A taxi driver pulled slowly beside where she stood. He stuck his head out of the window, wiping his brow, then pressed the horn, making Lydia jump. She moved quickly along the street, finding a pedestrian crossing, pushing the button and waiting for the little green man to appear. It reminded her of a Monopoly board. Go. Collect two hundred pounds. Catch your husband with his slutty boss.
Go to jail.
Lydia moved along the street, unnoticed, ignored by the masses, the stream of people rushing towards her. The dull pain which had started at the top of her head had now spread, an invasion, sprawling across her forehead. Her cheeks ached, her lips pulsed.
The traffic to her left was stationary, behind her, the taxi driver had crawled five or so yards. He’d stopped playing with his toy horn, accepting defeat: soon he’d be able to take it out on the accelerator.
Lydia crossed the street, edging around vehicles, pushing her hips gracefully left, right, like waltzing in a large ballroom.
She reached Bond Street. Jack’s office was a hundred yards on her left, a large, corporate building, fit for purpose, bright, welcoming, secure. He worked on the fourth floor.
Lydia stopped. She glanced across the street at a man and woman sat by the front window of a public house with green glazed tiles and brass fittings. She moved towards the kerb, struggling to focus. The traffic had started to roll forward, pushing, tightly packed together. She backed up, crossed the street and moved closer to the front door of the pub.
The guy wore a suit, a smart tie, hair forward – a beaming smile. The woman was in her early fifties, elegant and oozed sophistication. A candle flickered on the oak table, a large glass of white wine rested to one side, a tumbler next to it, probably filled with whisky and coke.
Lydia watched the conversation, fiddling with her bracelet. The man cared for this woman, taking an interest, smiling with her, listening. Only this was Jack. Her Jack. Why didn’t he listen to her, take an interest in what she had to say, hold her, make love to her?
Lydia’s husband reached forward, clasping the woman’s hands with his. He passed her a napkin and dabbed her face as the mascara ran down her cheeks. Not a good look, Lydia thought.
She imagined the conversation. I can’t leave my husband. I simply couldn’t do it to him. What about my kids? My house? My car? But you’re good, Jack. You’re going to the top.
It was all so… cosy. So very easy for the two of them. Meeting up, a drink here, a bite to eat there. A quick fondle in the office lift as it approached the fourth floor.
Suddenly the woman stood, gulped the rest of her wine, seized her expensive handbag, and made her way out of the pub.
Lydia had two choices. Confront her husband, or follow boss woman. She decided on the latter. It could get heated if she walked into the pub – another glass of wine, leading to two… a bottle.
Lydia stood motionless as boss woman – Chloe – waving her arms frantically, hailed a taxi, opened the back door and swept inside.
Shit. What now? Lydia had to think, fast. She glanced to the right; another taxi was approaching, the traffic was moving now. Lydia hailed it and the taxi pulled in. Lydia sat on the back seat. She knew it was unwise to instruct the driver to ‘follow that car’. It would draw unwanted attention.
‘Where to, lovely?’ the driver asked.
Shit. Where to? Oh, you see that taxi in front, well the lady sat in the back is fucking my husband. I’m going to confront her. Give her a little scare; you know how it works. Put your foot down, driver.
Lydia saw the taxi turning left at Marble Arch. ‘Erm, keep going please.’
‘Right you are.’ The driver attempted to make conversation. She listened to the continuous babble of noise without answering.
Ahead, the taxi moved along Bayswater Road, turning left.
‘Erm, take a left.’
The driver swung his arms, grappling the wheel, steering where Lydia had instructed.
Panic rose through Lydia’s veins. She imagined sitting here for another hour. Left, right, straight ahead. How long before the driver was suspicious? He’d catch on any second now.
As Lydia leant forward, she sighed. The taxi in front was pulling into the kerb. She left it a few seconds, then shouted for the driver to stop. Lydia got out a hundred yards ahead, paying the driver and pacing along the street to where Chloe had exited.
Lydia watched her standing on the doorstep, fumbling for her keys, rooting about, shaking her handbag, dropping to one knee, sighing, standing, flicking her head back to move the hair from her face, straightening her skirt, then she opened the front door.
‘Excuse me.’ Lydia grabbed the door as it began to close.
The woman looked shocked. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Oh, I think you can.’ Lydia forced her body against the door and moved into the hall.
‘What do you want? I’m calling the police.’
The house was dark. Lydia peered up the stairs; the lights were off. She shouted. ‘Hello. Hello.’ No one answered. It was safe.
As Chloe reached into her handbag, removing her mobile, Lydia shoved her. She stumbled backwards, hitting her head on the tiled floor.
‘You stay the fuck away from my husband. Let this be a warning to you.’
Lydia now looked properly at the woman lying on the floor, blood trickling from the back of her head, her eyes motionless, chest still. ‘Okay, well, I’m going. That’s all I wanted to say, Stay away.’
Lydia crouched, holding two fingers to the woman’s throat. ‘No, no, no. Please. I’m so sorry. Wake up. Wake the hell up.’ She reached for her phone. Jack would know what to do. He can tell me what to do.
Her phone was dead. Shit. The power cut earlier. My phone didn’t charge.
She ran into the kitchen, rooting through drawers, pulling out a selection of leads, finding an identical charger. She plugged it into a socket in the hallway, stepping over the dead body, waiting for the screen to come alive.
A voicemail. Jack was talking.
‘Lydia, I hope you’re okay. I’m going into the meeting soon. I hope your day is going well. Love you.’
Fifty minutes later. ‘Hey, babe. I’m worried. You’re not answering your phone. Call me.’
A third message.
‘Hi, Lydia. I’m not sure what’s going on. You always answer your phone. Listen, I have to talk to you. I know I promised we’d go for a meal. I remembered. Please accept my apologies. Let’s do it later. My boss has had shocking news. Her partner, Dana, has been diagnosed with cancer. It’s terminal. She’s in bits. I’m going to take her for a drink, a bit of support. I’ll be home for around seven-thirty. See you then. Love you.’
Lydia spun around, looking into the living room. A picture of boss woman in a wedding dress, another woman stood beside her. They were embracing – another photograph of the two women exchanging rings.
Lydia glanced at the dead body of Jack’s boss lying in the hall.
4
The Coach
‘Is everyone okay?’ Ben directed the question to the passengers. His voice was loud, authoritative. People nodded, their expressions nervous. He was stood at the front of the coach, with Laura, Milly and the driver.
The engine was loud, and it caused the seats to vibrate. The windows had cleared, and warm air worked its way along the aisle.