Carolyn Woods - Sleeping with a Psychopath

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First published by HarperElement 2021

FIRST EDITION

Carolyn Woods 2021

Cover layout design by Andrew Davies HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

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Carolyn Woods asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008398668

Ebook Edition April 2021 ISBN: 9780008398675

Version: 2021-04-07

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He will choose you, disarm you with his words, and control you with his presence. He will delight you with his wit and his plans. He will show you a good time, but you will always get the bill. He will smile and deceive you, and he will scare you with his eyes. And when he is through with you, and he will be through with you, he will desert you and take with him your innocence and your pride. You will be left much sadder but not a lot wiser, and for a long time you will wonder what happened and what you did wrong. And if another of his kind comes knocking at your door, will you open it?

From an essay signed A Psychopath in Prison, Robert Hare, Without Conscience

15 June 2013

I am in shock. I lie here unable to move a muscle. Every nerve in my body is under attack. I am so tired, but if I close my eyes, Im assaulted by sickening flashes of psychedelic light. So I lie here, motionless, eyes wide open, hardly daring to breathe.

I want to die. I feel myself being sucked into the vortex of a black hole as white noise crackles in my head and three words spool around my mind, over and over, screaming to get out, louder and louder, until I think Im going to pass out.

YOU FUCKING BASTARD!

Its Thursday, 13 June 2013. Eighteen months ago, I was a sophisticated, educated woman of a certain age sociable, gregarious, full of confidence and enjoying my independence. I had put my divorce, the death of my parents and redundancy behind me, and was looking forward to a fresh start. My two daughters had flown the nest and I had sold up and moved to a friendly Cotswold town where I was looking for a new home to buy. I was renting a lovely cottage and Id found myself a job, helping to run a stylish clothing and lifestyle shop locally, which gave me an excuse to dress smartly every day to serve our well-heeled customers. Once I even wore a top hat and tails; it was that type of place so refreshing after the rather stuffy atmosphere of the pharmaceutical company where I had worked for nearly ten years previously.

I was socialising and integrating into the life of the town and trying to make new friends. Old friends admired my courage and remarked that I was living the dream. I could hardly have been happier. And I certainly wasnt looking for romance.

Then, one evening, a man walked into the shop and into my life and changed everything. He was unlike anybody I had ever met, and I was instantly attracted to him, as he was to me. He was handsome and dashing and paid me lots of attention. As we quickly got to know each other he told me he was a wealthy tax exile, a Swiss banker; then later, he swore me to secrecy, confiding that his job was a cover for his work as a spy.

I know it sounds extraordinary, but I believed every word he said. He certainly looked the part, and lots of things happened to convince me that he was a real-life James Bond. I fell in love with him and looked forward to our marriage. An expensive wedding dress hung in my wardrobe.

All that seems a long time ago now, as I agonise about our relationship. I have got used to Marks erratic lifestyle, but now I havent seen him in several months, and although he phones and texts me every day I am worried about his health.

Mark has gradually taken over control of my life, persuading me to give up the job I loved and move out of the cottage I was renting and into a mansion he bought for us, while another even grander house was being renovated as our eventual home. He has isolated me and I have become frightened, depressed and introverted. I am very confused. It feels as though someone has opened the top of my head and put a blender into my brain. I have lost all my confidence and am spending much of my time as a recluse, sitting alone and miserable, waiting for Marks phone calls and texts with news of when we might see each other again.

When I look in the mirror I hardly recognise the woman staring back at me. People have always said I look younger than I am, but now I look terrible. I am suffering an identity crisis. I dont even know who I am. Its as though each month of our relationship has added a year to my age. I used to take great pride in my appearance always smartly dressed, made up every day, going to the hairdresser every couple of months but that has had to stop. The grey is showing and there are dark circles under my eyes. I am living from one day to the next, never sure where I will be staying.

It is six months since I fled the loneliness of the 3 million Georgian townhouse Mark had bought in Bath, and I am staying with an old friend. With no money and mounting debts, I am leading a nomadic existence, relying on the goodwill of others to give me a room for short periods.

Part of me still clings to the hope that I am overreacting and that my new life with Mark will be all that he keeps promising. At the outset, he told me that it would take him eighteen months to sort out his life. Id said I would wait for him. But that time is almost up, and I am at my wits end, barely coping. I have been let down by Mark so many times, but I still try to convince myself that he is honourable. Hope is all I have left.

Its 4.22 in the morning with the first hint of daylight filtering through the curtains. I havent slept all night.

I cant take any more.

My fingers fumble in the dark on the bedside table. I pick up my mobile phone and tap out three words:

Please help me.

Another two hours pass before James Miller responds to my text and says I can call him if I like. I dont know James well at all. He did some business with Mark, who once told me that if ever he and I were unable to talk and I was worried about anything at all, I should contact James for information and reassurance, because he would know everything.

I ring James, apologising for calling him so early. Our brief conversation offers none of the reassurance I am looking for. I tell him, For the past couple of weeks Mark has been telling me that youre going to collect me, bringing air tickets and money, and that well be flying out to see him wherever he is, because you have some work to do for him. Do you know anything about this?