The Waiting Game (10 page)

‘An injunction.’

Raj was smiling at her, like he was giving her good news. Chloe didn’t understand, and told him.

‘We can get an emergency injunction out against Ricky,’ Raj said. ‘I’ve just spoken to my boss. We can get it sorted today. Drive across to the Magistrates’ Court and get one there and then. It will keep you safe, Chloe.’

Safe. She closed her eyes, repeated the word to herself. Was it really that easy? When she opened her eyes, Raj was crouched down in front of her.

‘Chloe, listen to me. Before today, we had no proof that Ricky even knew where you were. He made a big mistake today coming to where you work. If we take this to a judge, we can get an
emergency non-molestation order. It means Ricky will be forbidden from approaching you or communicating with you in any way. If he even tries to speak to you, he’ll be locked up.’

She could still smell his cologne. Couldn’t wait to go home and have a bath, scrub away every last trace of him. Between her legs still hurt. Just his hand. He didn’t do anything else. Knew if he did that they’d find traces of him inside her. So he’d used his hand instead.

‘Chloe?’ Raj put his hand on her arm, making her jump.

‘Sorry.’ He backed away. ‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. Are you okay?’

She’d been so scared. Thought he was going to kill her. He kicked her instead. Twice in the stomach. Then he’d left. She was still lying there half an hour later when Carl came in and found her.

If it wasn’t for Carl, she’d never have gone to the police. Too scared to even do that. But Carl insisted. And maybe he was right. Maybe this injunction thing would put a stop to it all.

‘Will it work?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Raj said. ‘I think it will.’

It was only a short-term measure. Raj explained that on the drive to the Magistrates’ Court. They applied for this today and later, they would have to go back to court once Ricky had been served notice of the order. But that was a formality, Raj assured her. Nothing to worry about.

The court was nothing like she’d expected. From TV, she thought judges wore wigs and black cloaks, but this judge wore a grey suit and no wig. He sat at a table across from her and was really kind. When she started crying, he gave her his own handkerchief to dry her tears.

Raj had warned her there might be a delay, but it was all over very quickly. The judge granted the order, told her she didn’t need to be scared anymore and that was it.

Outside afterwards, Raj explained that Ricky would be served with the order straightaway. A special courier would be despatched to deliver it, making sure Ricky couldn’t miss it or pretend he hadn’t seen it.

‘And if he tries to make any sort of contact,’ Raj said. ‘Even a phone call, he’ll be banged up.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Chloe said.

‘Feels good to do something positive,’ Raj said. ‘Come on. I’ll drive you home. Is there anyone you can call? You shouldn’t be alone this evening.’

She wanted Carl. But he hadn’t called and she was too shy to call him. Seeing her in that state earlier, it had probably scared him off for good. There was always Nathan, of course, but she didn’t think she could bear the thought of him right now. The smell and the size of him, he seemed to take up the whole house when he was there.

Then she thought of Anne.

‘There is someone,’ she said. ‘Let me give her a ring and see
if she’s free.’

She pulled out her phone and dialled Anne’s number. When Chloe told her what happened, Anne promised she’d come straight over.

‘I’ll bring wine and nibbles,’ Anne said. ‘We can have a proper girlie night in. How does that sound?’

It sounded just fine to Chloe. As she put her phone back into her bag, it beeped with a text. Carl, asking how she was. She typed a quick reply, ended it with two ‘XX’ kisses. She put her phone away and smiled at Raj. The first time she’d smiled all day. Things were definitely starting to get better.

Friday morning, Chloe’s doorbell rang as she was getting ready for work. She went to the window and peered out, terrified she’d see Ricky standing on the doorstep. When she saw Carl instead, her stomach flip-flopped. He was standing in the doorway, sheltering from the rain. Checking herself quickly in the mirror, she ran downstairs to let him in.

‘Thought you might like a lift,’ he said. ‘I practically drive past your house on the way in. Seems silly not to stop.’

He looked embarrassed, like he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing or not. She had to stop herself grabbing him and hugging him.

‘That’s really sweet of you,’ she said. ‘Come in. I just need to finish putting my make-up on.’

‘You look lovely to me,’ he said, cheeky again, now he knew it was okay to be here.

She tried to think of something clever to say back to him but nothing came to her. Instead, she said thanks before running back up the stairs. When she came back down, he was standing in the kitchen.

‘Nice place,’ he said. ‘You’ve got it looking really pretty. You like it here?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I did to begin with. But after everything that’s happened, I’m thinking I might move out. Make a fresh start somewhere else.’

He nodded. ‘Can’t say as I blame you. But it’ll be better now, won’t it? This injunction thingy you told me about, he’ll have to stay away now?’

‘If it works,’ Chloe said. ‘But Raj – that’s the detective – he seems to think it will. Says Ricky would be mad to try anything. If he does, he’ll go straight to prison.’

‘Should be there already,’ Carl said.

She didn’t want to talk about all that now. She’d woken up this morning in a good mood. Anne had stayed late last night and drank too much wine. She was funny and interesting and they’d had a good time. When Anne left, Chloe switched the alarm on and slept right through the night.

She thought she’d be nervous seeing Carl again but now he was here, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

‘Shouldn’t we get going?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ Carl said. ‘Listen, Chloe, I want to ask you something, but you can say no. I understand if you’re not ready.’

‘What is it?’

‘Do you fancy going for a drink after work tonight?’ he said. ‘Just the two of us. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I mean, I know you’ve had a horrible time of it and maybe you want to keep well away from all men for a while.’

‘I’d love to,’ she said.

He was still babbling and she had to talk over him. He stopped talking and stared at her.

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ she said.

He smiled and again she thought what a lovely smile he had.

‘Well then,’ he said. ‘That’s great. Yeah. Really great. Cheers.’

She stepped forward, reached up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek.

‘You’re welcome,’ she said. ‘Now come on. Let’s get to work.’

When she stepped back down, she noticed he was blushing, a red flush that crept along his neck and up his cheeks. It made him look seriously cute.

Ellen was nervous. The sort of nerves she hadn’t experienced since… well, since forever.

Jim was nervous too. He hid it well enough, but little things gave it away. The way his leg kept jigging under the table. And
the shake in his hand when he lifted his champagne flute to touch it against hers.

‘To you,’ he said.

To us, she almost said but decided, just in time, that was way too corny. She stayed silent instead, sipped the champagne and wished she could taste it.

They were in the bar at the top of the Shard, Europe’s new highest building by London Bridge station. Their plan was to have a drink here, eat in a restaurant Jim knew under the railway arches in Borough Market, and then back to their hotel in south London.

Except food was the last thing on Ellen’s mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about later. She’d pictured it hundreds of times. Wanted it more than she’d let herself admit. One night. Tomorrow it was back to the daily grind of juggling work and family. Doing it alone was so bloody difficult. Her mind fast-forwarded six months from now. Not alone anymore. Sharing the responsibilities with Jim. Waking up in the morning beside him. Weekends spent lazing about with the kids. Nights given over to hot, steamy sex.

For a long time, she’d thought that part of her – the sexual part – had died with Vinny. She’d been wrong.

‘Ready to go?’

Jim reached out to touch her wrist. Shocks of electricity shot up her arm. Waves of desire made her light-headed. Champagne and lust – the best legal high there was. Drunk with desire. She
giggled. Couldn’t help it. She was happy. Tipsy. Carefree. Horny.

Jim said something else but she didn’t hear him. The thunderstorm of blood pumping through her head blocked out everything else. He was smiling now and she wondered, vaguely, what he was smiling at. When he smiled, a dimple appeared under his left eye. It was the very first thing she’d noticed about him all those years ago in primary school. Too young then to know anything about sex or longing. It was damn sexy, though, that dimple.

‘Do we have to go to the restaurant?’

Her voice. Didn’t know how she got the words out. Didn’t care, either. Her nerves had steadied, disappeared, replaced with a startling clarity. This was it. He was it. The person she’d been waiting for. Felt like she’d been waiting her whole life, even though she knew that wasn’t true. Right now, nothing mattered. Nothing made sense. At the same time, she’d never been more certain about anything.

The smile disappeared.

‘You’ve changed your mind?’ he asked.

‘Only about eating,’ she said. ‘Not about anything else. I don’t think I can wait any longer, that’s all. Can we skip dinner and go straight to the hotel?’

She was laughing. Real, proper belly laughs. Carl was laughing too. The best bit about it was that she couldn’t remember what
they’d both found so funny. Then Carl puffed his cheeks out and started again:
‘The first duty of an estate agent is to stuff his face with bread and pasta and chocolates until his stomach is so HUGE he starts looking like he’s got a tyre wrapped around his middle.’

He had Nathan’s voice down to a T. And when he moved, waddling around the way Nathan did – that strange, dainty way he had of walking – she couldn’t help herself. It was cruel, she knew that, but there was something about Nathan that invited it.

Nathan had been out of the office on viewings all afternoon. Which made it easy enough for them to sneak off for a drink when they closed the office. Nathan had already invited her to a quiz night at his church. Said it would be fun and a great way to meet some new people. She’d half-promised to be there, but the drink with Carl had turned into an early dinner at Nandos. After that, when he’d offered to drive her home, it had seemed rude not to invite him in.

And now here they were in the sitting room, larking about like a pair of giddy teenagers. When he’d finished his Nathan impression, and she’d managed to stop her giggles, Carl held up the empty bottle of wine.

‘Any more where this came from?’ he asked.

She shook her head, good mood evaporating in an instant. What sort of person was she, not thinking what he might like? She thought she’d done okay, making sure she only drank a tiny bit, leaving the rest of it for him.

He pulled a sad face and sat beside her on the sofa. He sat
close, his thigh pressed against hers. She tensed, waiting. He put his hand on her cheek – his touch was gentle and nothing like she’d expected.

‘I had a great night, Chloe.’

She dared to look at him then, trying to work out if this was some sort of trick. But what she saw in his face surprised her. He looked soft and sweet and was smiling at her, like he was delighted by her.

His hand was still on her face, thumb stroking her cheek, softly, gently. She didn’t want him to stop. And when he leaned into her and kissed her, his lips were soft too. She didn’t respond at first. Just let him kiss her, still waiting to see what way it would go.

He pulled back, blue eyes looking into hers. He had the loveliest eyes.

‘Are you okay with this?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Well, I think so. Yes.’

Suddenly she was smiling, too. All the tension disappeared, replaced with a sort of happy lightness she’d almost forgotten it was possible to feel.

And when he kissed her a second time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him closer and kissed him right back.

The first time was quick and desperate and over too quickly. The second time they took things more slowly, getting used to each other. Sometime later, they ordered room service. Toasted
sandwiches
and chips. They sat side by side in the bed, eating and talking over each other. Talking about everything and nothing. Ellen’s children, Frank Sinatra, Almodóvar movies, Jim’s family, crap TV programmes, Bruce Springsteen, Ellen’s memories of her birth mother, the best unusual food combinations (Ellen: vinegar and strawberries; Jim: cheese and marmalade).

The hotel was a beautiful Art Deco building in Deptford. Their room was on the top floor with a view along the river to Greenwich. After eating, they wrapped themselves in sheets and moved across to the window. Jim dragged an armchair over and
sat down, pulling Ellen onto his lap.

‘The river looks beautiful at night,’ Ellen said. ‘Especially now the rain has stopped. Even better than during the day.’

‘I don’t know about better,’ Jim said. ‘Different, yes. Beautiful, definitely. But it’s pretty impressive all the time if you ask me. One of the few good things about living in London.’

‘One of the many, you mean,’ Ellen said, elbowing his stomach.

‘Ouch,’ Jim said. No. I know you love London, but I’m not sure I feel the same way. Half the time I wish I lived somewhere else. London’s too busy for me.’

‘If you don’t like it,’ Ellen said, ‘why did you come back?’

‘Family, I suppose. My dad wasn’t an easy man but after he died, there was only Ray and my mum. And poor Ray, he’s not the easiest. I couldn’t bear to think of Mum having to deal with that on her own.’

‘The dual curse of the Irish,’ Ellen said. ‘Alcoholism and mental illness. I’m pretty sure my birth father was an alcoholic.’

Jim’s arms, already wrapped around her, tightened.

‘I thought you couldn’t remember him.’

‘I don’t,’ Ellen said. ‘Not really. It’s more of a feeling than anything else. Vague memories of him coming home drunk. I remember never feeling safe when he was around. It was always better when he wasn’t there. Except that last night, of course. I used to think, you know, maybe if he’d been there, he’d have tried to stop her.’

Her mind flickered back to the single sheet of white paper
folded over on her bedside table. She still hadn’t told him. Hadn’t told anyone.

‘Poor woman,’ Jim said.

‘Poor Eilish, you mean,’ Ellen said, referring to her dead sister. ‘Murdered by her own mother.’

‘Eilish, too,’ Jim said. ‘But it must have been so awful for your mother.’

An animal screaming in pain. The worst sound Ellen had ever heard. She remembered so little of that night but that sound, coming from her mother as she held her dead baby in her arms, was seared into Ellen’s brain. And yet… Ray, Jim’s brother, had a breakdown some years earlier. A complete mental collapse, according to Jim. Ray’s illness meant he had to give up his job and his home. He’d never killed anyone, though.

She lay back, her head resting against Jim’s shoulder. It was late and she was tired. She should sleep. Jim’s hand ran up and down her bare arm, sending little shivers through her body. His hand moved up, across her shoulder and along her chest, moving lower and lower, pushing the sheet out of the way.

Ellen leaned back, pressing her body against his. She took his hand, guided it along her stomach. His fingers skimmed the top of her pubic hair and she groaned.

Plenty of time for sleep later.

She stood up and led him back to the bed. This was all she wanted. To feel the weight of his body on her, to open her legs and give herself up to this. She wanted to be consumed, for every
other thought and memory and feeling to disappear until there was nothing left except him and her and this cascading crescendo of desire.

In the kitchen, Monica pulled a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it. Resisting the urge to drink it straight from the bottle, she poured a healthy serving into a balloon-sized wine glass and drank from that instead. As soon as she was able to, she took another slug and stood with her eyes closed, waiting for the booze to kick in.

Her mouth ached from the effort of smiling when all she’d really wanted to do was scream with the boredom of it all. Her head hurt – actually hurt – from having to work so hard making meaningless small-talk. The amount of thick people she was forced to deal with on a daily basis was an unbearable burden at times.

But she carried it off. With aplomb. She drank more wine, silently toasting herself on a stellar performance. She was good. No one better. Almost made her feel sorry for people like Ellen Kelly, who had no idea – not a fucking clue – what they were dealing with.

She refilled her glass and carried it into the sitting room. The curtains were open and she stood at the window, looking out at the quiet street, as she tried to decide how to spend the rest of her evening. It was only ten o’clock. Too early to be stuck at home
alone on a Friday night.

She’d been with prospective clients. A group representing local businesses that bought art and displayed it on their office walls. An easy and lucrative way of making money. She’d spent two hours with them and knew they’d wanted her to stay longer. But the thought of spending another second in their tedious company was more than she could have endured. So she’d made her move, smiling apologetically and saying she had a busy day tomorrow and needed her beauty sleep. Played all coy when they’d both told her how fantastic she looked. As if she didn’t know it herself.

On the way home, she took a detour. Had a drink in a bar she sometimes went to in New Cross. The sort of place you could sometimes find guys into something a bit different. No joy tonight, though. One bloke coming on to her but his breath stank of dead animals and she was nowhere near drunk enough to consider that.

So she’d come home. And now she was wishing she hadn’t.

The lights in the house across the road were switched off. A pity. She could do with a distraction and Harry would have been just perfect. She wondered where he was and who he was with. Getting it away with someone his own age for a change. Cheeky git. She’d have to teach him a lesson. Remind him what he could get with her that no prim little bitch his own age was likely to do for him.

Tonight had been a mistake. She should have cancelled. Should have realised a night out with a collection of the world’s
most boring people wasn’t going to give her the sort of thrill she needed right now.

She’d been consumed by a restless energy ever since the trip to Whitstable. She had to think of something to make the time pass. Her mind switched from her father to Ellen Kelly. Still no phone call. Kelly was probably too busy getting on with her perfect life to spend time worrying about the people she was paid to protect. Monica would bet any money Kelly wasn’t wasting her Friday night sitting around feeling sorry for herself.

Things weren’t moving fast enough. Something needed to happen to make Kelly sit up and take notice. Monica thought getting the police out the other night might have made a difference. Fat chance. No one was taking her half as seriously as they ought to.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the fireplace. Stroked the yellow bruises on her neck, thinking. And then it came to her. She knew exactly what she had to do. Her mood improved instantly. She carried her glass over to the big armchair by the window, sat down and started planning.