Warhol's Prophecy

‘Hailey,’ Rob persisted. He took a step towards her.

‘He kept ringing me at work,’ she said, a note of anger in her voice. ‘I wouldn’t return his calls. I didn’t want it to go on.’

He glared at her.

‘You were fucking him, weren’t you?’ he said sharply.

‘No,’ she protested. ‘It didn’t get that far.’

‘How far did it get?’

‘We had lunch a couple of times. I wanted to thank him for what he did for Becky. He got the wrong idea. He kept pestering me. He wanted an affair. Not me.’

‘You fucking bitch,’ Rob said quietly. ‘You fucking two-faced bitch. You were giving me a hard time about what happened with Sandy, and all the time you were getting shafted by this cunt.’

‘Don’t start lecturing me about affairs, Rob. You’re not in a position to do that.’

‘At least Sandy didn’t try to kill you,’ he shouted.

‘Rob, please. You’ll wake Becky. I don’t want her to hear this.’

‘No, I bet you don’t. That would take some explaining, wouldn’t it? “Sorry to wake you, darling, but Dad’s a bit upset because the man who’s been fucking Mum has just tried to kill him.”’ He took another step towards her, and for a second she thought he was going to strike her. ‘I hope it was worth it. I hope he was good.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she snarled.

‘Well, what was it like,’ he roared. ‘Tell me.’

She saw tears in his eyes.

‘Wasn’t his fucking dick big enough?’ Rob continued venomously. ‘Didn’t he make you come? Is that why you finished it, or did you think that spreading your legs a few times was payment enough for him finding our daughter?’

He raised his hand and she stepped back involuntarily.

She saw the fury in his expression.

And the pain.

‘Now you know how I felt,’ she said, tears suddenly coursing down her cheeks. ‘Rob, I didn’t mean any of this to happen. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I was so mad at you because of what happened with that slag you worked with. But I didn’t have an affair with Adam Walker. I swear to you. Something happened, or nearly happened, but I stopped him. I didn’t have sex with him.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ he rasped.

The knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsed furiously.

‘That cunt came here, didn’t he?’ he growled. ‘He came to this house. I shook hands with him. I thanked him. And all the time he was fucking you. He was laughing at me. So were you, you fucking bitch.’ He pushed her to one side and wrenched open the sitting-room door, pounding up the stairs.

Hailey followed.

‘Rob, please,’ she called after him.

‘Keep away from me,’ he told her threateningly.

‘All right, call the police if you want to. Tell them who it was. Tell them what Walker’s been doing,’ she blurted.

‘No. You know him so fucking well, you sort it out.’

She saw him pull an overnight bag from one of the wardrobes. Watched as he hauled open drawers and cupboards, and stuffed clothes inside.

‘What are you doing?’ she wanted to know.

‘Getting away from you,’ he snarled.

‘Rob, please. Think what you’re doing.’

‘What I’m doing?’ he spat. ‘We spent time in those fucking Relate sessions trying to save a marriage that looks as if it wasn’t worth saving. I was supposed to be the bad guy. I was the one who was breaking up the happy home, wasn’t I? Until Mr Adam fucking Walker came along. If you’d kept your eye on Becky that day, none of this would ever have happened. Because then he wouldn’t have had to find her, and you wouldn’t have had to spread your fucking legs to thank him.’

He snatched up the bag and barged past her.

When they emerged on the landing, Becky was standing in the doorway of her room. She was clutching a small teddy bear and crying softly.

‘Dad,’ she said, her voice cracking.

He crossed to her and kissed her.

‘I’m going away for a while, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Your mum will explain.’

He looked round and shot Hailey a scathing glance, then he made his way down the stairs.

‘Rob,’ Hailey called after him.

He slammed the front door behind him.

‘Why were you and Dad shouting?’ Becky wanted to know.

Hailey swept her up into her arms and held her tightly, both of them weeping.

‘Where’s Dad going?’ the little girl sobbed. ‘When is he coming back?’

Hailey wished she knew.

77

HAILEY LOOKED ACROSS at the glowing red digits on the radio alarm: 2.03 a.m.

Outside the storm had abated. The thunder and lightning replaced by rain spattering insistently on the windows.

In the bed beside her, Becky slept fitfully, tossing and turning in her sleep, occasionally moaning aloud. Some bad dream, Hailey assumed.

Like seeing her parents shouting at each other?

There had been lots of tears that night: from Becky and from herself. She had lied

(what the hell else was she supposed to do?)

about why Rob had left the house. Saying that he had been called away on business, and wasn’t sure when he’d be back.

The lie had worked for the time being.

It’s a pity not all lies work as effectively, isn’t it?

Becky had asked about the raised voices. Hailey had found it more difficult to explain that. Even now, she wondered if her daughter believed her. Only natural. She didn’t know what the hell to believe herself.

How many times had she looked across at the phone?

Who should she ring first? The police?

Tell them about Walker.

Frank Burnside?

Find out if Rob was staying there.

She swung herself out of bed and crossed to the window, peering out through the curtain of rain into the deserted street beyond.

Walker?

That was who she should be ringing.

The irony was not lost on her, but it didn’t force a smile. She didn’t know what would ever make her smile again after the events of the last few days. How long had she tried to avoid him? And now she needed to speak to him – wanted to.

Perhaps she should call Caroline Hacket. He might even be with her.

Then she looked back at the clock and remembered the ungodly hour. Any calls would have to wait until morning.

Wouldn’t they?