Present Day
HOTEL GOTHAM, MANCHESTER CITY CENTRE
He’s so beautiful.Those are the words I said to myself every time I saw him. I was infatuated, utterly invested, which is probably why I didn’t care about the wrongs of what I was doing and all I could see, cared about and craved, were the rights.
And look where that got me, alone in a huge city, staring at the pissing rain as it soaks the pavements. I spent my last night in England lying in a king-size bed in a superior suite feeling like the lowest of the low. Torturing myself as I often do these days, unable to sleep, either manic or depressed. And now I’m waiting for the concierge to flag down a black cab, still with far too much time on my hands to think about it all. About him.
He was my dopamine, adrenaline, caffeine hit and heroin high, and I needed my fix whenever I could get it regardless of the risks. I lusted after him. Wanted more and more even after a marathon session where he taught me what a man could do for a woman, and what she could do in return. I would watch greedily as he headed to the shower after our lovemaking, his naked torso toned from hours at the gym, perfectly tanned from a week in Antibes. Was I in love? Hell yes.
The remnants of my common sense told me we had no future and it was naïve to think otherwise. I had my life to live and he was never going to be part of it. Still I didn’t care.
I chose to ride the wave and when we were together, or I received a message that made me blush to my core, or his hand caressed mine in a daring moment that made the risk of what we were doing even more of a thrill, I buzzed off it. And then, like a blast of icy air came the gut-churning low when I wondered why. Why did he choose me?
He could have had his pick of any of the beautiful women in his circle. That’s a fact. I’d seen their eyes fall on him when he entered a room, then follow him out again. There was just something magnetic about him. His feral scent that sent your pheromones wild. The grey-blue eyes that changed in the light and burrowed right into my soul when he told me I was his special girl. His firm jaw, smooth and kissable when clean-shaven and when dusted with midnight shadow it chafed every inch of my skin as it explored the deepest parts of me. His ebony hair, greying ever so slightly at the sides, gave him a hint of worldly wisdom and maturity, even when he was playing the joker and making the whole room laugh. And his kindness – he was so caring that everyone loved him.
Well, noteveryone,but I never allowed myself to think ofher. That’s the word I used to make it all easier, harden my heart, dehumanise and blot out the woman whose husband I was sleeping with.Her.My time with him was precious and I wouldn’t lether,or anyone else, spoil it.
He was my prize. My secret. I was his. I thought it would go on forever or until it couldn’t, and I was adamant that would be my choice, not his. I believed what I wanted to believe. That all the things he promised and said and did were just for me – but I was wrong. So very wrong. I wasn’t his one and only.
What a fool I was. I was his victim but that doesn’t absolve me, even though knowing what he did makes it all so much worse. And now it’s over and I’ve ended up like this. Losing almost everything and everyone I loved for a man I came to despise so intensely that it’s rotting me from the inside out. Turning my thoughts to acid that’s poisoning my brain.
Only I know the whole truth. Not another soul knows what I did. What he did. Which is why I have to decide here and now what to do. Self-preservation is my ultimate goal but to achieve that, I have to make a choice. From one extreme to another.
Should I walk into a police station and confess – wham bam thank you, ma’am – to cleanse my soul and face the consequences, repent and start afresh one day. Or should I take it to the grave and set myself free, in body not mind, and hope that as time goes by I can learn to live with it all. Somehow be clean and whole again.
It’s a gamble either way and I have to make the decision. Be brave or take the coward’s way out. The sky above has gone from snow-sludge grey to charcoal. The thunderclouds bringing the promised storm are rolling in, darkening my mood further. My paranoia tells me they are a portent of doom and as the first fork of lightning illuminates the city in a flash of white, I imagine it’s the finger of fate, pointing right at me.
The taxi is here, my suitcases are piled high in the lobby and the concierge has flipped open a huge umbrella, waiting to shepherd me outside into the deluge and the cab. All I have to do is tell the driver where to go. As I step onto the pavement the ferocity of the storm whips at my legs and coat and I swear I can feel its anger as keenly as I feel my shame. I slump into the back seat and sigh as the concierge slams the door shut and the driver, eyes front, asks me where I want to go. I really only have two choices.
Prison or the airport.
Chapter One
LITTLE BOLLINGTON, CHESHIRE
Julia sat in the back seat of the car, tucked out of sight of the driver, using the headrest as camouflage. The window was open a few centimetres, cooling her skin and fighting off the claustrophobia that was creeping over her. It was happening a lot lately, whenever Shane was in the vicinity, his presence the catalyst no matter how big the space. The conference room at work, the spacious open-plan kitchen at home, the restaurant where they had just eaten, and now the car. Trapped. That was what he made her feel.
Close proximity to her husband induced turmoil that ignited the telltale flush that would creep upwards to her face, making her self-conscious and heightening her anxiety. Fumbling, mumbling an excuse to leave the room. Seeking sanctuary away from the trigger.
Her colleagues, if they noticed, probably put it down to the time of bloody life. But on this occasion she was desperately trying to hide her discomfort from her daughter, Dee. Her fifteen-year-old, who was seated beside her and thankfully tapping away on her phone hadn’t noticed her mother’sfrequent, shallow inhales as she silently sucked in air. Had no clue that the interior panels of the roomy 4x4 were closing in and the roof was about to squish her head flat and pulverise her brain while her lungs shrivelled and caved in on themselves.Breathe, just breathe. Slow it all down. Don’t panic.
Outside it was a sunny spring day but for Julia it felt like the middle of winter. Her secret shame, aka her online therapist, had told her not to label herself as an anxious person. Instead, accept that anxiety affected her, but it didn’t define her and, like clouds, it would arrive then blow away.
To be fair, he was right and when she was around the girls or behind the barrier of her desk in her office in another part of the building to Shane, the clouds rarely gathered. But when they did, they were black and brooding, the type you’d see in a horror movie, malevolent, rolling in and laden with rain. They were there right now, bringing her low, making her even more determined to escape them and the life that was gradually smothering her.
Julia knew why anxiety was gripping her. She wanted to be away from Shane so badly, in every sense. Wanted him out of her home and her life, her company and her brain.
In the restaurant, she’d prayed for the meal that had taken an age to be served and then savoured, to be over. For the journey to the airport not to be impeded by roadworks and dawdling drivers. And now an end to the torture was in sight because once she was at the drop-off point and her suitcase was in her hand she’d be fine, just seconds away from saying goodbye and escaping him.
She could see the terminal up ahead so focused on that whilst studiously avoiding the sight of her eldest daughter, Molly. Julia hadn’t the patience for dramas, not today. Seated in the front, arms folded in defiance, upper body turned to face the passenger window, Molly was doing a fine job of radiating herdispleasure at the situation. She’d made a family lunch even more excruciating, something Julia hadn’t thought possible in her current frame of mind. Yes, Moody Molly was on top form and was behaving like a petulant ten-year-old, not someone who had recently come of age.
Shane, in the driver’s seat was, as always, playing the peacekeeper and had suggested lunch at their favourite gastropub before the airport run. Dee had been thrilled and despite being aware Julia and Shane were going through a rough patch – separate bedrooms were a major giveaway – she still believed in happy-ever-afters.
Julia had wanted to scream out loud that sticky toffee pudding was not going to glue them back together, no matter how much Dee coveted being part of a happy family. Instead she’d raged inside her head as she picked at a fancy salad.
True to form, Shane, who thought that the gift of the gab, good looks and perseverance were the key to success, decided to try his magic on the moody one in the passenger seat. As if to prove the point, Julia watched as he gave Molly a nudge and eased straight into his grating, jolly-stepdad routine.
‘Hey, smiler, how about after we drop Mum and Dee off, we head to the cinema, my treat, your choice. Then later, we can get a few drinks in The Lamb, seeing as you’re legal now and won’t get us barred for life by Roger.’
