The Perfect Husband, page 13
16
I darted for the bedroom, but Jay surprised me with his agility. Within seconds, he was up off the sofa and behind me. I tried to slam the door closed, to lock him out, but I was too late.
The door battered my face as I stumbled backwards, thrown off balance by the force of his weight against it.
He flew into the master bedroom, and suddenly stopped.
I watched him in horror as he stared, open-mouthed, at my packed suitcase and matching holdall. My toiletry and make-up bags still had to be added to my suitcase. I had left them in the bathroom, needing them in the morning. His eyes then darted to the open closet, which hid the safe whose door was left ajar. Jay immediately noted my passport and bank cards lying on the bedside cabinet.
He frowned as he drunkenly tried to compute what it meant.
‘We don’t check out until Monday?’ he slurred, confused as he turned to me.
I didn’t reply.
I watched as the slow realisation hit him.
I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, pummelling blood and adrenaline through my veins, as my fight-or-flight response kicked in, screaming at me, desperate for me to get out. For there was a look in his eyes that I had never seen before that flicked the genetic survival switch in me to run.
I backed away from him, unsure of what he would do.
I watched as he strode over to my packed bags and picked them up.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
‘I can’t stand any more of your whiny, pathetic moaning,’ he answered, walking straight past me. ‘I paid for all this,’ he said, dropping my bags and throwing his arms theatrically out. ‘And what do I get in return? Not one word of thanks. All you have done is dictate to me from the moment we got her. Do this… Jay, fetch me that… No, Jay, don’t do that! Don’t drink! Don’t have fun! Don’t talk to anyone! Fucking, do this, do that! Don’t fucking breath without my say-so!’ He paused for a moment as he wiped the spit from his lips before adding, ‘That’s all I hear from you, you selfish fucking cow!’
Stunned by his words, I simply stared at him.
‘I’ve had enough!’ he continued, walking through to the lounge area.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘I’m going nowhere. I paid for this fucking bungalow and the whole fucking honeymoon! You’re the one going somewhere,’ he answered, heading to the front door.
I followed after him, as he opened the door and threw my suitcase and holdall outside. I heard them loudly roll and thump their way down the three steps leading up to our bungalow.
‘What the hell? Why would you do that? That’s my clothes you’ve thrown outside.’
He shrugged. ‘Go and fetch them if you’re that bothered. The maid can keep them as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You’re pathetic!’ I muttered as I pushed past him to retrieve my suitcase and holdall.
‘Let’s see who’s the fucking pathetic one now!’ he yelled after me. ‘This isn’t a fucking marriage! I regret ever marrying you, you ugly, fat cow!’
I turned around, suddenly realising what he was going to do, but it was too late. He slammed the door behind me.
‘Jay?’
I was barefoot in my PJs, locked outside in another country in the middle of the night.
‘Are you for real? I don’t have my key card!’ I pointed out. It was inside, along with my phone, passport and bank cards.
He didn’t reply.
‘Jay?’ I cried, banging with my right fist on the door.
No answer.
‘I’m barefoot and in my pyjamas, for Christ’s sake!’ I stated.
He didn’t respond.
‘Please, Jay? Let me in?’ I pleaded.
I stared in disbelief as the light seeping out from under the door suddenly disappeared.
What the hell?
He’s gone to bed, Sophie. He’s actually gone to bed!
I remained standing outside the bungalow, unsure of what to do.
He had locked me out and I had nowhere to go.
Pain now replaced the shock I felt. My forehead pounded from where the remote control had hit me, and my nose also hurt, but the throbbing pain on my bottom lip concerned me. I tentatively touched it and was surprised it felt sticky and wet. I held my fingers under the dim glow of the porch light and realised there was blood on them.
God, I’m bleeding. How?
Then it came to me. Jay had thrown himself at the bedroom door to force it open. Consequently, it had rammed into me as I’d pressed my body against it to stop him from getting in.
I gingerly felt the cut. It was still bleeding. I wondered if my top front teeth had sunk into my bottom lip when my head was knocked from the sheer force.
Remember? Your head ricocheted back from the impact of him throwing the door open?
It had all happened so quickly that I hadn’t even registered it.
I touched my nose. It felt tender and swollen. I could feel the blood starting to crust on my top lip from when my nose must have bled. Tears were stinging my eyes, not from the pain but from the shame. I couldn’t go to reception and ask for a new key card, claiming I had accidentally locked myself out. Not now.
‘Christ!’ I muttered, feeling sorry for myself.
Thoughts of my father made the tears that had been threatening start to fall. If he had still been alive, then none of this would ever have happened. I would never have met Jay. I would never have let him into my life, let alone have married him.
I felt as if my life was disintegrating around me, and all I could think of was, what if I had never walked into that bar the night Jay had been playing?
Oh God… If only…
But I knew the ‘what if’ game would drive me insane.
I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump at the back of my throat. I then swiped at the tears that were coming hard and fast. It wasn’t the time or place for a self-pity party.
I sat down on the top step and waited, hoping that Jay would back down and let me in. I counted the minutes down on my watch. When it reached 2.43 a.m., I knew that he was serious.
I debated going to reception and asking for a new key card, but pride stopped me. It was in the early hours and I couldn’t think of a reason why I would find myself locked out of my hotel room in my PJs with my bottom lip split open, and a swollen and no doubt bruised nose and forehead.
I had to be pragmatic. I had a flight to catch tomorrow evening without Jay. First, I needed to survive with some modicum of dignity until dawn. Then I would access the bungalow via Alaya, the maid, when she arrived to clean it at 9 a.m. I would tell Alaya that the room didn’t need cleaning to avoid waking Jay, giving me enough time to retrieve my phone, passport, bank cards and get as far away from the resort as possible. Considering Jay’s extremely drunken state, I doubted he would be awake before midday.
My toiletry and make-up bags were still in the bathroom inside the bungalow, so I couldn’t clean my face or even attempt to disguise whatever damage was there. I remembered that there were guest toilets in the reception area so I could at least clean the blood off.
I stood up and stepped down to pick up my suitcase and holdall. I carried them back up the steps and placed them outside the bungalow door. I then headed back down and along the winding paths, trying to remember the way to the reception area, praying that no giant crabs would cross my path tonight.
Oh God…
Terror coursed through me.
You’re alone out here, Sophie. Anything could happen to you.
The place was eerily deserted. All the guests were sleeping off their indulgences, and the night staff were nowhere around.
I wandered the labyrinth of paths, aware that my sense of direction was off.
I panicked, hearing two low male voices, presumably security staff checking the grounds. I couldn’t see them in the darkness, surrounded by tall, tropical, luscious vegetation that felt as if it were closing in on me. The cool night air, replenished after a quick downpour earlier, was alive with the seductive chorus of the whistling frog, drowning out the familiar cicadae.
I looked around me, disorientated. The darkness disguised the winding, lazy paths that typically led to the countless pools, bars, restaurants or the beach. Even the signposts appeared to be pointing in the wrong direction.
I held my breath and waited for the men’s serious talk to fade back into the blackness of the night. My courage failed me, and I gave up on the idea of the ladies’ toilets located by the reception. I was lost, exhausted and humiliated, and my bottom lip pulsated with pain. I was wearing an insect-repellent wristband and had sprayed myself when I dressed for dinner, which typically worked against mosquitoes and sandflies, but I could feel my skin breaking out in itchy spots.
I wanted to sleep. Pretend none of this had happened.
This is a familiar trope, Sophie.
I discounted the unhelpful thought, deciding to find someplace to lie down. I thought of the main pool by the breakfast dining area, but remembered that all the sun loungers were stacked away after 10 p.m.
The beach…
There might still be sun loungers left out and it would be the most private place to lie down until dawn. If spotted, I could always use the excuse that I wanted to watch the sun rise.
Anyone could be down there, Sophie.
The thought paralysed me with fear, but what choice did I have?
Ten minutes later, I was lying on a sun lounger, terrified, as I looked out at the black ocean, with hotel towels I had found layered under and over my body to protect me from the predatory sandflies. The deserted beach was blanketed in darkness, and the only noise surrounding me was the gentle lapping of the ocean waves against the sand. I had never felt so alone. So desperately isolated. So scared.
I lay there, staring into the black abyss, questioning what had happened to me. Tears fell as I was transported back to Trevaunance Cove in St Agnes, with Jay jealously raging at me as he grabbed my left wrist, twisting it so hard until the bones snapped.
Where’s the man I fell in love with eight months back? How is it possible that he could change so radically into someone I don’t recognise? That I don’t like – worse, that I fear.
The realisation hit me with such a force it took my breath away.
You’re a feminist. You’re financially independent, successful, clever and attractive, so how could you have ended up with someone like him?
Maybe I was overreacting? A dangerous combination of alcohol, high expectations and being in each other’s scrutinising company twenty-four-seven could account for his behaviour.
My behaviour?
I could feel myself backtracking. Not wanting to face the reality of my new marriage.
He physically hurt you, regardless of whether it was intentional or unintentional.
Then there were his cruel words, like poisonous arrows burrowed in my skin, his venomous hatred trickling through my veins, distorting my perception of myself, of the world.
I thought of my mother and how I could possibly tell her I had made the biggest mistake of my life. But I knew that she would be there for me, as would my sister. They would help me put my shattered dreams back together and get me out of the mess I had found myself in.
I considered phoning Grace when I returned to the UK and seeking her advice. Jay was a threat to my physical safety and my psychological well-being. I had more than enough evidence to implement divorce proceedings.
With adrenaline coursing through me, I threw the towels off my body and ran down into the water. Standing with it circling my calves, I stretched my arms out and stared up at the glittering heavens, and screamed as loud as I could: ‘It’s over! I want out, all right? I want out of whatever this is, because it isn’t a marriage. Do you hear me? It isn’t a marriage!’
The rage I felt inside at being cheated by him seemed to melt away.
Exhausted, I swiped at the furious tears with my right hand.
His words at our wedding suddenly came back to me: ‘I’ll never let you go… Never. You’re mine now till death do us part.’
A terrifying thought suddenly scorched through me: would Jay let me go? Or would he prevent me somehow?
Till death do us part…
17
Too terrified to sleep, I waited until, in all her glory, the sun rose, her rays gently caressing my face. People now strolled along the beach, enjoying the promise of another beautiful day in paradise.
The spectacular golden beach, dazzling turquoise ocean, palm trees and sky so perfect were all lost on me. Despite the bright colours, the surroundings came to me in a prism of muted grey. I stood up, casting one final look at the ocean, and then headed back to my hotel bungalow.
When I reached it, the door was already open. I spotted the maid’s trolley on the path by our steps.
‘Hey,’ I called out, before entering.
‘Miss,’ replied the maid.
I had expected to see Alaya.
‘Hi.’ I smiled, ignoring her surprised eyes as they rested on my split lip. ‘It’s okay, you can leave the bungalow until tomorrow. We’re fine,’ I assured her.
Puzzled, she nodded at me, then left.
I could feel my heart racing as I scanned the lounge area. There was no sign of Jay – or my phone.
Damn!
I crept over to the couch where he had grabbed it off the floor before I could reach it. I lifted the cushions, checking that it hadn’t slid down between them. It was nowhere to be found.
I furtively glanced over at the bedroom door. It was shut.
He must have your phone with him.
I tiptoed over to the door and tried to prise it open as quietly as possible so as not to wake him.
I squeezed through the gap and then looked across at the bed. I stared in surprise.
It was empty.
Where the hell are you, Jay?
He was so drunk last night that I’d expected him to sleep it off until late morning, if not the afternoon. I turned to the bathroom, wondering if he was in there, but it was deathly quiet. I looked over to the unmade bed. I noted the room service tray discarded on the marble floor with the empty plate and bottles. Jay must have drunkenly eaten my sandwich and potato chips and finished my wine and ordered another couple of bottles.
Christ!
I hadn’t realised the extent of his drinking or eating issues until we had come on our honeymoon.
I pulled the covers back, searching for my phone. Nothing. I then looked under the bed. Again, nothing. I remembered my passport and bank cards left out on the bedside cabinet. They were gone.
I ran over to the safe, hidden in the closet. The safe door was wide open and it was empty. Gone were our flight tickets home, Jay’s wallet and passport.
What the—
I stared in disbelief, not understanding why it was empty.
I ran over to the bathroom. Jay’s toiletries lay scattered across the marble counter. His clothes from yesterday were dumped in a pile on the bathroom floor.
Where has he gone? And crucially, where’s my phone, bank cards and passport?
My gut feeling screamed at me that Jay had taken them. Why, I had no idea, aside from making certain I couldn’t go anywhere. I had noted my luggage stacked in the lounge area as soon as I walked in, presumably brought in by Jay.
I switched the bathroom light on, and turned to the large mirror.
Oh God, Sophie…
I looked a mess. It was no surprise that the maid had looked at me with such alarm.
My bottom lip was split open, swollen and bloody, like my nose.
I ran hot water and carefully cleaned my nose and lip. I opened my toiletry bag, searching for antiseptic. I looked back at my bruised reflection. After a long hot shower, I would apply some make-up to disguise the worst of it and cover up the dark circles under my eyes.
I thought of my flight later, but without my passport and phone, I couldn’t leave.
Damn! The last thing I wanted was to miss my flight and waste that money. I didn’t want to stay a minute longer. I wanted to be gone. But the indisputable fact was that I was trapped here until Jay returned.
Showered and changed, I lay on the couch with a throw, reading a copy of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express that I found, waiting for Jay to return. Not that I could concentrate. I was too agitated and anxious, and every noise made me jump, making it impossible to absorb the words. It was now early afternoon, and there was no sign of him.
Where are you?
I didn’t want to risk leaving the bungalow, so I ordered room service. I was famished, realising I hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the sun had disappeared, and the bungalow was in darkness. I sat up, disorientated, not recognising where I was or why. Then it came back to me.
Where the hell is Jay? And, more importantly, my phone, passport and bank cards?
I checked my watch and was surprised to see it was 6.24 p.m. I should have been on the plane flying back to the UK.
It was then that the door opened, and Jay casually strolled in.
He flicked the lamps on, then beamed when he saw me.
‘Hey, babes.’ He looked at me. ‘Shit!’ he muttered. He took his sunglasses off. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Are you serious?’ I asked, shocked at his surprise.
He came over to me and crouched down on the floor in front of me. ‘Let me take a look?’ he said, taking hold of my head and angling my face towards the light from the lamp.
‘Get off me!’ I said, pulling my head from his hands.
‘Shh, it’s okay, Soph, I’m just making sure you’re all right. What happened to you?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Remember what?’ he asked, frowning as if I had lost my mind.
‘You! You did this to me!’ I replied.
I watched as he stood up and stepped back from me as if I was crazy. ‘Babes, I would never lay a hand on a woman, let alone my wife. Are you okay? I mean, I’ve been worried about you. You ran out of the bungalow last night, taking your luggage, telling me you were leaving. I had no idea what was going on,’ he explained. ‘Christ! I’ve been going out of my mind with worry!’
