“Don’t even start!” he rasped, waggling a long finger at me, his eyes raising up. “Don’t even.”
“Ivan, I don’t know what’s…”
“I said no, you stupid bitch!” he spat, upping his voice, his finger pointed again.
“No more fuckin’ lies,” he whispered.
I froze. Fear had me in its grip. Fear of what would happen next and what I should say, and what I should do. I had wronged him twice and I didn’t know how much he knew. He stood there, inches from me – this terrible, unpredicted intrusion.
He paced, clenching and unclenching his fists. I stood still, trying my best to look calm, arms at my sides, my back to the open door.
Should I run?
I had a horrible feeling of danger and dread. I might have run – but it felt like an overreaction. The door was still just ajar behind us. Anyway, I couldn’t have run if I’d wanted to: my feet were planted to the floor.
“I always knew about the robbery,” he said thickly, stopping abruptly and raising that long, questioning finger again, “And I always knew it was you Vicky. Maybe you had help but you were fucking in on it.”
His voice contained a bassey tremolo. It was as if the drink had released the repressed man from within and made his voice play at 33rpm instead of 45. His face looked repulsed. Mine probably did too at the foul odour emanating from the sweat patches under his arms. His breath wasn’t much better – a dreadful mix of stale tobacco and too many spirits.
“I really don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about Ivan,” I started, the words releasing my feet. I took a step towards him
“I said no!” he shouted and sidestepped me, grabbing my arm.
I almost knocked over an empty wine bottle from the table.
“What the fuck?” I shouted back, pulling away my arm and stepping backwards.
Now he was standing between me and the door. He walked towards me and I inched back further.
“I want you to leave.” I said trying to sound commanding, but my voice faltered.
“I bet you would Victoria.”
His smile was crooked and his arms hung idly at his sides.
“I said that I want you to leave,” I repeated, regaining a little composure.
All of a sudden, he grabbed my jaw and I let out a gasp, my arms useless, not reacting like they should have.
“I know about you and Richard too,” he barked, spittle landing on my face, his hot and dank breath drying it in a second wave.
“Fuck you!” I screamed, finally reacting, pulling myself back, and releasing my face.
I was beyond terrified.
I had twice wronged this out of control thug and now he was standing here, frantic, towering over me.
“No, fuck you,” he whispered, his voice full of nastiness and menace.
His face had contorted into something unrecognisable.
“C’m’ere,” he continued, his expression set, reaching out his hands to grab at me. I stopped back again, but I knew I was blocking myself into a corner, the back of my legs hitting against the coffee table.
“No, no!” I shouted.
“Quiet, you fucking bitch,” he growled, clawing at me as I tried to bat away his hands.
“Get off me!”
I clenched my fists and punched out at him, desperately, but it seemed like Ann Darrow feebly hitting the chest of King Kong. Ivan was an animal all right. He then backhanded me twice across the face, drawing blood. His bottom lip curled into a twisted smile. My head instinctively ducked down, but my arms still flapped wildly around. I was stunned, in a full and frightened panic. Then he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me towards him, winching me in. I screamed.
“Shut up!” he hissed, punching me in the stomach with his free hand.
“Maybe I’ll see what all the fuss is about too.”
My stomach churned further, at least distracting my pain sensors from the hair that was being ripped slowly from my scalp. I tried to look up properly, so I could see to grab at his wrists, to ease his tug of war with my hair. Peering through the blur of hair and blood, I saw the front door silently open out further and a figure bound in. My empty wine bottle was plucked up from the table.
Thud!
Richard.
He had swung and cracked Ivan hard across the back of the head.
Instantly my hair was released and the hot sting across my scalp eased. Ivan’s eyes began to cross and he faltered. I thought the bottle would surely have smashed over his head, but it hadn’t. He turned around to see his husband standing there. Richard’s eyes were blazing with fear, anger and disbelief. Ivan’s eyes narrowed and he staggered, then went as if to lunge towards Richard.
Whack!
Richard struck him again.
This time it was straight on, shattering the face, but still not the bottle. There was another sickening thud as it made contact. He toppled, falling awkwardly and hard. Then he was inanimate, lifeless.
I looked past him to Richard, my mouth hanging open. Our eyes met in horror, both wanting to awake from this nightmare. He beckoned me and I tiptoed past Ivan, looking away, then I clung to Richard’s chest.
“Jesus Christ. Fucking hell Richard,” I gasped, muffled against him. I sobbed, wetting his shirt. He was already soaked with perspiration and his heart was thundering in his chest.
“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he said, convincing nobody. He stroked my hair absently, while staring down at his husband.
What the fuck have we done?
Abruptly he broke from me, stepped around Ivan and paced over to the front door, closing it gently.
He turned, glanced a look at Ivan, then set his hands on his hips and stared up towards the heavens. I stood at the other side of Ivan, my arms crossed into myself, half doubled over.
“Is there anyone staying either side of you?” he asked urgently.
“I don’t think so,” I said, confused.
Richard slowly walked back towards Ivan, looking down at him.
“We need to ring the police,” I said simply.
He stopped
“I know. In a minute.”
He
