It’s Charlie.
51
HENRY
July 2024 Bristol
Henry lets himself into the house and switches on the hall light. He jumps when he sees Marielle sitting at the bottom of the stairs in her silk nightdress, looking ethereal. She’s stroking the cat they’ve ‘adopted’ and nicknamed Caramac because of his colour. The cat leaps out of her arms when he sees Henry, who has never had any affinity with animals. It’s always surprised him that Marielle does.
His hand goes to his heart. ‘Bloody hell, Mari! I thought you were asleep.’
‘It’s time, Henry.’
He pauses by the radiator to take off his boat shoes, wondering why she always has to be so dramatic. He wants to shout at her that she’s not living in her very ownfilm noir. But he doesn’t, of course. Not once in all the years they’ve been married has he ever raised his voice to her. He’s never wanted to be like his father.
She stands up and walks down the remaining stairs to where he’s standing. He’s bone tired and just wants to goto bed. He’d hoped if he stayed out long enough she’d be asleep when he got home.
‘Henry? Did you hear me? I said it’s time.’
He turns to face her. ‘I know.’
‘Do you?’
He sighs. ‘Yes. I do.’
She folds her arms, her expression closed. ‘You don’t think it will work, do you?’
He knows it won’t. How can it? But he doesn’t say so. He knows how much hope she has pinned to this. It’s what’s kept her going all these years.
She moves towards him, tucks her hand into his and presses her body against him. Straight away he feels desire surge. She’s always known how to entice him. Wordlessly she leads him upstairs to their bedroom and starts to peel off his shirt.
‘This will be the end of it?’ he asks, as she reaches up to kiss his neck.
‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ Her breath is hot against his sticky skin.
‘You said that before.’
‘I mean it this time.’
He just wants it to be over, even though he knows it never can be.
Hugh Warrington. That was his first mistake.
He should never have trusted that man. And he should have known he’d find a way to crawl out of the woodwork and back into his life. At least now Hugh can’t do any more damage. He’s been careful to go back over those clumsily dropped breadcrumbs, stamping them out. One by one.
Marielle pushes him back onto the bed. He knows the sudden passion she has for him is because of what she plans to do. Nothing excites her more. How can he tell her he’s lost the taste for it? She was right when she accused him of being too old. It’s true. He just wants a quiet life now. But that’s never going to happen while he’s with Marielle. She’ll keep on and on and on and on until her last breath.
‘Tomorrow, then,’ she murmurs.
‘Sure,’ he mumbles, with a mixture of desire and dread. ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’
52
LENA
I continue to watch in bewilderment as Charlie moves away from the hedge and makes his way back across the lawn and out through the gate, closing it behind him.
My first thought is Rufus. If Charlie is sneaking around in my garden at midnight then he’s left our son alone. I know he’s seventeen and perfectly capable of staying anywhere on his own, but what is the point of him being with Charlie this weekend if his dad is just going to sod off?
