It was then I saw the bulky envelope drop from your jacket pocket, the contents clearly visible. Two abundant wads of cash staring back at me. There must have been thousands of pounds lying shadily on the floor. Where on earth had it come from? Why would you, a professional man, be walking around with thousands of pounds’ worth of notes in your pocket? You bent down and casually picked up the envelope, smirking at me, before back-stepping into the doorway.
‘Make sure packets, tins and cartons are separated. In a logical content-related order; via the sell-by dates, so the product label is clearly visible. NOT THE CONTENTS LABEL!’ You stomped away from the kitchen, wittering to yourself, ‘It’s really not that difficult, or too much to ask, surely.’
I desperately needed to be free from my marital shackles. Why did I have to marry a psychopath? Someone who’d never give in, give up or accept. In your eyes, bit by bit, we were increasing your levels of frustration. So, forcing up the gravity of the lessons you required to teach me to keep control. An outlay I was required to pay. My prize would be bigger. From my point of view, you were becoming weaker. The jurisdiction in your eyes tightened, but in mine it was crumbling. Eventually, this would force you to make mistakes, let down your fa?ade to show your true colours. I didn’t ever truly consider how far you or I would be willing to go. We were on a path to somewhere without a map and only a vague idea of destination.
How it pained you if, when you returned in the evenings, Jack was not already fed, bathed and in his pyjamas. If he was downstairs and not upstairs. If I’d forgotten to turn off the TV before going upstairs; if the main light was visible in Jack’s bedroom, instead of his bedtime side lamp. If I’d spilt some of his milk on his side table whilst putting his night-time beaker down. Or if for some, God-forbidden reason, I’d left out the toys from where we’d been playing together on the lounge floor.
Your work colleagues arrived just as I was settling Jack off to sleep. I lay with him, recounting a favourite story as he twiddled strands of my hair with heavy eyes. It was not long before I heard bulbous voices, followed by car doors slamming, then animated back-slapping greetings from downstairs. Why were you even holding these meetings in our home? Why did you no longer use the plush offices or one of the many lavish establishments you used to frequent in Birmingham? Jack stopped twiddling my hair, his pale eyelids shut tight. I tiptoed over to his bedroom window overlooking the driveway. One of the cars I recognised. I’d seen it on the driveway following the disastrous golf-club night and several times since; the other two cars were unknown to me. Were these people something to do with the cash? His strange and repulsive behaviour?
As I crept from Jack’s room around the galleried landing I caught sight of one of the men, lingering at the study door. Except he didn’t look like a man, more like a young lad. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Strange, why would he be here? To take the minutes maybe? Perhaps he was a legal secretary of some kind. I loitered in the shadows, trying to listen. Then, you must have closed the door. So, I decided to make the most of the peace and quiet, retreating to the bathroom for a long deep soak.
Sometime later, I re-emerged to check out of the window again; one of the cars had left. With you and co out of sight behind the closed study door, I slunk through to your dressing area, where you hung your suits. A pressing need to check your jacket pockets hit me whilst in the bath. I couldn’t shake the feeling of something iniquitous happening. I ruffled eagerly through your jackets, but you had so many, I wasn’t convinced which one you’d been wearing earlier. I found nothing. No envelope, no wads of cash. Where would you be likely to hide it? If it wasn’t unlawful, why hide it anyway? I rummaged through your work outfits for a little longer to no avail. All your pockets were empty, not so much as a handkerchief or a lone receipt. Why did you have to be so goddam methodical?
I peeped over the landing to ensure the coast was still clear. With one last idea of where you might have hidden your stash, I stole off to one of the spare bedrooms. A rickety timeworn chest of drawers sat under the window full to the brim with your memorabilia and certificates. I wondered if I really wanted to be sneaking through your things. I had to. I quickly moved through the drawers from top to bottom, resisting the musty smell, with one drawer remaining to check. But unbeknown to me, it was locked, so as I hurriedly tugged at it, it shunted the whole chest forward. The mirror, being precariously balanced on the top, catapulted in slow motion over my head before smashing to the hard floor. Sending shards everywhere.
I held my breath as my heartbeat spiralled, waiting, frozen. It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps, controlled but gaining-pace footsteps moving up the stairs. I remained paralysed, fearful of the situation I had created, until a dark shadow loomed in the doorway. You sneered. I shivered; that smile was always the worst.
‘Cleaning? Surely not. Especially at this time in the evening?’
‘I was looking for Jack’s red medical book. Have you seen it?’
‘And why would it be in here?’
‘I thought, you or I might have put it in this chest, to keep it safe.’ You shook your head; why was I even bothering to pretend?
Two more footsteps before I was yanked to my feet by my arm. Your unyielding eyes penetrated mine. My soul thumping at my ribcage for reprieve as you glared down at me. A few icy quiet moments passed before you walked me like a naughty child around the galleried space, squeezing my arm tightly. All the time being aware of your guests quiet in the study. You shoved me through our bedroom door, backed me over to the bed until it hit the backs of my legs, forcing me to sit. One last knowing smirk. Then you paced away. ‘You are unbalanced,’ you told me as you removed the only key from the oak door, locking it behind you.
‘Gregg. You can’t lock me in. What if Jack wakes up? You’re downstairs in the study – you won’t be able to hear him.’ But you didn’t care, did you?
‘Shhh,’ you said behind the locked door.
I heard voices radiating from the hallway. Should I shout, bang loudly on the door? Create a scene, let them know what you’re really like? No, it wouldn’t work. You’d make me out to be a lunatic somehow. You thumped something, your hand, I presumed, as a warning on the door. ‘Don’t you worry, darling.’ The words being unnecessarily loud, obviously not for my benefit. ‘Of course, take yourself off to bed. You’re sick. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Relax for the evening.’
I considered the room for something to do, to distract my humming mind and the building anger. I couldn’t blow all my hard work; as much as it pained me, I needed to wait. I picked up my Kindle and read and reread the same couple of paragraphs, each time forgetting to focus on the narrative. My eyes followed the words but my mind could not engage.
How could anyone hate anyone so copiously? How could I have married someone I now wished dead?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cornwall 2016