It’s a scorcher of an evening in mid-July and I cannot wait to be in the cool of the air-conditioned restaurant Charles has booked for our wedding anniversary. I don’t know where we’re going, but as he held open the door of the cab he told me I wouldn’t be disappointed. I smiled when he said this. I didn’t doubt it. It’s rare that Charles disappoints me. In fact, I don’t think he ever has. Not in a meaningful way, that is. He always seems to get things spot on when it comes to making me happy. It’s not like I demand things, I’ve never been that way inclined. If anything, I always feel a little embarrassed when he buys me expensive gifts or sends me flowers, or books somewhere posh for my birthday because, even after all this time we’ve been together, I don’t truly believe I deserve those things. To be spoiled. When you are brought up to believe you aren’t worthy of someone’s love and attention, when you are made to feel utterly worthless and unloved from when you are a small child, it’s hard to believe otherwise. If only my mother could see me now, I think to myself.
Charles told me to wear something fancy for the occasion, so I decided on the dress he always says I look lovely in. A chiffon sea-green one-shoulder floaty number which falls just above my knee. I never wear anything too short, because I don’t feel comfortable doing so, but this feels just the right length, plus it’s nice and cool and therefore perfect for a sultry evening like tonight. I’m wearing my hair up, a few loose tendrils framing my face, silver backless shoes completing the look. I feel good, on top of the world, in fact, and as the cab meanders its way through Hampstead en route to wherever Charles is taking me, I almost have to pinch myself because it’s hard to believe I am the same girl I was fifteen or so years ago when life barely held any joy or meaning for me, and I sometimes wondered if I’d be better off dead.
‘Happy?’ Charles looks at me with adoring eyes, squeezing my hand. He knows my childhood wasn’t the happiest. That my parents had been neglectful and that I struggled with depression and panic attacks. That from the ages of eleven to fourteen all I felt was angry, going off the rails, lashing out at teachers, at other pupils at my school, playing truant and getting into all sorts of trouble. That this continued for a while after my parents died, but that seeing Dr Adams helped me temper my anger, reinvent myself.
But Charles doesn’t know everything, because as much as he loves me, and as much as I know he’s a good, kind and understanding man, I’m not sure he’d look at me in the same way were he to learn the extent of what went on in my childhood home; the treatment I was forced to endure, the terrible things I saw. I sometimes feel so guilty for not being entirely honest with him, but then I tell myself: every couple has secrets they keep from each other, and I am sure there are things from Charles’s own childhood he hasn’t told me about. The point is, we are happy, and I don’t want to jeopardise our happiness. I would crumble without him.
‘Very,’ I reply, planting a soft kiss on his lips. ‘You look tired, though, darling. I think we should take a holiday soon, you’ve been working so hard and everyone needs a break.’
He smiles warmly, his eyes creasing up at the sides as he does so. Revealing prominent crow’s feet which would be deemed unsightly on a woman, but somehow look dignified on a man of Charles’s age. ‘Don’t worry, we will. Next month, I promise.’
‘OK,’ I say, ‘but you had better keep to your promise.’ I raise my eyebrows, then give him a long drawn-out stare as if to emphasise I’m deadly serious.
He laughs. ‘Ha-ha, don’t worry, I will, I wouldn’t dare break my promise to you, my love.’
Feeling slightly relieved, just because I am genuinely concerned about how hard Charles has been working and can’t bear the thought of him running himself into the ground, I say OK and turn to look through the cab window, noticing that we’re already in Central London, the traffic having been lighter than usual for a Saturday evening. I adore London at night, seeing all the lights in their full glory. It’s magical, and there’s such a buzz about the place, so different to where I grew up. I love the vastness of the capital, its cosmopolitan nature, no two areas the same, but mostly I love it because I know I can get lost here. I realise that’s precisely what frightens a lot of people about London – its size and anonymity, how easy it would be to find yourself in danger and no one would know. But for me that’s its draw. Because I know that here, I am so much safer than I was as a child at home in my tiny village. Where everyone knew each other. Where there was nowhere to run. But, most of all, where he could find me.
Finally, the cab turns on to a tiny side street in the heart of Mayfair, and my heart skips a beat because I think I know where we are going. Around six months ago I was flicking through the latest issue of Vogue one Sunday afternoon and there was a piece on a new Asian fusion restaurant that had just opened off Dover Street. I had casually mentioned this to Charles but he was busy on his laptop and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me. But clearly, he had. He knows how much I love East Asian food, Japanese being my favourite.
Sure enough, before long, we’ve pulled up in front of Umai, which has two bouncers on the door, indicative of its exclusivity. Having hopped out first, Charles takes my hand and helps me step elegantly onto the pavement. I am so excited, like a child in a sweet shop, and my heart is almost bursting with love for my husband.
Once inside, the restaurant is everything I hoped it would be. Beautifully decorated with low-level lighting and striking East Asian paintings and sculptures, exquisite bridges link various parts of the restaurant to the other, while tables for two lie adjacent to mini pools of water adorned with brightly coloured exotic fish and gently lapping fountains. I am in heaven. Until, that is, we sit down, and I glance to my right and spot him.
A snake in human form.
The room is suddenly closing in on me. I can’t breathe, my throat constricted, my chest tight. It’s as if I am a frightened child again.
‘Adriana, what’s wrong?’ Charles asks, his eyes full of concern. ‘Don’t you feel well?’
The last thing I want is to spoil our special night, but how the hell can I get through this evening while he’s sitting less than twenty feet away from me? I had hoped never to set eyes on him again.
Or maybe I can get through it? Maybe I just need to compose myself. After all, I’ve not seen him in years. I’m a different person now. Stronger. Plus, I’m with Charles. He can’t hurt me, manipulate me, the way he used to.
‘I, I think it’s the heat. Not in here, obviously. But today in general. It took it out of me. I just need some water.’ I say all this as calmly as possible, even though I’m not sure how convincing I’m being. ‘Can you order me some sparkling water? I’ll just go and use the ladies, don’t worry, I’ll be fine, back in a sec.’
My knees are shaking as I get up and fast walk to the ladies. I’d run if I could, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Frustratingly, the loos are upstairs, and I find myself holding on to the banister tightly to stop myself from tripping up or falling backwards and making the scene I am so desperate to avoid. I reach the entrance, feel a semblance of relief and achievement that I have got this far, but that’s when I hear his voice call out from behind. Unchanged. Unmistakeable.
‘Scarlett? Is that you? It is, isn’t it?’
I haven’t been called that name in fifteen years and I want the ground to swallow me up. Want to get as far away as possible from here. But I know that’s not an option. I need to be strong, even though I catch myself trembling. Slowly, I turn around, and our eyes meet. His as dark and disturbing as ever.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘It’s not Scarlett. I’m Adriana now.’
‘Is that right?’ His gaze penetrates mine, as dirty as his tone of voice.
‘Yes, Adriana’s my middle name. I always preferred it. Mother was the one who liked Scarlett, not me.’
He grins. ‘Yes, I remember. Like Scarlett O’Hara. Remember I used to call you that? My ideal woman, feisty and beautiful. And yet in need of a strong man to put her in her place. Tell me, is that how you’ve grown up to be? I always envisioned you would.’
A shiver runs through me. ‘I do remember you calling me that,’ I say, even though it’s something I’ve tried so hard to purge from my mind. I ignore his second question.
‘So, who are you with?’
‘My husband.’ I say this firmly, as if to make a point.
He doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t bat an eyelid. I should have known it wouldn’t put him off. It never deterred him from screwing my mother. ‘Ah, how lovely, congratulations.’ He couldn’t sound more insincere.
‘Thank you. And what about you? Are you here with your wife?’
Quite clearly he isn’t, but I ask the question all the same.
‘No, just some old friends. I’m not married.’
Can’t say I’m surprised. He certainly isn’t husband material.
‘Well, I must use the bathroom,’ I say. ‘My husband is waiting. It’s our anniversary.’ A voice in my head is saying hold on a little longer, you’ve got this, you’re doing OK and you can’t let him get to you.
‘Of course,’ he says with a smile. I turn to leave, but just as I do he grabs my bare arm, catching me unawares. My pulse quickens with fear at his touch, although I try not to flinch. It’s what he wants.
I turn around. ‘What?’ I say as calmly as possible.
‘It was terrible, what happened to your parents.’ His eyes laser through me. ‘Tragic. And nothing short of a miracle that you survived. Almost like you had some kind of guardian angel watching over you. Very fortunate indeed.’
What is he insinuating?
‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ I say.
‘Steph was always so painstaking when it came to blowing out her candles.’
‘Yes, she was. But she was only human’ – although that’s debatable – ‘and mistakes happen.’ I feel like I’m going to throw up any second. I need to get away.
‘True, mistakes do happen.’ He pulls out a card from his jacket pocket. Hands it to me. ‘Listen, I’m in town for a few days. If you fancy a drink, just for old times’ sake, let me know. It would be good to catch up properly. You’re looking good, really good, Scar… sorry, Adriana.’ There’s a pause as his eyes travel over me, making me nauseous. ‘Like mother like daughter. I always knew you’d grow up to be beautiful like Steph. But really, she’s not a patch on you. I can’t help thinking she’d have been very jealous.’
It’s meant to sound like a compliment, but the way he says it makes me feel cheap. Dirty. The way he enjoyed making my mother feel cheap. Dirty. Only she seemed to get some perverted kick out of it. I look down at the card in my hand. See that he’s now an accountant. Such a normal, respectable job. No one would ever suspect what he got up to in his spare time.
‘Thank you.’ The words just about escape my lips.
I turn around and make for the washrooms, realising to my dismay that they’re unisex. A fad of many modern restaurants these days. I wish it wasn’t the case. I’d feel safer in a ladies-only bathroom. Even he wouldn’t follow me in there. I find the first available cubicle, bolt the door then sit down on the closed lid and start rocking back and forth. I’m still clutching the business card, feel like ripping it into a million pieces and flushing it down the toilet, where it and he belongs.
But something tells me to hold on to it, a little part of me saying don’t do anything rash, it may yet be of some use, even though I can’t for the life of me think how at this moment in time.