Under my back, between my shoulder blades, there is something hard and cold. I recognize the shape: the metal heart. I shift my weight and he thinks I’m responding to him.
He is breathless; he stares at me with tenderness, stroking my neck again, caressing my throat, running his finger gently along my collarbone. His hand cups my breasts and he presses his face against them, moaning.
My eyes are squeezed shut.
‘Look at me,’ he demands.
I open my eyes. His face is bright and eager, full of anticipation.
‘I’d like to make you happy,’ he says earnestly. ‘I know I can make you happy. You just need to give me the chance to show you. You’d like to be happy, wouldn’t you?’
I can’t speak.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ His voice is hard.
I nod, once.
His hand moves from my breasts to my thigh. He strokes me through the thin material of my trousers. I tremble, but I know I mustn’t recoil from him. If I recoil, I will make him angry.
His hand moves to the waistband of my trousers. He pulls them down over my hips. He is gentle. He is smiling at me.
‘Tell me again,’ he says.
‘I love you,’ I whisper.
‘Smile,’ he says.
I want him to die. I imagine a blood vessel bursting in his brain. I picture his heart stopping in his chest. I smile.
His hands are on my hips, his breath warm against my cheek.
He smells of rot and soil.
Grave. I think. Grave, tomb, crypt.
He moves his body over mine, kisses my neck, my mouth. I lie very still. I count to ten again and again. He pulls my trousers down further. I press my thighs together, but his fingers feel stronger and more forceful now.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I won’t hurt you. I promise.’
I clamp my legs shut, at tight as I can. I grit my teeth and put everything I have into closing myself off. I shut my eyes as he prises my thighs apart.
The metal heart digs into my back.
‘We’re going to be so happy,’ he says.
Something inside me snaps and an animal panic surges though me.
‘No!’ I shout, and I try to push him off, kicking and clawing at his chest. I try to slap his face.
He hits me, hard. My head rings with the sound. He hits me again. I try to turn my face away from him, but he grabs a handful of my hair and shakes my head back and forth. I feel him rip a handful of hair from my skull, and I cry out.
‘Look what you’ve made me do,’ he snaps.
My eyes are watering so I can barely see him. I blink, frozen, my head pulsing with pain.
He waits, watching me. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he says. ‘You’ve made me hurt you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘Don’t ever try to slap me,’ he says. His eyes are cold. ‘You can’t slap me and expect that nothing will happen. If you try to hurt me, I will hurt you. Do you understand?’ My hair is still wrapped around his fingers. My scalp throbs.
I nod.
‘Do you understand? Answer me. Say it.’
‘I understand,’ I whisper.
‘Good.’ He puts his hand on my hips.
I know what will happen. My body freezes now. My thoughts scramble and retreat into some dark corner of my mind. I’m numb. I don’t feel his hand moving. I don’t feel anything. I make my body go completely limp.
‘That’s better.’ He kisses me again, puts his hand between my legs.
Again, that animal panic, but I know there is no sense in struggling.
But I have to move.
With my free hand, I try to reach under myself. He thinks I am moving for him and he presses himself against me, groaning. His flesh is hot against mine. I can’t hold him off any longer.
I move my hand further up, to where the metal heart is still digging between my shoulder blades.
I grasp it and pull it from under me.
And then I bring my hand up high and smash it into his skull.
I feel his body jolt, his lips go slack against mine and he collapses on top of me, a dead weight.
I heave him off me and he slumps back onto the bed, unmoving.
He’s dead, I think. I’ve killed him.
But he’s breathing still.
I scrabble off the mattress and search around for the jagged piece of metal that I’d found under the font earlier. The ragged strip of scrap that is no longer than my finger, but it will have to do.
I retrieve it from under the mattress. I hold it, trembling, and I wait.
Angus snorts and groans, as if waking from a deep sleep. His eyelids flicker.
I kick his leg. ‘Get up.’ My voice is high-pitched.
He groans again, and then his eyes focus on mine. The rage is instant, but then he sees the shard of metal in my hand. I wave it at him.
‘Get out,’ I say. My voice shakes.
He blinks and frowns, but he doesn’t move. I can feel my heartbeat in every part of my body. My blood thrums in my ears.
‘Get out,’ I say again. I grasp the piece of metal harder, white-knuckled, and point it at his throat.
He rolls to one side and heaves himself upright. For a moment, he stands, swaying, and I think he will collapse backwards. I think he will drop dead, on the mattress, and I will have to explain everything to John O’Farrell in the morning.
He eyes the piece of metal and I brace myself, ready for him to lurch at me and try to snatch it from me, ready for him to try to hit me again, to hold me down again.
‘I will stab you in the throat,’ I say.
He sways again, a baffled expression on his face, as if he can’t remember who I am or why he is here. And he begins to walk, unsteadily, towards the door.
I yank my trousers up, covering myself. I’m shivering convulsively now, my legs quivering.
Angus stumbles, clutching his
