Chapter 15

They returned home the next day. They went in the morning to avoid the worst of the Sunday traffic, and to avoid the traffic jams of the next day, the bank holiday Monday, so their departure was hectic. No time to talk further.

The journey was taken up as usual with keeping the younger children occupied, playing games and preventing world war three in the back of the car. They unpacked, ate and packed the youngsters off to bed. Siobhán went to her room to finish her homework ready for the next school day, so she could spend the Bank Holiday revising.

Mike and Claire were tired and went to bed, and after a hurried cuddle and kiss fell asleep. Monday was taken up with household preparations for school the next day, and after the children were bedded down, Mike began to sort his papers out ready for his return to work, while Claire tidied up and went to bed early, saying she was tired.

So from Tuesday normal life returned to its daily grind.

For Mike in particular a week from hell began. He realised that his absence the previous week was self-indulgent at the worst possible time. He berated himself for neglecting his work. Doing a token amount in Troon was not enough.

Rosemary had been inundated with enquiries arising from the week in Brighton. Companies wanted to discuss orders, have meetings to discuss contracts in addition to the mixed general enquiries. Rosemary had fielded them, had been able to make tentative arrangements for meetings and to explain to some other companies whether bespoke products were feasible.

There were meetings already arranged for him, email and Skype discussions to be held, and meetings with his sales and research departments. Two orders had already been placed. It meant that his followup paperwork, piles of which arrived on his desk, had to be done each evening at home.

He tended to be abstracted at the evening meal, and then had to disappear for the evening, pausing only to read stories and put children to bed. Claire would come to the office and kiss him goodnight before going off to bed. He fell into bed very late, usually finding that Claire was already asleep.

He had explained the situation to Claire, who had shrugged her shoulders and replied that since she was largely to blame for the situation she could hardly complain.

By Friday he was once again on top of everything, and was congratulated by a relieved Rosemary who had worked every bit as hard as he had.

So on Friday night he was exhausted, and when Claire and he went to bed together, they only kissed and cuddled before he felt asleep in the middle of some intimate stroking.

On Saturday morning he strove to rectify matters, and they made love at some length. It was then that he felt something was not quite right. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something about her responses, her smile. Did she avoid looking into his eyes as he stroked in and out of her, and brought her to her climax. No, she did look, there was love there, but something else, a reticence.

She came to his arms as they come down from their orgasms, and they kissed as usual, but again, did her kisses end a fraction before he was ready to stop? He wondered about it all day.

That night she came naked to bed as usual, as he waited for her, admiring her firm body and gentle curves. She climbed in and after a perfunctory kiss, she picked up her book and began to read.

He began to run fingers over her body and legs, over her breasts, and down into the hollow between her thighs, which were together. Usually, when he did that, her legs would fall open to allow access, but not this night. He pushed a little.

"Give me a few minutes," she said, "I'm nearly at the end of this."

He pulled away and turned over away from her, annoyed that after so long apart and after the crisis of the previous week. "Suit yourself," he grunted.

She did not react and he fell asleep before she finished her book.

He was in a bad mood when he awoke, and rolled out of bed before anyone was awake. He put on his running kit and went for a run, returning an hour later to find Claire up and dressed, she turned her head and look at him, then continued to prepare a hot breakfast. She said nothing and neither did he.

Again this was strange. If he left the bed to go for a run, she would usually still be in her dressing gown, ready to return to bed with him after his shower. Now he was worried.

He showered and dressed, by which time, the two younger children were downstairs ready for breakfast. He sat at the table and ate, saying nothing, except to answer if either of the children spoke to him. Claire chatted with the them but said nothing to him.

Once the girls had left the table, Mike stood and as he left the table, threw a comment over his shoulder.

"Yes, I had a good run, thanks for asking," he said sarcastically.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means you rejected my approach last night, then when I got in from my run, instead of being in your greeting gown you're fully dressed, and you've said nothing to me all morning. What's the matter, Claire? What's going on?"

She looked tired even though it was morning, and the word that came to Mike was 'defeated'.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just seem to have run out of steam. I have a lot to say to you, but now isn't the time. I've done a lot of thinking this week while you've been buried in your work."

"But why the silence?"

"I was afraid to open my mouth, in case I said the wrong thing or too much. Tonight, Mike, after they've all gone to bed. OK?"

"Sounds ominous," he said.

"Can you wait?"

"No choice, have I?"

"It's best."

The day passed, a normal Sunday. In fact Siobhán spent most of the day revising, emerging for food and a little conversation (on her phone to her friends). It was raining all day, so Mike played some board games with the younger ones and a couple of their friends who came round.

Mike cooked Sunday dinner, and Claire made a fruit salad for dessert. Mike tried to read a novel but couldn't concentrate. Claire was acting mysteriously and he suspected he would not like what she would have to say.

Eventually the younger ones were in bed asleep, and Siobhán had retired for the night. Mike was sitting in the living room, when Claire came in. She sat in an armchair rather than next to him on the sofa.

"I don't think this is going to work out, Mike," she said, glancing at him.

"I'm sorry? What isn't going to work?"

"Us, Mike."

She sighed and looked defeated as she had earlier.

"Claire, why? You know I love you, am in love with you, and you said you loved me at Mam and Dad's place, so much that you lost it when you thought I was cheating."

"That's just it, I lost it. I said things to you that I can't forgive myself for. I as much as called you a paedophile! How can I have a place here with you after that? It must have been lurking in my subconscious. I feel so ashamed I feel I can't stay with you. I'm finding it hard to face you here as it is. You were so loving the other night, so passionate, I just feel completely unworthy."

"But Claire–"

"And another thing," she was not finished. "You were right about me trusting you. When something goes wrong I show by what I say and do that I don't trust you. You can't want me to stay as your wife when it's clear I don't trust you enough. Mike, I never gave you a chance!"

A sense of real fear swept through him. He panicked.

"Claire, please don't do this! Please just spend some time talking and thinking about this. Most of our problems have happened because we acted too hastily or spoke too soon. Don't make the same mistake again. Think about it, practically all our problems have been caused by the malevolence of others. We've been set up time and again and each time we've recovered. I need you so badly Claire."

"You needed me so much you just went off when you proved me wrong. You said it was the end of our marriage. You did, didn't you?"

He hesitated. "I went off to think, and I missed you every minute I was away. I didn't realise till I went how much I've come to depend on you, how much I need you and love you. And as far as saying it was the end of the marriage, you told me to get out and said it was the end before I did. We both did our usual thing of saying more than we meant. Please don't leave me."

"Mike darling," she said, her tone more measured, "I meant it at the time. That's the trouble."

"But we were set up!" he urged. "If it had been true you would have been completely right. It would have been the end. You were right to react the way you did. You said the other night, you were so angry because you loved me so much. Love me now! Stay. Work it out with me. Please my darling!"

"If I had showed you the photos," she said with resignation, "you could have told me, but I was so sure. You understand Mike, I was certain!"

"You were set up Claire!" he was almost shouting. "Tom only realised about the photos because he had been with Bryony a number of times and knew about her tattoo, birthmark, whatever. I might have recognised the scene but I didn't know about the birthmark. Don't throw away what we've got, please?"

"That's just it," she said sadly. "I'm not sure what we've got."

"Promise me you'll think about it and take your time? Talk with me some more?"

"Well," she said smiling at him sadly, "that's the least I can do."

"Just remember," he said as a parting shot, "if we split up, whoever did this has won. That's exactly what they wanted."

She looked surprised at that. It shocked her a little, he thought. He hoped so.

Then.

"Mike?" she asked, "Would you be upset if I asked if we don't have sex for a while, just while I try to work this out in my head?" She hurried on, "If you insist on sleeping with me, I don't mind, I'm not shutting you out, I just need..."

"That's OK," he said gently, though it wasn't. She smiled gratefully and stood. He did the same and she came to him and they hugged, and he kissed her forehead. She made a little satisfied noise, then went to the bedroom. She was either asleep or pretending when he followed a while later.

The next morning he was up early to get to work. This was not to avoid Claire or the children, but simply to get ahead of things on what Mike knew would be a packed week. Rosemary had said she would be in early as well.

He ate a plain breakfast of muesli and tea. Then he wrote her a note.

It was a sunny morning and the drive was very pleasant, though his feelings countered the beauty of the morning. There was a deep sense of depression and a fatalism about it.

A motorbike passed him at speed, but he hardly noticed it. Someone late for work no doubt. He was glad that he was early this fine morning and did not have to rush.

His train of thought resumed. A second woman had married him and it seemed could no longer live with him, though this time there were three children he had become completely attached to as well; they even had his name! This time he resolved to fight for her before they parted. The first woman left out of selfishness. Once again, Claire was not leaving out of selfishness but out of love. He had to find a way of convincing her.

He was thus pre-occupied as he parked the car, so he did not look around as he walked to the door. He was about to key in the code when his world exploded in bright light and disappeared.

He returned to some sort of consciousness, though it was hazy and came and went. There were voices. He was being moved, there was a siren, there were bright lights, then he came to long enough to realise he was in a bed and he was in a hospital. His only thought was Oh, bugger, not again!

There were voices as he lost consciousness again. They seemed familiar.

He next woke up in darkness. It was night and it was quiet. He stirred and immediately there was a movement by his bed. He then realised than someone was holding his hand.

"What?" he wondered out loud.

"It's all right, darling," and he knew it was Claire, but it puzzled him. He had forgotten he was in hospital.

"But you were in the other bedroom," he said rather ludicrously.

"Darling," she said with the hint of a giggle. "You're in hospital. I need to get the nurse."

She left the bedside. Then a nurse arrived and did what all nurses do, checked pulse, checked his eyes, an uncomfortable blinding light being shone into them, then blood pressure. He relaxed and let it happen. He was tired, He wanted to sleep, and he did.

He was woken to a bright morning by a pretty nurse with dancing eyes and a wide smile.

"Breakfast!" she announced.

"But ... What ... How?" He was not exactly coherent. Then he fastened on what he thought must have been a dream.

"Claire?"

"Your wife has been here all night, darling," she said. "She's gone to get the children ready for school. She'll be back."

Breakfast was cornflakes, a boiled egg and toast. And tea. He was hungry and ate. The nurse came back and was impressed.

"Good!" she smiled, and what a smile! "I think you're well on your way."

At last he wondered why he was there and why his head hurt.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Not sure," she said."I think you were attacked by someone. You have a nasty abrasion to the back of your head. You wife knows more and here she is!"

She was right. There was Claire, looking tired and pale but with a wide smile of relief.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "I thought I'd lost you."

She came over and gave him a smouldering kiss. When she straightened he asked the question again.

"What's happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Well, I think I got out of the car at the office and then I woke up here."

She looked serious.

"You were attacked. The CCTV recorded it. Some man in a crash helmet crept up behind you and hit you with a baseball bat. You dropped and then he dropped the bat and got out a knife. It took him a while, because he was wearing leathers, once he got it out, you could see it flash in the early sun. Then Rosemary arrived in her car and he ran off. She heard a motorbike start and roar off, but did not see it."

She began to be upset.

"I think he was going to stab you. He wanted you dead. Thank God for Rosemary, she said she had arranged to be in early to help you so she was early as well. Otherwise..." and her eyes filled with tears.

It was then that her decision to separate came back to his mind. He felt confused. If she was set on leaving why was she so upset?

She must have seen his expression change and inferred that he had remembered their situation.

"Mike," she said seriously, "I'm sorry for what I said on Sunday night. I was wrong. I had already reconsidered after you said that if we separated, whoever was doing these things had won. I waited for you to come to bed, but you took so long, I fell asleep.

"You are right. I do love you very much and if you think you can cope with my temper, I'll try to control it. I want with all my heart to stay with you. I just didn't feel it was fair on you to have to undergo my temper tantrums."

"You've no idea what a relief that is. I don't know if I could have coped with you leaving me. It's happened before, you know."

She took his meaning immediately and hugged him once more.

Of course the police arrived and took his statement which amounted to about three lines of handwriting. The young policewoman asked him if there was anyone who had a grudge against him or wished him ill. He thought back to their history, but couldn't think of anyone.

"Cheryl," said Claire. "It could be her."

"It was definitely a man who hit you," said the officer.

"Cheryl has friends," Mike said.

The young officer said they would ask Cheryl some questions, got her details from them, as much as they knew, and left.

Mike was allowed home the following day, Thursday, once it was clear he had suffered no permanent cranial injury and was not concussed.

Claire fussed around him, making him sit in the living room and rest, but watching her busying herself round the kitchen bending to the lower cupboards and stretching to the high ones, all the time showing her shape and her curves, did nothing for his relaxation. Instead he began to feel the need for a certain sort of exercise.

He felt fine, and decided on a fiendish plan. He laughed to himself. Then composed his face.

"Oh, darling!" he groaned, bringing her hotfoot from the kitchen, "I think I need to get to the bedroom."

"Oh, let me help you!" and, all concern, she supported him as he shambled up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"I think I'd be better in bed," he moaned, and all concern, she helped him out of his shirt, undid his shoes and took them off, followed by his socks. Then, as he sat hunched over, concealing his rampant erection, she undid his trousers.

"Stand up, my love," she crooned, as she hooked her fingers on his waistband, beginning to pull the trousers and his boxers down. Then his state became obvious.

"What the–" was all she managed.

"Aha, me beauty!" he shouted. "Now you are in my power, I shall 'ave me way with yer!"

She squealed and fought until he let her wrestle him onto the bed, laughing all the while.

"Now who has the power?" she gloated as she sat astride him, much to his enjoyment.

"You have," he surrendered. "Do what you want with me!"

She grinned, pulled off her shirt and unclasped her bra, but since she was straddling him and her skirt had ridden up, she could not remove her knickers, but pulled the gusset to one side and sank down on him.

"Oh, be gentle!" he squealed, falsetto.

Her grin became more evil and she was anything but gentle. She took her pleasure on him with a wild look in her eyes, her hair flying about her face and her breasts bouncing.

Soon the grin disappeared and was replaced by that look of concentration. Then she came; she fell forward and lay atop him gasping for air. Then lifted herself off, stood and stripped, before climbing next to him and lying down. He covered her, drove himself deep and then took his own pleasure on her, while she encouraged him with grunts and groans interspersed with vulgar entreaties to more intense activity on his part.

Afterwards they lay together, on their backs, side by side gazing at the ceiling.

"I love being on top," she said into the air.

"I love you being there, less work for me!"

She rolled over him and punched him playfully.

"Lazy boy!" she scolded, then fell back.

"You know," she reflected. "Gary and I never played like this. I think it was always about his power over me. Just like he would never let me on top. You've no idea how lovely it was for you to say I had you in my power."

"I think you enslaved me that Christmas Eve," he said gently. "I don't want ever to be free."

She said nothing, but pulled him to her for a kiss, which continued for some time, her hand drifting to his cock until there was enough response from him to make love again, which they did at much greater length with her on top again. Then it was time for her to go and collect the children from school.

When the young ones arrived he knew they were overjoyed to see him; Ginny squealed as girls do, and Ryan shouted as boys do. A shout he could understand, but he wondered where girls learned to squeal? Both children hugged him briefly and, satisfied he was back, disappeared to do what kids of their ages do. When Siobhán arrived she was more restrained.

"Oh, Dad, you're back. Good."

She bent over his chair and kissed his cheek, then disappeared in her turn to do her homework.

Another disruption had been negotiated but in his mind and in Claire's there was the nagging worry that their troubles were far from over. The attacker had escaped to attack again, and they had no knowledge of who the perpetrator might be, or where he might strike next.

Mike remarked, however, that while the other assaults on their union tended to split them apart, this time they had been splitting and the faceless biker brought them together using a baseball bat. Claire agreed but neither of them laughed.

Next morning Mike was out of bed early, before Claire or the children were awake. He intended to get back into work. He knew the staff were capable of keeping the ship sailing, but he was the captain and while he knew he was something of a control freak, it didn't stop him being one.

He was finishing his cereal when Claire rushed into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" she cried, worry all over her face.

"Eating my breakfast," he said ingenuously. He should have known it would not wash with her.

"You know what I mean," she said sternly. "You were going to sneak off to work, weren't you?"

He looked at her and knew he was caught. She knew it as well.

"Mike," she said. "Please don't. How about one more day at home. With me?"

The smile she gave was a promise of a reward if he did as he was told. She was in her dressing gown and it sort of came undone as she said it. She was wearing her sexiest baby-doll. He knew at that moment that he was staying at home and so did she. She poured herself some tea and sat with him while she drank it.

"Mike, he could be waiting for you at work you know. He obviously knew you often get in early. You have to think about safety."

He could see she was deadly serious. He knew she was right, though he doubted the assassin would return so soon. He did not think the man would believe he was up to working after the blow to the head he had given him.

She disappeared to get the children up for school and then to take the younger ones there. Siobhán caught her bus.

When Claire returned in her raincoat and carrying a dripping umbrella since it had been raining hard, he watched as she opened the umbrella in the utility room and left it to dry. Then she came into the living room and making sure he was still watching, she unbuttoned the coat and let it fall to the floor. She was stark naked. She had taken the children to school with nothing on under her coat!