Jemma, on the other hand, deserves everything that’s coming to her. I give her a smile, at which she looks utterly petrified. I must appear a little insane, I suppose. Straightening my face, I glance back to Kara, then…Shit. ‘Big mistake. Put it back.’ I bang the sharp point of the knife hard down on the worktop as she delves in the utensil drawer, plainly looking forsomething to stick me with. ‘Unless you want to part company with your fingers, that is?’
Dropping the paring knife she’s clutching, she retracts her hand a split second before I slam the drawer shut.
Her gaze shoots towards me and I note another flash of fury in her fiery green eyes. Perhaps she deserves a similar fate after all.
‘Over there.’ I nod her towards the table, wait patiently while she sits. Then, ‘Did you know there’s a genetic link?’ I ask, pondering what I’d learned online when I’d cared enough about Jack to want to help him. ‘On his father’s side, I mean. I tried to tell Jack, but?—’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Kara speaks over me.
I note the irritation in her voice but decide to let it go. ‘Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt?’ I enquire, smiling pleasantly.
I suppose waiting to know where this is going must seem like torture to them. They have no idea what torture is. When they’ve been submerged under fathoms of water, their lungs burning, wondering which of their fears is greater, dying or surfacing to find their husband waiting, then they’ll know.
‘He’s coercive,’ I continue as she looks away. ‘Subtly so. You know, in a way that makes you constantly question yourself. Passive coercion, I think it’s called, isn’t it, Jemma?’
I glance for confirmation at our resident counsellor, whose major achievement in life is fucking up other people’s lives. She averts her gaze, too, as she would.
‘He said I had trust issues, didn’t he, Jemma? Remember, I told you.’
I wait. She’s now studiously avoiding eye contact. I wonder why? ‘According to Jack, the problems in our relationship were all due to the fact that I couldn’t trust him because I thoughtI was a bad person. He said I didn’t believe I was worth loving. We’d argued, I can’t remember about what, probably him disappearing off to finish some job that was more important than our anniversary or Evie’s school play, her parents’ evening. I recall being stuffed full of guilt expecting him to do the impossible and be in two places at once, not liking myself for causing the argument. I convinced myself he was right. I didn’t think I was worth loving, unsurprisingly, given that my own mother didn’t even like me.’
It’s my turn to glance away now, ridiculous tears brimming in my eyes. I squeeze them back, reminding myself why I’m here: because Jack can’t be allowed to get away with all he’s done, to walk away unscathed, building a new life for himself, destroying another woman’s in the process. His daughter’s life.
‘He never let it drop.’ Steeling my resolve, I glance back at the woman I’m beginning to see as his next victim. ‘He would bring it up whenever he wanted to derail conversation about himself, his behaviour, his shifting moods. Hemademe into the monster he claims I was – in Evie’s eyes, everyone’s eyes – telling me I wasn’t worthy of all the love and attention he lavished on me. Of all the effort he put into our marriage when I clearly didn’t love or care for him. Little by little stripping away my confidence until I began to believe that I was evil. I wasn’t. I was depressed, down sometimes. Angry others. I don’t think that’s a crime any more, but I did then. We argued about it constantly. I could never win. I gave up when he became physically angry, banging cupboards, hitting door frames, threatening to leave me. I couldn’t understand why he was doing it, seeming towantme not to like myself because he clearly didn’t. I didn’t dare tackle him about it, knowing full well he would tell me it was all in my mind and that he loved me. I should have called his bluff, told him to go, but I was scared. I’d become reliant on him, desperate for his approval, pathetically so. My confidence was so shatteredby then I couldn’t even make basic decisions without him, about what to wear, how to be around people. I didn’t think I could cope without him.’ I stop, shrugging away the pain. ‘I see it all so much more clearly now. He’s gaslighting you, Kara. Surely you must see that?’
Clearly shocked and dubious in equal measure, Kara exchanges glances with an equally dubious Jemma. Does she imagine that they can somehow work together, that Jemma is selfless enough to put herself at risk to save her? Poor deluded creature.
‘He’ll deny it all, of course, insisting he’s a paragon of virtue. That I’m paranoid, unhinged, have “mental issues”.’ I press on, desperate to make her see the side of him she clearly hasn’t. ‘In a way, he’s right to deny it. There’s a part of him that would be appalled by his behaviour. There’s another part, though, that enjoys the power he has over women and gains pleasure from watching them begin to question every aspect of themselves. His father’s the same. Did he tell you about him?’ I enquire, genuinely interested.
She shakes her head. ‘Not much,’ she murmurs, glancing furtively around, undoubtedly for some other weapon she can subdue me or club me to death with. ‘He told me he’d lost his family in a house fire, but he found it difficult to talk about.’
I blink at her in amazement. He really has done a job on her, hasn’t he? ‘Obviously, it would be,’ I say, gauging her carefully. ‘And I suppose he made you feel awful, as if you’d dragged even that much information from him?’
‘No.’ She shakes her head, flustered, but I can see from her uncertainty that that was exactly how she’d felt: guilty.
‘Jemma would argue that no one else can make you feel anything you don’t want to. Wouldn’t you, Jemma?’ My gaze travels again to her.
She closes her eyes, as if silently praying. I wonder if she imagines, after what she’s done, that God will think she’s worth saving.
‘It’s crap, obviously,’ I go on. ‘I mean, if someone can make you question your own sanity, it has to be crap, doesn’t it?’
There’s a spark of defiance in Jemma’s eyes as she meets my gaze at last. I smile and cross my arms over my chest, the knife in one hand in order to remind her how very sharp it is, then look back to Kara. ‘Do you still not get it?’ I ask. ‘He accused me of being the one suffering some personality disorder, said it was me who was unpredictable. He even asked me if I was hormonal once, kindly of course, but that was the killer, aimed at making me question myself. He claimed I was the violent one, never aware that it was him who instigated the violence. Never realising that I was trying to fight back. The symptoms he described werehis, not mine.’
Kara simply looks at me. There’s no glancing nervously away this time. Instead, she eyes me steadily, clearly challenging me. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she says calmly.
I look her over in astonishment. Does she not realise that I hold all the cards: the knife, knowledge of my mother and Evie’s whereabouts? Stubborn though Lina is, I’m not sure how much longer she can lie on the cold kitchen floor. Okay, so this woman might not care that much about her, and who could blame her, but she does care about Evie. She won’t let any harm come to her.
‘You’re lying, Natalia,’ she goes on, surprising me. ‘You were with Jack longer than me, admittedly, but you don’t know him. From what I gather, your marriage was a complete disaster, because you lied about everything, just as you’re lying now.’
I’m dumbfounded. The woman who set out to steal my husband, and who would no doubt lie through herteeth denying she had, has decided to fight back?
‘Iknow him,’ she insists, growing bold. ‘He’s never been anything but kind and caring. He loves me, and he loves his daughter with his bones. No harm had better come to her, Natalia, I’m warning you.’
She’s warningme?Who does she think she is? ‘So you’re telling me you weren’t shocked by his reaction to my mother turning up,’ I counter, ‘telling you thetruthabout him? His violent reaction?’
Her gaze falters. I thought it might.
‘He’s notcaring,’ I go on while I have her on the wrong foot. ‘Hehasno genuine feelings. He’s impervious to feelings.’
