‘I hate this wallpaper!’ I was shouting at one point. ‘This is my bedroom. This isn’t how it’s supposed to look.’
I’m not sure how long all that drama lasted. But somehow it ended with me rolling onto the floor between the cold wall and the mattress, too drained to do anything beyond moan and swear.
I guess I must have fallen asleep in this position.
‘Catherine?’
A voice breaks the silence. A man’s voice nearby. Is he watching me? He knows I’m not asleep.
‘Catherine?’
My heart rate picks up. I don’t respond, though I know that voice.
It’s not for me.
‘Cat?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Cat’s not here right now. Please leave a message at the beep.’ I raise my voice, strident with defiance. ‘BEEP. BEEP—’
‘Rachel?’
I smile. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help myself.
‘Yes?’
Dominic laughs. ‘Stubborn little bitch, aren’t you?’
My rock.
Also the weak link in their chain.
‘I’m cold,’ I say.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You could warm me up. What time is it?’
‘Just gone five. And there’ll be no warming up. Not until you’re better.’
I pretend to sulk for a minute.
‘You should try to get some sleep,’ he adds.
I say nothing.
It takes him another three or four minutes of waiting, then Dominic breaks. ‘Cat?’ Quickly, he corrects himself. ‘Rachel?’
I roll over and look for him in the darkness. There’s a shimmering, man-sized mass over where they placed the plastic chair. So he’s not even trying to sleep. Just sitting there, wide awake, watching me.
Now I call that cheating.
‘Aren’t you going to get some sleep yourself?’
‘I can sleep later. It’s no different from a night shift.’ He yawns audibly, then laughs. ‘Except for the sitting-still part. I’m used to a rather more eventful night shift than this.’
I slap the wall behind me with the flat of my palm. ‘This wasn’t eventful enough for you? I must be slipping.’
‘Oh, you were right up there with the greats.’
‘Name me a great.’
‘The morbidly obese woman with the hernia. Who was also incontinent.’ He pauses. ‘That was an epic night.’
I laugh and sit up. There’s an instant stirring from my guard, as though he’s steeling himself for some kind of attack.
‘Please may I have some water?’ I ask plaintively.
Another pause. Then he gets up and turns on the light. I blink, shielding my eyes. Unlike me, Dominic is still fully dressed. Jeans, sweatshirt, trainers, all the same as last night. I bet he’s dying for a shower. There’s a smear of dried blood on his thigh. I focus on it as he comes nearer, holding out a bottle of water.
‘Here.’
He’s already removed the cap. Just in case I try to swallow it, perhaps.
I take the bottle and drink greedily while he watches. My body is so dehydrated. I can almost feel my cells plumping up as I pour mouthfuls of cold water down my throat.
I hand it back, empty. ‘I needed that.’
‘All that wine earlier,’ he comments. ‘You knocked back most of a bottle in about ten minutes, by my reckoning. Not exactly clever.’
‘I was thirsty.’ I change the topic, pointing at the stain on his jeans. ‘Was that me?’
He glances down, then nods. ‘You hurt your hands.’
‘You tried to stop me.’
‘Unsuccessfully.’
‘I’m feeling better now, honestly. No more wall-gouging.’
His gaze moves down my naked body, then shifts quickly away. As if he’s unwilling to sexualise me in this state. To take advantage.
I’m not unwilling.
‘Seriously though, I’m freezing.’ I rub my bare arms and hug myself, pretending to shiver violently. ‘Can’t I have my clothes back?’
‘I was warned not to allow that.’
I make a face, dismissing his concerns. ‘Because of the thing with the tights, I suppose.’
‘What thing with the tights?’
‘Didn’t they tell you?’ I mime making a noose from tights, and then hanging myself with it. ‘After that, they took turns watching me.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘It’s okay though. I wouldn’t do that now. I was a teenager. Kids always do that wacky, look-at-me crap. It’s fine now. You can totally trust me with clothes. Even tights, though personally I hate them. So nasty and unsexy. Catherine used to wear them for work, I know. But God, you wouldn’t catch me dead in a pair. Well, maybe if I’d succeeded with the noose thing.’ I lean back against the cold wall, making sure he gets a good eyeful of my breasts before I draw my knees up to my chest. ‘Look, babe, I’m totally over the suicide vibe. And I’m freezing.’
He checks the radiator behind his plastic chair. ‘The heating’s on.’
‘Still cold.’
‘I can’t get your clothes back. Jasmine’s looking after them.’
‘So knock her up.’ I give a derisive laugh at my pun, imagining the ineffectual Jasmine pairing off with my husband. ‘So to speak.’
He frowns. ‘It’s five in the morning. She’ll be asleep.’
‘Where?’
‘Next door.’
‘You let her sleep in our bedroom? In our bed?’ My voice is high with outrage. ‘What the fuck, Dom?’
A muscle jerks in his cheek. ‘Lower your voice, please.’
‘Oh, go screw yourself! You’ve got no power over me.’
‘I mean it, Cat. Stop shouting at me.’
‘Not Cat!’ I scream at him. ‘Not Cat! Not Cat!’
‘Stop shouting, Cat,’ he repeats deliberately.
I want to get up and punch him in the face. To do something violent. Or better still, have it done to me. I glare at him through narrowed, speculative eyes.
‘Or what, fuckface?’
Dominic takes three swift paces and picks me up without effort, his hands gripping my upper arms painfully. He slams me against the wall so we’re at eye level and stares into my face, mere inches away. His chest is heaving, his face flushed, teeth bared. It looks as if he’s finally had enough of me and my shit.
‘You little . . .’
I flicker my tongue at him suggestively. He watches the movement with sudden intensity. Then I laugh.
‘Bitch,’ he finishes, and crushes his mouth against mine.
I kiss him back, enjoying the violence, then wriggle a hand down between our bodies, and slowly unzip his jeans.
He doesn’t stop me.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Some time later, I hear the door to the other room opening, on the opposite side of the top floor. I hold my breath, waiting.
I’m standing beside the locked door to my prison, my old bedroom, flat against the wall. Dominic is asleep on the mattress, his face grey with exhaustion. I had to wait ages until he fell asleep after we’d finished having sex, and nearly gave up hope of it happening. But eventually his breathing slowed, his body relaxed against mine and he slipped away into dreamland.
I then spent some minutes slowly and gently disentangling myself from his body without waking him, and crawled to the door. It was still locked and bolted from the outside, of course. But I knew either Jasmine or one of my parents would come and check on us early. They would be expecting him to need the toilet, at the very least.
I was hoping it would not be Dad who came first. He’s always been the hardest to fool.
My luck is in.
Jasmine creeps across the landing from the other bedroom. There’s a tentative knock. ‘Dominic?’
I wait a few seconds, then knock back.
Twice.
Exactly the same knock Dominic gave in the night, when he called her to the door. Some kind of signal, I’m guessing. And pathetically easy to crack.
Jasmine unbolts the door, unlocks it and then opens it a few careful inches.
Before she’s aware what’s happening, I’m out of the door, one hand over her mouth, the other holding her still.
She struggles, her eyes alarmed, making a muffled noise behind my hand.
‘You want me to break your neck, Jasmine?’ I hiss in her ear.
She stops struggling, meeting my gaze, then shakes her head. There’s genuine fear in her face. I wonder what they’ve told her about me. More than she knew before last night, clearly.
‘Good call,’ I say, still in a whisper. ‘Now shut the door. Quietly.’
Shakily, she obeys me, her eyes fixed on my face.
‘Lock it again.’