Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

‘Don’t be too long, we need to get measurements. I’ve brought my tape measure!’ teases Rachel.

‘Hey, we’re running low. While she’s gone, I’ll go and get another bottle in. I’m the smallest, it’s easier for me to squeeze my way through to the bar,’ Isabel winks. ‘Save our seats and don’t get calling lover boy to join us while I’m gone. It’s a girl’s night, remember!’ she waves a pointed finger in her face, jokingly.

As she heads to the bar, unsteadily on her wedge heels, Isabel sees Claire through the window talking to a man on the pavement outside Joan’s front door. She seems in deep conversation. ‘Dark horse’ she mutters to herself as she struggles to make out his features. They look intense, as if arguing. She side-steps quickly away from the window as Claire tugs pleadingly one last time on the sleeve of this stranger’s shirt and strides off the kerb back towards the pub. As the door swings open, Isabel recoils into the crowd and Claire marches past her towards the toilets. Confused and concerned, Isabel looks through the window but the man has already gone. Obviously in as much of a hurry to get away as Claire was.

‘Drinks!’ Isabel announces loudly as she returns to the table, suspecting that Claire will probably be glad of one after what she had just witnessed. But, she is surprised to find quite the contrary...! Claire and Rachel are laughing hysterically about themed weddings and ridiculous ideas for the hen night. Rachel is laughing so much that tears of mascara are running down her cheeks and Claire is gripping the table with one hand and her stomach with the other as she struggles to breathe.

‘Have I missed something??’ asks Isabel with a note of confusion and seriousness in her voice.

The evening passes without any mention from Claire about her mysterious rendez-vous. Rachel seems totally oblivious to it all, so Isabel decides to say nothing and helps herself to another large glass of wine.

‘W
hy did I drink so much? I never drink that much!’ Isabel groans to herself as she sits up in bed, muffling her face in Paul’s pillow. She opens her gritty eyes and exhales noisily, causing her to feel a bit light-headed and queasy. She can’t even remember getting home. She looks across at the digital alarm clock, being careful not to move her head too quickly. The blurry digits tell her that it is 9.30 a.m. The smell of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke emanate from her clothes. Her clothes?!! ‘Oh my god, I’m still wearing my clothes! I must have been about eighteen the last time I woke up fully dressed!’ she groans to herself, running her beaded necklace through her fingers.
I could have choked myself on this in the night
!! she thinks, as she starts to smile, remembering the ridiculous wedding ideas they had come up with last night.

As she starts to come around and think more logically, she wonders where Paul is. She can’t even remember seeing him when she got back last night. Maybe she had done something stupid? Maybe he’s angry with her?

‘Paul?’ she shouts, not yet risking to get off the bed. No answer. Damn!

She slowly hauls herself to her feet and stands for a few seconds to check how she feels. Once she is sure that she’s not going to fall over or be sick, she heads across the landing and down the stairs. No note on the kitchen table. No empty coffee cup. How strange. She picks up her handbag which she finds strewn across the living room floor and takes out her mobile. No messages or missed calls. She dials his number and collapses onto the soft musty sofa with her legs hanging over the arm.

‘Hey you!’ he answers, ‘Good night?’
So, he’s not angry!
thinks Isabel, relieved.

‘Pffff... overdid it a tad. I’m sorry If I was a pain when I got in last night. I must have woken you?’ she croaks, rubbing her forehead.

‘Good job I decided to go out myself then,’ he laughs.

‘Oh? Were you at the pub? You should have popped over to say hello. I was in the garden with Claire and Rach,’ she says, suddenly remembering Claire’s strange behaviour last night.

‘No, I thought about it but it was so busy that I went over to Craig’s instead. I’m still with him now. Just finishing my coffee and I’ll be home, ok?’

‘No rush, I woke up in my clothes so may need a lazy day!!’

‘Christ Izzy, the kids in school must be really getting to you...! How was Claire by the way? Did she... did you all have a good chat?’ he asks.

‘Fine, Why? What do you mean? How do you...? I mean, we had a riot actually! Has Claire spoken to you?’

‘No, why would she? I just wondered if you all had a good night that’s all.’ Isabel notices that he sounds cagey all of a sudden. ‘Look, I’m going to finish my coffee and come straight home sweetie, ok? You just chill, take a paracetamol and maybe soak in the bath for a while?’

Isabel lies still on the sofa for a while feeling the first stirrings of an emotion she hasn’t felt for a long time. A vulnerability, uncertainty that gives rise to a faint feeling of panic deep in her stomach. But why? She’s not a self-doubter, not suspicious or jealous, so what is causing this unsettling unfamiliar feeling?

Suddenly, she is jolted from her slumber by a scratching at the kitchen door. She realises that she has accidently shut Sasha in there. ‘Come here, you poor little girl. Mummy’s just having a strange few days my gorgeous,’ she says as she opens the patio door and the little dog scampers out onto the tiny patch of lawn, all forgiven!

‘Right! Tea, shower, clothes and then I’ll go next door to check whether Joan has any post that needs collecting... in that order!’ she says aloud to herself in an effort to pull herself together. She flicks the kettle on and glances over at the keyring holder on the wall under the cupboards where she had hung her neighbour’s key yesterday. She remembers hanging it there. The little embroidered rose... she opens the cupboards checking between the pots of herbs and packets of pasta, but she can’t see it.

‘Oh great, just to top it all, I’ve lost Joan’s key as well,’ she moans desperately, dropping her head into her arms on the kitchen surface, feeling totally defeated.

Then the front door bangs shut. Isabel simply lifts up her arms and staggers into a welcome hug from Paul. ‘That was quick,’ she mumbles gratefully. After a few minutes of blissful comfort in his arms she looks up at him, ‘would you do me the biggest favour? Could you bring me up a cup of tea? I’m going to take your advice and get into the bath. I think I’m going mad!’ she says as she slips from his arms and pads over to the stairs.

‘Oh sweetheart,’ he laughs softly, shaking his head lovingly as if consoling a small child. ‘I’ll be up in a few minutes.’

C
laire sits cross-legged holding her mobile in her hands, staring at the blank screen, occasionally pressing the small button on the side causing the screen to illuminate for a few seconds. It reveals the photo of her, with her two best friends in the world, on a night out in Plymouth a few months ago. All laughing, holding up glasses of sparkling wine, leaning against the bar with the brightly coloured bottles of spirits lined-up on the shelves behind them. Rachel looks glam, as always, in her tight red dress with a plunging neckline. Isabel, demure but exotic with her dark hair tumbling over her bare tanned shoulders, in a sleeveless chiffon turquoise top over skinny jeans. But then she focuses on herself, in her black jeans, UGG boots and her favourite Rolling Stones t-shirt.
Why would anyone find me attractive?
she thinks.

She throws her phone onto the sofa next to her and, as it bounces off a black and white union jack scatter cushion, it lands screen-up and begins to ring. Isabel’s name is flashing as the old-fashioned drilling ring tone fills her silent apartment. She doesn’t want to press the ‘ignore’ button in case Isabel suspects that she is avoiding her. Maybe she suspects something anyway? ‘Shit. I can’t talk to her now,’ she says aloud to Frank, her ginger cat, as he stares at her with his unblinking feline eyes. A non-committal, aloof stare, but still, not uncaring. The phone stops ringing.
I’ll have to face her at some point
, she thinks, biting her bottom lip as tears of guilt begin to blur her vision and Frank the cat slips stealthily from the room to the comfort of Claire’s bed.

I
sabel looks at the time on her phone: 11.30. Surely Claire must be up by now? She drops her mobile on the bed and heads back to the bathroom to dry her hair. The smell of smoke from last night has gone but, just in case, she sprays herself liberally with the light musky scent of Giorgio, Beverley Hills. It instantly lifts her mood. Her legs still ache from yesterday’s run, but that makes her feel slightly less guilty about not feeling up to training with Paul this afternoon. She usually enjoys the challenge of trying to keep pace with him along the cliff paths, Sasha always covering twice the distance, running backwards and forwards in-between them, confidently leading the way.

Paul trains twice a week with the local football team and Sunday is usually match day. She might not even be able to go and watch him play tomorrow, if she can’t get her school work done today.

‘Paul?’ she shouts from the landing, ‘I might just drive over to Claire’s in a bit. You’ve probably already guessed that I’m not up for running today!’

He appears at the bottom of the stairs in his jeans and a black and grey striped rugby shirt holding a spatula.

‘I’ve made your favourite though Iz. Fried eggs and mushrooms on toast,’ he smiles, waving the spatula around, ‘then I thought we could go for a walk with Sasha instead. Its beautiful out there’ he indicates with the utensil, leaving the window speckled with butter. ‘Oops!’ he laughs, as he runs back to the kitchen.

‘Claire has a match today anyway,’ he shouts up.

Isabel frowns and leans over the balustrade, ‘I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to Claire?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ he shouts above the sizzling pans, ‘Craig told me last night that the girls are playing against Torquay today.’

Well, that’s bloody strange that Claire would have had so much to drink last night, knowing she had to play football today. Then again, it could explain why she wasn’t picking up her phone.

The day was improving at last. After a rocky start, the fizzy feeling of panic in the pit of her stomach had almost dissipated completely. Paul even found Joan’s key. It had been there all along apparently.
Must have been a hangover-induced bout of insanity
, Isabel supposes.

With the warm wind on her face, her trainers sinking into the pebbly shoreline of Connarway Cove, she watches as Paul runs ahead, the little rucksack bouncing on his back. He retrieves a soggy tennis ball and throws it into the shallow waves for Sasha. She lifts her face to the sun and thinks about Rachel and Stephen’s wedding and wonders if Paul will be so romantic in his proposal. Not here on the beach of course, this is Rachel’s place; not in public either, that’s just embarrassing. Paul turns in the distance and points to Sasha swimming confidently back with the ball in her mouth. They both laugh and clap proudly. The little dog rolls frantically on her back in a sandy patch further up the beach in an attempt to dry herself, her little paws dancing in the air. She watches as Paul jogs over to a little sheltered spot, out of the wind against the cliffs, and begins to lay out the towels. He rummages in the rucksack for a foil wrapped sandwich, checking he has the one without mayonnaise. He holds it in the air, patting the towel next to him, signalling Isabel to join him. She smiles weakly, still feeling the after effects of the night before, and saunters over to their picnic spot.

‘Come on lazy bones. There’s a cheese, lettuce and mayo baguette here with your name on it. Instant hangover cure, I promise!’

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her jeans. ‘Claire?’ Isabel stops in her tracks, ‘I tried calling earlier but there was no answer. Paul said that you had a match today?’ There was a pause at the other end.

‘Claire, you still there?’ she turns to face the other direction in case there’s a problem with the signal, her index finger in her left ear, blocking out the wind.

‘Yeah, yeah listen, we have to talk. Where are you?’ she sounds serious, scared almost.

‘I’m on the beach with Paul. Look, Claire, are you alright? I mean I saw you last night... outside the pub...’

‘You saw me with Paul?’ she asks, shocked.

‘With
Paul
? You were with
Paul?
My
Paul? I don’t understand. He said he was at Craig’s and I saw you run to the toilets. I thought you had a new man. What the
hell
is going on Claire?’ she swings around to face Paul who is on his feet, the feeling of overwhelming panic and jealousy causing her to shake with anger. ‘You’d better tell me fucking quickly because I don’t like the sound of where this is leading.’ Isabel can feel the breath tighten in her throat and the panic rising through her chest. Her eyes darting from one side of the beach to the other, but without seeing the landscape. Images of Paul and Claire already fill her mind. Rolling around naked, together on the floor of her apartment. Claire’s long blonde hair streaming down her back, her head tilted back in ecstasy and Paul gripping her narrow hips, her small pert breasts glistening with perspiration.

‘Isabel? Are you there? For god’s sake listen to me. It’s not what you think.’

Isabel is frozen to the spot, finding it hard to tear her mind away from the sick, erotic scenes that are overwhelming her imagination.

‘You
bitch!
’ she shouts, and jabs the red button on her phone. Paul is walking slowly towards her, guilty as hell, his hands reaching out to her, imploring, in a desperate attempt to calm her down.

She breaks into a run, away from Paul, tears streaming down her face, no idea where she is going. All the plans for their future, her dreams of one of those detached houses in the village of their own one day, her promotion at school, children one day maybe... her whole life, all those plans that made so much sense yesterday, are now scrambled into a void of confusion. Torn apart.

She stumbles headlong across the beach, not caring if anyone sees her or what they think. She is only aware of the blood pumping in her ears as her feet hit the solid tarmac of the road. She has no idea where she is. Her vision blurred by tears and her legs propelling her faster and faster, driven by a fierce jealousy ripping through her whole body. Every ragged breath that she exhales sounds like a deep growl as the sobs catch in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Suddenly she hears a strange thud and crack. Slowly she becomes aware that her legs have stopped running. The pain of her emotions is being overwhelmed by a different pain, incredibly intense, somewhere in her jaw. Her tears continue their path down her cheeks, but her eyes slowly begin to close and a strange, muffled welcoming darkness begins to close in around her. Then, there is nothing.