Дэвид Муди - Strangers

He moved closer. Mumbled ‘sorry.’

Something wasn’t right. Michelle realised he was wearing the same clothes as last night. She remembered his cardigan, and she hated cardigans on men. Kids and old folks could just about get away with them, but middle-aged men like Jeremy definitely couldn’t. She remembered thinking he looked like he was trying too hard when she’d first seen him yesterday, but that definitely wasn’t the case today. His trousers were grubby and creased and his hair was a mess. It wasn’t like him. ‘Are you okay? Has something happened?’

‘Didn’t know where else to go,’ he said, his voice almost too low to make out. That damn helicopter was still buzzing overhead. ‘Wanted to see you.’

She looked around but couldn’t see his car. ‘How did you get here?’

‘Walked.’

Alarm bells were ringing. Was he planning something? Was he going to try and snatch the girls and take them back with him to the Midlands? But hold on… this was Jeremy, remember? Safe, sensible, reliable Jeremy. He wouldn’t do anything like that, would he? When they’d first split up, he’d immediately acknowledged the kids would be far better off with their mother and in all the years since he’d never said anything to make her think his opinion had changed. He didn’t take risks, he did things by the book. And she realised that whatever his reason for being here this morning, she was actually glad to see him.

He moved a little closer, stopping just a couple of paces away, almost close enough to touch. He just stared at her. Needed her. Wanted her.

‘Jeremy, love, what’s wrong?’

Michelle remembered everything that had happened last night and how physically inferior Jeremy had appeared next to Scott, how quickly he’d capitulated. She’d felt so sorry for him but hadn’t dared say anything. It had been like watching the nice, quiet kid at school getting the shit kicked out of him by some lump-head bully. If Jeremy was hurting or upset this morning, she didn’t want him to be. She looked deep into her ex-husband’s eyes and all she could see were the things that had first attracted her to him. She loved his face. She’d always loved his face but it was like she’d forgotten why and was only now beginning to remember. She could see it again now… the bump at the top of his nose, his light blue eyes, his neat ears. There was nothing pretty or particularly handsome about Jeremy, but this morning he just looked… right . And then she felt her legs weaken because it was as if that innocent, unspoken admission had unwittingly opened the floodgates. A torrent of long forgotten and completely unexpected emotions washed over her. Had these feelings merely been suppressed, not lost? She felt desperately sad because she’d let him go. More than that, she suddenly felt an undeniable urge to be with him stronger than anything she’d felt for him before, even during their first weeks and months together. This felt pure and basic, unstoppable and inevitable. All she wanted was to hold him close again, to feel his body against hers, inside hers…

Not a word needed to be spoken between them. It was as if a forgotten connection had been re-established between the estranged couple, transcending the need for verbal communication. There remained just inches of clear space between them.

A final moment of hesitation, one last failed sanity check, then an embrace in the middle of the yard in front of the house.

Their lips locked and hands began to move, exploring bodies which hadn’t touched one another in years, hadn’t wanted to. Jeremy gently pushed her up against the side of Scott’s Vauxhall Zafira, his tongue exploring her mouth in the same way the girl’s tongue had explored his last night, and—

—and Scott flew through the front door and pulled Jeremy away from his wife. He threw him to the ground and kicked him in the gut, hard enough to roll him over. ‘Bastard,’ he spat. Michelle grabbed at him and tried to pull him away, but he swung around and slapped her across the face, just as he had done last night. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he demanded, standing over her as she sank to her knees, sobbing. ‘Answer me! What the fuck is going on?’

Michelle looked up at her husband, then at her ex-husband behind him on all fours, struggling to get back to his feet. Her mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘I don’t…’ she said, ‘I didn’t…’ She couldn’t form full sentences, could barely even form full thoughts. Blood poured from her nose.

‘You bitch,’ Scott said. ‘How long have you and him been planning this?’

Already distracted, he was taken completely by surprise when Jeremy barged past him to get to Michelle again, his unbuckled trousers now around his ankles, his penis erect. Too stunned to react at first, as Jeremy reached for Michelle, Scott grabbed his shoulders and pulled him over backwards. He kicked him again, focusing his full fury on the man on the ground. Michelle staggered away, heading for the relative safety of the house.

Jeremy was still trying to get back up. Scott ran at him and punched him so hard he thought he’d broken his hand, catching him full on the side of his jaw and knocking him out cold. He stood over the unconscious, half-dressed man and shook his stinging hand. There was a noise behind him. He spun around quickly, expecting to have been locked out of the house, but the noise had come from upstairs. Phoebe was hanging out of her bedroom window, and she started screaming when she saw her dad. Seconds later, Tammy came flying out of the front door. Scott caught her and carried her back inside, throwing her down the hallway before slamming the door shut then locking and bolting it behind him and pocketing the key. She scrambled back to her feet and threw herself at him, pounding him with her fists. He tried to catch her vicious, flailing arms but couldn’t. He refused to hit back and instead just soaked up punch after punch until she was too tired to keep fighting.

The house was full of noise now: Michelle sobbing at the bottom of the stairs, Phoebe a few steps above her, howling too, and elsewhere George, forgotten, was screaming for attention. Tammy saw that Scott was distracted and shoved him away before bolting, looking for another way out of the house. He blocked her at every turn. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he tried to say, cornering her in the kitchen. ‘He attacked your mum… tried to force himself on her.’

‘He wouldn’t do that. You’re lying again… he wouldn’t.’

‘It’s true,’ Michelle said, wiping her bloody nose, desperately trying to cling onto Scott’s half-truth and avoid making any admissions of her own. She’d been as much to blame. She’d wanted Jeremy as much as he had wanted her, though now she couldn’t understand what had possessed her. She felt as if she’d been violated though they’d barely touched. Conscious they were staring at her, she wrapped her dressing-gown around her half-naked body. Her voice was hoarse with crying and tears flooded down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. ‘He was outside and I went to ask him what was wrong. He looked scared. I went to talk to him and he… I don’t know if he’d been drinking or what… he was wearing the same clothes as last night and—’

‘And you weren’t putting up much of a fight,’ Scott sneered.

‘You’re both lying,’ Phoebe said from the corner of the kitchen, away from the rest of them.

‘Did you not see him from up there?’ Scott said, no consideration for her feelings. ‘Trousers round his ankles, everything hanging out… dirty fucker.’

‘Scott!’ Michelle said.

‘What? Don’t you dare criticise me, you bitch.’

‘Don’t talk to Mum like that,’ Tammy screamed at him.