Cooper Jilly - Emily

‘But whose bedroom was he trying to get into?’ I asked.

‘Probably taking pot-luck,’ said Rory.

‘Marina’s perhaps,’ I said, then could have bitten my tongue off.

‘Marina left hours ago, she and Hamish aren’t staying here,’ said Rory. ‘They were having the most frightful row when they left. They should lay off arguing occasionally, a short rest would re-charge their batteries for starting again.’

So he hadn’t been with Marina. Instead he’d been on the battlements by himself in a blizzard, driven by what extremes of despair. Somehow that seemed even worse. He got into bed, put his arms round me and kissed me on the forehead. I could never understand his changes of mood.

‘Sorry you were frightened by Buster,’ he said, and the next moment he was asleep. I lay awake for a long time. Towards dawn he rolled over and caught hold of me, groaning, ‘Oh my darling, my little love.’ I realized he was asleep and, with a sick agony, that it certainly wasn’t me he was talking to.

For the first time I dreaded Christmas. At home it had been our own, cosy, womb-like festival, but with Rory there wasn’t likely to be peace on earth, or goodwill towards men. Half-heartedly I chose a fir tree from the plantation behind our house and set it in a tub, put holly on the walls, strung a bit of mistletoe from the drawing-room light.

On Christmas Eve I went into Penlorren to do last-minute shopping and buy some little presents for Rory’s stocking. I left Rory cleaning his gun for the shoot Buster had arranged for Boxing Day.

When I got back, weighed down with parcels, there was a car parked outside the gate. I let myself in and was just about to shout I was back, when I heard raised voices from the studio. I tiptoed closer so I could distinguish them. One was like rough sand with a pronounced Scottish accent, the other aristocratic, drawling, silken with menace. Through the door I could see Finn and Rory facing each other, like a huge lion and a sleek, slim, black panther, obviously in the middle of a blazing row. Neither of them heard me.

‘Well, Doctor?’ said Rory, the words dripping with insolence. ‘Why are you hounding me like this?’

‘Because I’ve got several things I want to say to you.’

‘Well, don’t say them now. Emily’ll be back any moment.’

‘I don’t know what devilish game you’re up to this time,’ said Finn, ‘but you’d better stop playing cat and mouse with my sister. Leave her alone, you’ve done enough damage.’

I felt my throat go dry. I held on to the door handle for support.

‘Marina’s over twenty-one. Surely she’s old enough to take care of herself,’ said Rory.

‘You know she can’t,’ thundered Finn. ‘You of all people must know how near the edge she is. Don’t you ever think of Hamish?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ said Rory in a bored voice.

‘Or Emily?’

‘Leave Emily out of it. She’s my problem. You should really visit us more often, Finn. You’re like a breath of fresh air.’

‘You damned little rat,’ roared Finn. ‘You’re going to carry on as before, aren’t you?’

‘Well, things are slightly more complicated now, but on the whole, Doctor, you’ve got a pretty clear view of things.’

‘You know I can put the police on you, don’t you?’ said Finn.

Suddenly Rory lost his temper. He went as white as a sheet, his black eyes blazed.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he hissed. ‘Your family would come out of it as badly as mine.’

‘I don’t care.’

Their faces were almost touching in their rage.

Then Rory’s control seemed to desert him. He sprang at Finn, howling abuse, his fingers round Finn’s throat. At one moment it seemed as though Finn was going to be murdered. The next, Rory had gone down before a crashing blow on the jaw, and Finn was standing over him, fists clenched, about to kick Rory’s head in.

‘No!’ I screamed. ‘No! Don’t touch him.’

Finn swung round, his yellow eyes blazing. Then he looked down at Rory.

‘That’s only the beginning, Rory,’ he said. ‘I won’t be so gentle with you next time.’

And he was gone.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.

‘Fine,’ Rory said. ‘I do love Christmas, don’t you? It brings out those delightful histrionic qualities latent in all of us.’

I didn’t laugh.

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me he was talking nonsense,’ I said, ‘that there wasn’t any truth in his accusations.’

Rory poured himself a drink and downed it in one, then he banged the glass down.

‘What do you think, Emily? That’s what matters.’

‘I don’t think anything,’ I said, biting my lip to stop myself crying. ‘I just know you haven’t made love to me for nearly three months and it’s driving me crazy. Then Finn comes here and says all these things, and they seem to add up.’

Rory picked up the gun from the table and examined it. ‘So, you’re not getting your ration,’ he said softly.

‘Put that thing away,’ I said nervously.

‘Does it frighten you? Poor, frustrated Emily.’

He lifted the gun, his finger on the trigger.

‘Don’t!’ I screamed.

He aimed the gun upwards. There was a muted explosion, the crash of a light bulb, and the studio was in darkness. The next minute a wedge of muscle and flesh hurled itself against me, knocking the breath out of my body, pinioning me to the carpet. Then Rory’s mouth ground against mine with such intensity our teeth clashed. I struggled helplessly like a fly against a wall, trying to push him away.

‘No, Rory, no,’ I shrieked.

‘You wanted it,’ he swore. ‘You’re bloody well going to get it.’

It was over in a few seconds. I lay on the floor, rocking from side to side, my hands over my mouth. My ribs felt as though they’d crack with agony from the dry sobs I couldn’t utter.

Rory flicked on the side light and shone it in my face.

‘That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You don’t seem pleased.’

I gazed at him dumbly, I could feel the tears welling out of my eyes.

‘You hate my guts, don’t you?’ I whispered.

‘It’s your lack of guts I hate,’ he said.

Then, suddenly, he put his arms round me and pulled me against him. I jerked my head away.

‘Oh, Emily, Emily,’ he muttered, ‘I’m so miserable, and I’ve made you miserable, too. Forgive me, I don’t know what gets into me.’

Running a dry tongue over my lips and tasting the blood congealing there, I digested this outburst. I should have tried to comfort him, to find out what drove him to these black, uncontrollable rages. But I didn’t feel up to it. Without a word, I shook him off, got to my feet, and walked out of the room, banging the door shut.

Looking back on a time of intense unhappiness, one fortunately remembers very little. Our marriage was into injury time. Somehow we got through Christmas and the next month; hardly speaking, licking our wounds, yet still putting up a front to the outside world. Over and over I made plans to leave, but could never quite bring myself to. In spite of everything I still loved Rory.

February brought snow, turning the island into a place of magic.

Coco’s ankle recovered and she decided to give a birthday party for Buster.

Rory went to Glasgow for the night to stock up with paint, but was due back at lunchtime on the day of the party.

I went to sleep and had the most terrible nightmare about Marina and Rory, lying tangled in each other’s arms, asleep on the floor. I woke up in floods of tears, with the moon in my eyes and the screaming horrors in my mind. I groped for Rory beside me, and then remembered he wasn’t there. I was too frightened to go back to sleep again. I got up and cleaned the house from top to toe (my charwoman had been off for several weeks with rheumatism), and spent hours cooking Rory a gorgeous lunch to welcome him home. Then I went out and bought two bottles of really good wine. From now on I decided I was going to make a last effort to save my marriage.

At twelve o’clock the telephone rang. It was Rory. He was still in Edinburgh. He’d be back later, in time for Coco’s party.

‘Why bother to come back home at all?’ I said, and slammed down the telephone, all my good resolutions gone to pot. How the hell was I to fill in the time until he got back? I refused to cry. I decided to drive into Penlorren and buy Buster a present.

Two miles from home I suddenly realized I’d come out without my purse, and decided to turn round and get it. The road was icy and inches deep in snow. My U-turn was disastrously unsuccessful. The next thing I was stuck across the road, the wheels whirring up snow every time I pressed the accelerator.

Suddenly, around the corner, a dark blue car came thundering towards me, going much too fast even without ice on the roads. I screamed with terror but was absolutely powerless to move. There was no way it could brake in time. Then by some miracle of steering, the driver managed to yank the car to the right, slithering into a sixteen-yard skid, missing my car by inches, before juddering to a halt in a snowdrift.

Trust my luck. It was my old enemy Finn Maclean who got out of the car, all red hair and lowered black brows, jaw corners and narrow, infuriated eyes. ‘What the blazes do you think…’ he began, then he realized it was me, took a deep breath and said, ‘God, I might have known.’

He looked me over in a way that made me feel very small, and hot and uncomfortable.

‘I couldn’t help it,’ I blurted out, still shaking from shock.