Behind Closed Doors(32)

‘The knowledge that the father could instil such terror into another human being turned the boy’s fear of him into admiration and he began to emulate him. Soon, the sound of his mother’s screams coming up through the floorboards became music to his ears, and the smell of her fear the richest perfume. Such was the effect it had on him that he began to crave it, so that when the father left him in charge the boy would take the mother down to the cellar, her pleas for mercy as she begged him not to leave her there only serving to excite him. And afterwards, as he drank in the sound of her fear and breathed in the smell of it, he wished he could keep her there for eternity.

‘One night, when the boy was about thirteen years old, the mother managed to escape from the basement while the father was working outside in the allotment. But the boy knew that if she left, he would never hear the sound of her fear again so he hit her, to stop her from leaving. And when she screamed, he hit her again. And again. And the more she screamed, the more he hit her and he found he couldn’t stop, even when she fell to the ground. And, as he looked down at her smashed and bloodied face, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

‘The father, brought by the mother’s screams, arrived and pulled the boy off her. But it was too late, because she was already dead. The father was angry and hit the boy and the boy hit him back. When the police came, the boy told them that his father had killed the mother and that he had tried to protect her. So the father went to prison and the boy was glad.

‘As the boy grew older, he began to crave someone of his own, someone in whom he could instil fear whenever he wanted, however he wanted, someone he could keep hidden away, someone nobody would ever miss. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to find such a person, but he was convinced that if he looked hard enough, he eventually would. And, while he looked, he searched for a way to satisfy his cravings. So do you know what he did?’ I shook my head numbly. ‘He became a lawyer, specialising in cases of domestic violence. And then do you know what he did?’ He leant forward and put his mouth close to my ear. ‘He married you, Grace.’

I found I could hardly breathe. All the time he’d been speaking, I hadn’t wanted to believe he was the boy in the story, but, now, a terrible shaking took hold of me. As the room swam before my eyes, he sat back and stretched his legs out in front of him, a satisfied look on his face. ‘Now, tell me, did you enjoy that story?’

‘No,’ I said, my voice trembling. ‘But I listened to it, so can I go now?’ I made to stand up, but he pushed me back down.

‘I’m afraid not.’

Tears of fright spilled from my eyes. ‘You promised.’

‘Did I?’

‘Please. Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone what you just told me, I promise.’

‘Of course you would.’

I shook my head. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t.’

He was silent for a moment, as if he was considering what I’d said. ‘The thing is, Grace, I can’t let you go because I need you.’ Seeing the fear in my eyes, he crouched down next to me and drew air in through his nose. ‘Perfect,’ he breathed.

There was something about the way he said it that terrified me and I shrank away from him.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, reaching out and stroking my cheek. ‘That isn’t why you’re here. But let’s get back to the story—so, while I was waiting to find someone all of my own, I cloaked myself in respectability. First, I looked for a perfect name and came up with Angel. I actually considered calling myself Gabriel Angel but I thought it might be going a step too far so I had a little think, did a little investigating, discovered that the good men in films are often called Jack and hey presto! Jack Angel was born. Then I found myself the perfect job.’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘The irony of it never ceases to amaze me—Jack Angel, defender of battered women. But I also needed a perfect life—when a man gets to forty with no sign of a wife in sight people begin to ask questions—so you can imagine how I felt when I saw you and Millie together in the park, my perfect wife and my …’

‘Never!’ I spat. ‘I will never be your perfect wife. If you think I’m going to stay married to you after what you’ve told me, have your children—’

He burst out laughing, cutting me off. ‘Children! Do you know what the hardest thing I’ve ever done is? It wasn’t killing my mother or seeing my father go off to prison—both those things were easy, a pleasure even. No, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is have sex with you. How could you not have guessed, how could you not have seen through my excuses? How could you not have realised when I did finally have sex with you that I found it an effort, disgusting, unnatural? That’s why I disappeared last night. I knew you’d be expecting me to make love to you—after all, it was our wedding night—and the thought of having to go through with it just to keep up appearances was more than I could bear. So you see, I am not expecting you to have my children. When people begin asking, we will tell them that we are experiencing problems, and after that they will ask no more out of politeness. I need you to be my wife, but in name only. You are not my reward, Grace, Millie is.’