‘I hate myself so much sometimes, Leigh,’ Debra told her, ignoring her words.
‘Don’t we all at times?’ Leigh agreed wryly. ‘Remember how I felt when Paul first left me? I thought it must be me... that I was solely to blame... that if I had been different... better... prettier, cleverer, sexier, he wouldn’t have felt the need for anyone else.
‘It’s something we women excel at, taking all the blame. It was a long, long time before I was able to accept that Paul was unfaithful to me because he wanted to be. Because the need to indulge his own desires was more important to him than his responsibility to our marriage.
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but you must stop blaming yourself. It’s a form of anger really, you know. You feel you can’t or shouldn’t express the anger you have every right to feel openly and outwardly, and so you turn it in on yourself.’
Debra gave her a bitter, caustic look.
‘I thought you were a detective, not a psychoanalyst.’
She didn’t need Leigh to explain to her why she felt the way she did, she told herself crossly as they walked back to Leigh’s car, but later, when she was alone, she found she couldn’t dismiss her sister’s words.
But if her feelings were not directed at herself then who was their target? Kevin Riley? No, not him. It was Marsh... Marsh, with whom she had shared her most private ecstasy... Marsh, with whom she had let down every one of her barriers, allowing him to see her as no other human being ever had, stripped of the protective layers of restraint and civilisation, the deepest, most intimate heart of her revealed to him through her response to him, just as clearly and vulnerably as his hands had revealed the nakedness of her body.
He had seen her at her most vulnerable, and she had given him a part of herself she could never, ever take back. She had given him her love... herself, and all he had wanted had been her body. And yes, she was angry.
But why should that make her angry with him? Angry with herself, perhaps. After all, he hadn’t asked for her love... hadn’t wanted it.
And all the time he had been touching her, arousing her, had there in his mind been those ugly, disgusting wo
rds that Kevin Riley had flung so tauntingly at her?
She shuddered, dropping her head into her hands, rocking herself to and fro as she tried to ignore the painful demand of her own thoughts.
Was this never going to end...this self-induced torture? Was she never going to be able to forgive herself and start living her life again?
She tensed as she heard the phone ring again. What if it was Marsh again, wanting to speak to her?
He probably just wants to know when I’m going back to work, she had told her mother yesterday after refusing to speak to him.
What was he so afraid of? That she would tell the whole world what had happened between them? Did he realise that she was as anxious to ignore it as he was himself?
She couldn’t go back to work, of course. She would have to find another job somewhere else. There was no way she wanted to come into daily contact with Marsh, and he wouldn’t want it either.
She went downstairs and asked her mother for some notepaper. Back in her bedroom, she penned a brief, curt note, saying that she felt it best if she did not return to the company and that she would be grateful if her personal possessions could be sent on to her.
She wasn’t going back to work, and she wasn’t going back to her house. Her mother had mentioned diffidently that her insurance company was having it cleaned up and redecorated, but Debra had refused to listen.
She didn’t want to know. She wished passionately that there was some way she could simply wipe her memory clear of everything that had happened... including Marsh.
Especially Marsh, she told herself shakily. Especially that.
‘Do you feel up to baby-sitting for me tomorrow night?’
Debra looked across the table at her sister.
Leigh had called round on her way to work, and Debra saw the way her mouth tensed a little as she saw that she was still wearing her old jeans. ‘I’m not an invalid,’ she told her sister.
‘No?’ Leigh queried grimly, making her flush and say defensively,
‘All right, I’ll baby-sit. Is it something special?’ ‘Jeff’s birthday. Oh, and by the way, I’ve brought you this.’
She placed a large carrier-bag on the table. Now it was anger that stained Debra’s face with hot colour as she recognised the name of the clothes shop printed on the bag.
‘If I wanted new clothes I’m perfectly capable of buying my own,’ she told Leigh angrily.
‘Are you? Look, Debs, I understand how you must feel. We all do, but can’t you see? I know how hard it must be for you... but you can’t go on like this. The parents are worried sick about you.’