Chapter 18 December 18th #3
“Do what?” I’ve known this man a long time. I know that when he reaches for the corner of his right eye and rubs, he’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like. And he’s rubbing the corner of his eye now, squinting as he does.
“We’re not going inside?” he asks on a breathy sigh.
“No, I don’t think I want that.” Because I have a feeling I’m going to be asking him to leave immediately.
I frown and look past him when I see a couple of police officers coming up the path, both of them looking at the building.
Dominic glances over his shoulder to see what’s got my attention as they approach, and I push my back into the glass door to allow them past.
“Thanks,” one says, as the other officer follows, splitting her attention between her pad and the numbers on the doors. She stops at mine. Knocks.
“Can I help you?” I ask, prompting them both to look my way.
“We’re looking for Ms. Moore.”
“That’s me.” Feeling uneasy, I release the door I’m holding open with my back and join them outside my apartment. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m PC Jones, this is PC Hyde. We’re here about a reported assault.”
“On whom?”
“You.”
I recoil, noting her eyes falling to my cheek. “But I haven’t filed a report.”
“No.” She goes back to her notepad. “Mr. Ellis did.”
Another recoil, this time sharper, and I’m suddenly very aware of Dominic hovering behind me. “It was nothing.”
“Assaulted?” Dominic blurts. “When? Where?” The officer looks at Dominic in question. “Husband,” he announces, joining my side. “Dominic Moore.”
“So who’s Mr. Ellis?”
Dominic turns his eyes on to me. “The guy I saw you with in the restaurant?”
I’m not derailed enough to appreciate what this must look like to the officers. “Dominic and I separated years ago. Divorce pending,” I explain. “Dec Ellis is the guy I’m seeing.”
“Dec Ellis?” Dominic blurts, his voice high-pitched.
“Are you just going to repeat everything being said?” I ask, irritated, unlocking my door.
“Please, come in.” I open the way for the police officers, stepping in Dominic’s way when he tries to follow them inside.
He doesn’t take the hint, swerving my static form and putting himself in the thick of things. “This really isn’t necessary,” I say.
“An unprovoked assault isn’t nothing.” PC Jones says, lowering to the couch while Hyde remains standing.
“Would you mind walking us through what happened?” she asks.
I sigh, not seeing the bloody point, but I lower to the chair anyway, eyeballing Dominic, who has perched himself on the arm next to me.
I start from the beginning, clarifying the date and time as Hyde makes notes, and walk them all through step by step. “I didn’t think anything of it because there were no other footprints behind me. Well, not until I looked closer.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was stepping in my prints.”
She nods slowly, thoughtfully. “And the woman who came down, she was at the window of her flat?”
“Smoking. She yelled before she came down.”
“Do you know which flat?”
“No, sorry.”
Looks of disapproval come at me from Dominic constantly.
“Okay, I think we have everything we need.” Hyde stands, and my head cranes back to look up at her as she hands me a card with her details. “If you think of anything else.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Thanks,” Dominic says.
“We’ll be in touch. We’ll see ourselves out.”
They leave, and I drop the card on the coffee table, standing and getting out of my coat.
“What are you doing walking the empty streets in the dark on your own, Camryn?”
“You didn’t come here to lecture me, so why are you here, Dominic?”
“Dec Ellis?”
“Yes, Dec Ellis.” Although I’m not talking to him right now.
“Dec Ellis of DEA&M?”
I frown, my mind unravelling the abbreviation. Dec Ellis Acquisitions and Mergers. “So you know him?”
“Not personally. DEA&M just bought Cloisters.”
If I recoil anymore today, I’m going to find myself with a debilitating bout of whiplash. “He’s what?” Dec’s bought the company Dominic works for? What the hell?
“Swooped in at the eleventh hour and gazumped the firm favourite.”
“Oh.” What the fuck is he playing at? TF Shipping, and now my ex-husband’s company?
“You’re seeing him?”
I tilt my head, my jaw tight. “We’re not going there, Dominic. Why are you here?”
“Right.” He takes in air. Lots of it. I want to yell at him to spit it out, but I also don’t want to hear whatever he’s got to say.
“Fuck,” he breathes, reaching for his eye, rubbing.
“I work with Kiera.” He’s unable to look at me.
I don’t need to ask who he’s talking about.
That’s her name. Kiera. He works with her.
“You were fucking her when we were together.” The words tumble out of my mouth intuitively, and just the way Dominic keeps his eyes on my feet tells me my intuition is bang on.
“You were having an affair.” I’m stating facts, not asking questions, my words robotic.
As if I’m shutting down, once again protecting myself.
All I get from him is a small, ashamed nod. He deemed it necessary to come here and tell me this the day before the anniversary of our little boy’s death? He thought that would be appropriate? For what fucking purpose? To hurt me even more?
But then something comes to me.
I inhale, scared to voice what’s ping-ponging around in my head. “The work call you were on when you were picking Noah up from school that day.”
His eyes shoot up to mine, wide and worried.
“It was her, wasn’t it?”
“We were drifting, Cam.”
Oh my God, no. “So you started fucking a tart from work?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“I didn’t plan for it to happen. It just . . . did.”
“And then you got so wrapped up in it, you failed to stop our boy from running out into the road.”
“The car was supposed to stop, Camryn. It didn’t stop. She was twice over the limit, for fuck’s sake.”
“All attention on Noah,” I grate. “That’s what we agreed. Always. When we had Noah, it was all about him when we weren’t at work. It’s the very fucking reason I asked you to get him that day, because I didn’t want to be on a call when I picked him up.”
“I know, Cam. I know.” His head hangs.
“Why the fuck are you telling me this now?”
There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence. Another long inhale. “We had dinner with Graham and Mindy.”
“How cosy.” Isn’t that just lovely? My brother probably always liked this shithead more than he loved his own sister. Even if he’s a cheating bastard . . . and the reason Noah wasn’t safe.
The reason Noah was killed.
Fucking hell.
I hate them both.
“Kiera mentioned something about work, how we met, when, and—”
“Get to the fucking point, Dominic.”
“Mindy put two and two together and deduced we’d had an affair. She’s given me the chance to tell you before she tells you herself.”
“Right.” I’m waiting for the unbridled rage to send me into a spin, or even the lump in my throat to appear. But all I feel is . . . numb. He knows what tomorrow is. Or is he too wrapped up in his happy little family now to remember? “Is that all?”
“What?”
“I said, is that all?” I walk to the door and swing it open.
Mr. Percival is in the corridor, holding his walking frame with one hand and a bulging shopping bag with the other.
I quietly scorn the old boy, taking the bag.
“Anyone would think you want to injure yourself,” I say, starting to walk him to his door.
Dominic emerges from my apartment, his face blank and yet riddled with perplexity, as he quietly leaves.
Mr. Percival cranes his neck. “Who’s that, dear?”
“A ghost,” I murmur, and he laughs, elbowing me in my arm.
“Stop playing games with me.”
I turn a mild smile onto him. “I don’t know who that is, Mr. Percival.”
“You don’t?”
I shake my head. “What on earth have you got in this bag?”
“Oh, the Christmas market’s on,” he says, casting one last look over his shoulder, but he doesn’t push. “I got us gifts.”
I get him inside his apartment and turn to shut the door. Dominic is motionless by the glass door that leads to the street. “What did you get me?” I ask, turning away, knowing that will be the last time I see my husband.
“Here, let me show you.” Mr. Percival claims the bag back and pulls out a bottle of wine. “Orange wine. It’s all the rage, apparently. I thought you might like to try it.”
I accept the bottle, grateful, not only because I need a drink, but because maybe I can get so drunk, I don’t wake up for the whole of tomorrow. “Want to share it?” I ask, encouraging him on.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“I don’t date, Mr. Percival.”
“Then how do explain Dec Ellis?”
“Him?” I laugh, and the absent lump starts growing. “I haven’t dated him.” I’m struggling to get my words out. “I skipped dating and just fell in love with him instead.”
“I thought as much.”
“You did?”
“Go big or go home, dear.” He chuckles. “And of course, he’s coming for dinner and birthday cake tonight!”
Not happening. I will not celebrate a man who possibly used me and is feeling fucked that his gig is up. “He’s not coming now.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
“It’s okay. I’ll eat the cake myself.”
Mr. Percival takes a moment, obviously reaching the right conclusion. “About that drink,” he says softly.
“You know, do you mind if we defer until tomorrow? I don’t think I’ll be much company.” The mention of Dec has apparently kick-started all the feels.
“A problem shared is a problem halved, dear.”
“I won’t burden you with my tragedies.” I dip and drop a kiss on his wrinkly old cheek. “Thank you for the wine.”
“Welcome, dear,” he says, thoughtful, as I let myself out. “You know where I am.”