On My Knees by Tristram La Roche

 
     

Chapter One
     
    London, May 9
     
    “For Christ’s sake, Diana, will you just stop your nagging for once?”
    I’d barely gotten through the door and we were into the usual evening bust-up. Simply because I’d stopped by the wine bar on the way to the station. Just a foursome: Alex, the guy I shared the office with, and a couple of his mates who’d come up to town for a night in the West End. And me. I’d long ago lost any eagerness to get home early.
    “You’re drinking too much.” Diana’s voice was hoarse, her face tight. “How much have you spent? Eh? Show me the bill?” She lunged at me and tried to dig my wallet from my jacket pocket.
    “Get off,” I said, wrapping my arms around me. Four grown men after work could drink more than she would ever forgive. “You treat me like a child.”
    “You behave like a child.” The neighbors would be able to hear her now. She craned forwards into a posture that would have been threatening if only she’d been nine inches taller. “You’re just…just…”
    I hated that. She did it all the time, start a sentence and not finish it.
    “And what are you? Little Miss Goody Two Shoes?”
    “I didn’t marry an alcoholic,” she said.
    “And I didn’t marry a nagging bitch.” I regretted it instantly. “Sorry, sorry. Please can we try to have a normal conversation?”
    I was too late. She grabbed the knife off the kitchen work top and lashed out with it. I leaped back just in time.
    “You’re mad. Like your mother. You’re unhinged.” I struggled not to let the fear show in my voice.
    She lunged at me again, her unruly hair falling across her face. “Well, if I am, it’s you that’s driven me to it.” She missed. The knife flashed by my side and I brought my hand down, knocking the blade to the floor. She squeezed her wrist with her left hand and cursed.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out to her. “Here, let me look.”
    She stamped on the floor and turned away. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
    I couldn’t win. I took my chance and bolted out the door. “And if I’m an alcoholic, you’ve driven me to it.”
    “Where are you going?” She’d recovered enough to pursue me to the top step. “That’s just typical of you. Come back here and deal with it.”
    I had no intention of going back. Not then. I swept down the stairs two at a time and turned the key in the outer door.
    “You bastard!”
    No sooner had I heard the words than pain spread across my shoulders. I toppled but managed to stay upright. She hurled books down the stairwell at me. I slipped out into the street as another volume crashed behind me.
    I knew she was in no mood to give up. Once I was in the car, I locked all the doors with the central locking and put the key in the ignition. Before I was able to pull out of the parking space, she was down the stairs and into the street, running at the car with fists in the air. She grabbed the driver’s door handle just as I accelerated. I didn’t look at her. I eased the car out of the space, hoping she would let go. Half-hoping that the wheel would crush her foot.
    “Come back! Come back now!” She beat her fists on the window.
    I wasn’t stopping. She leaped back out of the way as the engine purred and the car turned. As I went down the hill, I could see her in the mirror, standing in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. Well, at least she was unhurt.
    The only thing now was where to go. All our friends lived on the other side of town, and considering I’d been drinking, I didn’t dare drive far. Then I remembered that my gym bag was in the boot. The gym was no more than a mile away, and the exercise would help my system break down the alcohol. And work off the misery of another day in hell.
     
    * * *
     
    There was a certain point in the gym, about halfway up the staircase, where the smell of sweat mingled with the aroma of carrot cake, that allegedly healthy comfort food that was