From Dark Places (8 page)

He stamped his feet as he waited across the street, trying to drive the blood back into his toes. He watched the office workers scurrying out into the cold and sighed. His wife wasn’t amongst them.

Ten minutes later, she burst out of the double doors, stuffing documents into her briefcase and fighting to keep her scarf, the wind tugging at it. He looked for a hint of something sticking out of her pocket, or another bag slung over her shoulder, but there was nothing. His teeth clenched and he crossed the road.

“Hello love,” he said and she jumped, dropping a sheaf of papers.

“Scott! God, you made me jump, what are you doing here?”

He helped her gather up the pages and waited for her to finish fussing with the case. “I finished work early today.” He paused a beat, but she said nothing. He swallowed. “I thought it would be nice to come and pick you up. It’s cold today.”

She nodded, wrapping the scarf around her throat and tucking it securely into her overcoat. “That’s sweet, thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to the train.”

He thrust the flowers he’d been hiding behind his back towards her, five huge blooms, the names already forgotten. He bit the inside of his lip, watching for a flicker in her eyes.

“Oh! How lovely!” She breathed in their fragrance.

He gave her a few more moments and when it didn’t come, he said; “The florist told me they always look better in groups of five.
Five
of them. All together.”

“Oh, right,” she nodded. “They do look nice together. Let’s get home, eh?”

He scowled.

Another chance gone.

They wove their way through the rush hour crowds. He linked arms with her, drawing her close.

“Yup,” he sighed. “Always cold this time of year, isn’t it?” She nodded but he could tell she wasn’t really listening. “What do they say about March… in like a lion and out like a lamb?”

“Do they?” she replied absent-mindedly.

He pushed his way past people, squeezing her arm close into his side. She had to hurry to keep up. It made him feel better to feel her tottering along beside him, struggling to match his pace in her stupid high heels. It was just enough to keep his temper at bay.

They reached the car park and he unlocked the car with the remote. The lights flashed and he got in as she dropped her briefcase and the flowers onto the back seat. He gripped the steering wheel, nervously waiting.

Would this one work?

She opened the door and stopped; five candles were strewn on the passenger seat. She scooped them up and sat down. “What are these doing here?” she asked as she buckled the seatbelt. He dug his nails into the stitched leather and said nothing. She tossed them onto the back seat.

His temples pounded all the way home. Surely he had given enough hints? He glanced across at her. She stared out of the passenger window, probably thinking about her latest case. It was the same every year.

“I’m in court tomorrow,” she said, after a while. He was right; he was the last thing on her mind. “It’s an interesting case. It’ll be on the news tomorrow night.”

“Mmm,” he acknowledged, wondering whether to give her one last chance. They’d been together for thirteen years, after all. “Could you find the cloth in the glove compartment for me? The screen’s steaming up.”

She opened the glove box and a paper bag fell out with a birthday card, still wrapped in cellophane, sticking out conspicuously. He held his breath, waiting for a gasp and gabbled apology, but neither came. All he got was the grotty cloth. He wiped the glass, fat raindrops drumming on the other side.

That was it. She’d failed.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, emerging from the chaos of the town’s traffic onto the quieter country roads. He tried to decide whether to do it in the car or in the house. He settled on the car as he negotiated the winding lanes. He’d prepared ahead and had everything he needed.

He’d known she would fail.

Finally they pulled up onto the drive, the large trees sheltering the house from the worst of the rain. It was dark, and with no neighbours nearby, the only sound was the weather abusing the car.

She unclipped the seatbelt. He reached under his seat, felt for the handle and closed his fingers around it. “Jane,” he said softly, unable to stop himself from giving her one last chance. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Tuesday?”

The blade cut an arc from his side into her chest. One, two, three, four plunges of the knife and she was silent, the last of her scream ringing off the dashboard. But four wasn’t enough.

“This is the fifth!” he yelled, plunging it in a last time. “The fifth, the fifth of March! My birthday, godammit!”

He let the numbness settle over him. Ten years in a row she’d forgotten, ten years of apologies and late cakes. No more.

He dragged her out of the car and towards the house. He couldn’t think straight, he needed a drink and besides, he wanted her in the house on his birthday. They could have one last evening together.

He unlocked the door with her body slumped against him, dragged her inside and slammed the door. The light flicked on. Streamers and balloons populated the air. Party poppers exploded and fifty voices yelled, “Surprise!”

SEEING HIM AGAIN

The moment she saw him sitting outside the cafe, she knew she had to go to him. The pavements were crowded with tourists and residents enjoying the afternoon heat. She hated the city in the summer. So did he.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He gestured to the white metal seat. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“I shouldn’t.” She glanced around.

He sighed. “No-one is taking any notice of you. Sit. Please. We need to talk.”

She moved round to perch on the edge of the chair, clutching her bag to her stomach. The little wrought iron table between them was bare, a small umbrella in the centre cast a cooling shadow over him but left the glare on her. Her fair skin would burn soon. She knew he was staring at her, even though she couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead, she watched the waitress, hurrying between the tables, taking orders faster than the poor girl could hope to fulfil promptly.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. She pressed her lips together. “Don’t be like this. Look, I know you want to talk to me. You came to me.”

Her shoulders dropped and she looked across the table. His tweed jacket looked so odd amongst the cotton and linens of the other patrons. He hadn’t changed; hair still long, tied back in a ponytail, small round glasses.

Those eyes. She shivered.

“I only came to tell you to leave me alone.” She watched him fold his arms.

“You need me.”

A pain behind her temples synchronised with her heartbeat. Not again.

“I don’t, I don’t need you anymore. It’s different now. I’m... life is better.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You said that the last time. ‘I don’t want you to help me,’ you said. ‘I can do this by myself,’ you said. Then look what happened.”

She scowled. “What happened?”

He pointed at her left hand. “That.”

The wedding ring glinted in the sunlight. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous!” He tipped his head tipped back and laughed bitterly. “No. No Katie. Not jealous.” He dropped his face back towards her, eyes burning. “Furious.”

“Please don’t cause a scene. I’m happy now, really, I don’t need you any more.” She swallowed hard, noticing other people looking at her disapprovingly.

The moment broke with an inappropriately cheerful melody from her hand bag. She hurriedly pulled out the mobile phone and looked at the number displayed on the screen.

“Checking up on you is he?”

She took the call, turning away from him.

“Darling, are you all right?” her husband’s voice sounded tinny. “You’ve been gone ages.”

“The shop—ran out of milk. I had to come further into town.”

“Katie, are you ok?”

She shut her eyes, drew in a breath. Her chest constricted. “I’m fine,” she finally answered.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

“No Tom.”

“Don’t lie to me, godammit. I saw the signs. Christ. Where are you?”

Her companion leant across the table. “End the call.”

“Katie? Where are you?”

“
End the call.
”

Shaking, she pressed the button cutting off her husband’s voice.

“Good.” He relaxed in the chair. “Now, let’s talk about what you are going to do.”

She turned off the phone before the second call could begin the ring tone, and dropped it back into her bag. “That’s nice of you,” she muttered. “You’re making it sound like I have a choice.”

He pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You do. Leave him now, or later.”

“I don’t want to leave him!” she hissed, leaning across the table. The couple next to them stole sideways glances at her. She reddened.

“But you know you have to. Otherwise, it will be worse for him and you.”

She massaged her temples, the headache squeezing a band around her forehead. “But I love him, and he loves me.”

“Love? Don’t be so childish! You think you can love like they do?”

“Yes!” She felt tears coming and hated herself all the more for it.

The neighbouring couple dropped money on the table and left hastily. She sank in the chair, feeling the weight of more stares from behind. He surveyed the crowd with contempt, shaking his head, laughing in short snorts through the nose.

Anger erupted in her chest like a solar flare. “How dare you come back! I was doing just fine! Why can’t you leave me alone to live my life?”

“Because you’re not one of them,” he replied, calmly and patiently, as if she were a child. “And you never will be. Now I ask you again, will you leave him now? Or let this drag out and become—tiresome?”

“I don’t have to leave him! I don’t have to do what you tell me any more.”

The mocking amusement on his face dissolved into anger, and his eyes fixed her with such intensity she could almost feel them pressing into her like rapier points.

“Yes you do. Otherwise it will get very difficult for you. Do I have to remind you how difficult I can make things, Katie?”

She twisted the handle of her bag, summoning the courage to stand up to him for the first time in her life. “I refuse to let you do this to me again.”

“So be it.”

He touched the table lightly with his index finger. Its metal legs rattled on the pavement. Hundreds of scarlet spiders burst up through the wrought iron spirals, spilling out like blood rushing from a wound. She screamed and leapt back, knocking her chair over. In the next heart beat she was moving, weaving between the tables and out onto the pavement, hurtling through the crowd, tears streaming down her face, his laughter chasing her, ricocheting off the buildings.

Faces blurred past her, protests, shoves, people swearing as she careered into them. She fell, pulled her shoes off, got up and ran again, the concrete burning her feet. His laughter mingled with the soft surging sound of a thousand spiders swarming down the street behind her.

She hit a person who didn’t curse and move aside. Hands grabbed her arms and she struggled, began to scream.

“Katie!” Tom’s voice penetrated her terror and his face came into focus in front of her. He was holding her, shaking her gently. “It’s me, Tom!”

Sobbing, she threw herself into his embrace and felt his arms wrap around her.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

For a moment, the panic subsided, then the tiny hairs on her arms prickled to attention. She twisted to see the man in the tweed jacket walking effortlessly through the crowd as it parted naturally around him.

“Go away!” she screamed at him, but he ignored her.

“Christ,” Tom said, turning her back to face him. “Katie, can you see him again?”

“He’s there!” Her voice quavered, as it had as a child waking from the terrors.

“No, darling, he’s not.” He held her at arms length. “Look at me.” She forced herself to look at her husband, his warm, brown eyes full of love. “He’s not there, Katie. He’s not real. Now we’re going to go home, and you’re going to take your meds, and we’re going to call the doctor, ok?”

Meds? Yes… the tablets. She nodded. How could she have been so careless? The meds were the only things that kept him away. She allowed Tom to steer her through the bustling street, burying her head in his shoulder as they walked.

“You can’t keep running from me, Katie,” a voice called from far behind. “You’re not one of them. You can’t deny what you are forever!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, focused on the scent of Tom’s aftershave. She only opened them again when his arm moved suddenly. He swept something from the back of his neck and onto the pavement. A scarlet spider scurried away.

SHEDDING

She sat staring at the cardboard box in the centre of the table while the kettle boiled. It was plain, the address label printed with no return address visible. She picked it up, turned it over, shook it and then, none the wiser of its contents, put it back on the table. It was the third to arrive that week.

The kettle whistled. She poured the water and swirled the teabags in both cups, brown clouds staining the water.

I could open it. Say it was split when it arrived.

She looked out to the shed in the back yard, hammering filling the quiet afternoon, and resolved to use one of the knives to slice the tape on the top.

Her hand closed around the knife handle just as the banging stopped and a moment later, her husband stepped out.

She’d missed her chance.

Standing at the window she watched him secure the padlock. It always irritated her. Why lock up for a tea break? There was no other way into the garden. No one could steal anything, even if they wanted to.

She added the milk to the tea as he hurried up the path, arms clasped tight around his padded jacket, the tip of his nose pink. A blast of cold air chased him into the kitchen. He washed his hands, black with oil, briskly under the hot tap.