As her hand wrapped round the receiver, he opened his eyes and, with a scream, lunged forward. She tried to punch in the numbers but he was on her, his hand over hers, pulling the receiver from her, wrenching the phone from the wall, flinging it on the floor.
‘Bitch! You’re going to pay…’
She made a lunge for the door, knowing that she probably wouldn’t reach it. She was right. He was on her straight away, pulling her back by her hair. She put her hands up to her head, tried to prise his fingers away, but to no avail. He flung her to the floor. She felt hair being pulled out by the roots, thought parts of her scalp could have gone too.
She landed hard and curled up into a ball, instinctively trying to protect herself while she got her breath back. She knew blows were coming and closed her eyes, placed her hands over her head and face.
‘Please, don’t hurt me… don’t hurt me…’
He knelt on her, his weight pushing her down, making it hard for her to catch her breath, clamped a hand roughly over her mouth. ‘Shut up. Don’t say anything. Don’t scream, don’t… just don’t…’
She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. Said the same words over and over again like a prayer, a mantra:
Then the slapping started. More startling than painful. She felt him attacking her around her face. She quickly moved her hands to ward off the stinging blows.
‘Bitch… bitch…’
He was using the words to build himself up. The slaps were getting harder, more forceful. Then she felt a punch to her chest. She grunted. That hurt. Then another one. Then another.
She had to do something, try to stop him before he lost control completely.
She opened her eyes, squinting at the expected blow. She looked up, saw Fletcher, his face twisted ugly with anger and hatred, his eyes almost closed. She glanced to the side. Saw the phone lying there. That would have to do.
She could move her left arm; he didn’t have any weight on that. Good. She snaked it out, groped for the phone. Found it. Flinching from the slaps and punches, she gripped it, hefted it in her hand and brought her arm round as fast and as hard as she could.
The phone connected with the side of Martin Fletcher’s head.
Not trusting to luck, she did it again.
He opened his eyes, looked at her. The anger had gone, replaced by shock. She didn’t have time to think about his reaction now; she just had to capitalise on it. So for a third time, roaring as she did so, she hefted the phone, putting all her strength behind it, feeling it crunch once more against the side of his head.
Martin Fletcher sat back, stunned. Marina used his confusion to wriggle her body free of his. She dashed to the door, tried to undo the lock, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t get a grip on it. Instead she started banging.
‘Help! Help me! Somebody help me! Help!’
‘No… don’t… don’t do that… please…’ Martin Fletcher’s voice was small and fragile. He stayed where he was on the floor, rubbing his head where the phone had connected, from where blood was beginning to trickle.
Marina ignored him, kept shouting.
‘No, please don’t…’
His anger was completely gone now; just that tremulous, fearful voice in its place. She turned to him, the psychologist in her ascendant once more.
‘Your power’s gone, Martin. I’m not scared of you any more…’
He shuffled away from her, squashed himself into the corner of the room. Covered his head with his hands.
Then came the sound of banging on the door.
‘Phil!’ Marina shouted. ‘I’m in here!’
There was more than one voice, muffled by the heavy wood. Marina took strength from the voices, managed to turn the lock. The door opened. There were two overseas students standing there, along with a maintenance worker. But no Phil.
She turned back to Martin Fletcher. He had stood up and was trying to get out of the window.
She rushed forward but he shouted, stopping her.
‘Stay back or I’ll jump!’
She stayed where she was. ‘Come on, Martin, don’t be stupid. You’ll break your neck if you jump from here. Kill yourself.’
‘I shouldn’t have come here…’ Martin Fletcher was crying. ‘It’s my fault. All my fault. I shouldn’t have come here…’
‘It’s not that bad, Martin, come on. Let’s talk about it…’ She tried to edge closer to him.
He moved further out on to the ledge. ‘I said stay back!’
Marina stayed where she was.
‘There’s nothing for me. Not now. Just prison, with the nonces and the paedos…’
‘Martin…’
‘Tell Gemma, tell Gemma… I loved her…’
‘Martin, no!’
But her words fell on empty air. He had jumped.
‘Be about another five minutes.’
Tony’s words called Marina back to the present. She gave a grunted reply, took another drink.
And that had been that. Martin Fletcher had jumped, killing himself in the process. And Phil hadn’t been there to help her. To save her. He had tried to contact her afterwards, when he had heard what happened. But she wouldn’t take his calls. She also discovered that he had tried to contact her when her phone was switched off. He’d wanted to tell her that at best he would be late, and at worst he wouldn’t be able to make it. There had been a murder and he had been called out to attend.
That didn’t make it better. None of it made it better. She had needed him to be there for her and he had failed. That was all there was to it.
She couldn’t help feeling like that. It was the Italian in her, and she couldn’t escape her ancestry. If a man said he would be there, he would be there. No question, no argument. And if he didn’t, if he let her down, then she had every right to be mad at him.
For over a week she awoke screaming during the night, Martin Fletcher’s face the final thing she would see before waking. Tony had been there for her every time. Safe, dependable Tony. A good man who looked after her when she needed it.
But she couldn’t face the university again. Not after what had happened. So she had left and set up on her own.
Then she discovered she was pregnant. Tony was fine about it. Happy, even. She might have thought that the pram in the hall meant the death of romance, but Tony had never been the most romantic of people to begin with. It didn’t even mean the death of his personal freedom, because he never went anywhere.
He was the one who insisted she drank only soft drinks. He had even talked about redecorating the upstairs study for the baby, suggested colour schemes, murals. He had gone so far as to pick up a Mothercare catalogue and ask her opinion of baby buggies. He was enjoying her new pregnancy and she wished she could join him. As it was it just scared her, sometimes even depressed her.
She did see Phil once more. He was waiting for her when she came out of work on one of her final days at the university. She saw him loitering behind a pillar and immediately turned the other way. He chased after her.
‘Please, Marina, please…’
She hurried away from him.
‘Please…’
She just kept walking, didn’t even acknowledge him. Eventually he realised that his words were having no impact and that she wasn’t going to slow down. He stopped, let her walk away. Out of his life.
She turned another corner, found herself in part of the campus that was almost deserted. She flattened herself against the rough concrete wall and cried her heart out.
Eventually she returned home. Tony had been watching
