her head and waited. Just as she had done every single night for the last seventeen years and five months.
She heard the creak of the top stair, followed by the telltale tap of wedding ring against wooden banister rail. Her muscles tensed as they always did at the familiar sounds; it made no difference how many times she had heard them. Finally she heard the bedroom door snap shut into the frame and the scraping of the old brass key in its lock.
The creep of fear plucked at her muscles, invaded her bones and pricked at her skin. Closing her eyes briefly, she shuddered involuntarily as her heart performed its customary jump.
Mark walked towards her kneeling form and stood behind her in his usual position, with his hands behind his back. His thighs almost grazed the back of her head. She could feel an almost incandescent heat coming off him in waves. His voice, as usual, was calm, lilting, almost soft.
‘Well?’ he asked.
Her mouth twitched and she swallowed as she tried to form the words. Experience had taught her that it was better to speak concisely, honestly and audibly… Much better.
‘I think four points.’
‘You think four points?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed again.
‘Well you would be wrong. It is seven points.’
‘Seven?’
‘Did I ask you to repeat that figure? Did I tell you to speak?’
She shook her head. No, no, he hadn’t. Don’t look and don’t speak.
‘Four points indeed!’
He gave a small laugh before tutting as though admonishing an amusing child.
‘I shall now tell you why seven points.’
He cleared his throat with a small cough and began.
‘Firstly, I would ask you to cast your mind back to this morning. When I gave you a flower, you did not raise your face to me with thanks, preferring instead to stare at the floor like an insolent teenager. Two points. You had also been chatting in an overfamiliar way with two of the pupils. Two points. When I asked you what was for supper you gave me some hesitant, irritating comment, “Chicken, blah blah, chicken”. One point. And finally, after being given specific instructions, you forced me to leave my masters’ meeting to call you to serve the appropriate refreshments, which were not only late but were rather average. This, Kathryn, embarrassed us both. Two points. Which makes a grand total of…?’
‘Seven points,’ she replied, in a small voice.
‘That is correct.’
He ran his fingers through her hair, gently stroking the nape of her neck. Bending low, he kissed the top of her spine and she felt the air blow cold against the wet imprint from his mouth.
Mark went into the en-suite bathroom to take his nightly shower, leaving his wife kneeling on the floor to contemplate the error of her ways.
Her legs went numb and, as usual, pins and needles consumed her feet and toes.
Fifteen minutes later Mark emerged, damp and lemon-scented. He sauntered over to the bedside table and flicked the button on his alarm clock. All set. He then walked to the wardrobe and selected a tie for the following day: cornflower blue silk with a yellow spot, very dapper. From the drawer of his tallboy he chose some cufflinks, silk knots of course, in a corresponding blue and yellow. He reached for his cologne, Floris No. 89, and daubed the citrusy top notes behind his ears and across his chin. Next, he slid open the lower drawer and removed the small square of waxy paper, which he unfolded to reveal the shiny steel razor blade. He pinched the blade between his thumb and forefinger and examined it in the lamplight.
‘Come.’
His outstretched palm pointed towards the bed as if calling a dog to heel.
Kathryn stood on wobbly legs. She knew what to do, she knew the drill; she had done it more than six and a half thousand times. Six and a half thousand! Unbelievable. Unthinkable, but true.
She lay face down in the middle of the bed with her nightdress raised to just above her bottom. At this point he always asked, ‘Are you comfortable?’ and she would either murmur or nod into the creamy silk comforter that yes, she was comfortable. She had learned through experience that there was no point in saying or indicating anything different.
Over the years, Kathryn had come to view Mark’s behaviour as ‘normal’, in so far as ‘normal’ meant something that occurred commonly, regularly, as standard, something that was routine, predictable, a benchmark; something that happened every day.
Mark had a method and rhythm to his cutting. He would