Obsession, p.28
Obsession, page 28
I continued to back-peddle. Until my back banged against the kitchen units. Nowhere to go. Jake smiled at me. He reached out toward the knife block. His hand hovered there but then he took it back and I slumped in relief for a moment before renewing my defensive position.
‘It tore me apart,’ he said. ‘I’d built her up so much in my head, and it tore me apart to see her with him.’
‘Wesley?’
‘I had to punish him. Then I went to see her. But… I was so mad. With her. With him. With everyone. With my life.’ He said those last words with pure hatred.
‘But then she opened the door…’
He shook his head. He looked like he might break down any second. A far better outcome than others. Would that give me the chance to get away?
‘She opened the door and I realised… she was exactly as I imagined.’
What did that even mean?
‘I didn’t hurt her,’ he added. ‘I could never have hurt her.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘When I found out she was dead… I wanted to find the bastard as much as you do. I had to find him.’
I shook my head, opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t find the words. ‘Wait,’ I said, and to my surprise he paused and stayed perfectly still. My brain rumbled. ‘You… you hired Graham Evans.’
His eyes pinched. No acknowledgement, or denial. But it made sense, didn’t it? I recalled how Graham had initially been so tentative about telling me the last name of the four people who the fingerprint evidence belonged to. Perhaps because of Jake’s prominence in the public eye, but also because he was Graham’s client.
‘You hired him. But…’
‘You’ve been speaking to Evans?’
I nodded.
‘He’s as much a liar as the rest of them.’
‘He told me you hadn’t paid him. That you fell out with him because of it. That’s why he stopped his work.’
Jake shook his head. ‘He stopped his work because he’s a lowlife grifter.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You’ve been speaking to Evans,’ he said again. ‘That’s why you’re here. That’s why you think I did it. It’s because of him.’
He took another step toward me.
‘Please, Jake. I just want to go.’
‘Put the knife down.’
‘Let me go.’
‘Put the knife down.’
I didn’t.
Then he lunged for me.
I swooshed the knife through the air but it made no contact. He ducked low, as though to rugby tackle me and slam me up against the wall. I side-stepped and hammered my elbow down onto him. Not a slick move really, just a feeble, desperate attempt to keep him away from me. Maybe I got lucky, or maybe he was simply too drunk, but as I bashed him he slipped or lost his footing or… I don’t know. He stumbled and slid on the tiles and smacked his head against the kitchen unit with a crash and thudded to the floor and for a moment he lay there unmoving.
Blood dribbled down the side of his head.
Was he seriously hurt?
‘Jake?’
He groaned. Held a hand to his temple.
‘I…’
But I really didn’t know what to say.
So I turned and ran.
‘I didn’t kill her!’ Jake shouted out, his raised voice causing me to jump.
I spun. Expected for him to be lunging for me again, but he remained slumped in the kitchen, glaring at me. I stopped moving.
‘I didn’t kill her!’ he shouted again.
I didn’t respond. Still holding on to the knife, I ran out of there as quickly as I could.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
PETE
Summer
He’d tried calling Eve several times since he’d last spoken to Beth. No answer. So it looked like Beth hadn’t backed down on the punishment for their daughter. But was the phone confiscation only to punish the youngster, or to punish Pete too? The fact Beth was also now ignoring his calls suggested the latter. Shouldn’t he have a say in how their daughter was disciplined? Shouldn’t he get the chance to speak to her at least, in order to… what?
‘Mate, you’re…’
‘Yeah?’ Pete said.
‘Swaying.’
Yes. He was. He realised now. He’d thought the movement was only the boats on the marina, bobbing up and down on the water, but now he realised the buildings around the yachts were moving too. The stars in the sky danced to some unheard beat.
No, he was moving. Swaying, as Tom had said.
Fuck, his mind was melted. He didn’t do well on weed.
‘Good stuff, isn’t it?’ Tom said, taking another puff from the spliff before he handed it over to Pete.
‘Strong,’ was all Pete said to that.
He took a long drag and held the smoke in until his brain swirled and his stomach churned. Then he blew out. Probably a bad idea to have held on so long, given the effect it’d already had on him.
‘How you boys getting on?’ Kenny said, staggering out onto the balcony with another bottle of cheap brandy in his hand. They’d polished off the first one already. Had found a convenience store in the town centre that sold all sorts of cheap local booze. They’d – or perhaps, John, on behalf of them – had decided that if they got drunk in the hotel on paint-stripper – as he’d put it – they’d use the saved money to go to the trendy nightclub ‘everyone’ had been talking about. Quite who the everyone was that John referred to, Pete didn’t know. Probably that weirdo Wes and his friends. Did Pete really want to go to a posh nightclub full of young, rich posers like that? Young, rich, drug-dealing posers at that.
Kenny took a seat. Kind of. The balcony only had two chairs but he’d dragged out a footstool from the bedroom.
‘Where’s John at?’ Tom asked.
‘Problems with the missus. He’s next door.’
Nothing more was said about that. All three of Pete’s friends had, to some extent, been fending off their spouses during this holiday, and had various tales of woe. Nothing serious. Just general domestic grief, but what was wrong with them all? A group of forty-somethings and it seemed like not one of them had a normal, happy, healthy relationship. Pete had never seen him and his friends as being anything other than regular, everyday guys. Good guys.
After some of the things he’d seen and heard this holiday, now he wasn’t so sure. About anything really.
‘Get that down your neck,’ Kenny said, handing the glass – half-filled with neat brandy – to Pete.
He took the glass. Took a sip. Swallowed then gasped as the alcohol stung his throat. ‘Definitely paint-stripper,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
Kenny and Tom both laughed. Pete relaxed back into his chair. His eyes once more found the apartment across the marina. He’d hardly looked away from her. Hadn’t said a word about her to his friends. Did they know he was concentrating so hard in that direction?
Had they seen her too?
He wouldn’t say anything. That would spoil her. The image of her. The idea of her. Whatever that was. She was his little secret. He didn’t want to share her.
‘What did that Wes guy do to you then?’ Tom asked Kenny.
Pete looked back to his friend. He’d mentioned to Tom about how spooked Kenny seemed when he’d come out of the apartment. He hadn’t meant for Tom to pass it on, but… what more had he expected, really?
Kenny’s face turned sour. ‘What you talking about?’ He glared at Pete who shrugged.
‘When you came out, you were all…’ Pete’s weary brain couldn’t find the words.
‘All what?’ Kenny challenged.
Tom squirmed in his chair, as though realising he’d caused this scene. Or maybe was simply relishing what came next.
‘I just thought… that Wes guy must have said something to you. Or done something to you.’
‘Like what?’ Kenny said.
One side of Pete’s brain told him stop. The part overrun by cheap brandy and weed told him to carry on. And won out.
He laughed. ‘Dunno. Thought maybe he’d got you to pull your shorts down or something. Embarrass you in front of his friends. Have a good laugh at tiny little Kenny.’
Pete waggled his pinkie as he said that. Kenny got the insult. His face…
Tom laughed. ‘Pete, you’ve had a bit too much, mate.’ He reached out to take the brandy off him but Pete yanked it back, sending a glob of the sticky liquid over his shorts and leg.
‘Funny man,’ Kenny said, still holding Pete’s eye. ‘Remember I was the one who had the balls to go in there and get the gear.’
‘It doesn’t take balls to buy drugs,’ Pete said. ‘Any dumb twat can do it. In fact, being a dumb twat probably helps.’
Kenny jumped up from his stool. Pete didn’t even flinch. If Kenny wanted to pummel him, so be it. Pete was beyond caring.
Tom put an arm out to hold Kenny back. The macho stand-off didn’t last long.
‘Why don’t you go and check on John,’ Tom said to Kenny, who batted his friend’s arm away with a huff.
‘You need to lighten up,’ Kenny said to Pete.
‘And you need to grow up,’ Pete said to him. ‘I didn’t come here to play up to some drug-dealing little prick.’
‘Is your brain warped?’
‘Isn’t that why we’re going to this club? You think he’s going to be your mate? Give you a million quid for sucking his co–’
‘You piece of shit.’
Kenny lunged forward. Pete had just enough time to bring his hands up in defence. Kenny clattered into him sending Pete and his chair falling backward. A swinging fist caught Pete in the eye. His flailing arms caught Kenny… somewhere. Pete landed with a thump on the balcony floor.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Tom yelled, and moments later he was dragging Kenny back up.
Pete lay there, disorientated, as Kenny looked down on him. He opened his mouth to say something but Tom got there first. He shoved Kenny in the chest.
‘Leave it. Go and check on John.’
Kenny grumbled but then turned and left. Pete went to get up. Tom set his sights on him.
‘Are you demented or something?’
Pete said nothing. He pulled himself and his chair up and sat back down and grabbed his glass and downed his brandy.
‘I’m not sure you need any more of that?’
‘You sound like my ex-wife.’
Tom shook his head as he sat back down too. ‘So that’s what this is about? Beth? Eve?’
Pete said nothing.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Like Tom was some sort of trained psychotherapist.
‘I’ve nothing,’ Pete said, shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all. The ache in his chest as he spoke surprised him too. ‘I’ve lost everything. Everything I loved.’
‘Mate, Eve will always be yours. And she’ll always love you. Beth knows that too.’
‘I’m not talking about Eve.’
The situation with his daughter was far from ideal, but Tom was right, Eve was still his. She still called him Dad, despite Beth’s new man being on the scene. She still got excited to see him, she looked up to him, listened to him.
Which was perhaps part of the problem.
‘Then what?’ Tom said, looking surprised.
Pete held his friend’s eye. He slowly shook his head. Tom looked so confused. But then… Pete had never told a soul about this.
Why now? Because he had to. The truth was tearing him up inside. Three years of torment. He couldn’t take it any longer.
‘There’s someone else?’ Tom said.
‘There was.’
‘Is that why you and Beth–’
‘Yes.’
‘You never told me.’
He didn’t sound disappointed. More surprised.
‘This was before the crash?’ Tom asked.
Pete nodded.
‘And then…’
‘I really need a drink,’ Pete said, reaching for the bottle of brandy. He expected Tom to pull it away but he simply sat there looking a little dumbfounded. Pete poured a good few measures then took a swig.
Oblivion. That’s what he craved. How had he fallen so far? Had he even reached the bottom yet?
‘Pete, mate, you know… if you need to talk about this… I’m… don’t keep it locked in. It’ll eat at you.’
It was a bit late for that.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Tom looked so awkward. ‘What happened?’ Tom said eventually. ‘Between you and… her. You’re not with her now, are you?’
Pete shook his head.
‘It ended badly?’
‘You can’t even imagine.’
Tom shook his head as though struggling to understand. Try living it, Pete thought.
‘Who was it?’ Tom asked.
Pete didn’t answer straight away. He’d already said too much.
Then came the knock on the door.
Tom didn’t look from Pete for a few seconds, as though hoping he’d still answer the question, but the moment had already passed.
Tom wandered off to leave Pete stewing with his thoughts, and his most painful of memories. All of his own making.
‘You ready, gents?’ came John’s upbeat voice from inside the room.
Hushed voices followed. Tom relaying his concerns over Pete to the other two?
Seconds later John appeared at the balcony door, Tom over his shoulder. Kenny didn’t bother to make an appearance.
‘You coming?’ John said, not very enthusiastically, as though already sensing he knew the answer. What had Tom said to them?
‘I’m gonna give it a miss,’ Pete said.
John looked disappointed. Tom looked concerned.
‘Chin up, mate,’ John said before moving back inside.
‘Just… take it easy,’ Tom said, as though that was the best he could come up with.
And that was all the support he got. Moments later his friends were gone, leaving Pete alone on the balcony with his brandy, his tormenting thoughts, and his now uninterrupted view of her.
One positive at least.
Had this been his aim all along? Not exactly. But he’d settle for it tonight.
He watched her. Couldn’t take his eyes off her. How long? It didn’t matter. He was mesmerised. But all the while, even though his attention was on her, his mind was thinking of someone else.
They were so alike…
He could go over there. He knew where she lived.
But to say and do what?
It didn’t matter. He wanted to see her. He had to see her. It’d been too long.
But would that only bring more disappointment?
He downed the brandy, mind just about set. Then something unexpected happened.
He’d only looked away for a second but she’d gone. The lights were on, but where was she?
He leaned forward in his chair, searching.
No. There she was. Coming back through the kitchen… except… she wasn’t alone. She moved up to the windows. To close the curtains. This wasn’t what she normally did.
The person behind her came into view.
‘No fucking way.’
And like that, she was gone.
Just like every woman he’d loved.
Except this woman didn’t love him. Nor did she owe him anything. He didn’t even know her. And yet, the sense of being cheated burned in his chest.
He looked from the now darkened windows of her apartment to the brandy bottle. Back and forth. One or the other.
Hold back. Or let go.
He didn’t know.
With a growl of frustration he reached for the bottle. He poured the rest of it into his glass. Put the glass to his lips.
His stomach growled.
He was going to be sick.
Glass down, he rushed for the bathroom. Fell to his knees. Head over the toilet bowl. It stank. His stomach churned even more, but… nothing happened.
He lifted his head back up and slumped against the bathroom wall and groaned in anguish. This holiday… he thought it’d help. Everyone said it’d be good for him. Relax. Unwind. He’d never felt so wound up and confused and tormented in his life.
At least he wasn’t spewing everywhere. Though maybe it would have helped. He hauled himself upright. His brain was sloshy, his legs wobbly. He grasped the sink and splashed cold water onto his face. A bit of clarity. He wished he could find more.
He stumbled out into the bedroom, the balcony his aim. But he got distracted by the little piece of paper on the TV unit. ‘What the…’ He moved over.
A hand-written note. A little white pill sat on top.
Give yourself a boost.
No sign-off, but he guessed whose writing it was, and also what the pill was.
Would that really help tonight? Well, it surely couldn’t make anything worse.
He popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed it dry. He wished he’d had the strength to bin the drug, but it was done now. He went back to the bathroom and drank three full glasses of water then moved as steadily as he could back to the balcony, his brain already mellowing, the buzz already arriving as he found his chair.
Then his eyes found the apartment windows. Curtains open again? Odd. Although the lights weren’t on. Not as bright as before, anyway. He was sure he could see her moving about in the near darkness though.
He closed his eyes a few moments. Minutes? He had no clue. His brain rumbled. He couldn’t sit there all night. His friends were out there having fun. So should he.
He bounced up from the chair, surprised at his own agility. A new lease of life, both in body and mind. The effects of the ecstasy, he knew. Whatever.
He hotfooted for the door.
Not the club. He knew where it was, and even if part of him was tempted to go and join his friends, that wasn’t the plan tonight. Tonight was about letting go. Being himself. Doing what he wanted for a change, rather than what he felt others expected of him.
It wasn’t hard to get into the building. The carpet under his foot on the corridor felt strangely soft, like walking on a bed of cotton wool. Walking on a cloud. Floating.
