Читать книгу Between You and Me: The bestselling psychological thriller with a twist you won’t see coming - Lisa Hall - Страница 23

Chapter Fifteen

SAL

I take my time clearing up the vegetable patch after you storm back into the house, believing that the longer it takes me to tidy up, the longer it gives you to calm down and see sense. The majority of everything that Maggie and I have grown is completely and utterly ruined, plants and bits of vegetable strewn across the whole fenced-off section of garden. I get to work on clearing the patch, piling everything up in one corner to be burnt next time we have a bonfire. The only items worth salvaging are a few straggly carrots that I put to one side, so I can at least tell Maggie we have something to cook. It’s slow, painful work as the fingers on my right hand have started to throb now that the initial hot, sharp pain has subsided and they are already swollen and awkward. I’m ninety per cent sure they’re broken. By the time the sun sets and the garden is filled with shadows, I’m done, sweat making my T-shirt cling to the small of my back. I look towards the kitchen in the hope that the room is in darkness and you’ve already gone upstairs to bed but I see the warm, yellow light spilling from the window and your silhouette cross in front of it, a glass of whisky in your hand. I sigh heavily, but I can’t put it off any longer. The night has turned cool despite the heat of the day now that the sun has disappeared below the horizon and I am only wearing a thin T-shirt. I shiver and struggle to my feet, feeling stiff after sitting for so long. Wearily I trudge my way up the garden path to the kitchen, where I know you will be waiting for me.

You look up from your seat at the kitchen table, hair tousled and eyes bloodshot, when I walk in through the back door. I head straight for the medicine cabinet, screwed to the wall behind the kitchen door, and start rooting through it for strapping and cotton wool.

‘You shouldn’t have made me do that, Sal.’ Your voice is low, and you studiously avoid looking at my poor, broken hand. ‘I warned you so many times not to lie to me, but it’s like you can’t help yourself. It’s like you deliberately do it, because you want me to lose my temper and get angry with you. It has to stop, Sal. I’ve been thinking and I realise that it’s been like this right the way through, from the beginning. Since that first time I met your mum and dad and your sisters – I’ve been thinking about that, how you ignored me that day and put my needs second and you’ve been doing it every day since. I love you so much, Sal; no one could ever love you like I do.’ You get up and move around the table towards me. I brace myself but you just put your arms around me and squeeze me tightly, either not noticing or not caring that my swollen hand is also being squeezed painfully tight as it’s trapped between our bodies.

‘I’m sorry, Sal. I’m sorry for loving you so much and I’m sorry that you make me do these things. I would die if you left me. I mean it, Sal; if you leave I’ll kill myself. You know I mean it.’ I nod slowly and look into your eyes, trying surreptitiously to manoeuvre my hand to freedom.

‘OK, Charlie. It’s all right. I’m not leaving. I’m sorry – it won’t happen again, OK? Please, just help strap my fingers up.’ I’m tired and I don’t want to fight. I hold my hand out to you and you immediately turn away and busy yourself finding the end of the fabric strapping.

‘Hold still.’ You grab my hand, stuffing the cotton wadding between my fingers and pulling the tape tightly around, squeezing slightly to make sure the end is stuck. I hiss between my teeth as you squeeze and you look up.

‘Sorry, is it painful? I think you’ve learnt your lesson now, haven’t you, Sal? And I’m assuming that this now means we won’t have any more lying, or disrespecting my things. Just to make sure, I’m confiscating the car keys. You can have them back when you’ve earned them. It’s for your own good, OK?’

You are still gripping my fingers and I have no choice but to nod miserably. For all your talk of how much you love me and how you would die if I left you, it all just boils down to how you can manipulate me into doing what you want. It’s all just another stage in the cycle – I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realise it. It feels like I’m finally waking up to the fact that it doesn’t matter how many good moments, how many perfect afternoons we have together, the cycle is never going to end. You’re never going to change – and it’s up to me to decide what I’m going to do about it.