Her jeans already saturated and heavy, she didn’t care about the wet mud seeping through to her skin. She just wanted to stay here a little while with those she needed to hold her, those she needed to hold so badly.
She didn’t hear her phone at first, buried deep in her pocket. A message alert. She felt sure it was Justin, but she didn’t scramble for it. There didn’t seem to be much point any more. There was nothing she could say to him. Nothing she could stand to hear him say. Not just now. They couldn’t fix each other’s hurt. They had been able to once. They’d talked all night, made love the next morning and she’d held him then, held him so tight that she’d been scared she might hurt him physically. He’d bared his soul to her. Told her how scared he was, how inadequate he felt after losing his family. She’d sworn she would do whatever she could so that he would never hurt like that again. She would extract herself from the situation with Paul Radley by any means possible. But then Paul Radley had extracted himself from her life – suddenly. Miraculously, she’d thought then. She’d truly thought it was a sign that not telling Justin the child she was carrying might not be his was the right thing to do. Her man was hurting, and she could help him. She could provide him a family.
Oh God. Burying her face in her hands, Alicia allowed the tears to come. How wrong had she been? Had she been mistaken about everything? Every time she thought about it, every time she’d listened to Paul talking about her deceit, her denying him the right to see his child, a new doubt crept in.
Going over it yet again, half of her screaming at her that she was right, the other half telling her she could have been so wrong, she stayed where she was for a while. Rain and tears dripping down her face, she told Luke she had a cold, that was all. That’s why she seemed a little bit teary-eyed. A little white lie, this time to protect her child.
She checked her phone eventually. Justin had sent a text. Did you take the photograph albums? That was all it said. No sign-off. Nothing. She’d hoped he might have been trying to contact her to say he’d changed his mind and wanted to talk after all, to listen to what she had to say. Though what she could actually tell him she was growing steadily more unsure of. There was no hope now. She knew that. In looking for the albums, he’d obviously been seeking to salvage what memories she hadn’t poisoned. Or perhaps he was trying to clarify in his mind that they were all fake memories, woven around the lie she’d told, the life they’d built based on that lie. It had all come crashing down. The foundations had been crumbling since day one, and now it was submitting to the elements, just like the forgotten Victorian headstones. She couldn’t stop it. She was too weak. She always had been.
No. She texted back. And then she muted her phone. Not because she thought he might ring or text again. But because she thought he might not.
Fifty-Five
JUSTIN
As Justin walked towards the pub, he passed a couple who were obviously worse for wear. Seeing the girl hunched under her boyfriend’s arm, which was possessively draped about her, he couldn’t help but notice the bruising on her arms. Justin felt his gut clench. He’d seen it too many times, in his work in accident and emergency, treating women with smashed faces, broken bones and bruises that had obviously been caused by a fist.
Pulling his attention away from where it very probably wasn’t wanted, he attempted to focus on his own problems, on what he would do next in regard to Sophie, and his marriage.
He needed to talk to Alicia again – obviously he would need to do that. Unfortunately, she wasn’t answering his calls or his texts. She was okay; she’d a hot bath and gone to bed early with a glass of wine and a book, Jessica had said. But after their conversation earlier, had she really? He couldn’t see it. Just couldn’t.
Following the couple into the pub, he noted the inside was much like others he’d been in in the area: decor circa nineties; depressing smoke; yellow and brown. Stepping into the lounge, which was much the same as the bar area, dark and dingy, he didn’t draw much attention. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he made sure to fit in with the general clientele, rather than be mistaken for the law, which he had been once or twice. At such times, he’d found, people weren’t very forthcoming.
Locating the man’s whereabouts at a table at the back wall, Justin saw he now had his arm hooked around the girl’s neck, yanking her towards him. Judging by the girl’s body language, she wasn’t a willing participant in the not-so-loving embrace.
‘Dean… Get off!’ she said, scowling and clearly upset as she attempted to pull away from him.
The guy only tightened his grip, his expression one of obvious contempt as he snarled something in her ear.
‘I did not!’ the girl refuted. ‘Dean, for God’s sake, pack it in!’ she shouted, struggling to break free of him and then scrambling hastily away.
The ‘boyfriend’ was up in an instant, grabbing the girl’s wrist and dragging her back. ‘Sit the fuck down!’ he bellowed, shoving her hard onto the bench seat. ‘Where’re you going, hey? To that tosser you’ve been having it off with, is that it?’
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘You’re mental, Dean. I haven’t been near anyone else, I keep telling you. Those drugs are doing your head in.’
‘You’re going nowhere.’ The guy leaned in to clutch a fistful of her top and pull her up again. ‘You fucking slut.’
It was the slap, a stinging blow across her face, that had Justin’s temper snapping, launching him across the room in a second flat.
‘Let her go,’ he seethed, as the man clamped a hand around the girl’s throat, shoving her hard against the wall.
‘Fuck off,’ the guy spat in his direction, and squeezed harder.
Justin looked from him to the girl’s face. She was gagging – literally gasping for breath. What the hell was the matter with everybody, standing around letting this happen?
‘I said, let her go!’ Justin took a step forward.
‘You want some an’ all, do ya?’ The man glared at him, his bloodshot eyes bulging with fury. ‘Back off!’
Seeing him turning his attention back to the girl, Justin reacted instinctively. ‘I said let her go,’ he warned him. ‘You’ll kill her.’ Intending to drag him off her, he moved meaningfully towards him, and the man turned on him like a rabid dog. Spitting obscenities, he seized Justin’s shirt, pulling him forward and landing first one, and then two, heavy blows to his jaw.
Stumbling backwards into a table, Justin held his footing – just – as the man advanced towards him, his face puce and contorted with rage. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that,’ he said. His own temper spiking, he righted himself, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stood to face him.
The man stopped, his chest heaving, his eyes full of violent malevolence, though Justin saw a flash of uncertainty.
A coward, Justin thought, standing his ground. They all were – cowardly scum, picking on people who didn’t have a chance of fighting back.
‘Tosser.’ The man’s mouth curled into a snarl as he stepped towards Justin, and then shoved violently past him.
Cursing liberally as he went, the man strode on and banged out of the exit, and Justin breathed a huge sigh of relief. The guy was bigger than he was. Heavier. Justin wasn’t sure he would have been able to hold his own. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, turning back to the girl.
She nodded shakily. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ she said. ‘He goes a bit mental sometimes. He’ll cool off eventually.’
Justin sighed inwardly. It sounded like she’d probably accept his apologies, which would no doubt be profuse – until the next time. ‘Do you want me to call anybody?’ he offered. ‘Give you a lift somewhere?’
‘No.’ She shook her head and indicated her phone. ‘I’ve called my brother. He’s on his way.’