As I remove my instruments from the autoclave, as I buzz for Tania to come back from her break, I remind myself that however unsuited they seem, no one can see into someone else’s relationship.
27
Jade
You are getting closer and closer to the Stereotype. Now you can’t keep your hands off her from the moment you arrive. I can see you from my hiding place behind the willow tree. I see you hug her. I see you kiss her. I do what my counsellor says and count to twenty. Breathe. Breathe. I look up and you are still holding her. Now she is pushing you away. You are standing, eyes locked, fixated by what she is telling you. Infatuated. She has put a spell on you. You hold her hands, melting with love.
Memories
Shouting, so much angry shouting from my father, coming from the lounge. I ran upstairs to hide in the wardrobe in the spare room again. But no. He found me there last time. I stepped into my parents’ bedroom instead. I wasn’t allowed in there. He would look there last. It was cold. I shivered as I crept past Mother’s empty dressing table. No jewellery. No perfume. No photographs. No mementoes.
I opened the wardrobe door. Dad’s clothes on the right. Mother’s clothes on the left. Colourful dresses hanging. Colourful clothes I had never seen her wear. I stepped inside, shut the door and curled up on Mother’s side.
I knew the pattern by then. The screaming, the crying. I thought the screaming had almost reached a crescendo. I sat hugging my knees, breathing deeply, silently praying for it to stop. But it didn’t stop. Mother was screaming like a feral animal. Today – this – was worse.
And then the bedroom door burst open. I could see through the crack where the wardrobe doors met. He was carrying her in his arms. She was sobbing now, her body limp against his. The screaming had stopped. He threw her on the bed and the screaming started again.
28
Jade
Despite the change in my drug regimen, the CBT and our session with Siobhan, it is still eating me up that you are so infatuated with the Stereotype. And I warned you, Tomas, what would happen if you betrayed me again. You have done this so many times. Your liaison with your gym instructor. The girl from accounts. The woman who lived around the corner who you used to meet when walking our elderly dog around the block at night. Men are like dogs. A dog bites once and gets the taste for blood. A man strays once and gets a taste for extramarital sex. You cannot trust him again.
I’m frisking your clothes, your possessions. Looking for evidence of your betrayal, even though I have seen you with my own eyes, holding her, touching her. Pretending you have pain in your teeth so that you can see her regularly.
I open your bedside table. I flick through your socks and underwear. Does she like your bright orange Emporio Armani boxers? Into the wardrobe, checking every pocket of your suits. Brooks Brothers. Ermenegildo Zegna. Roderick Charles.
Nothing. Only loose change. Receipts from Pret. A pair of broken cufflinks. In the last pocket of the last suit I find a receipt for a pair of women’s Brora gloves, purchased yesterday. Seventy-nine pounds. Wow. Lovely. You’ve got me a present. But where are they? I check the drawers in our bedroom. I can’t find them anywhere. Maybe they are in your office. Maybe you will bring them home tonight.
29
Emma
The doorbell rings and I answer it. A chubby woman is standing in my porch, wearing a baggy dress, knee-high boots and an old-fashioned velvet jacket with wide lapels. Her hair needs washing. It is dry like a bird’s nest.
‘I’m Heather Brown, Alastair’s ex-wife. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’ she asks.
I hesitate. She has caused so much trouble for Alastair. Is letting her inside my home appropriate?
‘Please,’ she begs, running her fingers through her bird’s nest. ‘It’s important.’
‘OK, fine. But I hope it won’t take long. I need to leave for work soon.’
She steps into my hallway. ‘Can we sit down?’ she asks.
‘Come into the drawing room,’ I reply, leading the way.
She sits down and crosses her legs, glancing at the Murano glass painting on the wall. The photograph of Colin and me, in front of Cotswold yellow stone grandeur, taken on our honeymoon. Greedy eyes weighing up my possessions. I shudder inside, but I force myself to be polite.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask.
She turns towards me. ‘No thanks.’
‘Is everything OK?’
She swallows. ‘I need to warn you about Alastair. You must believe me – or you’ll end up in trouble. He’s controlling. He’s aggressive.’ She pauses. ‘Not to begin with. He gradually envelops you. I had to escape.’
‘If he’s so dangerous, why did you leave Stephen with him?’
She flicks her hair from her eyes. Eyes with panda bags beneath them. ‘Because he threatened to hurt him if I took him.’
I shake my head slowly. ‘All the more reason to take him, and report Alastair to the police.’
A wry smile. ‘You’re naive if you think reporting the situation to the police would protect us. People regularly break restraining orders. Believe me, I had to leave Stephen with his father, to keep the man sweet.’
‘You should have stayed with him then, to protect Stephen.’
She looks as if she is about to cry. ‘I could only cope with so much pain.’
‘But what about your son?’ I push.
‘Alastair doesn’t hurt children, only women. Children are safe. It’s you who needs to mind your back.’ She clasps and unclasps her fingers on her lap, nervously, swallowing to push back tears. ‘He treated me unfairly – try to understand that.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Alastair is my boyfriend, and I love him. Please go away. Leave us alone. I’ve heard all about you. I know you’re the difficult one.’
‘You’ll regret this.’
30
Alastair
I’ve just arrived at work and am collecting my day’s box of evidence for analysis. The clerk, a woman in her forties with shoulder-length black hair, hands it to me, pursing her cherry-red lips into a reluctant smile as she does every morning. Smiling and frowning at the same time.
I step away from her, into my changing area. Pulling off my outdoor clothes and hanging them up. Slipping into my scrubs. Going through the rigmarole of wrapping myself in my Tyvek suit. Grabbing my sealed box and stepping into my lab.
I yawn inside. Another day working alone for hours and hours. Changing gloves, taking swabs. Hours and hours to think. Too much time to think. About you, Emma. About my monstrous ex-wife, Heather. Trying to cause trouble. Trying to come between us, and between me and Stephen. Telling him I’m a bad man. What if you turn against me, Emma? What if people believe her?
I doze off and drift into a dream. Stephen is sitting in the middle of a roundabout, at the local playground. Heather is pulling it around. Pulling and running. Wearing a grey baggy tracksuit. Her hair is tangled. She runs and runs. Her hair becomes lighter, smoother, longer. Smooth as gossamer. Her face transforms into yours, Emma. My body jolts and I wake up.
I need you, Emma. I need stability. For myself. For Stephen. For the rest of my life.