The Woman He Loved Before (47 page)

I didn’t understand what I had done or what was wrong. Feeling sick and a little scared, I returned my hand to my lap and stared at the plate in front of me, unsure if I could eat my meal or not, waiting for tears to start dripping down into the tomato sauce over my pasta. I glanced up and caught Grace’s eye, then had to look away in embarrassment because she had obviously seen what had happened.

‘What’s wrong, Britcham Boy?’ Grace asked across the table.

Jack raised his line of sight to her and the look he shot her was deadly.

‘Ohhh, if looks could kill,’ she said.

‘Shut up, Grace,’ he snarled.

‘And a bon appetite to you, too,’ she replied.

The atmosphere at the table was deteriorating and I knew it was my fault, but not why.

‘Well,’ Grace said suddenly and decisively. ‘I vote that if Jack doesn’t cheer up really soon, we steal his wallet and then all leave him here to do the washing up to pay for the
very
expensive bill.’

‘Jack won’t mind, he’s good at washing up, aren’t you, old boy?’ Rupert said.

‘What would you know about washing up?’ Jack said suddenly, seeming to come out of his mood. ‘You’ve never done a day’s hard work in your life.’

‘Make no mistake,’ Rupert replied, ‘supervising is extremely hard work.’

I pushed out my chair and then made as dignified an exit to the toilets as possible, while Rupert and Jack continued to banter. I walked around the empty room, ignoring my reflection in the mirror as I tried to breathe in, calm down and – most importantly – not start crying.

A few seconds later, Grace appeared in the loos and came straight to me, put her arms around me. ‘It’ll be OK, you know,’ she said as I melted against her. It felt so good to have her hold me, it felt so wonderful for my soul. I didn’t want to start crying because I didn’t want to sit through dinner with red eyes as well as a heavy heart.

‘Jack can be an arse sometimes,’ she said, stroking my back and holding me tight. ‘But he does love you.’

I nodded.

‘Come on now, let’s go out there and get absolutely smashed, that’ll teach him.’

‘OK,’ I replied and willingly followed her outside, where my unfriendly fiancé was waiting.

I found out later, of course, what the problem was. We were barely through the front door back at home when Jack turned on me and said, ‘Is there a man in Brighton you haven’t slept with?’

I took a step back at what he had said and at how nastily, venomously, he had said it. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘There was a man in the restaurant, tonight, that you’ve escorted, wasn’t there?’

Yes, one of them had been there. But I didn’t know how Jack could possibly know that, so I said nothing.

‘Do you how I know?’ he asked to my silence. ‘You get this look on your face when you see one of them. No wonder you don’t like restaurants: it always seems to happen in those sorts of places. One minute you’re fine, the next minute you’re glassy eyed with a fixed look on your face, like you’re trying to remember the details.’

‘That’s not what I’m doing,’ I replied. I never realised it was obvious on my face, that anyone outside of the old client in question and me could tell what had happened.

‘What are you doing?’ Jack spat through the nasty sneer on his face.

‘I’m trying to pretend it never happened. I’m trying to erase his face and everything about him from my memory so I don’t go into shock every time I see him.’

‘How many of them were there?’ he asked.

‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about this again?’ I replied.

‘No, we weren’t, but I can’t handle it sometimes. We have this huge secret, and most of the time it’s not so bad. But at the same time, I’m scared to go out with you to places in case we run into one of them and you get that look on your face. The second I know he’s one of them, the movie of it starts playing up here.’ He pointed to his head. ‘I imagine you with him and I—’ He stopped talking and horror blossomed in his eyes, then slowly tugged down his face until he was opened mouthed with whatever new nightmare that had upset him.

‘Have you “escorted” my father?’ he asked in a tight voice. ‘Have you done it with him?’

I stared at him. My beautiful Jack who would hate me for ever when I answered that question.

Don’t make me answer that question, Jack,
I thought.
Don’t make me do this to you or me.

‘Have you?’ he asked again.

I closed my eyes because I could not watch the devastation I was about to cause. ‘Yes.’

I whispered it, said it as quietly as I could so maybe he wouldn’t hear and he wouldn’t be hurt. But of course he did. And in response, there came a sickening thud as he hit the wall, coupled with the crunch of bones cracking, and I knew he’d probably broken almost every bone in his hand.

Standing still in the corridor, with my eyes closed, I wanted to go somewhere else. I wanted to be somewhere else, be
someone
else. I did not know that when I started having sex for money it would devastate the person I loved. How could I know? I was not thinking of the future, I was living day to day, trying not to end up homeless and even lower than I was already. How could I know that at some point
in the future I would be happy, I would be without a druggie boyfriend, and that I would be properly in love? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly. To him and to myself. I was apologising for making the mistakes that had brought us here today.

Grains of plaster rained down onto the floor as I heard him remove his fist from the wall. Then I heard him sink to the ground, and slowly he began to fill the space around us with his crying.

I had broken him.

I could not imagine what he must feel because no one had hurt me as much as I had just hurt him. Not even my mum not believing me about Alan because I found out later that she did believe me, and that was a little bit of relief from the pain of having to leave her. Nothing can relieve this pain for Jack. I’ve been fucked by his father. I will not call it sex or ‘sleeping with’ because it was meant to be a business transaction that he twisted and abused. He made it personal, he made it a living nightmare.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, louder this time.

I didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t an affair; it wasn’t something I enjoyed; it wasn’t something I ever wanted to repeat. And if Hector would just leave me alone, it would be something that I could forget.

Jack eventually stumbled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall with his good hand. The other hand was a bloodied mess. I wondered how he was going to get around and work with a broken hand.

‘You should have lied,’ he said to me, his puffy, tear-stained face trying to look strong.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said to him.
And you shouldn’t have asked
, I thought.
If you didn’t want an honest answer or, at least an answer you knew you couldn’t live with, you shouldn’t have asked.

‘I’ll call a taxi to take you to the hospital,’ I said to him.

He shook his head. ‘I just want to be alone,’ he said, and walked out of the front door.

I stood and watched him go to his car and get in, then lean over the steering wheel. He’s still out there now. I don’t know if he’s going to come in or if he intends to spend the night out there.

Like an idiot, I gave up my studio flat so I have nowhere to run to. I
don’t expect he’ll make me move out straight away, in any case. He’s not like that. I’m sure he’ll let me stay in one of the spare rooms until I get myself sorted. He kept telling me I didn’t need to work, that he made more than enough to support us both, but I wasn’t going to do that again. I wasn’t going to rely upon someone else to take care of me financially, so I do have a bit saved and I could find somewhere to live. Not sure if I’d want to stay around here, though. Not when there’d be the possibility of bumping into Jack and the woman he ended up with.

Part of me wants to ring Grace, to tell her what’s going on and tell her to come over to take care of Jack. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth, though. One person being disgusted with me is enough for a lifetime, I couldn’t have anyone else look at me and see a dirty little scrubber instead of the real me.

I am flawed, I am imperfect, but I am not a prostitute any more.

How many times have I said this in my life: I don’t know what to do. Is that what life is like for people like me? Is life just a series of events that lead you to various crossroads, where you have a choice to make? Is life just a series of moments when you find yourself in impossible situations and ask yourself what to do? That’s what mine seems to be.

Me

18
^th
December 2001

After eight weeks, Jack’s hand is out of plaster, and we’re getting married tomorrow.

We have agreed to not talk about it. By which I mean, after he returned from the hospital the day after our latest big revelation, he told me that he’s known for a long time that his father uses prostitutes and he hates him for it, but doesn’t distance himself from his father because of his mother. He doesn’t know what she would do if she were to find out the depth of his betrayal.

I longed to ask if any of it was true, if she had indeed withdrawn sex and affection from Hector, because she didn’t seem like that when I met her – but you never know what goes on behind closed doors, what ‘happy family’ front people put on for the world.

Jack told me that he lost respect for his father a long time ago, and he hates himself for being able to ignore what his father did. Does.

‘But you love your mother,’ I reminded him. ‘I remember thinking more than once I should have just stayed and let my mum’s boyfriend do what he wanted to me because I loved my mother so much. We will do almost anything for the people we love.’

‘Did my father recognise you?’ Jack eventually asked. ‘Has he ever said anything to you about it?’

I glanced at his hand and knew I couldn’t tell. ‘I don’t think so. But men who visit prostitutes don’t generally see us as anything more than walking vaginas so it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t.’

‘Please don’t say “us”,’ Jack said quietly. ‘You don’t do that any more.’

‘No, I don’t,’ I replied. ‘I really don’t.’

He nodded at me. We stared at each other, seeing who we were when we first met and experiencing who we are now.

‘Let’s get married as soon as possible,’ he said. That was his way of telling me we were not going to talk about it any longer.

‘All right.’

‘Grace and Rupert can be witnesses,’ he said.

I nodded.

I had no one to invite – except possibly Dawn and since I hadn’t heard from her in well over a year, I had decided not to investigate the possibility that she had become one of the vast number of prostitutes murdered every year that we knew nothing about. I told myself she was busy and had no time for me. ‘Is it OK if we don’t invite anyone else?’ I asked him. I could tell he wanted to say it, too, but didn’t want to in case I took it the wrong way. Or rather I took it the right way but was hurt by it. Jack did not want to risk having anyone at the wedding who I might have been an escort for.

Jack looked down at the table, sadness upon him. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

‘As long as you’re there, and I’m there, we really don’t need anyone else, do we?’

‘No, we don’t.’

I reached across the table, covered his damaged hand with mine. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it, Jack? We don’t have to do this if you’re at all uncertain.’

Suddenly, his face became a sunshine smile that tripped up my heart and had it tumbling in my chest. ‘Eve, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want to marry you. Everything in life is just background noise to the joyful song my heart sings over you.’

That’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard and I knew then that we really wouldn’t talk about it again.

Grace will be here soon because Jack’s gone to stay at theirs for the night. I’ve unplugged the phone and will plug it in again when she arrives. The phone calls are getting more intense, more frequent – I think he’s trying to warn me not to be there for Christmas dinner. We won’t be there this year because we’ll be on honeymoon in Hove. (In bed, in the house.)

Grace has been dying to see my wedding dress, but I said I’d only show her it the night before the wedding. She’s going to be surprised as anything.

I’m really excited about tomorrow. This is something I’ve waited for since I first met him. It’s my dream come true.

19
^th
December 2001

I am Mrs Eve Britcham.

Can I say that again?

I AM MRS EVE BRITCHAM.

Jack cried when he saw me walking up the aisle and we held hands throughout the whole thing. Grace cried and even Rupert had wet eyes.

I was choked as we said our vows, the enormity of what we were doing hit me at that point, but I was so excited to be able to do it.

The sun came out and Grace threw confetti and Rupert took pictures.

Jack carried me over the threshold and we lay in bed drinking champagne and giggling about how fabulous our lives were going to be together.