Sweet Temptation (37 page)

I sipped my wine. What a waste. What a complete and utter waste. I wished I’d thought to make up my own mind about him all those years ago, sought him out and let him explain, rebuilt the bridges between us and forged our own relationship. But I’d been blinded by Mum’s hatred of him. I’d assumed he’d left me as well as her, just as she’d intimated.

The last letter was written just after I turned eighteen.

You’re a woman now, with the rest of your life ahead of you. I wonder if you’ll be heading off to university, or maybe following in your mum’s footsteps and thinking of a career on the stage? Whatever you’re doing, I wish you every success and happiness and hope all your dreams come true.

If you could find it in your heart to forgive me and get in touch, as one adult to another, I’d love to hear from you.

All my love

Dad x

I read it over and over again, not wanting the correspondence to end. His address was the same on all the letters – Lennox Street, Edinburgh, and there was a phone number underneath. Impulsively I snatched up the phone, my heart thumping. Should I do this? Was it too little, too late? He might well have moved on from there, he might even have died by now.

Blow it. There was only one way to find out. I dialled his number before I could change my mind, and waited for someone to pick up.

Chapter Twenty-One

Just Desserts

Jess

‘So, what do you think?’ Shelley asked, elbowing me impatiently.

I stared around the room, trying to see it through a professional businesswoman’s eyes, critically and pragmatically, scanning for signs of damp, dry rot or any other crucial things. It was almost impossible to keep up any kind of façade, though, when my gut instinct was joyfully roaring ‘
Yes! Yes!
’ and my heart was absolutely cartwheeling with excitement.

Shelley and I were standing in the empty flat above Tess’s Tresses, the hairdresser on the High Street, and from the very first moment we’d stepped through the door, I’d had a good feeling about this space. A really good feeling. Dust motes danced in the light streaming in through the large windows, the ceilings were wonderfully high, and the floorboards, although tatty, were still the original Victorian ones. Sure, the walls could do with a lick of paint, the cobwebs needed feather-dustering off the cornicing, and the floorboards would benefit from a coat of varnish, but otherwise . . .

‘I was thinking this could be your main treatment room – it’s big enough for a massage table and sink, and you could probably squeeze a shower into that corner,’ Shelley was saying. ‘Plus you’ve got the floor space for a cupboard to keep all your equipment in. Then there’s a smaller room which could be a waiting area or a second treatment space, as well as a loo, and a tiny kitchen where . . . Jess? Jess, are you listening to me?’

I beamed. ‘I’ll take it,’ I said, the words coming out before I knew what I was saying.

She gawped at me. ‘Well . . . Don’t you want to see the rest of the property first?’

I laughed, half shocked, half delighted at my impulsive response to the place.

‘Go on, then,’ I said. ‘But I know already that this is where I want to be. It’s perfect, Shelley. Perfect!’

She laughed too. ‘Oh, babe, really? That’s fab!’ She nudged me as we stood there in the dusty, echoing room. ‘Ahhh, it’s gonna be great, this. I’m dead proud of you, you know.’

I gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, hon,’ I said. ‘And thanks for finding me this place. It’s exactly what I wanted: great location, lovely size – and I can’t believe it’s above a hairdresser’s too! I’ve got a whole client base right there on the doorstep.’

‘Come on, let me show you the rest,’ Shelley said, leading me through. She took me to a little galley kitchen where you could just about swing a kitten, provided it tucked its tail in, and then there was a smaller second room with a single sash window and a dinky cast-iron fireplace. ‘Like I said, you could use this as another treatment room, or office space to store your paperwork, or . . . well, whatever.’

‘I love it,’ I said, walking over to look out of the window, feeling giddy with excitement as I gazed down at the shoppers meandering along on the main street outside. Potential customers, all of them. Roll up, roll up! Who’s going to be first to Jessica’s Beauty Bar? ‘I’ll take it. When can I sign on the dotted line?’

Shelley smiled at me. ‘You’ve got very impetuous all of a sudden, Miss Jess,’ she said. ‘If you’re sure you want it, you can come back to the office and sign the contract right now. The landlord wants a minimum twelve-month lease, though, so you have to be really certain . . .’

I thought about it.
Come on, Jess. Be professional. You can’t say yes just because you’ve got a good feeling about the place. And you have to be able to pay the rent for a whole year – that’s quite a commitment . . .

I nodded. ‘That’s fine,’ I said with a sudden surge of bravery. Business was all about taking calculated risks, wasn’t it? That was what Alan Sugar always said on
The Apprentice
between finger-pointing and firing wannabes. And yes, I
could
give in to doubts, I
could
let myself be scared off by the unknown and never have the bottle to take the plunge. Alternatively, I could throw the dice and see what happened.

‘Let’s do it,’ I said.

It was only after I’d signed the contract and been given two sets of keys that it dawned on me: I hadn’t actually told Charlie about my plan. My own fiancé, and I hadn’t even consulted him on the idea, let alone thought to inform him that, by the way, I’d be taking on my own business premises. I’d told my mates, of course – Shelley and the girls, Lauren and Maddie. I’d talked at length to all of them about it, and Shelley had been keeping an eye out for something suitable for a few weeks now. But somehow or other I’d managed to keep it from Charlie.

I didn’t
want
to be secretive about my work, don’t get me wrong. I would have told him like a shot if I’d thought for a minute he’d be encouraging, tell me to go for it, join me for property viewings. But I knew he’d do no such thing. I knew he’d sneer at the idea, tell me I was getting above myself and that half of all small businesses failed within the first year, didn’t I know that yet?

I hadn’t wanted to be shot down in flames. Who would? I was enjoying flying, feeling more confident by the day as my phone rang again and again with new bookings. I’d even had to buy a big new diary so that I could fit in all my appointments. I was loving running my own beauty business – I felt in control of something for the first time in years. I didn’t want Charlie to spoil that.

I was also, I had to admit, thinking seriously about the future with Charlie. It had taken me a long time to acknowledge as much, but the awful fact was, I didn’t love him any more. I just didn’t. I dreaded him coming home at night in case he was in a bad mood and I’d have to walk on eggshells the whole evening. In the early days, I’d felt in awe of him – tall, handsome Charlie with his dark, brooding looks – but lately I’d only noticed the cruelty in his eyes, the thin lips, the way the muscles twitched in his cheek when he was angry.

And do you know what? I didn’t want to be with him any more. Ever since the lunch date I’d had with Matt, his words had reverberated around my head.
You’re a lovely,
lovely person, Jess, and you deserve to be treated like a princess. You deserve someone who’ll love you and appreciate you and make you feel special. And that’s what I would do.

A princess. That would be nice. Every now and then I fantasized about being treated like a princess instead of a doormat. But not for too long. It always made me feel sad, hollow inside, as if I’d got my life all wrong.

I was going to sort it out, though. The new feisty Jess, with her own beautician’s premises and her busy business diary.
She
deserved better.
She
deserved some love and appreciation, and maybe, just maybe, a spot of princessery. Because I didn’t want to go on like this any more, living a lie, scared of the person I shared a bed with. That wasn’t good, was it? That wasn’t right. I had to make some changes.

A few days later, when I got home, I looked around our flat as if seeing it for the first time and tried to imagine how I’d feel about walking out of it for good. My eye fell on the cushions I’d chosen from Matalan, the nice smelly candles I’d bought on the mantelpiece, the framed prints on the wall. I hardened myself. They were only
things.
They were replaceable. If push came to shove, I didn’t need any of them. No, the problem wasn’t going to be possessions. It was going to be Charlie.

He would go mad, I knew it, if I said it was over between us. He would hurl abuse at me, possibly hit me. He might even push me out onto the street, there and then. I had to be prepared for all of that. I had to brace myself for his anger. But I had two extra sets of keys in my handbag now. Keys to my own place. And what I hadn’t told Shelley was that I reckoned the second smaller room would do me just fine as a little bedroom. I could be a single girl again, in my own pad: buy myself some more smelly candles and a whole new set of arty prints, do what I pleased. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? Lauren seemed to manage pretty well on her own. I could too, I reckoned. Now I just had to tell Charlie that I was leaving.

I must admit, I was scared of breaking the news. He was so unpredictable that all bets were off when it came to anticipating his reaction. I’d seriously considered asking my dad to be there with me, to help me make the break, or Shelley and the girls even, just somebody for protection in case Charlie went completely mental.

But that felt cowardly, as if I couldn’t stand on my own two feet and be properly independent. And independence was what I was really after here, so asking someone to hold my hand seemed wrong. No, I would go it alone, I would be woman enough to make a stand. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t made careful plans for my getaway, though. I had. Over the last few days, I’d packed up a suitcase of my clothes and bagged up some other favourite things I simply couldn’t do without – photos, jewellery, presents people had given me – and secretly sneaked them into the boot of my car.

As soon as I’d got the keys to my new place, I’d driven over to unload my bags and case there. Walking through the door had felt like coming home – this was
my
space, where I’d live and work, where nobody would insult me or put me down. I could watch
America’s Next Top Model
without any sarcastic remarks (‘What are you watching that for? You’re not exactly a contender’), I could eat a piece of cut-price cheesecake without being told off for it, I could go to bed without anyone forcing themselves upon me. I could be me, Jessica Linley.

I’d pushed open the windows to let the fresh air stream in and smiled. Oh yes.

Now that I was back at the flat I’d shared with Charlie for so long, a huge to-do list was forming in my mind, obstacles and problems rearing up one after another. I’d have to buy or borrow something to sleep on, I’d need to get my post redirected, make sure my name was off all the bills here, buy a fridge and saucepans and a telly . . . Panic rushed up inside me at the thought of so much organizing, and I had to take a deep breath and remind myself I could do it. I
would
do it.

Then I heard Charlie’s key in the door and had to take another, even deeper breath. Oh God. I was dreading this. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wondered fleetingly if it would have been more sensible to leave him a note and do a flit while he was at work one day. Yes – why hadn’t I thought of that? That would have been much easier!

Such an act was cowardly too, though. Doing a flit was lame. I’d wanted to marry Charlie not so very long ago; surely the least I could do was tell him to his face that I was leaving. Maybe tomorrow, though. Maybe I should at least get myself a bed sorted out at the new place before I did anything rash . . .

I stood up slowly from where I’d been perched on the sofa, waiting as I heard him take his coat off and hang it in the hall, then swear as he saw the gas bill that had arrived.

I could predict how the evening would pan out if I stayed. He’d sulk that I hadn’t already got his tea ready, he’d drink a few beers in quick succession and become aggressive, take his bad mood out on me, then he’d probably force me to have sex with him, his breath hot and beery, his fingers hard and bruising . . .

No. Decision made. How the hell had I stood evenings like that for so long, anyway?

He’s not good for you, this man
, I heard Susan the clairvoyant’s voice in my head
. You need to get away from him.

She’d been right all along, hadn’t she? About my gran shaking her fist and being angry with Charlie for bullying me, and everything else. I looked up at the ceiling, my hands squeezed together. ‘Don’t worry, Gran,’ I whispered. ‘I’m walking away. No more bullying.’

Then I glanced around the room one more time – goodbye cushions, goodbye candles, goodbye pictures – and tried to summon up every bit of strength I had inside me. I thought of my friends, who’d be cheering me on if they knew what I was about to do. I thought of my clients, who saw me as a professional woman, not a victim. They’d be shocked if they had any idea what I’d been putting up with for all this time. Then I thought of my new business premises, the empty rooms, my very own refuge and new start, just waiting for me to come back.

All of those things gave me courage. So when Charlie walked into the room, I just came out with it straight.

‘Charlie, I don’t think this is working any more,’ I said, trying not to let my voice shake. I was also careful not to start apologizing, not to blame myself. Because the only thing I’d been guilty of was not sticking up for myself sooner. ‘I think it’s time I moved out.’

There. I’d said it. The words were spoken, I’d released them into the room. The blood thrummed around me as I waited for his response.