Q
uietly, so I don’t wake Nigel, I slip out of bed. I tie my robe, lift my phone off the bedside table, and go downstairs. In the kitchen I switch on the coffee machine and set the dining table for two before pulling open the heavy curtains.
Outside daylight is beginning to appear and I sigh with pleasure. The garden always looks best at this time of the year when the honeysuckle, freesia, sunflowers and roses are all out. I open the French doors and go out into the cool, fresh air. This is my favorite time of the day. When Nigel is asleep upstairs, the air is filled with the sounds of birds, and my mind can plot out my storyline. My phone rings. I take it out of my pocket and look at the screen.
“Hi, Nan.”
“Good morning, Love,” she greets brightly. Nan is like me. An early bird. Sometimes she’ll get up at five in the morning and start cleaning out the garden shed. It drives my granddad crazy.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Other than my dodgy knees and your granddad’s dodgy mouth, I’m just fine. I swear that man has moved me to thoughts of murder more often than I’ve had cooked dinners.”
I smile as I turn around and go back into the house. “Are you going to see your father today?” she asks. “Of course,” I say as I step into the kitchen.
“I’d like to come with you. Will you drop by and pick me up, then?”
I pour some bird seed into a small container “Sure. I’m going before lunch. Is about ten o’clock okay with you?”
“I’ll be ready, Love.”
We chat a little more as I tear some bread into small pieces and add it to the bird seed. Finishing the call, I go out into the garden and toss the mix onto the roof of the shed. I go back inside, and to my surprise I hear Nigel’s footsteps in the bathroom above.
How strange. He never wakes up this early on a Saturday. Nigel works very long hours during the week, and the weekends are the only times he gets to relax a little. In fact, I usually get hours of writing time in before he wakes up.
If he’s awake I know he’ll be down in about fifteen minutes so I start to prepare eggs and toast for two. Neither of us are big on breakfast. Nigel appears in the doorway as I am cracking the eggs. His hair is tousled, and the sight puts a big, sloppy smile on my face.
“Good morning, you gorgeous Sex God you.”
Nigel is not a morning person, but even so his expression is particularly mournful as he returns my greeting. “Morning.”
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” I tell him. “I’m not hungry, Star.”
My smile slips a notch. Nigel is not a man to skip breakfast. “Fine, sit down, and I’ll get your expresso.”
He forces a smile and, turning around, heads towards the dining room. Now I know for sure: something is very wrong. Abandoning the eggs, I make his expresso the way he likes it, and follow him into the dining room. I place his coffee on the table, and take the seat next to him. He thanks me quietly, but does not look my way.
For a few moments neither of us speaks.
I clasp my hands in my lap and watch him sip his coffee. All of this is so unlike Nigel. He is a man on the go. He wakes, showers, gets dressed and eats breakfast whilst he reads the morning paper or checks his emails. When he’s running late he’ll shout down the stairs for me to make his coffee, down it in one hit, peck me on the cheeks and disappear out the door.
“What’s going on, Nigel? Why are you acting so strangely?” I ask quietly. He shakes his head the way someone who has lost everything would do. “What’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?”
“I feel sick to my stomach with what I’ve done.” My stomach drops. “What have you done, Nigel?”
He slaps his hands on his cheeks and looks at me, his eyes distraught. “I have to tell you something, Star,” he says, his voice cracking.
In a split second two scenarios cross my mind. He’s lost a lot of money at the brokerage, or, oh God, he’s got another woman. I’m strong enough to handle the money thing, but not the other woman.
“What is it?” I ask nervously. “I’m in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Big trouble,” he says swallowing a large mouthful of air. “I’ve been such a fool, Star. Such a colossal fucking fool.”
For a moment, the horror of anticipating what he is going to tell me, dumbfounds me. In my mind I hear him saying I cheated on you, Star. It was just a one-night stand. Or worse. I’ve fallen for someone else and I’m leaving you.
I just stare at him, hardly daring to breathe.
He opens his mouth. “I owe money. A lot of money.”
My breath comes out in a rush of sheer relief. Okay. This, I can deal with. I take a few shallow breaths and straighten my spine. This I can definitely handle. “Do your bosses know yet?”
He frowns. “Bosses?”
I stare at him. “At work?”
He shakes his head slightly. “This is not work, Star. This is my personal debt.”
“A personal debt?” I ask. I feel confused and frightened suddenly, as if I am standing on shifting sand. “Why did you need a personal debt, Nigel?”
He doesn’t answer me straight away. Instead, he stretches out a hand to cover mine. “Nigel?”
He removes his hand, and my skin feels cold and empty. My mind goes blank as I watch him buy time by swallowing the last cold coffee dregs.
“I’m a gambler, Star. I owe four hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
STARHis words don’t even register. I shake my head. I can’t have heard right. “What?” “Oh, darling,” he croons. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I can’t take it.”“What are you talking about, Nigel?” I ask slowly. “I’m an addict. I’m addicted to gambling,” he mutters. “Gambling?” I repeat stupidly.He nods, a pained expression on his face. “What? At work?”“No.” He exhales loudly. “In casinos.”I stare at him blankly. Nothing makes sense. We’ve been to a casino once. Two years ago. We sat together at a blackjack table. Nigel refused to play, but I did. He looked on with a slightly disapproving expression as I played three rounds and gleefully collected my winnings. Three hundred pounds. “But you don’t even like gambling!”He runs his fingers through his hair. “I like it too much.” “Since when?”He shrugs. “Recently. It started off as just a little fun, small amounts, letting off some stress. You know the intense stress I’m under in the city.”“Stress?” I echo.“You have no idea
StarHis words don’t make sense. My whole body feels like it is on fire. I’m an ordinary girl. I live an ordinary life. All of this is unbelievable stuff. Stuff of gangster movies.“He wants you,” he repeats glumly. “Me? What do you mean me?”He covers his face. “Fuck, Star. Do I have to spell it out to you? He wants you … your body.” I frown. “My body? Why would the owner of a gambling club want my body?”“You don’t need me to tell you why.”“But he doesn’t know who I am. I could be a frumpy, middle-aged housewife for all he knows.”His brow furrows. “I’m beginning to think that someone is jealous of me. They know that the most important thing in my life is you, and the best way to destroy me is to get to you.”Nigel goes on talking, but I stop hearing him.“He didn’t use the hammer because you agreed to let him have me, didn’t you?” I ask, my body crawling with revulsion.“No,” he denies, looking at me with wide eyes, and shaking his head vigorously.“Oh, my God. You damn coward. Th
STARWhen I get out of the shower Nigel is waiting for me in the bedroom. I walk past him without looking at him and go to my wardrobe.I open my underwear drawer. “Have you called him?” “No.”“I’ve got to pick up Nan now. I’ll be back this afternoon. Please make that call by then.” “We need to talk,” he says.I let my towel drop and pull on my panties. “No, we don’t.” “Our marriage …”“Shame you didn’t think about it while you were happily gambling away everything we have,” I spit. He walks towards me. “Please, Star.”In the mirror, I see him standing behind me. His hand reaches out, and I watch transfixed, as his fingers caress my breast. His hand is a few shades darker than my skin.The image is erotic.I carry on watching him. Surprised at how I feel absolutely nothing. He slides around to the front of me and latches his mouth onto my nipple. I look down at him suckling at my breast. Like a … vampire. He looks up and our eyes meet. The expression in my face makes him freeze. He pu
Star “Wanna do breakfast?” Rosa, my best friend, asks. I’ve know her since we were in primary school, and she’s always taken it upon herself to look out for me. She doesn’t sound quiteawake yet.“Yes,” I say automatically. “What’s up?”“Nothing.” “Bullshit.”“What makes you so sure something’s up?” I ask. “Let’s call it tone.”“I’ll tell you when I see you.” “But you’re all right?”“Yes.”“Sure?” she insists. “Sure.” “Lucianos?” “Okay.”“Can you get there in twenty minutes?” “I can get there in ten,” I tell her.“See you in ten, then.”As I park the car it starts pouring down with rain so I hold my bag over my head and run into the café. As I stand inside the doorway brushing my hands down my light jacket, I spot Rosa. You cannot miss her.She is stick-thin with flaming red hair cut into a smooth bob. She is wearing scarlet lipstick and what looks like a lace
Star I gasp. “That is low. Even for you, Rosa. Nigel is absolutely devastated. You would be shocked if I told you what his original plan to sort out this mess was.” Rosa folds her arms and looks at me steadily. “Be good enough to share his brilliant plan with me.”“He was going to arrange for an accident … for himself so that I could collect on his life insurance money.”Even saying the words is painful to me, but Rosa bursts out laughing. “And you believed him?”The way she laughs makes me feel foolish, but I straighten my spine. Rosa can’t be objective about Nigel. Until this morning, Nigel has always been good to me. “Yes, I did. You should have seen the state he was in this morning.”“I love you, Star, but honestly, when it comes to Nigel you are just unbelievably naive. I mean, if I hadn’t met you before you got entangled with him, I would have written you off as an irredeemable bimbo. You think the su
Star When I get back home, Nigel is in the front room slumped on the sofa. The atmosphere is tense and strange, and there is an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. “You switched your phone off,” he says, standing up and coming to me. His hair is ruffled and his face is pale and stressed. I’ve never seen him look so unhappy and depressed. “Why?”“I didn’t want to speak to anybody.” My voice is wooden. “Where have you been?”“Out,” I say briefly.There is a flash of something in his eyes. “Where?”I want to say, none of your business, but I can’t. This is my Nigel. My hero for so many years. Turns out my idol has feet of clay, but he is still my husband. “I met Rosa for coffee,” I reply, as I brush past him to go upstairs.“Did you tell her about me?” he asks in a strange tone.I turn around to look at him, surprised that he’d even ask. “Yes.” “I bet she was delighted,” he says bitter
Star I lay down on our unmade bed and close my eyes. I didn’t make it this morning so it has remained unmade. I think of Nigel opening my legs last night, and my stomach churns at the thought of giving my body to a complete stranger. I clench my hands and take a deep Then I dig my phone out of my bag and call my nan. I keep up the fiction that I’m not feeling well and she agrees to go see my dad alone tomorrow. In fact, she suggests that I take the whole weekend off. I thank her, then call my mother.“Hi, Mum,” I say quietly. I can hear the sound of a TV in the background. “Nigel said you were not feeling very well. What’s wrong with you?” “Probably one of those flu things.”“Well, that’s what you get for going to hospital every single day. Oh, for heaven’s sake anyone would think that man was dying the way you keep running to his bedside.”“What did you want, Mum?”“Can’t I just call my daughter withou
The chauffeur nods and waits while I slide into the seat. Soft classical music is playing and the car smells of expensive perfume. The door closes, and the man walks around to his side of the car. I turn my head to look at the windows of my house. At the living room window, I see Nigel standing there staring at me. There is something so lost and forlorn about the defeated droop to his shoulders that I bleed inside.The driver gets into his seat and the car starts to move. I stare out of the window seeing nothing. All I can think of is Nigel standing at the window. As the car leaves Earls Court and takes the M4 out of London, I start to pay attention. We make steady progress until the car smoothly joins the M25. There is more traffic here, but less than twenty minutes later we take the slip road out of the motorway. After a little while, I see signposts for Virginia Water, Surrey. I’ve been there once. One of Nigel’s friends lives on the Wentwo