Love to Hate You: Three's a Crowd

Chapter Eighteen - Consequences

'Vicky,' Rafe said, racing into his living room. 'Where is she?' His heart pounding, blood ringing in his ears. He'd received Vicky's frantic voicemail. Had missed calls from his mother and Chris. He'd come as quickly as humanly possible, but he'd been in a meeting. He hadn't seen the calls when they first came through, and it was hours later; hours since his wife had found her father lying dead on the living room floor.

'She's in her room. Rudy's with her. She's...' A loud cry tore through the house, causing Vicky to flinch and Rafe's face to crumple with heartache. 'She's hysterical, Raffey. I didn't see – Rudy wouldn't let me inside – he recognised the smell, y'see – but Mattie was already inside and she wouldn't listen to him. She saw Peter lying there... Rudy said he thinks he'd been dead for at least two weeks.'

'Jesus,' Rafe said, scrubbing at his face. 'What happened? What's been done?'

'Ramona has the boys at hers. Carl's taken care of the body. He's seen to all of that,' Vicky said, quietly sobbing, 'but Mattie's... she's... She's just hysterical. Rudy wants to sedate her.'

'Right,' Rafe nodded, pushing past her and dashing up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. 'Mattie,' he said, pushing open the bedroom door. 'Sweetheart,' he murmured, as he moved towards the bed, where she sat on the floor, slumped against it.

'Get out!' she screamed, her face contorting with hatred. Her eyes were red and swollen; cheeks streaked with tears; hair damp where it had stuck to her salty tear tracks. 'Get out!'

'Darling,' Rafe coaxed, sinking to his knees in front of her. 'Sweetheart,' he shushed, edging closer, as though she was an injured prey animal which could take flight at any moment.

'It's your fault!' she accused, her voice a miasma of anger and pain. 'Weeks! He was lying there for weeks, while you were too busy...' Then she choked on a sob and her body shook as another agonised cry tore from her throat.

'I'm sorry,' he pleaded. 'I'm sorry. I – please, please, darling,' Rafe attempted, but all she did was cry.

'Raffey,' Rudy urged gently, from where he sat beside Mattie, his arm about her shoulders, 'I think you ought to leave.'

'No!' Rafe scoffed. 'Look at her. She needs me. I'm not going anywhere.'

'Need you?' Mattie spat, her voice cracking with emotion. 'I needed you weeks ago. You're too late now.'

'No.' He shook his head definitely. 'Let me hold you. Let me help you.'

'I don't want you!' she cried, voice raised and shredded. 'I don't want to look at you. I don't want to be near you.'

'I know,' Rafe consoled. 'I know, and I've hurt you. I've made all of this worse, but I can help to make it better. Just let me –' he said, reaching for her, but before his fingertips could brush against her body, she shrank back from him, trembling with suppressed emotion.

'Please leave,' Rudy said more firmly.

'How can I?' Rafe begged, because he loved his wife beyond anything, and even when he'd been the cause of her tears, he'd always be the one to dry them. He'd been her one source of comfort through everything. He couldn't abandon her now.

'You need to,' Rudy told him, without emotion.

'The smell,' she sobbed, twisting in Rudy's embrace, so that her face was pressed into his chest. His free hand came up to cradle her face, to shield her and soak up her tears. 'Weeks,' she said. 'And he looked –' But she didn't finish her sentence. She only sobbed in earnest.

'Rudy,' Rafe said, 'she needs sleep. She needs to be held. Let me try. She'll feel differently once I'm holding her. I know she will.' And his voice was so gentle; pleading and asking permission, where he usually only ever made demands.