“Great. Well, here’s a copy of the script. We’ll start at the beginning and see how far we get.”
“Shall I time it?” Nigel asked.
“Not this first time. Let’s just throw it around a bit, see how it feels, shall we? So we’re in a living room, middle class, boring, twee. Maria is dusting, a phone wedged under her ear. Go for it, Donna.”
I looked down at the script in my lap. “So I said to him, if that’s the way you feel then so be it. Just don’t expect me to go with you. And do you know what he said to me?”
“Sound of door opening,” Erica said. “Go on, Donna, you’re doing great.”
“Darling, is that you?”
We went through the whole of act one before Erica demanded coffee. By the time we were finished it was getting late but I at least had an idea what the play was about. It was superb. It was almost impossible to imagine the gruff figure of George was the man who had written the subtle nuances of a woman whose marriage was crumbling around her, the emotions that came out in the subtext was so gentle, so understated, it didn’t seem to suit the man he was.
I could see him much more clearly in the scenes in the club. They were much tamer than what had happened to me but it was still shocking to think of a spanking taking place on stage. It was even more shocking to think that the play had been such a big hit. I would never have guessed that there would be mass appeal to such a story, that so many people would be engaged by a story so dark, especially with no happy ending for any of the characters.
I left just before midnight, feeling more than a little odd carrying a huge loop of rope over my shoulder. I left it in the hallway at home, deciding that if there was anyone who could help me learn more about safe ways of tying it, that person was the one who had hired me to clean his house, and now he’d hired me to submit to him in every way. My heart thudded faster at the thought of him using this rope to tie me down, to bind my hands as they’d been bound in the club. I’d find out soon enough whether he would agree to teach me the things I needed to know.
TWENTY-FIVE
DONNA
I was walking home when it happened. If I’d been more on my guard, I might have noticed him standing in the dark next to my front door but I wasn’t concentrating, I was too busy looking at my phone.
I’d looked up the play online, wanting to know more about it. The first article I found was about the night the girl died performing my role, playing Maria. There was a picture next to the story and I was sure I recognised the girl though I couldn’t put my finger on where from. I was wracking my brain as I walked towards my house and it was just as I got there that I realised who it was. I had seen her face before in the pictures on the wall at George’s house. Was he connected to her in some way? Surely, he had to be, else why would he have her photos framed on his wall?
“Good evening, Donna,” a voice said just as I walked through my gate.
I froze on the spot, my blood chilled. I recognised that voice.
“You’re a hard person to find.”
I looked up in time to see him emerge from the darkness. Even in the gloom of the night I knew who it was. “What are you doing here, Darren?” I asked.
“I’ve come to take you home.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, taking a step towards me. “You knew I was watching your bank accounts. Did you think I wouldn’t find out when you updated your address? How stupid do you think I am? You did it deliberately, didn’t you? You wanted me to find you, to bring you back.”
“Get away from me, Darren.”
“Keep your voice down. You might wake the neighbours.”
“Stop there,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’ll call the police if you come any closer.”
“And tell them what? That your partner has come to take you home. I’m sure they’ll be right here. Now, why don’t you come inside and pack. You’ve had your fun. It’s time to come home.”
“This is my home, Darren. Please, leave me alone.”
“I’ll make it simple, Donna. Either you come home with me or I tell all your new friends how evil you are, how violent you can be, how you killed our child.”
“You’re insane, they’ll never believe you.”
“Won’t they? I can be more convincing than you’d think. I convinced them not to press charges, didn’t I?” He reached out, grabbing my arm before I could move. “Now come and get in the car. Let’s not have any more arguing.”
“You’re hurting me,” I said, trying to twist my arm free.