her, I’m beginning to suspect. Mum jumps hurriedly out of the way to avoid the glass shards. Dominic doesn’t move from my side.
My rock, I think drily.
Dad comes back into the kitchen and stares at the mess, then looks at me.
Oops.
‘Thank God. What did he say?’ Mum asks, sounding tearful herself now. ‘What did Doctor Holbern say?’
‘He’s not in England,’ my father says flatly. ‘He’s in the States.’
‘What?’
‘I know. Talk about bad timing.’ He opens the walk-in kitchen cupboard and reaches for a broom. I didn’t even realise he knew where the broom is kept. But maybe he and Kasia get kinky in the cupboard occasionally. Dirty bastard. ‘Dr Holbern flew out there for a Christmas skiing break, apparently. Some mountain cabin he keeps up in Vermont. He flies home the day after tomorrow. But his PA is going to email him, see what can be arranged for when he’s back. We may even be able to get Cat booked back into the specialist clinic in Switzerland. There’s been a change of management since she was there before, but they still accept private referrals, thank God.’ He starts sweeping up the glass with quick, impatient movements, then stops to look around at me again, breathing hard as though he’s been thinking about Kasia. I smile and his face tightens. ‘Meanwhile, his PA suggests we do what we did last time, as an interim measure.’
‘Which is?’ Dominic asks.
‘Take away everything she could use to harm herself, and lock her in her room. And try to get a doctor out to her, for an emergency prescription of antipsychotics.’
Dominic nods. ‘Leave that last part to me, I can make a call. And I’ll stay with her in the room. Keep her safe.’
The largest fragment of the broken bottle, the heavy glass base, is glinting at me, still wet with wine, right at my feet. Like an invitation nobody in my position could be expected to resist. And being me, I don’t see the need even to consider resisting.
I stoop to pick it up, and Dominic grabs at my arm.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ He twists my arm behind my back as I struggle. I could be wrong but it sounds almost like he’s laughing at me. ‘Please don’t fight me, darling. This is for your own good.’
‘That’s what they always say.’
‘Well, I’m not them. I’m your husband.’ His breath is warm on my neck, oddly reassuring. ‘And I can do this all night if necessary.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ I gasp.
So here we are again. Back to Rachel. Back to ground zero.
I laugh, throwing my head back, and enjoy my wrestling match with Dominic. It’s a bit one-sided though. He’s strong, and he knows what he’s doing; there’ll be no getting out of this arm lock. What was it my father wrote in his notebook?
I just wish we could have our lovely Cat back.
Not while I’m alive.
Chapter Forty-Six I wake up with a start, dragging air into my lungs. It’s dark and I’m lying on my side, stiff and cold, completely naked. My back is nestled against something soft. But when I put my hand up, I find something hard in front of me. Just inches from my face. Like I’m in a coffin.
My God, they’ve actually killed me. I’m dead and this is the afterlife.
I ought to be upset by that idea. Instead, I’m curious, and maybe a little angry. Except it’s not wood, I realise. It’s too solid for that. And it’s been papered. A wall, I think, running my fingertips lightly over the surface. My fingers sting at the pressure, and I pull them back, instinctively sucking them into my mouth like a baby for comfort.
I taste blood. And the nails on my right hand are jagged and broken.
What the hell?
Reaching out more slowly, I discover that the papered wall in front of my face is covered in gouge marks. Deep grooves that seem to match the shape of my fingernails, with ragged strips of paper hanging down loose.
Then I remember . . .
It was all very ‘Sunday tea with the vicar’ at first. Sitting me down after midnight with a very nice woman in a flowery skirt who had come out specially. The duty doctor. She asked a long and irritating series of questions. I answered. I didn’t answer. I made shit up. I put my hand on her knee and squeezed. She nodded and wrote things down on a clipboard. Then she gave me two small, white, bitter-tasting pills, with a glass of water. I may have spat them out on her clipboard.
Not very nice of me.
She suggested a second opinion.
‘Not yet,’ Dominic said at once, quiet and concerned, a voice in the corner. ‘Some meds first, and a few nights of peace and quiet here at home. I’ll get time off. I’ll look after her.’
A second opinion. I knew what that meant. The woman in the flowery skirt wanted me committed.
Definitely not nice.
I was glad then that I’d ruined her notes.
‘She ought to be somewhere secure,’ the duty doctor said. ‘Catherine needs professional care.’
‘I’m a trained nurse, and she’s my wife. I’ll deal with it.’
A hesitation. ‘Do you have any experience of psychotic patients?’
‘Some, yes. Enough to get us through a day or two until she’s seen by a specialist. And if there’s any trouble at all, I’ll take her to the hospital myself.’
Later, the meds arrived.
I spat those pills out, too. I like spitting, I’ve decided. It expresses perfectly what I’m feeling, and seems to annoy everyone in the room.
Double whammy.
After the duty doctor had gone – still muttering darkly about a secure unit – they took me upstairs to our self-contained flat on the top floor. They stuck me in the bedroom with Jasmine while they cleared nearly everything out of the living room – previously my bedroom, of course – then trundled me in there, a firm hand on each shoulder, Dominic and Dad.
My guards.
The old lock and bolt on the door had been reinstated.
In we went, then the key was turned.
Bare mattress on the floor. One plastic chair. Nothing else.
I looked at Dominic.
‘Well, this is cosy.’
He stroked my hair back from my forehead, then smiled. ‘Strip,’ he said.
‘That’s not very romantic.’
‘Strip,’ he repeated. ‘Everything.’
‘Everything?’ I rolled my eyes at him, gasping in mock horror. ‘But what if Dad comes back?’
‘Everything.’
I smiled. ‘Pervert.’
He hesitated, then reached round for the zip at the back of my little silver dress. ‘Okay, if you won’t do it yourself . . .’
‘Oh, darling. This is so sexy.’
‘Don’t get any ideas. You’re going to sleep.’
‘And what are you going to do?’
He dragged my dress over my head and threw it aside. ‘I’m going to watch.’
‘You’re going to watch me sleep in the nude? How unspeakably kinky. Can you film me too? On your phone? So I can watch myself later?’
His eyes met mine at last. He looked exhausted, poor lamb. It must be such a tiring business, looking after mad Mrs Rochester.
‘Doctor’s orders,’ he said wearily. ‘Come on, it’s really late. And this is for the best. No phones in here. No clothes. No hidden weapons.’
He took off the rest of my clothes. Transparent bra and thong. Not very gently. Then knocked twice on the door. Jasmine opened it, staring in with a worried expression, and he handed her my clothes.
The door was locked again.
‘Bed,’ he said, pointing at the mattress.
I struck a pose, thrusting out my bare breasts. ‘Oh baby, what an invitation. Okay, okay. I’ll be a good girl and lie down. But only if you lie down with me.’
Dominic drew breath, then picked me up and threw me backwards onto the mattress. I screamed and tried to scramble back up. He pinned me down, hands to wrists, his full weight on my body.
That was when the fighting began in earnest.
I kicked and screamed and spat at him. He struggled to hold me down. I told him exactly what I thought of him. He said nothing. I gave up trying to escape and attacked the wall instead with my bare hands. Gouged holes in the appalling black-and-white striped wallpaper, tore strips off it, banged my forehead against the wall until I was dizzy. Dominic dragged me away a few times, but I kept charging back, attacking the wall like it was my enemy.