‘No. He grew on me. He came along when I was at a low ebb, when all I needed was to feel safe and cared for.’
Tom’s gaze has shifted to her knee. It’s bouncing. She tenses it until it stops.
‘Can I tell you the truth?’ she says.
‘I’d appreciate it if someone did.’
God, his eyes are beautiful. She pushes her hair back and takes a deep breath. While she speaks he removes the pizza from the oven, slices it into wedges with a knife from the block, shares them on to the plates and puts one down in front of her. She picks up a piece and nibbles the end.
‘I have never really been in love with him. I’m very fond of him and I’m truly grateful for what he’s done for me, and for giving me Sophie, but I’ve never had that breathless feeling and I feel so guilty about that. I’m not a person who uses others; I’ve had to fend for myself and I’d do it again if it was necessary, but I don’t like the part of me that agreed to be with him because of what he was offering. I hate that one day I’m going to hurt him. He’s a good man. A lovely man. And he deserves better.’ She chokes on her words and looks up at him, into his eyes. She almost believes it herself. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. Not even Vicky.’ To her surprise, tears spill on to her cheeks. She stands up abruptly. He must know, he must realize. She waits, her back to Tom, listening to her own breathing, to the light tap as he sets his empty bottle down, to the shuffle as he moves his chair. He puts his hands on her shoulders and she turns and buries her head in his chest.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she says.
She raises her chin, expecting to find him gazing down at her, but he’s staring over her head at the darkened garden. She lets her hands slide around his neck and allows her fingers to touch his jaw, lifts herself up on her toes and tilts her head back, eyelids fluttering as she touches the corner of his lips with hers.
The gesture jerks him back to life. He lets her go and gently sits her down. Then he crouches in front of her and takes her hands.
‘Amber, you’re wrong. I think you really do love Robert, in your heart of hearts. Like I love Vicky. If you’re looking to me to give you whatever is missing in your life, or to heal your wounds, it’s not going to happen. I can’t be there for you. Please don’t mistake my caring about you for love.’
‘But we …’
Her confusion and hurt are real. She stares at him, unable to move, unable to speak even. He touches her cheek and she leans into his hand, tears spilling.
‘I thought we understood each other, Amber. Of course I find you attractive. You are incredible. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. It happened because it was late and we were both feeling miserable and vulnerable. You reached out and I was grateful. I didn’t realize how strongly you felt. I thought we amused each other.’
Amused?
She closes her eyes but she can’t stop that other man from entering her head. He’s calling her to him, teasing her and making her feel scared and special at the same time. She imagines she’s on the ice again, a child whirling round and round, her hands in his, her arms outstretched, and he’s smiling, wolf-like, his teeth gleaming.
‘Don’t you want me, Luke?’ she says in a small voice.
Tom frowns. ‘What did you call me?’
She takes his hand and pulls it between her legs, into the heat of her crotch and he lurches away, horrified.
‘Christ, Amber. Stop it.’
‘Please don’t call me that.’ She stands up, crosses her arms and takes hold of the edges of her shirt and starts to pull it over her head. ‘I’m your little girl, remember?’
He tugs at her top, struggling with her. At first she laughs and then she lets her arms go limp.
‘You like this, don’t you?’ she says, arching her eyebrows and reaching for his fly. He grabs her wrist and holds her at bay.
‘This is not funny. I think you’d better go.’
‘That’s not what you said in Spain.’
‘I don’t give a stuff about Spain.’ He moves away from her and starts to stack the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher, banging them against each other, then grips the edge of the work surface, his neck drawn into his hunched shoulders. He doesn’t turn round when he replies. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. But Spain was a mistake. It never should have happened.’ He bends to take out a dishwasher tablet from the pack in the cupboard under the sink, puts it in the dispenser and clicks it shut. ‘I love my wife.’
‘But what about me?’
He lets out a frustrated grunt and swivels round. ‘You don’t matter.’
She’s left open-mouthed. He turns away from her again, and starts to scrub out a saucepan: anything to keep his hands busy.
Amber stares at his back, sees his dark hair and tall, wiry frame and her hand slides round the knife he used to cut the pizza. A scream rages up inside her and she rushes forward. He spins round but he doesn’t have a chance to defend himself, to say anything at all, as she rams the knife into his abdomen. He cries out in pain, falls to his knees and doubles over.
June 1992
KATYA STARED INTO the shadows as her vision adjusted to the night. Her digital clock read ten forty-seven. Something lingered in her mind, wisps of a dream that spun on its axis and changed direction mid-story. The taste of anger and disappointment. She had been dreaming about school; running through the corridors, late for a lesson, her hair not brushed and her new shoes falling off. Then suddenly she wasn’t running any more and she wasn’t at school, she was sitting in Maggie’s car and Emily was ignoring her. Katya was telling her things about her life, about Linda’s death and about being scared of Luke Bryant, but Emily just talked over her, jabbering away to Maggie as if Katya didn’t exist. Then Emily was gone and Katya was sitting a couple of feet away from Linda, waiting, listening to the harsh drag of her breath, until it stopped. Then waiting, ears ringing, for it to begin again.
It wasn’t Katya’s fault. She had been neglected, hadn’t she? And fed fairy stories where orphans had all the luck. If she had known that things would be worse after, she would have called 999 sooner.
‘Go away,’ she mumbled. Her mum was in her head now; Linda’s eyes wide open and staring at her.