‘I don’t think it is either.’
‘Anyway, I tried looking at it another way. What if Rick trapped Willow by deliberately getting her pregnant? When you look at it that way round, it all fits. On the face of it she is the classic ditzy people-pleaser and would be an ideal victim for being manipulated.’
‘For what reason though?’
‘Power. It’s always about power and being in control, to cover up some underlying inadequacy.’
It was on the tip of Ellis’s tongue to say that she could be describing her own father, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Instead he tried to decide if even half of what Martha had said about Rick could be true. And if it was, what could any of them do?
Chapter Fifty-One
Willow had spent most of the morning hunting for her mobile as well as the charging cable for her laptop, the battery of which was dead. In the end, she gave up looking and packed a small suitcase. Then she wrote a note for Rick, which she left propped up on the worktop by the coffee machine. Along with the diamond ring he’d given her.
Now, looking out of the train window as it swept through the countryside that was gilded with autumnal shades of gold and russet in the October sunshine, she wondered about the note she had written. It had taken her several attempts to get it right, or as right as it could ever be. She just hoped that once he’d calmed down, Rick would see things the way she did, that it had been a mistake between them. They were oil and water, sliding around each other, but never truly becoming one.
Not that she’d put anything about oil and water in the note, there had been no point using metaphors when she had to be straight with Rick.
I’m very sorry,she had written,but I seem to do nothing but annoy you these days and so I’m going to Mum’s. I know you won’t like it, but I think it’s for the best.
I know also that you care about me and that you were upset at losing your temper the way you did last night, and that it was only because you’d been worried about me being out so late, but you scared me. You probably didn’t mean to, but you need to know that you did, and that can’t be good for our baby. It would be better for us both if you didn’t contact me for a few days. I need time to think, and I believe you do as well.
Take care and please don’t be too cross with me.
Willow
She knew the manner in which she’d signed the note would hurt Rick. He would have wanted to read the words,With all my love, Willow.Or something similar. But she didn’t love him. Oh, she’d tried. She’d tried so very hard to give him what he wanted from her. For a while she had almost believed that she did love him, but that was because she’d needed to believe everything would work out. Love conquered all, that was the theory, wasn’t it?
It was possible that she was incapable of truly loving anyone, that she was damaged goods destined always to chase the dream of somebody to love and to be loved in return, but failing miserably. Was it her unlovability that provoked Rick and brought out the worst in him?
A vigorous movement inside her made her aware of the life she and Rick had created together. The baby had been restless for most of last night, twisting and turning, shoving and poking, and had kept Willow awake while she lay rigidly on her side with her back to Rick. Not that she had expected to sleep. Reluctant to get in bed with him – she had only done so because she’d been afraid what he might say or do if she didn’t – she had been too on edge to sleep,too shocked at what he had done to her and what the future now held.
Her greatest fear, greater than how cross Rick was going to be with her when he discovered she’d gone, was whether she would be capable of loving their child in the way any child deserved to be loved. She hoped with all her heart that she could.
At Havant station, and aware that she should have found a payphone to call home to let Mum know she was on her way, Willow found a taxi to take her to Tilsham.
‘You look like you’ve been in the wars,’ the man said.
Puzzled, Willow stared at him as he put her case in the boot of his car. Then she remembered that her sunglasses only partially covered her painfully bruised eye and cheek, and the scarf she’d put on to hide her swollen mouth had slid down and her split lip was fully exposed. ‘My own stupid fault,’ she said with a trilling little laugh. ‘I clumsily missed my footing while out shopping yesterday. I’m one of those hopeless people who can trip over her own shadow.’
He cocked his head and held the car door open for her to climb in, saying, ‘In your condition you need to take more care. When’s the baby due?’
‘I have another eight weeks to go, so don’t worry, I’m not about to ask you to take me to the nearest hospital.’ She gave another trilling laugh which even to her ears sounding annoying and unconvincing.
‘Not long, then,’ he said, settling himself behind the wheel of the car. ‘Where to?’
She gave him the address and wondered how many more lies she would tell in the coming days.
‘Promise me you won’t tell anyone,’ Rick had said last night while tearing off a square of kitchen roll and dabbing gently at her bleeding mouth. He’d said again how sorry he was and repeated that she must have bitten her lip when his hand made contact. How reasonable he’d made it sound, as though it had been her fault that he’d hurt her.
Maybe it was. Maybe, as the taxi driver had said, she needed to take more care of herself. None of this would have happened if she’d had the sense not to stay out so late and give Rick cause to worry about her.
This morning when he was showered, shaved and dressed and had made her a cup of tea before he’d left for work, he’d helpfully suggested she put a cold compress against her eye and cheek. He’d then made her promise she would stay in for the day and reminded her of the promise she’d made the night before, that she wasn’t ever to tell anyone what he’d done. He’d said he wouldn’t be able to take the shame of anyone knowing. Well, that made two of them.
Of those two promises she’d made, she’d already broken one by leaving the flat. But then she suspected the promise Rick had made to her last night wouldn’t be one he would be able to keep. The blazing anger she’d seen in his eyes just before the first blow had struck convinced her that he had been itching to slap her for some time, and that until then he’d somehow managed to control himself. In that split second when he’d raised his hand, had it felt like an enormous and welcome relief to him? Had he momentarily relished the sensation of complete release, of letting go of the frustration and tension within him that had been building?
As confused as she felt by the mix of her own emotions, there was one that refused to quieten in her mind. Had she driven Rick to lose his temper? Had she pushed him too far with her carelessness and lack of thought? Had she, as she’d done before, brought this on herself?
Was this how Mum had felt? Had she blamed herself for those times when Dad had lost control and hit her? Willow had only witnessed it happen on a couple of occasions, both of them when she was very young. The first time had been when she’d woken from a bad dream and, unable to get back to sleep, and hearing a strange noise coming from downstairs, she had crept out onto the landing to see what was going on. Peering between the banisters, she had seen through the open door of the sitting room to where her father stood with his fist raised and where Mum was backing away from him, her hands covering her face. Frightened, Willow had fled to her bedroom and in the morning, she had convinced herself that she must have dreamt what she’d seen, because Mum and Dad were acting just as they always did at the breakfast table, smiling and chatting quite normally. If Dad had hit Mum, surely she’d be upset? And anyway, Dad wouldn’t do something like that, would he?
