Between You and Me (28 page)

‘This is preposterous.’ Lucian stands, and makes to grab the paperwork, but Mr Hunter lays his hand on top of it.

‘If you please, Mr Pavlenco.’ Mr Hunter picks up the paperwork and begins to scan through it, flicking through page after page. His gaze rests on a printout of my email correspondence with Radu and he makes a small noise at the back of his throat before meeting my eyes. ‘Charlie, you knew about this? And you kept it quiet?’ There is no mistaking the shock and disappointment in his voice. Shame floods through me, and I open my mouth before hesitating, unsure of whether to brazen it out or not.

‘Stan – I did what was best for the company. I only wanted to do what was best for us all.’ I can’t meet his eyes. Stefan gets to his feet, looking from one to the other of us.

‘Hang on a minute,’ he says. ‘So,
he
’ – he points a finger at Lucian, who is sitting pale and quiet, not making eye contact with anyone – ‘is not Lucian Pavlenco? He’s actually an illegal immigrant who stole someone else’s identity and made a ton of money doing it? And then he ripped his mate off?’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ Alex says. Stefan looks at me incredulously.

‘And you, the lawyer, you knew about it? Jesus, I knew lawyers were unscrupulous, but this is ridiculous.’ He shakes his head in disgust, while Alex smirks in the doorway.

‘I did what I thought was best!’ I shout, slapping my hand down on the boardroom table. ‘I tried to do what was best for everyone concerned, that’s all! I’m not the one who’s done anything wrong here; I only tried to do the best thing for everyone, for me, for Sal, everyone. Stan, please …’ My breathing is ragged and I can feel the tight arms of panic squeezing me, as I rake my fingers through my hair. Everything is ruined. Everything that I’ve worked for has gone up in smoke, just like it did night after night in my nightmares. Anita appears in the doorway again, hands fluttering nervously.

‘Umm … Charlie,’ she begins, as three immigration officers enter the room.
Oh, God, it really is all over. There’s no coming back from this.
Alex’s eyes meet mine triumphantly as the immigration officers explain to Lucian, Radu, whatever his bloody name is, that he will now be arrested and taken to a detention centre until his case is processed. Lucian nods, defeated. As he rises, his wrists held out in front of him to allow the officers to handcuff him, he nods in my direction.

‘It was fun while it lasted. Don’t worry, Charlie, I’m sure we will meet again,’ he says, his eyes a cold, grey lake, and I shiver. I hope to God this is the last time I see ruthless, calculating Lucian Pavlenco. As Lucian is escorted from the building Mr Hunter stands in front of me.

‘Charlie, it’s over. You need to clear your desk and go home. There is no position available for you here any more. You have disgraced the name of Hunter, Crisp and Wilson, and I’m sure the police will be wanting to discuss this matter with you in the near future, so I suggest you don’t stray too far from home. Jesus, Charlie, what were you thinking?’ His manner is cold and emotionless, nothing like the Stan Hunter I have come to know.

On shaky legs I leave the boardroom, staggering past Anita’s desk. She tries to stop me, reaching out with one hand as I pass, but I ignore her, unable to speak. I leave my things – there is nothing I want so badly from my desk that it is worth facing the other people in the office, particularly Geoff. Despair swamps me as I walk through the glass front doors for the last time, not even looking back. It’s over.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

SAL

The weekend is weird and awkward. Knowing what I now know makes it difficult to pretend that everything is going to be OK, but I put on a brave face and make my best effort, trying my hardest to be responsive to you when inside I feel nothing. Even so, it’s still not good enough and you scream at me on Sunday morning for reading the paper instead of giving you the attention you feel you deserve. I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to tell you to go and get some attention from Alex if you need it so badly. Maggie hears you shouting and I have to squash down my anger, your behaviour just reinforcing to me that I have made the right decision. Not long to go and we will be free. Your reign of terror will be over.

On Monday morning I wake and you have already left for the office. I am thankful I don’t have to pretend any more this morning, pretend any more
at all
. By this evening I will be gone and you won’t be able to control me any more. I get up, checking and rechecking that the holdall is packed, my heart beating double-time all the while. I am so nervous that something will go wrong, that you’ll find out before I can get away. My plan is to drop Maggie off at my parents’, and then come back to get our things and lock the house up. Maggie is excited to be going over to see her grandparents and I decide to take your car keys and drive over there. Fuck it; what’s the worst that can happen now? My mother is shocked to see us – I haven’t told her anything because she is a typical, fiery, Italian woman and I couldn’t risk her contacting you to give her a piece of her mind.

‘Mama.’ I lean in and kiss her cheek, her plump hands holding my face.

‘Sally! What are you doing here?’ She smells of baking and hand soap; she smells like my childhood. Tears threaten and I take a deep breath.

‘Mama, I’m coming home.’

An hour later I have explained to my mum briefly what has been happening in our relationship, while my dad keeps Maggie occupied out in the workshop. There are tears, anger, more tears, and by the time Mama has calmed down we are both quite exhausted.

‘Sal, why did you never tell me before?’ Her eyes fill with tears and I hate myself for hurting her.

‘I was ashamed, Mama. Worried that people would think I was just some weak, useless idiot with no backbone. What kind of person lets their partner treat them like that? I just wanted Maggie to have a family, a childhood like we did when we were growing up. I got it so wrong.’

‘Don’t be silly, Sal. You did everything you could. Now we have to get you away. Leave Maggie here and go get your things. If you’re not back here in an hour and a half then I’m coming to get you.’ I smile; my lovely, brave, feisty mum, not afraid of anything. Everything is going to be OK.

The house is silent when I let myself back in, and I take a moment just to drink in the peace and quiet. I had such high hopes for us, you and me and then later on the three of us, when we bought this house. It’s hard to think that all this is over, that I won’t be coming back. I wanted this place to be a haven for us, to bring up our child in a calm, safe environment. Instead, this house has seen anger, pain, blood and suffering and now my decision is made I can see the bad times far outweigh the good. The brief perfect moments when we were a happy family never made up for the bad times, I can see that now, and I should never have stayed as long as I did. I climb the stairs, and stand in the doorway of Maggie’s room one last time before pulling the holdall out from the back of her toy cupboard. I’ve moved it from place to place so many times, terrified you would come across it before I was ready to leave. There is only one last thing left to pack, a small stuffed tiger that Julia and Luca bought for Maggie when she was born. She’s slept with it every night since and to pack it beforehand would have been a dead giveaway. I stuff it into the bag and make my way downstairs. Sitting at the kitchen table, I pull out a pen and try to draft some sort of note to you. I can’t just leave, can’t just take Maggie without letting you know she is safe, even though it shrieks against all my best instincts. I begin to write.

Dear Charlie,

I can’t do this any more. I have tried for so long but it is not fair on Maggie, or us …

My head jerks up as I hear the front door slam. Surely it can’t be you, home already? The signing of the contracts is today, and I was sure you would all be out celebrating until late this evening. It’s only three o’clock – maybe it’s my mum arrived early? I rise from the table, heart hammering in my chest and sweat prickling across my palms, just as you crash through the kitchen door. The fug of whisky rises from you and your eyes are bloodshot, blonde hair standing out at all angles.

‘Charlie? What the …? What’s happened?’ I discreetly try and kick the holdall under the kitchen table, out of your sight, and tuck the pen into my back pocket.

‘It’s
FUCKED
, Sal, is what it is. Fucking fucked. Everything I’ve worked for, all the fucking effort I’ve put in
for you
, has gone down the drain. I am out of a job. The End.’ You drag your hands through your short blonde hair, and judging by the state of it it’s not the first time you’ve done that today. Sitting down at the kitchen table, you slump forward onto your forearms. I don’t know what to do, or what has happened. You’ve obviously been drinking, but Maggie isn’t here and, drunk or not, you’re sure to notice.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask, moving to fill the kettle to make you a strong coffee.

‘No, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, Sal, you fucking idiot. Jesus Christ, you have no fucking idea. This whole fucking thing is your fault, for Christ’s sake.’
My fault?
You raise your eyes to mine, face contorted with anger, noticing the notepaper on the table just as I realise it’s still there. I move to grab it but, even though you’re half-cut, you reach it first.

‘What the hell is this?
Dear Charlie …
’ You start to read through it, and I pray you’re so drunk that you can’t take it in. My heart is pounding and I feel sick. This is it. I reach down to grab the strap of the holdall and as I do so you drop the letter and punch down with your fists, full strength onto the top of my head. The force of the blow knocks me off my feet and I fall to my knees, smashing them hard into the tiled floor.

‘What the FUCK IS THIS?’ you roar, punching me over and over. ‘Do you really think I’ll let you go? You think you’re going to leave me after everything I’ve done for you? After I’ve put myself on the line for you? I’ll NEVER let you go!’ You’re screaming at me as you hit me over and over, blood pouring into my eyes as the skin above my eyebrow splits. I struggle backwards, digging my heels into the floor to push myself away from you and get to my feet.

‘No, Charlie. STOP. This is why; this is why I can’t do this any more. Stop and I’ll stay, I promise.’ Gasping for breath, I back away, blood dripping steadily into one eye, my eyebrow throbbing where the skin has split. Both knees throb in sympathy and I keep begging you to stop, but you are so angry you don’t hear me. You just keep coming for me. Your breathing is ragged, anger making you breathless as you come ever nearer. As you reach out and grab a chunk of my hair I feel a wash of anger pour over me. NO. I am not going to let you do this. I won’t let you hurt me, or worse. This time might be the time that you do actually kill me. Thinking only of Maggie, I reach up and shove your chest with all my might, pushing you hard away from me. You hit the kitchen sink, bouncing off it slightly, a stunned look crossing your face at my retaliation. Taking my chance, I grab the bag and back towards the kitchen door, my vision blurry from the blood pouring from my cut eyebrow. I reach for the door handle, my eyes stinging from the sweat and blood that drip down my face, but you are on me before I can get a strong enough grip to turn it. Rage makes you stronger than ever and a blow to the kidneys winds me, doubling me over, making me gasp and retch. I drop the bag as I turn and try to push you away, the phrase ‘that old chestnut’ flickering through my mind as I feel the wash of sickness and familiar dull ache that a punch to the kidneys brings. I don’t notice the carving knife in your hand and it’s as though I don’t even feel the knife at first, as it slides between my ribs.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

CHARLIE

It happened so quickly, and now there is so much blood. More blood than I ever thought possible. I back away, pushing myself up against the kitchen counter. I feel light-headed, sick. He reaches up to me, a shaky hand, slick with his own blood. A coppery, iron tang fills the air and I want to retch. Turning, I lean over the kitchen sink, where I heave and heave but nothing comes up. I wipe my mouth and try to think calmly, rationally. I need to phone for an ambulance, and I need to get my story straight. I’ll tell them that he slipped and fell onto the knife, a brutal carving knife usually used for carving the Christmas turkey, not carving into other people. I can’t tell them that I snapped. That a red mist descended and for just a few seconds I felt like I just couldn’t take it any more, the shouting, the aggression and the lies. That after everything I had done for him, all the hours I had worked, all the lies he had told me, he was going to leave me, and I just couldn’t have that. In just a split second all rationality left me and I grabbed the knife and thrust it firmly into my husband’s stomach. They’ll believe me – they’ll have to. Who would ever think that an eight-stone woman could stab her much bigger, stronger husband?

I wipe my mouth with a shaky hand. Sal is lying on the kitchen floor, half slumped against the kitchen counter, a cut on his eyebrow leaking blood down his face. His still, white face. The hand he reached out to me lies still and unmoving in his lap. The knife handle sticks out from between his ribs, blood soaking into the white shirt he wears, a shirt I bought him for our last anniversary. I’ll sort this out. I’ll tell them it was an accident. Sal won’t leave me, not now. I flex my hand, knuckles protesting in pain where I slammed them into the top of Sal’s head in anger, knocking him to his knees.

The sound of the back door being thrown open startles me and I look round in panic, as suddenly Laura bursts into the kitchen, closely followed by Sal’s mum. Laura gives a little shriek and goes straight to Sal, crouching over him and whispering in his ear. I always knew there was something more between them.

‘Did you call an ambulance?’ she asks, as Sal’s mum flutters over him, stroking his curls back away from his bloody forehead, the cut still oozing down the side of his face. ‘Charlie, did you call an ambulance?!’ Laura shouts at me and I shake my head.