Emily by Jilly Cooper

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 mybody, 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.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
        
        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