Chapter 19

‘Honest to God, Mom, you should have seen it,' Logan said through a mouthful of burger. ‘I almost asked if I could take photos to show you, but that might have seemed strange.'

Such an ordinary scene, she thought. Mother and son sharing a meal while mother listened to son recounting his day. No one would have known that the scene he was describing was viewing the dead body of the man she'd loved, or that she'd been allowed out of a locked room for him to regale her with the details.

The filet-o-fish sat untouched before her, but Logan didn't seem to have noticed, so fixed was he on sharing every element of what he'd seen. She'd switched off, not wanting to picture James in any form of decay. She'd hoped that he had left her, that he was out there having adventures, living the life they'd talked about. But all the time he'd been dead.

She pushed away any thoughts of him. The memories were good, but they didn't serve her well. They only reminded her of a time when she hadn't been a fear-filled shell.

Looking back, she could see how gradually the change had taken place. Logan had been their only child and had been spoiled. He had demanded attention from both her and Joe, and they had been happy to give it. They had adored the spirited and confident little boy.

Maybe they had looked the other way when he'd occasionally patted the dog too hard when it wouldn't sit or when he'd come back from school with bruises.

His expulsion at the age of fourteen for consistent bullying had confirmed to her and Joe that he needed one-on-one tutoring. Hers was the lower-paid job so they had decided she would leave it to take over Logan's education.

Her child had thrived under the one-to-one instruction and had excelled in all his subjects.

College had been a trial, but with perseverance she and Joe had got him the qualifications to get onto the media course at Loughborough University.

And then Joe had fallen ill and had eventually been diagnosed with brain cancer.

She now knew that during that time a subtle shift had taken place. She had allowed Logan more control in just about everything that didn't concern taking care of Joe.

He took control of the house and her debit card. Suddenly the cupboards were full of everything Logan liked to eat. The energy provider had been changed to get a better price and put in Logan's name. She didn't care. He had maxed out the credit cards to get cash should they need it.

He managed everything so that she could focus only on Joe.

What she hadn't noticed was that he had also taken her phone and was responding to concerned text messages from her old friends and colleagues with short sharp notes. Their calls went unanswered and eventually stopped.

On the morning of Joe's funeral, an outfit had been laid out on her bed. She gratefully accepted the decision. She was fighting with her grief and was unable to make any choices for herself.

And every day after that when she had her morning shower, an outfit was waiting for her.

One day, wanting a touch of colour, she had gone to her closet in search of a yellow silk blouse Joe had loved. Her clothes had been replaced. Gone were the figure-hugging jeans and V-neck tee shirts. Her special-occasion dresses had vanished, and in their place were A-line skirts and smart trousers.

When she'd questioned Logan over breakfast, he'd happily admitted to ‘updating' her wardrobe with clothing more appropriate to a mother in her late forties.

It wasn't only the clothes. He had remained in control of their finances, sorting the life insurance that meant neither was forced to work for the time being. She had signed the papers he had slid before her at the breakfast table willingly, relieved that he was taking care of issues she felt unable to address herself.

The thing that still surprised her now was how readily she'd accepted the reversal of their roles, but she'd since realised that she'd done so thinking that she had a choice. That she could choose her own clothes when she was up to it. That she would take back control of the home and finances when she was stronger.

It was during this period she'd met James. The point at which she was being controlled and hadn't really known it. When every action from Logan had seemed designed to remove the stress from her day and every instruction had been cloaked as a well-meaning suggestion. After spending a little time at the house, James had mentioned Logan's influence on her, but she had defended him, explained how he had taken care of her when she'd been unable to do so herself. James had accepted her explanation, and she had firmly believed it herself until a week or so after he had disappeared.

The backhander across the face had come from nowhere after asking Logan to load the dishwasher. Somehow the balance had shifted between them. Her compliance had been read as permission, authority to control every aspect of her life. From that point on, the threat of violence became yet another form of control.

‘You're not even listening,' Logan said, throwing her untouched meal at her.

Too late, she realised that he'd eaten his burger and his attention had all been on her. Most of the meal landed on her shirt, but some of the lettuce hit her face.

The fear was already swirling in her stomach. Logan didn't like to be ignored.

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. He reached for his phone.

‘Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?' he said, taking a photo. ‘You're pathetic sitting there with salad on your face.'

The laughter was short-lived, despite the fact he'd been laughing at her not with her.

She moved to push her chair back.

‘Not yet,' he said, reaching for his drink. ‘I haven't finished telling you.'

Olivia felt shame warm her cheeks. The soggy lettuce was stuck firmly to her chin.

She raised her hand.

‘Leave it. Next time you'll eat the meal I bring you. You're going to be very hungry later. Anyway, Tiffany was lovely out of uniform. She is a babe. I invited her for coffee, but I think she had something else on. I'll get a date with her. You just watch. You always told me I was irresistible.'

When she didn't smile in response, his face darkened.

‘Okay, you're boring me now. You can go to bed.'

He stood and pulled out her chair. ‘Come on – up you go,' he said, walking her to the stairs.

He followed closely behind and all but pushed her into the room.

‘Night, night, and I'll see you in the morning.'

He presented his cheek for his goodnight kiss, which she knew better than to refuse.

The door closed and locked behind her.

She dutifully reached beneath her pillow for her nightdress.

It wasn't even seveno'clock.