‘Melissa! What the hell are you looking for?’
‘I don’t know!’ Mel’s expression as she glared at him was one of sheer contempt. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ She threw one of his jackets down and picked up another item. Realising it was a shirt and would yield nothing, she dropped that to the growing pile on the floor Mark felt his jaw tense, felt his life slipping away from him, like sand through a timer. ‘You need to stop this, Mel – now,’ he said, making no attempt to hide his growing fury.
Mel ignored him. ‘What will I find, Mark, hey?’ She walked stiffly over to his dressing table drawers, dragging them out to spew the contents onto the shirts. ‘Condoms?’ she spat. ‘Lube? Tell me’ – she whirled around – ‘what other dirty little secrets am I likely to find?’
What the…? Mark was stunned, in utter disbelief at this new twist in the madness. ‘Mel, stop,’ he said shakily. ‘You need to talk to me.’
‘You do use condoms, I take it?’ Mel spat venomously. She was killing him. She was fucking well crucifying him.
‘Mel! Stop!’ Mark caught hold of her arm, but Mel yanked it away.
‘Or is it more of a turn-on fucking prostitutes naked?’
‘For God’s sake! Where the hell is this coming from? You’re completely insane.’
‘Ha! Oh, yes, of course I am,’ Mel yelled, gesticulating wildly. ‘It’s all in my mind, isn’t it? I’m imagining it all, aren’t I?’
Mark didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His temper was way too close to spilling over.
‘Just like I imagined your sordid little affair with Lisa!’
Mark ran his hand hopelessly through his hair. He had no idea what to do. None.
‘Did I imagine you’ve been overmedicating me? Putting extra drugs in my drinks? Did I imagine that?’
‘What?’ Mark looked sharply back at her. ‘Look, Mel,’ he moved towards her, felt the foundations rock this time, crumbling beneath him. ‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but can we please—’
‘Do not try to deny it!’ Mel stepped back. ‘I have evidence!’
‘Evidence of what?’ Mark yelled, torn between guilt and gut-wrenching despair as he watched his wife dementedly dragging clothes from the bed, fumbling around, picking up envelopes, tearing them up.
‘God!’ She stopped, clutching handfuls of her hair. ‘Evidence of your nocturnal activities,’ she seethed, turning towards him. ‘Your therapeutic trips out at night, kerb-crawling.’
Kerb-crawling? Mark felt his stomach turn over. ‘Fuck,’ he uttered, his anger shifting as he realised there was only one place any sort of so-called evidence could have come from. Cummings, the bastard. The photos he’d taken. It had to be. ‘It’s bullshit, Mel,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’ve seen or heard, it’s—’
‘You make me sick.’ Mel looked him over, disgusted. ‘Get out.’
‘Mel, you need to listen,’ Mark tried, taking another step towards her. ‘There is no way—’
‘Get out!’ Mel screamed, reaching for whatever came to hand from the bedside table. The alarm clock. Her aim was good. Mark winced, his hand going to his face as she hit her target. ‘Just take your bloody things and go! Or I swear to God I’ll call the police.’
‘And tell them what, Mel?’ Mark asked calmly. ‘That I assaulted you?’
Mel held his gaze. ‘Yes,’ she said, her expression resolute, her eyes burning with hatred.
‘Right.’ Mark pulled his bloodied fingers away from his cheek. ‘It wouldn’t be true though, Mel, would it?’
His heart free-falling into the vast space between them, Mark shook his head and turned away.
‘I want you out, Mark,’ Mel said coldly behind him.
Clearly, she was prepared to believe a slimy piece of shit like Cummings over him. Had her illness caused this? Caused her to be so suspicious of him, so paranoid, she’d believe such complete crap, even knowing him? Or were they headed this way anyway? Mark had no clue. Maybe he didn’t know her. Maybe he never really had. Either way, he was going nowhere. She really must be insane if she thought he’d leave his kids to this.
‘No way, Mel,’ he said, squaring his shoulders as he walked away. ‘Call who you like. I’m staying.’
Sixty
JADE
What did she have to do to get him to leave? Get her to plunge a knife through his heart? And did Melissa have a victim mentality or what? Jade was feeling a need to lie down, she really was. Skidding away from the door as it opened instead, she made as if she’d just been settling Evie as Mark emerged from the room, the look in his eyes one of pure murder.
Oh no! He had blood on his cheek. Jade noted the sharp cut on his cheekbone and her anger boiled inside her. What had the bitch done to him now?
‘Did she receive any calls?’ Mark demanded. ‘Did Melissa receive any telephone calls or texts?’
Jade, uncertain where this was going, didn’t immediately answer. ‘I… I’m not sure,’ she stammered. ‘Possibly. I don’t pay much attention to Mel’s calls.’
‘Right. Of course, you wouldn’t. Sorry, I er… Sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Jade assured him. ‘I realise you’re a bit fraught. You’re, um, bleeding.’ She indicated his cheek, which really did look sore. Jade could see it swelling already.
‘Yeah.’ Mark pressed his fingers to his wound. ‘Steadily.’ He eyed her thoughtfully for a second, before hurrying down the stairs.
His heart. Jade placed a hand over her own. He meant his poor broken heart. She really didn’t think she could bear it.
Sixty-One
MARK
Poppy had been missing when he’d come down after the fiasco upstairs. His mind conjuring up all sorts of worst-case scenarios, Mark had felt sick to his gut when he’d finally found her, curled as tight as she possibly could be, hiding behind the armchair. Hiding from him.
Gulping back a large swig of whisky, Mark looked across to the chair now, his breath hitching in his chest as he saw again his baby’s face. Obviously, having heard the argument and sensed the unbearable tension between him and Mel, she’d been petrified. So she’d tried to find a safe place to hide in, just as he’d once done. She wouldn’t budge when he’d asked her to come out. ‘No. I want to stay with Mummy,’ she’d insisted, her child’s eyes so vulnerable, her voice so small, Mark had felt another piece of himself die. It was Jade who’d persuaded her out in the end. Mark wasn’t sure how. He’d gone into the kitchen, not wanting his baby girl to see his heart break. And Jade had taken her up to Mel.
He glanced to his phone on the coffee table, which beeped with another incoming text. It was probably Lisa again. She’d texted him several times, wanting to talk to him about something important, but ‘not work-related’. Whatever it was, it could wait. Mark simply hadn’t got the heart. Doubted very much he could talk coherently now anyhow. He lifted his glass to take another swig of whisky, realised he was empty and walked across to the cupboard for a refill, grabbing the bottle and placing it on the table in much the same place as the vodka had been.
Sinking heavily back down on the sofa, the irony that he was doing exactly what he’d condemned Mel for – getting so drunk he couldn’t function – wasn’t lost on him. The fact was, though, he wanted not to function. He wanted oblivion, escape from the nightmares, both sleeping and waking.
He wanted to confront Cummings in some secluded place, knock his teeth so far down his throat he’d be shitting them for a week. But he couldn’t, of course. If he left the house, he’d come back to find the locks changed. The claims Mel was making might have been based on something concocted in her feverish imagination, but it was all way too coincidental. Mark had no doubt that Cummings had taken photos, and that he’d always intended to use them in some way. But he’d been braced for something work-related. He hadn’t realised how clever the twisted scumbag was, how low he would sink to destroy him.