TODAY, OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR EVA BIELBY, IS SHARING CHAPTER 16 FROM 'THE HURT', WHICH IS THE FIRST NOVEL OF 'THE HURT' TRILOGY #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

CHAPTER 16

Dad returned to work and was managing to toe the line with his new part time hours. Things were ticking over in much the same fashion. Anthony and I were avoiding each other as much as possible when we were both home. I socialised with my friends, and he with his. I knew the day was fast approaching when Mum would be inviting us around for Sunday dinner and having already discussed this matter with Anthony, we agreed to both go for appearances sake. It should be quite easy really. If we turned up just before lunch was due to be served, there would only be the meal to get through. Mum and I usually ended up in the conservatory and Dad and Anthony would be in the lounge watching Sunday afternoon sport or else they would stay at the dining table and talk business.

Three weeks flew past since their holiday and we still hadn’t been asked over for Sunday lunch. It suited me down to the ground. Anthony was also not relishing the inevitable.

In our home, it was unavoidable that we met up in the lounge some times and shared the odd bottle of wine but that is as cosy as it got. We discussed only what we needed to discuss and nothing more. I remained as pleasant as could be expected under the circumstances. Anthony seemed to find it quite hard to make any eye contact with me whatsoever. He was hopefully feeling ashamed, and guilty - as he should be!

To my knowledge, no friends of his visited the house when I was out and that’s the way I wanted it to stay. I wasn’t sure how long we could continue to co-habit without any more incidents, or without my parents finding out. I hadn’t asked if he told his family about our relationship. I didn’t really want to know. I’d no doubt that if he had done, or when he eventually did, all the blame would rest firmly on my shoulders as far as they were concerned, or more appropriately, as far as Eileen was concerned. Should there ever be any grief directed at me from his mother, I would have no qualms about telling her that her son raped me. I could quite easily reveal to her that he preferred the company of young men, enjoyed snorting cocaine and occasionally indulged in threesomes with young ladies. There were plenty of stories for her to think about regarding her son, although it would no doubt be me that led him astray and caused him to go off the rails, in her opinion.

I took the plunge one night and decided to ask Anthony how my father was coping at work and if he thought he still had health worries. He thought long and hard, continuously staring at the television for a few minutes before answering.

“I don’t know. He spends most of the time in his office and doesn’t have much to say unless it’s about business. He looks well enough and is always pleasant to everybody in the office, the true gentleman as always.” He then added, “If you’re worried about him, why don’t you ask your Mum?”

I didn’t really know what to make of his answer and was curious whether he would keep any worrying facts from me, not wanting me to fret more than was necessary.

“Well, it was Mum who told me to ask you. She keeps asking him at home if he’s feeling alright, and he assures her that he’s fine.”

He leaned forward in his chair and gave me a re-assuring smile (I wish he wouldn’t!).

 “If he’s telling her he’s fine, I expect it’s because he feels fine. I’m sure she’s fretting about nothing…as you women always do.”

He turned his face back towards the television and I mulled over his last words and shook my head, astounded by them. Being married to him, I had plenty to fret about. It was not nothing.

Mid-morning during the next day at work, I closed my office door and placed the call that I should have made nearly two weeks earlier, but had put off time and again. After a short wait ‘on hold’ I was delighted to hear from the clinic that the results of all the tests taken came back negative. I cried with relief.

That same afternoon, I had a meeting to attend in our office with some new clients. The two gentlemen purchased a country pub a year ago and now had a development plan in mind for building some chalets around the pub’s car park that could be rented on a short or long term basis. They required our assistance to produce some projected figures to show their bank. Ted and I would be joining them at their pub for lunch after the meeting to discuss matters further. With my home being mid-way between the office and the pub, Ted told me to follow him in my own car. It would save me driving all the way back to the office.

Leaving the men behind after our successful meeting and lunch, it was three fifteen when I left the pub. Turning into our street half an hour later, I could see there was a car parked directly in front of our house, and as I drove another thirty feet past the large hedge that blocked the view of most of our drive, I noticed Anthony’s car was there. He was stood on the front doorstep, exchanging envelopes with a guy. They were engaged in some animated conversation. My suspicions were instantly aroused. Anthony was never one for leaving work early, unless it involved alcohol. My last experience of him arriving home early was not a particularly pleasant one. It didn’t look as if there was a rent boy involved this time, but the exchanging of envelopes is never a good sign. I groaned out loud.

Whether he saw my car approaching and deliberately got rid of the guy, I don’t know, but the man reached his driver’s side door, got in and pulled the door shut just as I pulled into the drive. As I climbed out of my car, I watched the vehicle pull away, trying my utmost to get a good look at the driver’s face. Anthony already closed the front door before I arrived. No doubt he would try to deny seeing my car approaching home from down the road, and whatever it was that the driver of the car passed to him, would by now be stashed safely out of my way.

Rather than have Anthony insult my intelligence by telling me a pack of lies, I decided to play it cool and not ask too many questions. Using the back door as always, I walked into the kitchen just as he was filling the kettle.

“Tea or coffee, Helen? I haven’t been in long, I’m having a tea.”

I was a little taken aback by his cheeriness but answered him politely.

“Tea will be fine, thanks.”

I couldn’t appear too interested or he would be suspicious, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. I was eager to watch his reactions, so I chanced it.

“Who was the guy at the front door? I haven’t seen him before.” Then I added, “The one driving away as I pulled up?”

He was busy pouring the hot water into the cups with his back to me. I couldn’t see what expression he had on his face.

“Oh, him? Joe? He did some design work for us a few weeks ago, while Ken was on holiday. I promised to pay him in cash. He only recently started up in business and has struggled along with his household bills in his first month. It’s to tide him over until his cheques start to come in. I arranged it when your Dad was away, as I know he doesn’t like making cash payments.”

He must have rehearsed that one quickly, or he plucked it from thin air on the spur of the moment. I didn’t believe a word of it. He would only have had a maximum of three to four minutes from seeing my car until the minute I walked in the back door. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him exactly how naïve he thought I was and also, what about the envelope that was handed to him.

I did some tidying up in the kitchen as I was drinking my tea, puzzled all the while about what I saw. He sat at the counter reading his newspaper. There was a long silence between us as I carried on with some little jobs. Suddenly, he looked up from his paper and remarked,

“You’re home early today.”

I didn’t need to answer as there hadn’t been a question. He made a statement, but I felt that if I did answer, it would at least keep things chatty and casual for the time being.

“Well, we had a meeting with some new clients and went for lunch to the pub they own. They have plans to develop and build some chalets around the car park. It looks like it could be a money spinner for them. I left Ted there with them, still discussing things. It made more sense to come straight here rather than drive all the way back to the office.”

I never took my eyes off him. It could have been my imagination, but I thought I caught a flicker of something. Realisation that, whatever he was up to, he came too close to being caught? When I removed his empty cup from in front of him, he stood up and calmly announced,

“Just so you know, I’m out tonight. I’m going to a casino with some friends. You’ll have the house to yourself for the night.”

He grabbed the jacket of his suit from the back of the kitchen chair.

“I’m going for a shower.”

It was music to my ears to hear that he was going out. I loved having my own space, but tonight I had a mission, I was going to have a private little treasure hunt. Not wanting him to see me look so delighted, I scowled and delivered my perfect nagging tone.

“I’m warning you, Anthony. Don’t you dare bring anybody back here, or come into my room, for that matter.”

I’d hit it perfectly. Immediately on the defensive, he bristled and snapped back.

“I’ll probably stay out all night. Don’t worry. I told you I was sorry. That won’t happen again.”

“I know you did. I’m just reinforcing the message.”

After he went upstairs, I heard the door close and the lock engage on his bathroom door. I crept up after him, and hearing the shower running, darted into his bedroom and quickly checked his jacket and trouser pockets for the envelope the mystery guy handed him…nothing. I checked his drawers and under his mattress…again, no joy. I was disappointed, but knew that if he wanted to hide something from me, he wasn’t going to make it easy to find.

Going back down the stairs as silently as I went up, I made a swift search under the cushions of the settee and chairs, in the drawers of the bureau and every possible hiding place I could see. No envelope. I remember he was in the kitchen putting the kettle on as I walked through the door. Having a re-think to myself, I wonder if he realised the kitchen was his quickest option when he saw my car approaching. I expected he would be downstairs in the next minute or two, so I didn’t have time for a large scale search. I would stay in the kitchen until he went out. That way he wouldn’t have any opportunity to retrieve what he’d hidden, if indeed he had hidden it in the kitchen. My best option was to do some cooking and look busy.

Ten minutes later, he left. He walked into the kitchen, shrugged his shoulders and before closing the door behind him, said,

“You should be relaxing, not cooking. You’ve been at work.”

While I was stood at the kitchen sink staring out of the back window, it hit me - the greenhouse. It was situated to the right of the double doors that led onto our patio, and the one place on our property where Anthony knew I would never set foot. I sat at the kitchen table deep in thought for twenty minutes or so, giving him chance to get some distance away. I paced it all out in my mind and in practice, from Anthony closing the front door, a dash to the greenhouse, and getting back into the kitchen again. He would have about a minute to spare. I was a little hesitant to carry out the actual search, scared of what I might find, but I knew it had to be done. I had to know.

I got my answer within twenty minutes. After a thorough search of every corner, the envelope in question came to light inside the bottom one of a stack of large, unused plant pots. The envelope was unmarked, sealed, and from its weight and substance, contained something like a powder. I returned it to its hiding place and left everything as I found it. My worst fears were confirmed. Drugs. It had to be.

I returned to my cooking, finished up and went to bed rather early for once, but I wanted to lie in the darkness and think.

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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 14th January, we are delighted to introduce and welcome our new team member, author Rikke Rose Rasmussen, who is sharing some snippets from her work-in-progress, 'The Book of 3 Wishes'.