The Mistake I Made (27 page)

I shuddered. And then there were headlights. A full beam hitting my mirror, blinding me for a moment. And the crunch of gravel. A car moving too fast and coming to a stop beside me in a partial skid.

I looked over. Scott lifted his hand and climbed out.

I hoped he might hand over the money and we could be on our way, but no. He strode towards the front door, keys jangling, and when I called his name he ignored me. So I followed.

Once through the door, his mouth was on mine and my weight was pushed against the wall. I had a hook in my back.

‘Thank God,’ he said breathlessly.

‘Scott, wait.’

‘I
can’t
wait.’

I tried to put some space between us. ‘Please,’ I said, pushing him away. ‘
Please
, just give me a minute.’

He took a step back and regarded me. His expression was worried, uncertain. Childlike, in a sense. He was the small boy waiting for the grown-up to explain exactly what he had done wrong.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ I began.

‘You don’t want to?’ he said, genuinely astonished.

‘I just—’ and I paused, trying to clutch at the threads of my speech. I hadn’t imagined this scenario. From his manner, from the impression he gave on the phone, I expected Scott and I would have a short conversation – cordial, civilized – in which we would both agree our arrangement was over. We would say goodbye. Perhaps kiss for old time’s sake. But it would be a kiss of fondness. A wish you well kind of kiss. Not the kiss I’d just had forced upon me. And certainly not followed by the look of utter dejection that was now on Scott’s face.

He swallowed.

When I still hadn’t answered, he asked, ‘Why are we even here then?’

I straightened my spine. ‘I came for the money, Scott.’

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘I thought you knew that.’

He gave a sad laugh and shook his head. ‘I misinterpreted. When you suggested meeting here, I assumed that you wanted to …’ He let the words hang.

I moved towards him. ‘I didn’t want anyone to see us together,’ I explained gently. ‘I thought if we met here then it could be private.’

He reached out his hand but, before he could touch my face, I took hold of it in mine. ‘You’re disappointed,’ I said.

‘Couldn’t we just—’

‘Sorry, we can’t.’

‘That sounds rather final,’ he said.

I blew out my breath. ‘Scott, you’re not really suggesting that we go on, are you? This whole thing, it’s too risky.’

‘Because of Henry,’ he said flatly.

‘Not because of Henry.’

‘Have you fucked him yet?’

‘No. But that’s not really your business.’ There was a flicker in his jaw, a slow, deliberate blink of the eyes. Instinctively, I shrunk back, and in the space of a second he was upon me again. Pushing me hard into the wall.

‘I don’t want you to,’ he hissed into my ear. ‘I don’t want you ever to fuck Henry.’

His mouth was on mine, and he was grabbing at the hem of my skirt.

‘Scott, don’t.’

He ignored my words.

His hands were rough, his breathing ragged. He pulled up my skirt and yanked at my knickers, making me yelp.

Then he pulled away to unfasten his jeans.

I stared at him.

‘What are you doing?’ I said coldly. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

And he stopped.

He looked at me with a strange expression. Almost dumbstruck. As though he wasn’t quite with it.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.

I pulled down my skirt. Straightened myself.

‘I don’t know what I was doing,’ he repeated.

We stood in silence, both of us too shocked to speak.

I longed desperately to get out. To get away from the house. To get away from him. No one knew I was here. Not one person in the world knew where I was right now.

‘I’m sorry, that was out of line,’ he said eventually.

‘You think?’

‘It was the idea of you two,’ he said. ‘The thought of you being together is just too close to home.’

He had a look of hatred in his eyes that contradicted his apology. I swallowed hard, glancing towards the front door.

‘Scott, that’s exactly why we can’t go on,’ I said. ‘
It is
too close to home.’

‘And by that what you mean is you don’t
want
to go on.’

‘
Why
wouldn’t I, Scott?’ I replied sharply. ‘Think about it. Why would I not want to do it? This thing, this arrangement, has almost got me out of debt. I was close to losing my home before this. My son and I would have become
homeless
. And if I were to continue with what we’ve been doing – Christ, I could have savings. I could get somewhere in life again. But it can’t go on.’

‘Why?’

I held his gaze, but I didn’t answer.

‘This is a good arrangement, Roz,’ he argued. ‘No one is getting hurt. No one will find out.’

‘Things have changed. We are no longer two people, practically two strangers, coming together for mutual gain. There are other people involved now, and it’s unfair.’

‘Who? Why is it unfair?’

‘Your wife. My sister. And yes, now there’s Henry.’

He flinched again at the sound of Henry’s name.

‘I don’t want to be found out, Scott,’ I said. ‘I want to end it before we do any damage to the people I care about the most.’

He hung his head.

I went to go on, went to state my case further, but he cut me off. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I understand. When you were buried in debt, you were willing to take the risk. And now that you’re not, you’re not. I get it.’

He handed me the money he owed me before reaching into his inside pocket and withdrawing a small, midnight-blue Dorothy bag. ‘I bought you this.’

When I didn’t take it from him, he said, ‘Please. It’s for you. Please take it.’

I loosened the cord around the neck of the bag. There was a box. Inside, there was a pair of earrings. Small, non-fussy diamonds in a white-gold setting. ‘They’re really pretty, Scott, thank you, but I really don’t—’

‘Take them,’ he snapped. ‘In fact, wear them now.’

Scared, reluctant, I did as he asked, lifting my hair away from my face.

He gazed me for a time, smiled, and then he shook his head, saying, ‘I really thought I’d have you for longer, Roz.’

And I replied, ‘I’m so sorry,’ as earnestly as I was able.

‘I didn’t imagine it would end this quickly,’ he continued. ‘I suppose I expected it would continue as long as I wanted it to.’

‘Did you?’ I asked carefully.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’

I tried to smile. Tried to make light of it. I was conscious of keeping him calm. ‘You sound as though you thought you were buying me for life,’ I said.

Scott made as if to speak, but he hesitated.

Then he said, ‘I would do that for you.’

I dropped my head, embarrassed by his words. ‘I don’t understand.’

He reached out and took hold of my face. With his grip tight, he lifted my chin.

Squeezing hard, he stepped towards me, until his face was inches from mine. ‘I
would
take care of you,’ he whispered. ‘I’d take care of you for
life
, as you put it, if only you’d allow me to.’

31

THE LATE AFTERNOON
rain splattered against the clinic window. I pushed my thumbs into a hairy gluteus maximus, the flesh unforgiving as the patient tensed in response to my touch. ‘Try to let it go loose if you can,’ I told him.

‘It hurts like hell,’ he replied. ‘There must be something seriously wrong in there.’

He was a new patient. A fifty-something solicitor who had blustered into the clinic with an authoritative air, answering my questions as though he really didn’t have time, and
Couldn’t we just get on with this?

When he undressed I saw he had his underpants on back to front.

I moved across to his other buttock and sunk my thumbs into that side. He flinched and then yelped as though he’d been bitten. ‘It’s a trigger point, see?’ I said. ‘It hurts just as much on the left as on the right. Please do relax if you can.’

His silence indicated begrudging acceptance that his arse was not about to fall off any time soon, and he remained uncommunicative for the remainder of the session. Apart from, that is, when I pushed too deep and he would suck the spittle in between his teeth. So I thought about Scott. I thought about what he’d said earlier.

Obviously, we hadn’t got as far as the logistics of his absurd proposition because I’d got out of there just as soon as I could. Now that I had the chance to think about it, though, I was curious as to how he imagined we would maintain such an arrangement – if he was in fact serious about his offer of ‘taking care of me for life’.

Would he deposit a monthly sum into my account and pop by whenever he required intercourse? A mistress, then, in the traditional sense?

Or would we remain with the system of my billing him for services rendered?

After his proposition Scott had become aware of the fear in my eyes and had relaxed his grip on my face, once again feeling appalled by his own actions. He apologized profusely, saying he didn’t quite know where that behaviour had come from. Following which, I wondered what exactly I’d become saddled with.

Was Scott a psychopath? Was he a lonely, rich guy who couldn’t stand any kind of rejection?

Apparently, he was neither.

How did I know this? Because I asked him.

He broke down, expressing mortification at what he’d just done, saying he’d never once hurt a woman, never even come close. He could only conclude that my early termination of our arrangement had hit him harder than he could have anticipated and he’d been taken over by some kind of primitive compulsion. Something he’d never experienced before.

The patient now lifted his head. He said, ‘Do you think swimming will help?’

‘Do you like to swim?’ I asked.

‘Not really. I’m not very good.’

I’m not sure why, but all new patients ask about swimming. It may have something to do with taking the weight off the joints, or because they’ve seen thoroughbreds in the hydrotherapy pool on television and consider their injury to warrant similar treatment.

Truth was, this guy had a bad back because he had a big belly, and swimming would make no difference. It was pulling his weight forward, putting strain on the joints of the lower back, and the pain in his buttock was the result of this.

‘I could do with getting a bit of weight off,’ he said, more to himself than to me.

I didn’t respond. I never did. They didn’t come to me to feel bad about their weight, and my thoughts were still stuck on Scott. About how I might avoid encountering him again in the near future. Petra might be a problem. I’d just have to have some good excuses at the ready in case she organized another get-together.

‘Do you think I need to lose some?’ the patient pressed.

‘It can help,’ I said vaguely.

Scott’s cash was in my handbag. This time, I wasn’t going to deposit it in the bank, so I needed to keep it well hidden. Problem was, my landlord had a key to the house, and it didn’t exactly have great security. So it wouldn’t be wise to leave it in one of my usual hiding places: the bread bin; inside the cheese drawer of the fridge.

And now I would need some of it to fix my car.

Returning to work, after the meeting with Scott, I heard an ominous, metallic clunking coming from beneath that didn’t sound good. One of those noises you ignore at your peril. Well, I had ignored it, until Terry the ferry attendant stopped and stared as I’d boarded, tapping my window, saying there was something hanging down from the exhaust. Then I had no alternative but to acknowledge there was a problem and made a note to book the car into the garage. It would be expensive. Driving over that branch would turn out to be an expensive decision. It was like Newton’s fourth law or something.

I demonstrated a few back extensions to the solicitor, since the joints of his lumbar spine were locked in forward flexion, and he made like he was interested, asking how many he should do, what time of day was best.

He wouldn’t do the exercise. His wife had most likely made this appointment just to stop him complaining.

‘Scott Elias said you were very good,’ he remarked as he knotted his tie in front of the mirror, and I did a double take.

‘You’re friends?’ I asked cautiously, trying not to show that he’d unsettled me.

‘We go way back.’

He perched on the treatment couch, lifting up alternate knees to tie his shoe laces. When he stood, he said, ‘Do you know what, for the last ten years my back’s hurt every time I’ve got up from sitting. And now the pain has gone.’

I smiled at him. ‘Glad it’s feeling better.’

I was aware of the clock. I needed a quick trip to the loo before the next patient and I wanted to get rid of this one quick.

‘The wife reckons a copper bracelet helps with rheumatism. What are your thoughts?’

‘You’ve not got rheumatism.’

‘But suppose I did.’

‘Then I’d say do anything that helps.’

‘You think it’s twaddle,’ he said.

I made a face like I didn’t really want to commit.

‘What about magnets, crystals?’ he asked. ‘She’s into all that stuff.’

‘Like I said, whatever works.’

‘Do I make another appointment?’ he asked, and I told him to follow me through to reception, where I’d sort him out with something next week.

When I opened the door, DS Aspinall was waiting. She placed the magazine she’d been reading down on the table in front of her before lifting her hand in a gesture of hello. Her face was blank, unreadable.

I took the solicitor’s debit card and asked him to key in his PIN. ‘Will I see you at the party?’ he asked.

I must have had a look of puzzlement on my face, because he added, ‘Scott and Nadine’s wedding anniversary?’

I shrugged. ‘Must be for close friends and family only,’ I said.

He was embarrassed, and apologized, saying he thought from the way Scott spoke of me that we knew each other well.

‘Not that well,’ I said a little stiffly, and he gathered up his wallet.