Going Up and Going Down (9 page)

Ted Hopkins had
arranged a meeting for me with a prospective new client, a limited company
whose offices were about forty miles away. The structural steel firm had
struggled to stay afloat during the early nineties recession that had seen so
many casualties within the industry. The managing director had made
redundancies, ran the place on a shoestring and kept the overheads to a
minimum. He had priced jobs at break-even just to get the work and keep the
place ticking over. Each month of every year since, had been a struggle. He had
re-mortgaged his home and injected more cash to keep the business afloat –
staying focused on his determination not to close the doors. His gamble had
eventually paid off - for the last two years he had gradually needed to recruit
more staff and had a forward order book worth more than six and a half million
pounds.

I arrived at
the office of Martin Farrer Structural Fabrications Limited with fifteen
minutes to spare before our twelve o’clock meeting. His receptionist, Julia,
provided me with a cappuccino and introduced me to the accounts office staff
before taking me along to Martin’s office and introducing us.

After a
business lunch that lasted two hours, I made arrangements for the company’s
first audit before setting out again for the forty mile journey home. As the
journey had taken me in the opposite direction to work Ted had told me not to
bother returning to the office and to go straight home.

I was surprised
to see Anthony’s car in the drive when I pulled in. It was extremely rare for
him to arrive home before me and it was only just past three o’clock. I
wondered if he was ill. Quietly entering the house in case he was asleep, I
dumped my handbag on the kitchen worktop and went through to the lounge.

I felt my body
sag and the most unpleasant feeling of déjà vu at the scene in our lounge. My
eyes and my head struggled to accept what was there before me. Anthony was
reclining on the settee, trousers around his ankles. A young man was knelt on
the floor fondling Anthony’s balls and bent over giving him a very enthusiastic
blow job. So engrossed he didn’t realise I was there. Two pairs of denims and
boxers had been thrown into the armchair. Anthony looked rat-arsed. I don’t
know where I summoned my self-control from. I could feel vomit rising into my
throat and my hands were trembling but somehow I held it together. Without any
screaming and shouting, or being predictable, I casually walked over to the
settee, offered my hand to the lad and said,

“Pleased to
meet you! I see you’ve met the prick.” He jerked at hearing my voice and
dropped my husband’s scrotum as if he’d just been bitten. His mouth gaped and
Anthony’s cock went from seven inches to shrivelled-up slug in seconds as it
fell from the lad’s mouth.

“Helen…I…I…it’s
not…” stammered my twat of a husband.

“What it seems,
Anthony?”

The kid was
almost dressed and trying to get past me to make a quick exit through the
kitchen. I felt sorry for him. He was barely in his early twenties. Anthony had
brought him here so I didn’t feel any malice towards him.

“Did he pay you,
love?” I asked him “How much did he promise you?”

Staying in his
way to block his escape I reached the kitchen before him and snatched my purse
from the worktop. The lad could hardly get a word out,

“It’s…it’s ….okay.
Sorry.” I thrust five twenties at him. “I hope this covers a cab back to...Take
it.” He looked me in the eyes and after a few seconds hesitation he took the
money from me. As the lad closed the back door Anthony came into the kitchen
behind me,

“How…how much
have you given him?” I was battling to stop the Gavin and Bobbie scene that had
started replaying in my mind, wondering if there was ever to be an escape from
it. And that’s all Anthony could utter. I turned to face him.

“A hundred…you
owe me a hundred pounds, you fucking arsehole!” I almost laughed at him. His
eyes had all but popped from their sockets.

“Twenty is what
I agreed with him. What the fuck do you think you’re doing giving him a hundred
fucking quid and expecting it back from me?”

“He deserves it
for having to put up with all this...this…shambles! Call it embarrassment money
- he’s not much more than a kid! What are you playing at, Anthony? You were
married for fuck’s sake!”

My earlier calm
was dissipating. My hands were starting to shake again – the shock kicking in!
The shock hit Anthony like a sledgehammer as well – what I’d just said to him
had hit home.

“Helen…were…?
What…your Dad…? I…!”

“Don’t worry
about your precious position, Anthony!” I screamed, my anger building with each
passing second “I’m not even going to waste my time telling Dad. He thinks the
sun shines out of your every orifice – Mr Perfect!” then, “I…this is what
I…we’ll do…we carry on as normal. But from now on we lead separate lives,
Anthony. My parents are not to know about this. Just don’t you ever come near
me!”

“Babe…Helen…I
love you…!”

I felt
hurt…again…always hurting. I wanted to cry. The tears were threatening and I
spat my next words out with such venom,

“Love me? You
have not loved me for ages, Anthony. I’ve never felt loved since your parents
came for dinner. It’s a marriage of convenience for you. It lets your parents
think you’re…. that you’re...normal! You’re anything but fucking normal! You
couldn’t even defend your wife against your mother! You fuck around with…rent
boys…and expect me to believe you love me? You don’t love me! You haven’t made
love to me in months….you’ve fucked me! Love?” He stood there, mouth wide open,
looking…not sorry…but worried…and I could almost read his thoughts. What he was
showing was not concern for me… he was worried for himself…and his position in
my father’s business.

“Helen…your
Dad…I…” he stammered.

“I won’t be
telling him! And let’s get one thing straight - I’m doing this for my father’s
benefit, Anthony, not yours!”

There was
nothing I would have loved more than to be able to let my father know what an
utter bastard Anthony had turned out to be, but over the past couple of months
Dad had been very quiet again. He never complained or said he was feeling ill
but there was something troubling him. He did worry about his health and
fitness. I know Mum had asked him to cut back on the hours he was putting in at
work, which he had done. I trusted that we would be seeing an improvement over
the following weeks due to his part time hours and I didn’t want anything to
spoil that.

The problems
that Anthony and I were having in our marriage (if it could be deemed as such
any more) prompted me to start getting out and about more with the girls from
the office. I hadn’t been to badminton for the last six months or so and it
felt good to be playing again and get some physical activity back into my life.
I joined Nina, Janet and Gillian on the Saturdays out again, but we tried to do
something different this time. Once a month it was shopping, but on the others
our outings could involve anything from a drive into the country for a walk, or
a pub lunch, to a cinema trip and art galleries.

It made life
interesting and was a vast improvement to the hanging around at home, watching
Anthony recover from yet another hangover and having to listen to a thousand
reasons why he should never have married me. Shit, I couldn’t believe what I
was having to listen to on a daily basis – I wasn’t the one paying bloody rent
boys, and gambling and drinking our life away! I had given in trying to
converse with him, to find out why he had changed and was treating me in this
way. I didn’t want to know anymore. It had gone beyond that. Though as far as
anyone else knew, things were still perfect between us. There was nothing to be
gained from disclosing the harsh reality to my friends and colleagues, or my
parents.

On one such
Saturday (our monthly shopping trip) we stayed in the city much longer than
normal and hailed a taxi to take us to Covent Garden where we sauntered around
for half an hour trying to agree on a restaurant. It had been a fun filled
afternoon (although we hadn’t actually made any purchases other than a few bits
and pieces like make-up and hair clips) and none of us were in any particular
hurry to get home. Nina’s husband was away on business and Gillian and Janet’s
boyfriends (who were friends) were both in Prague for a stag weekend. I told
them that Anthony wouldn’t mind me staying out. I went outside to call him (or
so they thought). After we’d settled the bill for our meal we roamed around the
area looking for a suitable pub (where we could rest our aching feet, park our
posteriors and concentrate on getting smashed, for the first time in ages). By
the time we reached the Lamb and Flag, we no longer cared,

“This will do,
won’t it? Nina urged “I need to pee, so it will have to do.”

Inside, it was
anything but quiet. The place was rapidly filling up and the atmosphere was
almost party-like but we managed to find a table in a corner. Janet and I went
to the bar to order the first round of drinks and we were immediately
surrounded by a group of young men who had clearly been on the drink for a few
hours.

“Why don’t you
young ladies come and join us at our table over there?” one of them asked us. Janet
didn’t waste any time trying to knock them back.

“Look guys,
it’s no use trying to hit on us. We’re all in relationships, and in fact,” she
gestured towards me, “she’s happily married, and so is Nina.” She pointed to
where Nina was sat, back to the window. If only she knew the truth.

“Okay then,
that put us in our place. Look, come and join us anyway. We’re only out to get
pissed and have a laugh. Go on, you know you both want to. Go and ask your
other two friends. We promise we’ll try to keep our hands off you.” Janet was
looking dubious, and raised her eyebrows, but knowing what awaited me back
home, I felt like having some fun.

“What harm can
it do, Janet? I’ll go and ask Nina and Gillian.”

Five minutes
later we were sat around the lads’ table, all introductions made, and Ed (the
gobby one amongst them) had gone to the bar for the next round.

“Come on,
ladies, drink up, your second round is here!” he shouted as he approached the
table with the tray of drinks for us girls perched precariously on one hand
like a waiter. After slopping them down on the table in front of each of us
(wrong drinks, order all mixed up), he set off back to the bar to collect the
drinks for the six of them.

“Somebody go
and help him,” Nina suggested. “I don’t fancy his chances with six pints.” Two
of his mates whose names I’d already forgotten went to his assistance.

They were such
an assorted bunch (two mechanics, one builder, an IT manager and a plumber, the
sixth one being unemployed), the conversation at times was nonsensical, but
they were all flirty, fun and harmless. Even Janet, despite her earlier
reservations, had managed to relax and enjoy their company. By 11.30pm we were
all pissed and singing along with the songs playing on the jukebox. I had let
my hair down and was enjoying myself for the first time in… it had been a long
time. I can’t even remember what time it had got to when Gillian said she had
had far too much to drink and was ready to leave, so we made our excuses. The
guys gave us all hugs and agreed on how much they had enjoyed our company. When
Ed asked us if we had any plans to return there in the near future we broke
into fits of laughter and joked on in a silly and flirtatious way,
implying…nothing.

Much later,
after I’d removed my sandals in the kitchen and as I climbed the stairs to bed,
I realised exactly how drunk I was. I was making (what I thought to be) a
conscious effort to keep quiet so I wouldn’t disturb Anthony as I passed his
room. It wouldn’t do to wake him up. I couldn’t cope with a full on
confrontation, the state I was in. I stopped and listened (wobbling) outside
his door - all was quiet. After I’d splashed some cold water on my face and
brushed my teeth I just flopped onto the bed, unable to stand a moment longer
lest I should fall. As my head hit the pillow I drifted off to sleep without
even removing my clothes.

Totally unaware
of how long I had been sleeping, I was horrified to be awakened by somebody
roughly pulling my tights and panties off me in one swift move. How could
somebody be in my room? I always bolt my bedroom door…don’t I? It all came back
to me in a rush, how pissed I had been, how pissed I was still feeling…and
then…Anthony rammed his cock up me with the force of a madman and started
nipping and squeezing my breasts so hard it was excruciating. I lashed out,
laid into his chest with my fists and then slapped at his head. He was causing
me tremendous pain, both in my private parts and my belly. I realised I was
hurting because I wasn’t submissive…my inner muscles were tense and I was
fighting his every powerful stab at me. He was dodging my blows, but not once
did he stop ramming at me with his cock. I squirmed beneath him, trying to
wriggle free…away from the violence of his selfish need. I was appalled at what
he was doing to me…making me feel trashy, like scum. I was trying to scream out
as he continued…to alert anybody who might hear me. Furious, he let go of one
of my breasts and slapped his hand firmly across my mouth.

“Shut the fuck
up, you stupid bitch…you’re my wife!” he snarled. I continued my thrashing at
his arms, chest, any part of him that I could reach as I tried to scream back
at him.

“This…not…marriage…this…is
rape…you bastard!” I managed to mumble to no avail, his hand blocking my words.
I’d lost. I didn’t have any fight left in me, due to my booze weakened body,
and I was hurting - everywhere. He continued fucking me in his raging and
violent manner as all I could physically do was lie there and take it and hope
it ended soon. I cried, silently. It felt like it would never come to an end.
One hand stayed firmly over my mouth. The fingernails of his other hand raked
at and dug into my breasts. He threw his head back, fucked me hard and rough,
and even harder as his intent to damage me drove him into some obscene pleasure
and it brought about his climax. I couldn’t bear to look at him and with one hand
I pulled a pillow over my face and sobbed into it.

As I felt him
pull out his disgusting, dripping cock he laughed,

“You always
were a good fuck, Helen. I see that hasn’t changed.” From within my depths the
rage I felt suddenly exploded from me in a final fit of energy and I threw the
pillow from me.

“You bastard!”
I screamed, and I kicked out at his back, a move I instantly regretted as he
turned and slammed his fist into my eye. Once he’d left my room, I slowly made
my way towards the door, bolting it this time – as I should have done those few
hours earlier.