She was surprised at how calm she sounded and that her arm wasn’t shaking all that much. More surprising was that he snapped his mouth shut and continued staring at her instead of saying anything in his defense. If he had pleaded with her, tried an explanation, expressed some anger at his brother’s behavior or the will to set things straight, she would have still been angry, hurt and disappointed but wouldn’t have felt as empty as she was feeling now.

There was only one thought on her mind: Enough is enough.

Exactly like some weeks ago, she felt she’d lose her sanity, lose herself if she allowed herself to be hurt so much. Fighting hard against the moisture that seeped into her eyes and against what felt like her heart bleeding, she wheeled around and ran back into the room.

He called after her, but didn’t follow. That was another sign that she was right and he was wrong, wasn’t it?

She slammed the door shut behind her and sank to the floor like an inflatable toy robbed of all its air. Curling herself into a ball on the wooden floorboards, she gave in to the tears and cried her heart out. In the middle of all the anguish at having been used by another man she had thought she loved, it registered that Michael walked right up to the room door, stood in front of it for long minutes and walked away without a word.

When there were no more tears left to cry, she looked up, disoriented from exhaustion, an empty stomach and emotional pain. Her gaze hit the window that showed her an impossibly green landscape, a few brown-, yellow- and red-colored trees and a grey-blue, cloudless sky. It was as if the outside were calling to her.

Yes, there was a life for her out there. This had been the last time that she had cried. She didn’t need Mark, didn’t need Michael. She had never needed them. They had needed her, to trample on, to feed their egos on, to face their dismal lives. All of a sudden, anger and determination won over hurt and disillusionment.

She got up, walked over to the bed, stooped low and pulled out her suitcase. For a moment, seeing it and remembering the many times in the recent past that she had packed and unpacked it, she felt as though squeezed by a giant fist that wanted to drain her of her will. Stubbornly, she fought the invisible fetters tying her to another place she didn’t belong to. With deliberately precise and controlled movements, she walked around the room and collected all the personal items she had only the day before put into their new place.

If there was one positive thing to learn from her husband, it was his ability to let nothing deter him from what he wanted and what he probably thought was right.

After she had packed all her clothes and books and changed from her nighty into cream-colored jeans and a sweatshirt with bright leopard print, she tied her hair back, closed her suitcase and grabbed her handbag.

Without looking back, she walked all the way to the front door. Putting the suitcase down and realizing that it had gotten somewhat lighter than the first time of escaping, she took her fur-collared parka from its hook and threw it on.

“Cathy? Cathy!”

With a will of iron, she forbid herself from turning to face Michael, who had come running down the stairs at the sound of her footsteps.

“Are you leaving?”

“What does it look like?”

Where did this confidence come from? How did she manage to stay so cool and appear so calm when all she wanted was to shout at him and pummel him and demand an explanation and be comforted by him and lie in his arms?

“Aren’t you giving me a chance to explain? Do you think so little of me and so highly of him?”

There was some anger and lots of hurt in his voice. Every nerve of her being screamed at her to turn and give him a chance. Resolved, she stepped into her shoes and opened the door.

“Don’t you think you had enough chances?” she asked, her voice breaking ever so slightly despite her determination not to show him how much he had hurt her and succeeded in whatever his cruel plan had been.

When there was no answer, she stepped over the threshold and walked down to the road, holding her head high.

Her new life was awaiting her.

* * *

Roughly an hour later, she rested her head against the window-pane of the bus putting a distance between herself and her second attempt at a happy life. Once again, she was in pain, leaning on something inanimate for support and relief that it certainly wouldn’t give. Heck, what could a pane of dusty, comfortingly cool glass do against heartbreak? What the hell could she do against it?

Not caring where it would take her, she had spent her last bit of cash on a ticket to the final destination of the bus. The glass felt cool against her hot, slightly swollen and red face, the steady throbbing of the engine reassuring. As it had been the first time when travelling to the village, she had no eyes for the scenery passing by, alternating between villages and landscapes and here and there a somewhat bigger town. It felt like a colossal effort to keep her head leaning against the window and her eyes from closing.

What she needed now wasn’t more time spent motionlessly, thinking aimlessly. She wanted to sleep, to sink into oblivion and wake up with new determination and at least an inkling of how to go on, how to pick up the shattered pieces that were her life and reassemble them in a way that would make more sense.

There was no sleep to be found. She was afraid to try during the bus ride, dreading the nightmares that would surely attack her and have her wake up screaming. Instead, she ducked deeper into the soft fur collar of her parka and studiously avoided making eye contact with the handful of other passengers in the bus.
As there was no temporary relief of sleep, thoughts kept chasing each other in her head. Round and round, like a caged tiger in the zoo, prowling, sharpening its claws.

The memories were the worst. All the happy moments she had shared with Michael. Their kisses and promises of more bliss. Their garden work. The first dinner together. Snatches of conversation coming back and looking much clearer now. How angry he had always sounded at her mentioning Mark, how personally he had taken matters, how convinced he had been that her husband was wrong. And now it turned out he might have been even more wrong! Or was it her who was the most wrong of all, misjudging first one and then the other brother and attaching herself and her life to people who didn’t deserve it.

How would she be able to forget this man who had within the span of a few days succeeded in becoming more dear and important to her than her husband of more than a year?

(To be continued tomorrow.)

Previous Part
Back to the Beginning

With her mind reeling and feeling as though about to faint, she must have made some kind of sound because Mark’s icy gaze was on her and Michael had whipped around to stare in her direction.

For a moment, her husband looked like a puppet straight out of a children’s TV program, mouth drooping hilariously wide open, eyes almost bulging from their sockets. Clearly, he had recognized her immediately, despite the blanket that wasn’t nearly enough of protection against things sliding out of control. When her eyes darted to Michael of their own will, she saw that his face was full of hurt and guilt and some other emotion she was in no fit state to analyze.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Cathy, I…”

That was Michael, full of chagrin, taking a half step in her direction.

“What the—?”

That was Mark, sounding and looking as though he had seen a ghost.

Her husband had stepped over the threshold and was advancing toward her, active despite all the confusion, shoving the other man out of the way when he feebly stretched out an arm as if to stop his advance.

“What the hell are you doing in my brother’s house? And wrapped in a goddamn blanket at that?”

His cold grey eyes were boring into her, at once succeeding in making her feel as small and as wrong as those days.

Wait, what had he said?

“Brother?”

It came out as a squeak.

“Cathy, please…”

Michael’s voice hardly registered with her, so stunned was she by this new revelation, so much held captive by Mark’s forceful presence.

His eyes quickly moved from her to Michael and back and there was a calculating grin spreading on his face that almost made him ugly.

As usual, he was the quickest to grasp a situation, to make the most of it, to turn it into an advantage for him.

“I see,” he drawled, as if relishing something that only he understood.

“You seriously don’t know? This coward hasn’t told you?”

Shaking uncontrollably, she fought hard to stand her ground, full of dread, a tiny voice at the back of her brain chanting a malicious chorus of I told you so all along, I told you so all along.

“What don’t I know?”

God, she hated how weak and confused she sounded.

Mark made a small derisive sound in his throat and spared Michael another glance, who had sunk against the wall and was gazing at them with a pained expression that spoke of nothing so much as of guilt.

“Congratulations, old boy. Wouldn’t have thought you capable of such deceit and cunning. You seriously succeeded in tracking down my wife and getting her to associate with you without suspecting a thing. Not that it takes much skill and experience to trick her.”

Turning back to her after seeing Michael flinch from his words and open his mouth in silent protest, he continued, one hand thrown out toward his seeming clone, “May I introduce you to Michael Darren Nolan, my twin brother, though we both wish it were otherwise.”

She actually swayed and swallowed hard with a throat as dry as parchment.

God, why has she been so blind?! He was right, she was so damn easy to trick!

Obviously enjoying their discomfort, Mark pressed on.

“I guess I should be offended that my soon to be ex-wife is in my disowned brother’s house where she has clearly spent the night. But to be honest, I couldn’t care less. I want neither of you in my life, so you’re free to go ahead and jump all over each other. Tell me one thing though: How on earth did he manage to get you interested and gain your trust, ready as it may be?”

Despite her confusion and hurt, she somehow managed to draw herself up and face him. She would not let this man ruin her life again. She would not.

“That is none of your business,” she spit back at him.

For an instant, he looked taken aback, before his face closed into the same cool sneering mask that had haunted her nightmares and once her days, as well.

“No need to go all high and mighty on me. Like I said, I couldn’t care less. However, I wouldn’t have thought you quite so gullible.”

Facing Michael again, his tone changed, becoming icier still, and filled with the same hatred that had spoken out of his brother’s mouth last evening.

“You. One word of advice: This woman is still officially married to me, but I am definitely going through with the divorce and it won’t look rosy for her. If you nailed her because you’re desperate for money, think again, as I don’t plan on giving her a single cent if I can have it my way. Brothers by blood or not, don’t you dare to pry your way back into our family or our fortune through her. You chose to cut off all ties and act as the goodie in a God-forsaken hamlet. Now live with your choices and never ever think of cheating your way in. At least I have enough backbone to stand up for what I do and believe in myself.”

He tossed his head arrogantly.

“Anyway, it’s useless to waste my time here. Whatever you’re up to with my lovely wife, don’t use her against us or for having your past with all its benefits back.”

He turned toward Cathy again, who was still motionless and feeling more and more wounded, not the least because Michael didn’t say a word in his or her defense. His arms were hanging lifelessly beside his body, his hands closing into fists and opening again rhythmically.

“And you. Let me tell you that you’re throwing in your lot with a weakling and a cheater on a bigger scale than you can probably imagine. You should know better than to associate with somebody who has been to prison and cut all ties with his family and former life. Don’t believe a single thing he’s saying. If you have any respect for yourself, leave him like we would have left him if he hadn’t run.”

Now it was her turn to stare and be at a loss for words. Oh, how she wished she could run!

When she instinctively wrapped the blanket around herself more tightly, an odd look entered Mark’s face, one that could have been regret. He gave her one last stare and strode to the door. In the doorway, he half turned to where they stood frozen like statues in a Greek tragedy. He pulled a folded document out of his back pocket and threw it at Michael’s feet.

“Before I forget it, my dear brother. I came here because Grandfather Nolan has passed away. He mentioned you in his will and our family lawyer absolutely refused to give you the news in some less personal manner. As you had left your address with him for exactly the event of grandfather’s death, he sent me here. I couldn’t have been more reluctant to come. Now, however, I think it was worth the long journey.”

His eyes shot from his brother to her and back before he composed his face into a mask free of any readable emotion. He left, calmly walking toward where he had parked his silver BMW and not stopping when Michael sprang to life and shouted questions after him as to how and when their grandfather had passed away.

She was still glued to the spot. She heard the car door shut, the engine purr to life and the vehicle drive off. Some seconds or maybe minutes later, she heard him walk back into the house and close the door. He bent down, picked up the document, stared at it as if it might bite him at any time and slowly lifted his head to look at her.

When he opened his mouth and said her name, in a voice that cut her as much as Mark’s had before, she held up a hand, the other clutching the blanket to her as if her life depended on it.

“No.”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

Previous Part
Back to the Beginning

Michael stopped, visibly pulled himself together, and took a deep calming breath.

She couldn’t understand why he was so emotional and furious, but she felt her own anger and hurt intensify when he made so clear what she had always known, that Mark hadn’t been any good for her and didn’t deserve her guilt and doubts or her reluctance to be happy in a new relationships. And yet.

“Don’t speak like that and get all worked up. Don’t say you know when you’re only guessing and assuming the worst,” she quietly chided him, wearily eying the fist lying on the counter that conjured up pictures of a similar fist raised to punch something or someone, to punch her.

He shook his head tensely.

“Believe me, I know. More than you probably do. I told you I was part of that business world before I began anew here. And I still hate myself for it, hate those who pulled me into it and now couldn’t care less.”

“Don’t hate when you can love instead,” she said, surprising herself with this piece of wisdom and realizing at the same time that she had spoken not only to him but to herself. Yes, she was ready now to completely leave that shadowy, stormy past behind and walk into the sunshine with Michael. She hadn’t deserved all the hurt.

When he gazed into her eyes, so many conflicting emotions flitting across his tense yet handsome face, the fist under her hand slowly uncurling, she smiled a shaky yet inwardly determined smile at him. Then, for the first time, she kissed him.

He sucked in a surprised breath when she timidly laid her lips over his. She applied more pressure and brought one hand up to his neck, trying to express with that one kiss that she appreciated his love for her, was willing to give him a chance, and maybe reciprocated his feelings. Perhaps he understood, for he pulled her flush against him, deepened the kiss and finally let her go, whispering her name against her ear.

“Cathy. My Cathy.”

His breath tickled her ear and his lips behind her ear and on her earlobe sent arrows of desire through her body, setting her every nerve on fire. All too soon, he drew back and let her go, though his eyes never left hers.

“I love you.”

Now it was her turn to suck in a breath of surprise. She felt her heart beating like a drum and her stomach feeling like a playground for a dozen butterflies. There, he had said it. Would she, could she?

Before she had resolved what to say, he took another step back and folded his arms across his chest, maybe bracing himself for her reply or her silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

For a moment, she was torn between two emotions: relief at not having had to answer, sadness that he was apologizing for having confessed his love for her, a love that she had sensed all along. He continued and she was able to breathe again.

“I’m sorry that I keep making the mistake of forcing your past into the foreground or dwelling on my own past despite claiming the opposite. Now let’s forget all the crap and live, shall we?”

The slightly joking tone was in his voice again, the sparkle back in his grey-blue eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind the ear that was still tingling and picked up the salad bowl.

“What better way to start living than finally making yourself useful and carrying our dinner into the living-room?”

She indicated the steak, potatoes and dishes with her chin, grinning at him. He chuckled and obediently loaded his arms.

“I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again: Always at your service.”

He emphasized the word “always” and she actually found herself looking forward to always having him at her side, in her heart.


Chapter 9  

Cathy woke up, strangely alarmed, though at first not knowing why.

With bleary eyes, she gazed at the alarm clock on the bedside table, an old-fashioned, round metal construction without digital time. It was shortly past 10 o’clock. Reluctantly, she dragged herself up into a sitting position. Michael and her had devoured their first dinner together and snuggled up on the couch, watching a wildlife documentary and after that a 3-hour-long Bollywood romance into the middle of the night, feeling very much like a new couple in love.

She yawned through her smile and ran a hand through her hair, wondering again why she had felt so alarmed when waking up. Right at that moment, a voice cut through her sleepiness and sent her on edge. That sounded like—No, it couldn’t be. Her ears must be clogged from sleeping too long or she must be disoriented by her unfamiliar surroundings. This voice belonged into the past. And yet. The man spoke again, this time louder. The coolness and harshness and especially the familiarity of it chilled her to the bone.

Hastily, she got up. Wrapping her blanket around her, she left the room and padded barefoot into the corridor from where she could now hear Michael’s voice, also sounding oddly harsh and cool.

What she saw in the doorway made her freeze and for a second doubt her sanity.

Michael was standing with his back to her, clad in shorts and a white singlet. What shocked her, what pulled her eyes like a magnet and made her feel as though a giant black hole had opened under her feet to suck her in, was the sight of the person standing on the doorstep. A person looking like his clone. A person that she was 100 % sure had to be none other than her husband, Mark.

He was dressed smartly, as she remembered him, in pressed black trousers and a long-sleeved lavender shirt, as if on business. Had he come on business? That must be the only logical reason to show up here. My God, had he finally found her and come to cause her trouble or, worse yet, ask her to return?

She stared at his face, leaner than Michael’s, the hair shorter and neatly gelled back, not a single line visible though he looked clearly displeased. She cringed, wanted to run and couldn’t move a muscle.

She must be dreaming.

As if through cotton wool or underwater, she faintly heard his voice when he addressed Michael now, his manner of speech a well-known knife to her heart.

“Look, I’m not keen on seeing you again either, but I had no choice. Do you at least have the decency to let me into the house or does it boost your ego to have me standing outside and at your mercy, Michael? You do still go by your name, don’t you? I’d have thought you creative enough to come up with some alias or other because God forbid that you could be associated with me, with us.”

They knew each other! What…what was he saying, what did it mean?

(To be continued tomorrow.)

Previous Part
Back to the Beginning

It was roughly seven o’clock in the evening. Cathy was standing at the counter in Michael’s kitchen, softly humming a half-forgotten ballad to herself while preparing a large bowl of mixed salad. The words to I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You by Savage Garden made much more sense now. Perhaps she had only fallen for Mark so easily and lived through hell with him so readily because deep down inside she knew that his look-alike, her real love, would wait for her at the other end of the struggle?

Cutting onions into thin rings, halving baby tomatoes, slicing a green bell pepper and washing huge salad leaves as well as dark olives felt like a surprisingly attractive pastime. Michael was in the upstairs bathroom, having a shower. The TV was on in the living-room. She wasn’t listening. Rather, her thoughts were on today’s happenings.

Infected by his energy, she had let him take over. They had gone to Aunt Grindle’s place, telling her frankly about her situation and plans. The old lady had at first protested vehemently against her moving out, saying the guest apartment was empty anyway and she didn’t want any rent for it. Together, they had persuaded her that his idea was better for all, going up to pack. In the few minutes that it had taken her to stuff her meagre belongings into the suitcase, Aunt Grindle and Michael had been murmuring to each other downstairs. Her landlady hadn’t let them go before serving them two huge helpings of lunch and making Cathy promise that she would visit and share some of her cakes.

Their next stop had been the shop where he had loaded a basket full of provisions on his expense, swatting her hand away when she had wanted to pay. They had used the opportunity to check with Bertha whether they could put up some posters. He had also persuaded her to tell everybody she knew that Cathy would soon present her cake creations to them.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent with both of them cleaning the smaller of the two downstairs bedrooms, dusting and mopping and dressing the ornately carved four-poster bed that she loved from first sight. For the better part of the day, Michael had been whistling cheerfully and she had been filled with more energy than she had thought it possible after the bad financial news some days ago. Forgotten were the personal items she had had to sell, forgotten her gloom of giving up her business idea.

After showering, she had taken over the kitchen and shooed him away. He had clearly looked pleased to be excused from preparing dinner, saying that all he was good for was heating up ready-made food or making a vegetable soup, scrambled eggs and sandwiches.

With astonishing energy, she tossed the ingredients of the salad in olive oil and vinegar, added some salt and pepper and checked on the two steaks that were frying in a pan, sizzling away quietly. She had already boiled some potatoes and now surveyed their dinner critically. It would do. Pity they didn’t have anything for dessert. She made a mental note to herself to grab some ice-cream, jelly and fruits from the shop the next time, standing on her tip-toes to search the overhead cupboards for a salad bowl.

A warm hand touched the small of her back, making her squeal and wheel around, balancing herself against the counter at the last moment.

“Jeez, did you have to scare me so?”

She laughed despite herself, her spine still tingling from where he had touched her. He grinned sheepishly, sniffing the air.

“Dinner smells promising.”

She shrugged.

“It’s nothing special.”

“It is for me. It’s been ages since I last had somebody over for dinner, or any meal for that matter. I wouldn’t care if we had burned sausages and stale bread for dinner.”

She smacked his arm playfully.

“Is that how highly you think of my cooking skills?”

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

He leaned against the counter next to her, watching her stretch for the salad bowl again, wash it and fill it. She was aware of his eyes on her, but didn’t feel nervous or shy. Strangely enough, being in his kitchen and sharing banters with him like this felt like the most normal thing in the world. It was as though they had known each other for a long time, as though they were a happily married couple in their home, hatching out future plans together.

When she caught herself thinking this, she actually blushed, hoping the hair falling into her face would hide it from him. She busied herself with searching for two bowls from which they could eat the salad.

Michael’s eyes were still on her every move.

“Are you happy, love?”

His question hit her out of the blue. She actually froze with one glass bowl in her hand, arm in mid-air. Collecting her courage and looking him straight in the eye, she answered, “Happier than I have been in months.”

He practically glowed at that response before, totally unexpected, his face darkened and there was a frown etched into his high forehead.

“Didn’t your husband ever make you happy?”

She put the bowl down hard. She bit her lip, reluctant to chase the cloud of happiness and ease away.

“I don’t know. No, I guess not. Maybe I was happy in the beginning, or at least I thought I was happy. Finally I woke up and realized that I was living a life not meant for me.”

The hurt on his face mirrored the hurt inside her, as though he could feel her pain.

“Isn’t there anything good to say about him?”

“Oh, you know, I refuse to see him as a bad person in general. Granted, he’s abusive. But don’t we all have a bad or dark side to us? Apart from that, Mark’s a charming man. Full of confidence and intelligence. He’s an incredibly successful businessman, one of the stars in his field and admired by many, ladies and gents alike. He knew what a woman expects when being courted, though I dare say he had no idea what she expects after marriage.”

He was staring at her as if she had grown a second head.

“Why in the hell would you defend him like that?! How could you mention his abusiveness in a passing sentence as though it were nothing?”

She cringed.

“Just because he didn’t treat me nicely doesn’t mean that he’s a bad person in general, you know. He…”

Now he clearly looked angry.

“Didn’t treat you nicely? Why are you so keen on polishing his image if he obviously ruined your life? Admit his wrongs! Admit the injustice done to you! Did he shout at you? Make you do things you didn’t want to? Hit you?”

She felt herself growing smaller under his heated gaze and furious face. Why did she have the feeling that he was taking this much too personally? Was it because he loved her?

“Actually, all of that,” she answered in a soft voice.

“Goddammit!”

His fist hit the counter, startling her. For a second, his angry face resembled her husband more than ever before, causing an uneasy feeling inside her, something not unlike foreboding.

“How can you try to find good sides to such a…a creature? This is not a man, it’s a monster! Not only has he abused you physically and mentally, he has also stolen your chance at being who you are and is hindering you at becoming who you want to be. And don’t mention his professional success or so-called intelligence to me! Those are not redeeming features to somebody who has to hit women in order to feel superior. And all that success comes from cheating anyway. I should know. I…”

(To be continued tomorrow.)

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