“You have to go to the police,” Jam says, then drinks her margarita. It’s very quiet in Rumors tonight, the atmosphere subdued, regulars and tourists alike staying home on account of the gale force wind. “It’s the only way to stay safe.”
“I can’t, Jam. I told you before: I don’t know why but I feel that she has something on me.”
“Yes, your husband,” she says, reaching for my hand. Her fingers are cold—have been wrapped around her iced glass. “I can’t believe he’s being such a twat. But you’ve still got me, hun. And you’ve got the Rottweiler.”
“Yep.” I glance around the room, at the same faces that I looked at three minutes ago. “I still think I shouldn’t have told her about the twenty grand though.”
Her mouth hardens in objection. “You had to! This is what you have to do to keep the house, Gabby. Don’t go doubting yourself now.”
“I know but…” I sip my drink, chewing the straw.
“But what?”
I glance around the room again, still looking for Ellis, even though I know she won’t be here. That would be too easy, too obvious. “It’s hard to explain, but I feel like Fred’s in over his head.”
“Uh, you think? And whose fault’s that? If you pay for sex, you’re going to get into trouble, one way or another.”
I shrug, the strap of my top slipping. I made an effort, wearing a camisole, even though it’s itching my skin and I feel too old for it. “It’s those messages and the feeling of being followed…”
“Then go to the police,” she repeats, more firmly.
I shake my head. “Something’s very off with the whole thing, like I’m being played somehow. And I’ve got the feeling that Fred is too.”
“I’m sorry—” she flashes a wry smile “—but that’s just wishful thinking. Why do you think mistresses are painted as the predator, and wives get the blame when marriages break down? Maybe not right away, but eventually they do… You know the spiel: he strayed because she let herself go, or was a nagging old bag.” She glowers, scrunching her lips. “And all because we don’t want to believe our men would do this to us and that there has to be some evil whore pulling the strings, or some other reason we were abandoned. But I’m sorry, Gabs, he’s doing this. It’s all him! And you’ve got to accept it or you’re gonna fold and give him everything…” She raises her voice. “Is that what you want—to be living in a cardboard box down on the seafront?”
“Shush! It’s bad enough without everyone in here knowing my business.” I frown at her. “Are you done?”
She thinks about it. “Yeah, I reckon so.”
Something in her expression crushes my fear, making me laugh. It feels good, a momentary respite, and I reach for her hand, cupping it. “I love you, Jam. Thanks for being such a good friend.”
“My pleasure.” She smiles. “Love you too. Except that I’d prefer you living and breathing, and not in some body bag.”
At that, the fear returns to my veins and I shudder, watching the barman out of the corner of my eye. He’s very focused on us, but only because Jam told him to keep ’em coming.
I lick my finger, tap it on the rim of my glass, tasting a crystal of salt. It tingles on my tongue. I’ll have an ulcer by bedtime tonight. “I know you don’t understand, but that night when I met her…it was like she was on some kind of mission.”
“’Course she was on a mission. She’s a GD. That’s the whole point of her! She doesn’t have magical powers though. She’s not bloody Gandalf.”
I blurt a laugh in response.
“I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with her, Gabs. She’s just some stupid tart.”
“Who could end up getting my house.”
“Hardly!” she says, setting her glass down. “He’s not going to marry her. You know that.”
“Do I? Because I’m not so sure. This one’s different, not that I know any others. But there’s something about her… She’s manipulating him in some way, extorting money.”
“Oh, Gabby, Gabby,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Will you listen to yourself? Extorting money? It’s called prostitution!”
“Shush!” I say again, so loudly that two old seamen turn to look at us and one of them is wearing a hearing aid.
“Seriously, if this were Alice, you’d be reading her the riot act…” she says, adjusting her top, a gold tunic with slashed sleeves that looks gorgeous on her. We bought it together. I feel a pang of longing for those days—before Ellis.
“…But because it’s you, you’re still looking for the good in him that doesn’t exist.” She reaches for a handful of chips, crunching down on them, before continuing. “I mean, why do you always do that, hey, turn them into heroes? Why defend them? Why can’t you just accept that some men are total bastards?”
She stares at me and then a change comes over her and her expression softens.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at her drink, waving the empty glass at the barman. He’s there in a flash, taking them away.
We don’t speak for a while. I don’t have a lot to say. I don’t want to talk about men and heroes and hookers. I just want to drink a margarita and look through the plastic sheets to the sea. I want to watch the lighthouse blinking. I want to forget any of this is happening to me.
When the cocktails arrive, Jam changes position, bringing her chair beside mine. We sit side by side, her hand on my lap, watching the sea.
When it’s time to leave, we walk home, stopping at the point where our ways diverge. As I reach for her hand to say good-night, I’m thinking that I envy her and Nate. I never used to—thought she deserved better, but lately I’ve changed my mind.
I squeeze her hand. “Look after Nate the Great. He’s one of the good ones.”
She pulls back slightly to assess my face underneath the streetlight. “What do you mean, Gabs? You’re scaring me.”
“Because I said your husband’s good?”
“No, because you’re acting strange, as though it’s the last time I’m ever going to see you.”
Her words send a shiver down my spine, even though she didn’t mean them to. She’s trying to look after me. I wish she could. I wish I could go home with her, but that would be running away and I could put her in danger too.
“Good night, hun,” she says, pressing a kiss onto my cheek, the tip of her nose cold. “You take care and call me if you need anything, no matter what time of night.” Her eyes widen. “And remember what I said about the police. Think about it, okay? Don’t leave it too late. I couldn’t bear that.”
I know what she’s saying.
“Text me when you’re home,” she calls, as we part ways.
“You too,” I call back. I’m literally two minutes away from home. I wore canvas shoes so I could run.
As I put the key in the lock, I’m so out of breath from running on cocktails, I’m seeing stars. In the hallway, I bend over, catching my breath. Then I stand with my back against the wall, feeling its cool support.
I used to believe years ago, when we first moved in, that the house could sense my feelings. It seemed to adjust itself like a thermostat, reacting to my mood. I always knew this was daft, impossible, but now I think of it just the same. It’s holding itself taut like me, fending off the storm that’s jangling the awnings and howling down the chimney.
At the kitchen window, I stand in the dark to watch the oaks fighting in the garden, drawing on their deep roots to stay upright. In contrast, the palm trees bend, shaking playfully like cheerleaders’ pom-poms. I’m so caught up in them that I don’t notice her right away.
She’s there, near the side gate. Wearing something dark on her lower half, she appears sinisterly legless, her silver bomber jacket catching the streetlight in flashes through the trees like mirror signals.
The sight of her—the thing I’ve dreaded—numbs me, a high-pitched sound ringing in my ear. The stars reappear in my eyes and for a moment I’m worried that I’m going unconscious.
Stepping away from the window, I smack my legs against the breakfast bar, suppressing a cry of pain.
I can sense the knife block behind me. The doors are locked. I double-bolted the front door, checked the windows, the patio doors. She can’t get in.
My phone…
I tap my pockets, but I must have left it in the hallway. Creeping forward as close as I dare, I watch her. I know from the assured way she’s standing there that she’s done this before. Either that, or she doesn’t know I’m here. She’s looking to the side of me, not at me.
My stomach lurches as she gazes up at the house as though searching for me. It feels like a long time passes, her hair flailing around her in the storm, like Medusa’s snakes. I daren’t move, waiting to see what she’s going to do, whether she’s going to approach.
And then, suddenly, she turns away, vanishing through the side gate.
I sink onto the floor as though she pressed a button, releasing me, my breath juddery, the way the kids used to be after crying hard.
Several minutes pass before I’m able to muster the courage to check the window again. She’s not there.
I get my phone, calling Jam. “Pick up, Jam… Pick—”
She answers. “Gabby?”
“She was here!” I blurt. “She was in our garden, just standing there, watching me! I don’t know what to do, Jam! I don’t know…” I trail off, clenching my teeth, trying to contain myself. I can’t freak out too much. She’ll tell me to phone the police. It’s the obvious thing to do.
Yet, she doesn’t. “I’m on my way.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m okay.”
She ignores this lie, calls out to Nate. “Can you give me a lift to Gabs’s?” Then she speaks into the phone. “You just hang on, hun. I’ll be right there.”
I wait by the front door, don’t move an inch, listening to the house creaking and moaning. I wish it were filled with people again—my family, children on sleepovers, couples for dinner. Instead, I’m all alone. Yet, I’m not completely powerless, defenseless, am I?
The house responds in utter silence, the awnings finally falling flat as though exhausted.
* * *
I wrestle again with the horror of being dragged to that nightmare place where I don’t want to be—on that same cliff edge, someone about to fall to their death. This time, I’m not up high though, but on the beach, on solid ground. Fred’s with me, beside me, except that now he’s vanished and I can see someone ahead of me, out to sea, waist-high in the water.
I’m fighting to get my legs to work, the sea shifting relentlessly. They’re going to drown! The waves are too high, forceful. I wrestle again to move, screaming, Help! Someone help!
* * *
Sitting up with a gasp, I look around me, dazed, gripping the sheets.
Getting up, I move to the edge of the bed, remembering what happened earlier. Ellis in the garden. Jam coming over. We drank tea, read through the phone messages again and I said that I think they’re going to stop. What I didn’t say though is that I think that’s because she’s going to show up in person from now on.
Jam didn’t beg me to go to the police, like I thought she would. She knows me well enough that if I say I can’t, then I can’t. I must have good reason not to. If only I knew what it was.
She left in the early hours of the morning, Nate collecting her. I watched their car lights disappearing, thinking that there’s only so much anyone can do for me now. This is my battle to face alone, my demons.
Going to the window, I pull back the curtains to look across the rooftops to the sea. I only know it’s there, can’t see it. The wind is still howling; I can just make out the sound of a distant bell. Then my eye falls to the side gate again, picturing her there.
Maybe if I could figure out who she is, what she wants, I’d have a chance at beating her. I have to make Michael Quinn work harder; tell Maria Kane to ensure that my assets are protected. I’ll send them everything I’ve got on Fred, no holds barred.
I can’t believe I was feeling guilty for betraying him—for telling Maria about the twenty thousand pounds. He’s cheating every which way he can. And Ellis is playing some kind of dangerous game. Maybe with him, maybe alone. There’s no way of saying for sure.
All that matters is that I don’t lose—don’t end up, like Jam said, in a body bag.