Anything for Her
Authors: Jack Jordan
ANYTHING
FOR HER
JACK
JORDAN
First published in paperback and eBook in 2015
Copyright
©
Jack Jordan 2015
Jack Jordan has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in a retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1512205084
Mum, thank you for your unwavering support and love, for always putting me first, and the sacrifices you made to do so. Thank you for teaching me that anything is possible if I work hard enough to obtain it. I love you
.
Chapter Thirty-two : That Night
Chapter Thirty-five : That Night
Chapter Thirty-seven : That Night
Chapter Thirty-nine : That Night
Chapter Forty-one : That Night
Chapter Forty-three : That Night
Chapter Forty-five : That Night
Chapter Forty-seven : That Night
Chapter One
Louise has never wanted her husband to die. Not until now.
Testicular cancer? Rabies? A fatal fall from a windy clifftop? Lightning strike to his adulterous crotch? She hasn’t decided. All she knows is, once a husband tells his wife that he has been having an affair with her younger sister, it is more than acceptable, if not entirely necessary, for his wife to imagine his gruesome death over and over for her own pleasure.
They have been arguing all night: ever since Michael confessed to the ten-month affair. The words slipped from his lips like an involuntary belch as she was trying to drift off to sleep, her thoughts chiselling away at her every attempt.
‘I’ve been sleeping with Denise.’
Louise stayed still for a moment, while her mind was invaded by harrowing thoughts, images, and sheer panic.
‘I love you, Louise. I don’t want our marriage to end because of this.’
Her throat constricted as though a snake had slithered into the bed and wrapped itself tightly around her neck.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, turning to face him.
Her brow was creased with a perplexed frown as she stared at her husband’s bare back for answers.
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you—’ he began, turning also.
‘No,’ she interjected. ‘Say it again. Look into my eyes and say it again.’
She stared at her husband’s bewitching face, waiting for him to explain that it was a sick prank, a test, a misunderstanding. He would laugh hysterically as her face relaxed into a relieved smirk and she’d slap his arm playfully.
You really got me for a moment there, Mike!
‘I’ve been having an affair with your sister.’
Michael’s complexion paled as he watched fury fill his wife’s eyes like poison.
The confession hit her like a shotgun blast to the chest. Her eyes began to sting with assembling tears. All she could visualise was the image of her husband writhing naked on top of her sister, both of them glistening with sweat and panting like excited dogs; she imagined Denise clutching her husband’s buttocks as he slammed into her, while Michael caressed her breast with his hand; the gold wedding ring on his finger cooling her nipple.
Louise truly thought she was going to vomit: spew her stomach’s contents all over herself, the bed and her despicable husband.
***
After a night of screaming, bawling, desperate apologies and venomously hurled expletives, they occupy the room in stifling silence: every word they have spoken still echoes in their ears. Louise sits on the end of the bed – the side of their marital bed that she has occupied for twenty years.
She looks out of the window, as the sun rises and begins to warm the December frost that sparkles on the London rooftops, and wonders if she will ever be able to look at her husband again without wishing him dead.
Misery presses down on her chest as if mounting it, with its hands wrapped around her neck in a fervid hold.
Michael stands at the foot of the bed with his hands in the pockets of his pyjama bottoms and the facial expression of a scolded child. His bottom lip quivers as he tries to stop more tears from falling.
‘Why, Michael?’ she asks weakly, her voice hoarse from excessive shouting. ‘Why my sister, of all people?’
‘I—’ He clears his throat as his voice threatens to quiver. ‘I couldn’t handle the secrets any more. I couldn’t handle the distance you put between us. Denise came on to me and I let her.’
Louise’s secrets and misery have stalked her like a
putrid stench for the past year, ever since a cataclysmic night that she refuses to speak of. Melancholy dominates her days and all she can do is submit to it and long for death.
‘It seems we all have secrets,’ she replies, her eyes fixed on the window. ‘But don’t worry, my secrets don’t involve fucking your brother.’
He goes to speak, but refrains. They succumb to the silence again. Louise looks down at the hastily packed suitcase by her feet. It’s time to leave. She has to escape her new, agonising reality before it kills her.
‘So not only have you destroyed your business, lost all of our money and shaken our family’s foundations like an earthquake, but you’ve decimated our marriage and severed my bond with my sister forever.’
She looks at him, her eyes brimming with tears, a woman too weak to take another knock.
‘I will never forgive myself,’ he says, his voice creeping into a weep.
‘I will never forgive you either,’ she replies, as tears spill over the edge of her lower eyelids and reflect the rising sun in their streams.
She stands and reaches down for the suitcase handle, allowing fresh tears to drop to the carpet.
‘Please stay,’ he begs. ‘Please stay until we work this out.’
‘I can’t bear to be near you right now,’ she replies, walking past him with her eyes on the door. ‘I can’t
even look at you.’
She opens the bedroom door while Michael sobs behind her. In front of her stand their two children.
Ten-year-old Dominic looks startled to see his mother’s worn complexion and bloodshot eyes. He stares up at her in terrified wonder. His stance is submissive and tired, and his small hands are shaking.
Eighteen-year-old Brooke, a youthful double of her mother, stands with tears swimming in silent rivers down her cheeks.
Both children look utterly drained. Neither of them has slept a wink. They had camped out on the landing when the argument first began to echo through the townhouse, and sat in silence, listening to every word until now.
‘I need to go away for a while,’ Louise tells them, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
‘Can we come with you?’ Dominic asks.
‘No, darling. Mummy needs some time to herself for a few days.’ Louise kneels down in front of her son: his eyes are shimmering with hurt. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t need you or love you with every part of me. It just means that I need to go away and have a good, long think. Okay?’
‘What have you got to think about?’
‘Not very nice things. But whenever I need cheering up, I’ll think of you.’
‘You promise you’ll come back?’
Tears begin to fill his eyes.
‘I promise you, my angel. I’ll be back.’
Louise spreads her arms and her son falls into her chest, unfurling his sobs as he nestles his face into her neck. She holds him in a firm embrace and looks up at her daughter.
Our secret did this
.
She doesn’t need to say it out loud. Brooke knows already.
Louise gives her son one last squeeze and a kiss before getting to her feet to stand before her eldest child. She enters into a tight embrace with her and kisses her quickly on the cheek.
‘Be strong,’ Louise whispers into her daughter’s ear. ‘Be strong for your brother.’
From the top of the South Kensington townhouse, Louise carries the heavy suitcase down each flight of stairs, trying to ignore the approaching steps of her husband, with their children following behind him like his shadow.
‘Don’t go,’ Michael begs. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
He grabs her arm in protest.
‘Michael, let me go,’ Louise demands, stopping on the last landing. ‘You have to let me go.’
Michael releases his hold as the realisation hits him: there is nothing more he can do. Louise turns and hurries for the last flight of stairs, her heart beating faster than her feet touch the steps. The suitcase
strains her arm and back but she doesn’t care: the sooner she escapes this place, the better.
When she reaches the front door, she stops. Michael stands on the bottom step of the staircase; the children remain at the top. Louise can’t take her eyes away from the framed photo hanging proudly by the door for all to see: the photo of her and Michael on their wedding day. Standing next to her is Denise in her maid of honour dress; Michael’s brother, the best man, stands to the right. The four of them are laughing, their wide grins radiating glee and wedding-day beauty. She had never noticed that Michael and Denise’s eyes were locked, frozen by the click of the camera.
Rage swells in her chest. Her entire body begins to shake. Her skin flushes hot, as if she were on fire. She releases her grip on the suitcase, snatches the photo frame from the wall and launches it at her husband with a rage-filled scream. He ducks as it crashes against the wall, exploding into glass fragments and splinters of wood.
Dominic howls in horror from the top of the stairs and runs out of sight. Brooke remains, looking down at the collapse of her parents’ marriage, guilt clouding her eyes as though she feels entirely to blame.
Louise looks at the scene, quivering with abashment, torn between hurting her husband further and running to his aid. She takes her keys from the
sideboard, picks up her suitcase, and rushes out of the house. The door slams behind her; the sound reverberates through the house and sends shudders through those she has left behind.
Chapter Two
Shards of glass slip from Michael’s back as he looks up at the glass-panelled door and watches his wife disappear down the steps and out of his life.
She’s gone. She’s actually left me
.
He hadn’t expected this. He thought she would be hurt, but had anticipated that she would stay in the family home and that, eventually, they would rekindle their relationship after this minor blip. He had never thought she would pack a suitcase and disappear.
After being by her side for twenty years, Michael realises he doesn’t know his wife at all. He hadn’t predicted she would leave. He hadn’t thought she could keep secrets from him. He had thought wrong.
Brooke lingers at the top of the stairs, looking down at her father crouching on the bottom step, his bare feet surrounded by shimmering glass. The photo lies on its back, the laughing faces captured in the shot look up at the new, unforgettable moment.
‘Get ready for college,’ Michael says, without moving his eyes from the front door.
She obeys and leaves her father alone in the silence of the entrance hall.
Michael stands up and walks to the kitchen for the dustpan and brush. He returns and sweeps up the
mess from the hardwood floor and the carpeted stairs. He picks up the dislodged photo and looks at the four young faces.