Going Up and Going Down (11 page)

“I’m fine
girls…still a little tired but I’ve been bored. There’s only so many chick
flicks you can watch…It’s been nice to stay there though, with Anthony being
away.” I had crossed my fingers behind my back as I continued playing along.

It was nice to
be back to work. That much was true. I hadn’t been bored because the O.C.D. was
back again and I had cleaned my parents’ house right the way through each day
for the previous four days. Any more hurt in the future…the O.C.D…I knew it
would keep coming back. I’d been raped, scrubbed myself red raw, and when there
was next to no skin left to scrub I’d turned to the house. It was a good thing
that I was back at work. I had friends in the office, I had my social life and
I had clients to see. I made a promise to myself - no more cleaning! I made my
excuses one lunchtime for not joining everybody in the staff canteen and I
visited a private sexual health clinic not far away for an assortment of tests
to be carried out. The wait for the results was going to be an extremely
emotional ride.

I moved back
into home, if it could be called that anymore, three days before my parents
were due back. Once I had made sure that Anthony wasn’t there I called for a
joiner to come out and fit a proper security lock to my bedroom door. I wanted
to feel safe should he decide to come and help himself to my body again. I also
needed to be in the house before he came home rather than have to walk in when
he was already there.

I was making
myself something to eat when I heard his car pull into the drive at seven
o’clock. I hadn’t announced my return to him and wondered what he would be
thinking when he saw my car in the drive. I didn’t dwell on the thought too
long as I was already feeling nervous. Having just plated up my meal I hurried
through into the lounge with my tray and sat down. I quickly switched on the
television, made myself comfortable and started eating. I didn’t want him to
see that I felt intimidated by him.

Probably
because he wasn’t looking forward to facing me, he stayed in the kitchen
pottering about making something to eat for himself. The microwave pinged after
about fifteen minutes and I wondered if he would eat in the lounge but he must
have thought it better to stay put. A bottle chinked against a glass so he was
evidently getting himself a drink. He came sauntering through avoiding eye
contact with me and plonked down into one of the armchairs. I was trying hard
to stop myself from shaking. It wasn’t easy, although looking down at my hands
they didn’t show a flicker of what I was feeling deep inside me.

His face and
body were turned towards the television since he’d walked in the room and sat
down. After a total silence between us for a few minutes or so he finally
turned towards me.

“Helen, can we
talk please?” his voice sounded strained.

Oh shit, did we
really have to? My stomach started to churn and I could almost feel every beat
of my heart. I hated him, how could I possibly talk to him? But somehow, after
clearing my throat, trying to rid myself of what promised to come out as a
nervous croak, the sarcasm came confidently spilling out.

“What would you
like to talk about, Anthony? The weather? That’s usually a good starting point.
How about today’s news’ headlines?”

I stared
directly at him, noticing his pleading eyes, the puppy dog…turned bastard.

“Come on,
Helen, hear me out…please.”

I didn’t answer
and continued with my cold stare. It seemed he took this as his cue to carry on
talking.

“Helen, I am so
sorry…really I am.”

Somehow I found
that hard to believe and I couldn’t understand why he even had the gall to make
an apology that he wouldn’t genuinely feel the need to do.

“What are you sorry
for then, Anthony? Sorry for raping me? Sorry that I caught you all after your
little orgy two weeks back? Sorry for marrying me? Sorry for being a complete
bastard? Go on, enlighten me!”

Proud at my
venomous little outburst, I still stared at him intently, watching his body
language and his facial expressions as he tried his hardest to convince me just
how sorry he was. I wanted something to pick at while my brain was in an
endless struggle to understand why.

“I…I…what I did
to you, three weeks ago. There…I’ve said it. I don’t know what came over me. It
must have been the…the weed I’d smoked that night - it can’t have agreed with
me.”

Weed? He
expected me to believe that? He was avoiding my gaze, inspecting his
fingernails. I was astounded but determined I wasn’t going to start kicking
off.

“You must think
I’m stupid, Anthony. You’ve smoked weed before, I know you have. It’s never
made you like that. You
raped
me. You abused my body and you punched me
in the eye. I had to stay off work for a week so nobody would know. Are you
telling me you remember all of it? You remembered you’d raped me? Do you
remember punching me in the eye, huh? If that’s what coke’s doing for you,
those girls got away quite lightly didn’t they? It’s making you violent,
Anthony. When will the next time be? Who will be your next victim?”

His eyes met
mine and I could see that he was close to tears. I racked my brain to find some
sort of emotion for him. I didn’t feel sorry for him. Despite everything I
didn’t even hate him. I felt nothing whatsoever…indifference. It saddened me to
realise that.

“I honestly
can’t remember hitting you, Helen. Truly I don’t recall that. I am so sorry.
You never deserved that.”

“So I
deserved
to be raped then? Is that what you’re saying?” I snarled.

“No! Helen, no!
That’s not what I meant and you know it! You didn’t deserve any of it. You’ve
done nothing wrong. It’s me that’s at fault here. Everything is my fault.”

Yes. It was his
fault. He’d raped me, there was nobody else to blame but him, but I was starting
to get upset, I must be guilty too. I had done something wrong surely? He’d
stopped loving me…months ago. I needed to know why.

“That can’t be
true. I must have done something to make you hate me, Anthony…there is
something. I’ve tried to be a good wife to you…where did it all go so wrong?”

He got up and
started pacing the lounge, his eyes staring down at the carpet. He appeared to
be deep in thought and I didn’t think he was going to answer my questions.

“It’s work,
Helen. I assure you that
you
have done
nothing
wrong at all. Just
a few worries at work, and I haven’t been coping with them. I know I’ve been
drinking too much, the…drugs as well. I shouldn’t have done any of it. I’ve let
you down.”

My first
thought on hearing this was that he must have made some serious fuck ups at
work in Dad’s absence. I could feel my anger building again and snarled my next
words at him.

“You sure have,
and you’ve also let my father down. I hope there are no problems at the office
for him to come back to. You know he hasn’t been well lately.”

“I
am
aware of that, Helen.” he snapped back “The problems at work are things that I
can sort out without worrying your Dad. Are you planning on…telling him
about…us...things?”

I was close to
boiling point at his selfishness. The things he’d put me through, rape, his
drunken orgy and drugs, and all he was concerned about was his position within
my father’s company. I managed to keep my voice a bit calmer as I answered him.

“Of course I’m
not going to tell him. Tell him that I’ve married a total bastard, who hasn’t
treated his daughter right? That would be an understatement wouldn’t it,
Anthony? Dad’s been close enough to another heart attack as it is, without me
adding
you
to his problems, don’t you think?”

He turned away
from me, unable to meet my eyes any longer.

“Yes, I suppose
you’re right, Helen!”

“I know I’m
right, Anthony!”

My heart was
pounding, but I was struggling to breathe. I needed to calm myself. I had to
lay down the ground rules if I was to continue to stay.

 “I’ve moved
back in here today. Mum and Dad are home in the next couple of days and I don’t
want to be at theirs….for obvious reasons. Let’s get things straight. I don’t
want you bringing friends and...people over here. This is my house as well.  I
don’t care what you do anymore, Anthony – but don’t do it here. I don’t want
your bloody drugs in this house.”

He nodded and
gave a sigh, probably relieved that I still wanted my parents to have no
knowledge of recent events.

“And now…I need
your promise…that…that you won’t ever…touch me…rape me…”

“Helen, never!
I wouldn’t…I promise.”

A flash of
understanding, he knew that I meant business. I decided not to mention to him
the extra measures I’d taken for my personal security.

“Message
understood.”

I felt a sense
of relief that it was out in the open. It was not going to be easy living under
the same roof. We’d already been doing so for months, but things had changed.
My thoughts turned to my parents and how long Anthony and I could keep up the
façade.

He sat quietly
contemplating for a while before asking if I minded him watching some
documentary or other. I said I didn’t have a problem with that and as I got up
to go to the kitchen he told me there was a bottle of Vinho Verde in the fridge
and I was quite welcome to pour myself a glass if I wished.

“Thank you. I
assume you are telling me this because you would like one?”

That was the
only
reason he’d mentioned the wine to me.

“When have I
ever refused?”

Precisely! He
wasn’t capable of refusing alcohol. It wasn’t many months ago I would have been
delighted to pour him a drink but we were no longer a couple. He was pushing my
buttons.

We watched a
nature documentary almost in silence whilst we drank a couple of glasses of
wine. As the programme finished I realised how exhausted I was feeling after
our earlier talk. I stretched as I got up from the settee.

“I’m tired now.
Goodnight!”

“Okay.
Goodnight, Helen.”

I cringed,
irked by the way my Christian name still rolled off his tongue.

I went to visit
my parents on the Saturday morning and stayed the full day. They’d arrived back
on the Friday afternoon, three days after I had left their house.

“What’s Anthony
doing today, darling?” Dad asked. “I thought he would have come along with you.
I’m dying to ask him what’s been happening in the office in my absence. Has he
mentioned anything at all?”

“No. I never
talk shop with him, Dad, you should know that. I think he’s either gone into
the city for the day or he’s gone golfing, I’m not totally sure. He did tell
me, but as usual I was not paying too much attention.”

They told me
all about the cruise and we spent the morning going through their holiday
photos and I heard all about the tours they’d been on. Whilst we sat at the
dining table after lunch, I asked Dad if he was feeling any better for his long
rest from work. He was perhaps a little too quick to assure me that he was well
rested. I followed this by asking if he was worried about anything at work.He
was suddenly alert.

“What makes you
ask that, Helen?”

“You were keen
for Anthony to be here, so you could ask what’s been happening while you’ve
been away. All you had to do was answer ‘yes something’s worrying me’ or ‘no,
of course not!’”

“There’s
nothing for you to trouble your little head with. I trust Anthony to sort out any
little problems that crop up.”

Hmm, that’s
what worried me and I wasn’t impressed with Dad’s lack of acting ability. He
was skirting around the subject rather niftily. But instead of voicing my
opinion we just moved on to the next topic of conversation. Mum as usual didn’t
have much to say, but I noticed she kept giving Dad a look of concern when she
thought he wouldn’t notice.

At 6pm I made
my excuses and went off to meet the girls from the office for a few drinks. No
late night planned - just a few drinks and hopefully a lot of unwinding. When I
arrived home, Anthony was already tucked up in his bed, a peaceful night for
him, which meant a perfect peaceful night for me too.

Dad had
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 had agreed that we would 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 either be in the lounge watching Sunday
afternoon sport or else they would stay at the dining table and talk business.

Three weeks had
passed since they had returned from 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.

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

To my
knowledge, no friends of his had visited the house whilst I was out and that’s
the way that 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 had told his family about our relationship. I didn’t really want to
know. I had 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. Should
there ever be any grief directed at me from his mother I would have no qualms
about telling her that her son had raped me. I would happily reveal to her that
he preferred the company of young men, enjoyed snorting cocaine and
occasionally indulged in threesomes with young ladies. I could give her plenty
to think about, although it would still be me that had 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,
Helen. 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 wondered if 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 wished 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 back
towards the television and I pondered on his last words and shook my head,
astounded by them. Being married to him I had plenty to fret about it was
not…nothing.

During the next
morning at work, I closed my office door around ten thirty and placed the call
that I should have made nearly two weeks earlier but had been putting off time
and again. I was delighted to hear from the clinic that the results of all the
tests taken had come 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 had 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 our drive, I noticed that
Anthony’s car was there. He was stood on the front doorstep and he was
exchanging envelopes with a man with whom he was engaged in a deep
conversation. My suspicions were instant. Anthony was never one for leaving
work early (unless it involved alcohol). My last experience of him arriving
home early had not been a particularly pleasant one. It didn’t look as if there
was a rent boy involved this time thank goodness, but the exchanging of
envelopes was never a good sign.

Whether he had
seen my car approaching and deliberately got rid of the guy before I pulled
into the drive, I don’t know, but the guy reached his driver’s side door, got
in and pulled the door shut just as I pulled into the drive. As I got out of
the car, I watched him pull away, but the main reason I stared was to try and
get a good look at his face. Anthony had already closed the front door before I
arrived. No doubt he would try to deny seeing me driving down the street and
whatever it was that the driver of the car had 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 I 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 pouring
the hot water into the cups so I couldn’t see his face.

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

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

I did some
tidying up in the kitchen as I was drinking my tea, (puzzling all the while
about what I’d seen) and he sat at the counter reading his newspaper. There was
a long silence between us as I carried on with some little jobs and I saw him
look up from his paper.

“You’re home
early today.”

I didn’t have
to answer him, he was making a statement, but I felt that if I did it would
keep things chatty and…casual.

“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 than driving all the way back to the office.”

I never took my
eyes off him. Maybe I saw a flicker of something.Realisation that, whatever he
was up to, he had come close to being caught. When I removed his empty cup from
in front of him he stood up and announced,

“Just so that
you know, I’m out tonight. I’m going to a casino with some friends. You’ll have
the house to yourself for most of the night.” He grabbed the jacket of his suit
from the back of the 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 was going to have a private 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. He went immediately on the defensive as he
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’d gone
upstairs I heard the door close and the lock engage on his bathroom door. I
quietly crept up after him, darting into his bedroom and swiftly checking his
jacket and trouser pockets for the envelope he’d been handed by the mystery guy
– nothing. I checked his drawers and under his mattress – again, no joy. I felt
disappointed but if he wanted to hide something from me he wasn’t going to make
it easy for me to find.

Going back down
the stairs as silently as I’d gone 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 remembered that he had been in the
kitchen putting the kettle on as I walked through the door so having a re-think
he would probably have thought the kitchen was his quickest option when he saw
my car approaching. I expected him coming downstairs in the next minute or two
so I didn’t have time for a large scale search. I would have to stay in the
kitchen until he went out. That way he wouldn’t have any opportunity to
retrieve what he’d hidden - if he
had
hidden it in there. My best option
was to do some cooking - look busy.

Ten minutes
later, he’d gone. He’d walked into the kitchen, shrugged his shoulders and, not
in a caring manner, said “You should be relaxing, you’ve been at work.”

But whilst I
had been stood at the kitchen sink, and staring out of the window, it hit me
like a sledgehammer - the greenhouse. It was situated just outside the doors
that led onto our patio. The one place on our property where Anthony knew I
never set foot. I sat at the kitchen table deep in thought for twenty minutes
or so, giving him the 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 had 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. The envelope in question came to light inside the very
bottom one, of a stack of unused plant pots. The envelope was unmarked, sealed
and as I felt its weight and substance, it contained something like a powder. I
returned it to its hiding place and left everything as I had found it. My worst
fears confirmed. Drugs, it had to be!