‘Right.’
‘Hold on, I’ve got to put the phone down one moment.’ Henry was approaching a roundabout and felt he needed both hands on the wheel, particularly at the speed he was travelling. He lay the phone on the passenger seat, negotiated the roundabout and cursed when he saw the phone slide across the seat, away from him. He made a grab for it, missed, and it dropped down between the passenger seat and the door.
‘I do not believe this,’ he said with frustration.
Coulton drove Charlotte home in the Bentley. He made her sit in the seat alongside him. She complied numbly with the instruction, now beyond thinking or reacting in any way to him. She sat there in an almost catatonic state, staring blankly ahead whilst Coulton touched her legs and arms as he drove. His hand ran up her skirt, he tweaked her breasts, then grabbed her right hand, pulled her across and forced her to put it into his trousers.
She let it happen. She was doing something, but it meant nothing.
Even when he took hold of her head and forced it down to his lap. That meant nothing, either.
By stretching as far as his arms would go, Henry retrieved the phone, relieved there was still a connection.
‘You still there, Tara?’
‘Yes, yes. . still here.’ Her voice sounded feeble.
‘I’ll be coming up to see you later. I haven’t finished with you. Once I get my energy back, I’ll show you what sex really is,’ Coulton told her as they stopped outside the house. He had noticed that Tara’s Mercedes wasn’t there, which meant he could do as he pleased. John Lloyd Wickson was home, but that wasn’t a problem. He reached across Tara’s lap, allowing his hands to slide over her thighs, and opened the door. ‘Go on, fuck off. I’ll be up when I’ve had a few drinks.’
Charlotte got out and ran to the house.
Tara Wickson lay quietly in the arms of the man she loved, snuggling up tight to him, feeling him taut and hard against her body. She reached down and held him. He breathed out, his hot breath in her face. She even loved the smell of his breath, always had done. He squeezed her bottom and slid a hand under her thigh, lifting her leg across him. He manoeuvred down the bed, squirmed, adjusted his position, enabling Tara to place his penis at the entrance to her sex, then to slide in.
Both gasped at the same time, looking deep into each other’s eyes.
They made love slowly for the second time that night. Moving around each other’s bodies with familiarity, respect, ease and excitement.
When it was finally over — it took them almost an hour — they lay coiled, arms and legs intertwined.
‘That was amazing,’ he whispered in her ear.
She shuddered at his words. ‘Yes, it was. No one can make me feel like you do.’ She kissed his chest.
They almost drifted to sleep.
His breathing began to regularize. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the hotel room. A tear rolled down her cheek.
For some reason he stirred with a jolt and woke up. He looked at Tara’s profile in the dimly lit room, seeing the tear glisten. He moved up on to one elbow. ‘What is it, darling?’
‘Nothing, nothing. . Honestly, just feeling a little sad.’
‘Why?’ He moved a wisp of her hair out of her face.
‘Because we can never be together, because it will always be like this.’
He had no answer to that one. He laid a hand across her and cupped her breast. She did not react and this puzzled him.
‘There’s something else, isn’t there? I can tell. I can read you like a book.’
‘You’re the only one who can. Yes, there is something,’ she relented.
‘Tell me,’ he urged her gently, ‘tell me.’
Her chest rose and fell. Her mouth twisted in thought. She looked at her lover. ‘He knows about Charlotte.’
He flipped back on the bed and swore.
It was a cold drive home for Tara. She had felt guilty about not picking Charlotte up from the disco, phoning Jake Coulton to ask him to do it for her, but she had wanted to spend a little more precious time with her lover. They rarely saw each other these days and any time spent with him was treasured. In between seeing him she missed him dreadfully and would have loved to be with him always, but she knew it was not possible. Ever. Although things might change now, maybe.
She drove and enjoyed the car. It was a sturdy refuge for her these days, a barrier against the world.
Her thoughts were with the man she had left behind.
Maybe now something was possible.
She had tears in her eyes as she drove up the lane leading to the farmhouse. It was an effort to pull herself together, but she did.
The house was quiet. The Bentley was outside, so it meant Charlotte was back, which was good.
Her feet were leaden on the walk to the front door. She was so unhappy. It was only Charlotte that had kept her going these last few weeks.
There was a light on in the kitchen at the back of the house. With quiet steps she walked down the hallway and peeped in. Jake Coulton was sitting at the table, his back to her, shoulders hunched. He did not move. She guessed he had a drink in front of him, as usual. He slept in a room in what was affectionately known as the granny annexe, but Coulton was far from a grandmother. Tara thought him more of a big bad wolf and did not like him much.
She moved away from the kitchen, back down the hall and up the stairs. On the landing she stood still. John was in the main bedroom. He would probably be asleep and Tara had no intention of joining him. They slept in separate rooms now. She moved along the wide landing and knocked softly on Charlotte’s door before poking her head in. She expected her daughter to be well gone after her night at the disco. Instead she found her down in the corner of the room with a duvet pulled up around her, two terrified eyes watching the door.
Immediately Tara knew something bad had happened. ‘Honey, it’s me, Mummy. What’s the matter?’
‘Mummy,’ Charlotte croaked hoarsely, ‘oh, Mummy.’
Henry wasn’t too far away now. He’d raced past two speed cameras, both of which had flashed at him and said triumphantly, ‘Hah, gotcha!’ He would be writing to the Chief Superintendent to try to get those rescinded, he thought, but knowing his luck he would end up six points richer and?120 poorer.
Tara was still talking. She had not pulled the trigger yet.
‘Who’s in the kitchen with you?’
‘Jake Coulton and my husband.’
‘Right, right,’ said Henry, quickly running out of ways of keeping the dialogue going. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘In control. In control of my life — at last.’
‘Tell me about the shotgun. What sort is it?’
‘Twelve-bore, single-barrel, pump-action, three cartridges in it and one in the breech with the safety off,’ Tara reeled off.
‘Put the safety on,’ Henry ordered her.
‘No way. It means I stay in control if it’s off.’
Anger and bile rose in Tara Wickson like a monster breaking from the deep. She wanted to vomit when Charlotte recounted her tale of hell, and she began to seethe even more when Charlotte told her that Coulton had also tried to rape her in her own bedroom too, but could not get the necessary erection. Instead he had tried to go down on her, but Charlotte had fought him off until he withdrew.
‘Bastard,’ she whispered. She held Charlotte close and reassured her. ‘Wait here and don’t move.’