Page 49 of The Lie
No, her love affair with Finch – that beautiful, surprising connection they had – was ruined now. In her mangled state, she felt nothing, just completely numb.
She heard a thud from next door. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to face the man responsible for her current nightmare. She held her breath.
There was another thump, a loud groan, then Michael’s voice calling her …
He had fallen out of bed and was lying on the floor, legs out at odd angles, head rammed against the bedside cabinet. He was clutching his reading glasses in his good hand, his eyes glazed as he stared in her direction.
‘Can’t move,’ he muttered, straining to pull himself up. ‘Can’t move, Romy. Can’t bloody move.’ His voice became more and more strident as he writhed around, pulling at the bedclothes, scrabbling at the carpet with his fingers, his glasses flung away and being crushed beneath his body.
‘It’s OK. I’m here, Michael. We’ll get you up. Stop – stop struggling.’
He blinked up at her and she saw the fear in his eyes as she knelt beside him and pulled him round until she couldhook her arm through his and haul him up and onto the bed. He was gripping her with such ferocity that she knew she would have bruises by morning.
‘I’ve got you, it’s OK,’ she kept repeating, trying to soothe him. But the way he was catching at her made them both almost topple over. It was a good few minutes before she managed to land him back on the bed, lifting his legs and swivelling him round until he was lying flat out. But he wouldn’t let go of her and she lost her balance and fell down on top of him.
For a moment she lay there, unable to prevent the memory of the many times they had lain like this, naked, making love. Not for a while now, but the sex they had shared in the past – so different from her lovemaking with Finch – had been quick and fierce and hungry, Michael always in a hurry.I enjoyed it, she thought sadly, as she began to pull away – but not before Michael had laid his hand gently to her cheek, his eyes gazing at her with a sort of hopeless longing.
‘Kiss me,’ he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.
Romy instantly removed his hand, her body rigid. She was about to snap, ‘Don’t touch me,’ but he looked so pathetic lying beneath her that the words died on her lips. She just scrambled off, wrapping her silk dressing gown more tightly round her nakedness. She shivered. He had been her husband, yet all she could see was Grace.
Michael turned his head away and she heard, ‘Sorry … sorry.’
Pretending nothing had happened, Romy busied herself plumping his pillows, hoisting him onto them and hauling the duvet back onto the bed. Michael lay, eyesclosed, so shrunken and pale. She could see his mouth working anxiously.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said.
Romy nodded, but didn’t reply.
‘I’m all over the place. I’m sorry,’ Michael went on.
‘It’s OK,’ she muttered, not meeting his eye.
There was silence from the bed.
‘You looked disgusted.’
Romy’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I was surprised, that’s all,’ she said eventually, looking directly at him. His dark eyes were unfathomable.
‘I was discombobulated when I fell.’ Michael’s face twisted. ‘And then you were lying on top of me and … it was like the past few years didn’t exist. I thought for a stupid moment we were still together.’
Romy didn’t know whether to believe him or not. It could just be him making up a clever excuse. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
Michael leant forward. ‘It does matter, Romy. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of your kindness. I got confused. Will you forget it ever happened?Please?’
The desperation in his voice hit home and she sighed. ‘I said, it doesn’t matter, Michael. Really, there’s nothing to forget.’ She gave his duvet a final tug and turned away. ‘Are you OK now?’
‘Yes, yes. I’m fine,’ he said quietly.
She sensed he was waiting for her to give him some sort of sign, some indication that she had forgiven him. But she couldn’t bring herself to offer anything but a brief wave of her hand as she turned away.
Romy pulled the duvet close round her body, holding her cold hands in a ball under her chin, her knees drawn up.Tomorrow, she told herself.Tomorrow Michael will tell me the truth. She was aware she could leave Michael in the safe hands of Daniel and Leo, just go home. But she would not leave quite yet, even though she could. Not before she had got the truth out of Michael about that night once and for all.
33
But the following morning, the freedom she’d begun almost to smell was yanked out of her hand, as if she’d been brutally mugged.
Dr Beech stood beside her in the hall. ‘A man like Michael,’ he said, ‘used to being in total control, at the top of his professional tree, he’s going to take this sort of setback hard.’
