Chapter 24
Justin’s car was parked outside the house when Tara got home. Tempted to pull up behind him and block his exit, she thought better of it and parked alongside.
He might have brought the analyst with him.
What was her name, something like Tilly?
Tara had once had a family dog called Tilly and while she’d never met Justin’s girlfriend, the photographs she’d seen showed a thin, nervy-looking woman, with curly, mousy hair like the Bedlington Terrier that the canine Tilly had been.
‘What’re you doing here, dickhead?’ she called as she let herself in.
Justin didn’t reply, but she hadn’t really expected him to.
Tara carried her wet gear through to the laundry room and stuffed her swimsuit, gloves, socks and towels into the washing machine.
She turned it onto the rinse cycle and hung up her bag.
The smell of coffee drifted in. Bastard was helping himself.
He was in the living room, staring out across the garden.
‘Good swim?’ he said, when he saw her reflection in the glass.
Bite me, she thought. She said, ‘What do you want?’
Justin gave a heavy sigh, the picture of the ever-reasonable man dealing with a difficult wife. ‘We can be civilised, surely? You’re low on milk.’
‘So, keep your thieving mitts out of my fridge.’
She braced herself for a snarky comment about how it wasn’t her fridge, it wasn’t even her milk, because he paid for everything.
Justin never tired of reminding her that she’d taken early retirement aged fifty and her glass sculptures barely paid for her hair appointments.
To be fair, she took every opportunity to remind him that he’d pressured her to take retirement, because her shift work wasn’t all that convenient; also, an NHS nurse, not even one in management, didn’t really fit the corporate wife profile.
He walked over, putting his mug down on the kitchen counter. ‘Do I get a kiss?’ he asked, when he was close enough to slap.
‘No, you fucking don’t. What do you want?’
He shrugged. ‘Thought we could chat. Lawrence told me about your letter from Logan Quick.’
‘From his solicitors. Allegedly.’
Justin made a pretence of glancing around the room. ‘So come on, let’s see it.’
‘I know Lawrence showed you already.’
‘The letter, yeah. I want to see the token.’
‘Well, you can’t.’
He raised both hands in a despairing gesture. He was still, she realised, annoyingly, intimidatingly close. ‘Come on, what do you think I’m going to do, steal it? Where is it?’
‘In my fanny.’ She turned away and made for the stairs. ‘And I’m covered in salt. I’m going for a shower. Let yourself out.’
Justin didn’t let himself out. She’d known he wouldn’t. He followed her upstairs and was waiting when she emerged, dripping, from the shower. The towel she’d chosen was small, little more than a hand towel.
She’d washed the sea water from her hair, and it streamed down her back. In her early fifties, Tara’s hair was still as long and blonde and soft as when she and Justin had met. He’d always loved her hair. And he’d never been able to resist her straight from the shower.
He unzipped his pants, pulled the towel from her grasp, and pushed her up against the window.
Tara’s face fell against the cool glass, and she wondered what the cleaning lady might make of it when she arrived the next day.
It wouldn’t be the first time her face cream had been smeared over exactly that spot.
Justin clasped one hand around her breast and began fingering her nipple as his other hand entered her from behind. He moaned at how wet she was, thinking her more than ready for him. He was an idiot. Knowing what was coming, she’d doused herself liberally with KY jelly after the shower.
She felt his dick pushing against her and tilted her arse so he could get it straight in.
It was probably one of the biggest ironies of Tara’s life that sex with her husband had got better since he’d left her.