Before
Anyone would have thought we were short of money. I stood at the till, counting out coppers. I only wanted some fruit for Jack. I’d made the stupid mistake of not including it on the online grocery shop, with only one chance to include all the items I needed. Once all the items in the basket were added for checkout, you would comb through, removing any frivolous non-essentials, as you saw them. Usually, this was anything personal for me, skin-care items, hair products or similar. Even though I was working part-time, my earnings were minimal compared to the monthly outgoings of mortgage, car payments et cetera. You considered I didn’t contribute sufficiently, insisted my salary was paid entirely into our marital joint account, all of which was allocated, other than the small amount you gave me each week to use for Jack. This, though, I’d stashed away, for future needs.
You were unaware of my intentions, so what on earth were you scared of? But then, it was never about fear; it was about control and power. Were you becoming scared of losing these, even before you did?
I reached into my pocket at the trill of my mobile.
‘Eve?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Out with Jack, why?’
‘Obviously, but what are you doing?’
‘I promised him I’d take him to the park, why?’
‘Right.’ I could hear your mind ticking. ‘Then, are you heading straight home?’
‘Yes… of course; why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Thought, maybe for a treat you could take Jack for a pizza. But if you’re going to be argumentative about it, I—’
‘No. Wait, don’t say this. How am I being argumentative?’
‘There you go again, can’t help yourself.’ You sighed heavily into the handset. ‘I can’t be dealing with you, if…’
What were you up to? Trying to cause an argument, so I’d become submissive, then you could get your own way. For whatever it was you’d really called me for. This transpired so many times; I knew how to play the game. You were definitely up to something, I needed to find out what.
‘I’m sorry, Gregg; I wasn’t meaning to argue with you.’
‘Well, you were.’
‘Okay, in that case, I apologise.’
‘Good.’ Your smugness seeped through my mind. I bit down hard on my teeth. ‘I was going to suggest you take Jack out for his tea, to the new ghastly American diner place, near Warwick. On the industrial estate, by Sainsbury’s.’
Oh, how joyous. How kind of you. ‘Mmm. That would have been lovely, but how can I? I don’t have my cards or any cash.’ You should know.
‘Not a problem. I’ll call the restaurant now, leave my card details. They’ll be happy with this.’
You really thought you were doing me a monumental favour. What were you planning so important to need to gift us a treat, to keep us away from the house? ‘Okay. Thank you. Great.’ My words were like razors at my throat. How dare you? How dare you call me to give permission to take my son for pizza, and expect gratitude? I felt my blood flood with adrenaline; all I really wanted to do was tell you where to stick pizza. It was becoming harder and harder.
‘Sorted, then. I’ll call them now, see to the bill. In fact, why not make a night of it? Don’t rush. No need. Jack can have one of those atrocious American sugary ice creams for afters too.’ You chortled into your handset like a father who cared.
‘Yes, he’d like that. Yes, okay. I’ll see you later, then.’
‘You may or may not; I’ll be back home shortly but heading out again for a late dinner meeting around eight. Like I said, take your time.’
I could tell from the echo you were still on the train, on your way home from Birmingham. Clearly, with plans for the evening, but not just the meeting; you wanted me out of the house until you left. Did you actually believe I was so stupid? For someone so astute, you really hadn’t worked me out. Or had you? Was this a trap?
I squeezed Jack’s hand. ‘Jack, do you know anyone at all who would love to go for a special tea? Pizza or burger?’
‘Me-e-e, me-e-e. Jack does!’
‘Shall we go for a little treat? You and Mummy?’
‘Yes-s-s-s. Mummy and Jack go for a treat.’ He began jumping up and down, yanking on my arm. ‘What’s for treat, Mummy?’
As much as I wanted to dart straight home, I couldn’t deny Jack the opportunity of this rare treat. The last time the three of us visited a restaurant, all themed for his birthday, you eventually turned up, tanked-up, in a terrible mood and were as obnoxious as possible all evening. I quietly cried in the toilets; the whole experience was so far removed from your wishes for your child’s birthday. For some godforsaken reason, I’d hoped it would be different. What a fool. Other parents often took their children for tea, after our clubs. I was invited, but how could I go without money? I needed to go along with the meal; you would undoubtedly check on our arrival with the restaurant. I’d hurry it along so as to return to the house before you left for the evening.
The dark was drawing in by the time we turned down the lane towards the driveway. As expected, we had company. The same cars as before, except for one that was conspicuous. Unlike the other more sophisticated, valeted, this-year’s-model cars; a more tasteless, loud and old, white saloon-type car with blacked-out windows sat behind the others. I loitered at the bottom of the driveway behind the gates, which were closed. I glanced at Jack, who’d fallen asleep. Did I really want to take him into the house? I’d a bad feeling about it. But I also needed to find out what you were up to.
In the end, I tucked the car into the small layby just to the side of our gates. I didn’t want to take Jack in, but equally I couldn’t leave and miss this opportunity. Slightly opening my window to relieve the misting glass, I sat and waited, feeling my chest rapidly rise and fall. You’d stated you’d be leaving around eight and would be expecting me home at some point, so I reckoned I hadn’t long to wait. Eventually, the hall light illuminated shapes across the driveway, indicating movement in the house. I ever so quietly released my car door so as not to wake Jack, discreetly squeezing myself through the gap up against the hedge.
A small break in the privet allowed me a viewpoint. I could just about make out the elevated area before the front door. The sound of raised voices hit me, despite my distance. The front door opened as the security light shone down. I crouched further into the hedge as the electric gates opened. My blood turned cold as the action unravelled before me. The young lad I’d seen at the house once before was punched out of the front door, before tumbling head first down the few steps to the driveway. I gasped too loudly; my legs began to wobble. He was gagged, with hands tied behind his back. Not capable of breaking his fall or with any chance of defending himself. What the hell was I involved in? This was someone’s son. I hated myself for even being there. The others laughed on, as if it were some form of drunken prank. You didn’t laugh but towered above with a half-smile. Jesus Christ, what should I do? I knew what I should do but what about Jack? I couldn’t risk it — shouting out or trying to help the lad could put Jack in danger.
Even I hadn’t thought it would come to this. But why hadn’t I, given the lessons I was taught? I’d known all along what you were capable of. But this felt worse; the images would torture me for a long time. Who the hell were Jack and I sharing our lives with? What kind of a monster? But why? I watched in horror, the lad being roughly pulled to his feet then bundled into the boot of the white car, hitting his head on the hard edge. My body threatening to vomit, my mind racing.
I couldn’t chance being caught as a witness. Would we be next? I staggered back to my car with jelly legs, hands trembling trying to open the door. Once in I flicked the central-locking button switch. I swallowed at the pizza threatening to resurface and waited until I could hear the turn of a car engine. I turned the key in the ignition, so to be synchronised with the sound of the thug’s car, hoping to God my headlamps didn’t come on. Slowly I reversed – until the rear of the white car began to edge out of the driveway. Quickly, I slipped into first, then second and picked up speed to pass the car and driveway as if I were an innocent passer-by, praying you didn’t notice us. As I approached the driver of the white car he politely tucked into the hedgerow to let me pass. What the hell? I sped on as if our life depended on it.
Where were they taking the poor lad?
A few hundred meters further down the lane, I bumped the car on to the grass verge. Allowing myself to breathe again. I sat and waited. What should I do? How could I possibly go home, but how could I possibly not? Should I call the police? But that could ruin everything, all my planning, everything, Jack’s life from here on, our freedom. The worst surely had already happened for the lad, whatever they were up to. I’d read about these things in gory crime thrillers – often carried out to scare people only, warn them off, stop them from talking. About what? The worst for him had already happened, please. They would let him go, dump him somewhere; he’d have learned his lesson. But what had he done?
I restarted my engine still feeling so close to the house. I drove around, circling the area for the best part of an hour, the images replaying over and over. Feeling sick to the core. Reliving the scene; wondering where the lad had been taken. Was he okay? Then chastising myself – of course he wasn’t okay. It was 8:15 p.m. Jack would wake soon; I needed to return home. Please let you be gone. I couldn’t face you, not now or ever.
Some time on, I arrived back to an unoccupied driveway. The house in darkness. A huge sigh of relief. I carried Jack’s heavy body up the steps, all the time seeing the face of someone else’s son scraping down the slabs; the look of absolute fear in his eyes. I had to go in against my will; with nothing other than my mobile with me, I had no choice. But I knew at that moment, my plan needed to be brought forward. There was no way we could continue to live under the same roof as you. A line had been crossed; time to leave. I’d prepare the necessary belongings and leave once you’d left for work in the morning.
I fetched the blanket from a spare bed so I could sleep in Jack’s room in the chair next to his bed. With me I grasped my car keys and my mobile. I’d spent a couple of hours gathering supplies, nothing that wasn’t essential, all mostly Jack’s. I hadn’t planned for this yet; I didn’t even know where we’d go. A refuge maybe? I looked up the number for the Citizens Advice Bureau. I would ask to speak to a voluntary solicitor in the morning. I researched reasonable cheap bed and breakfasts in the not too close area. I could use the money I’d stashed away, until I knew my next move. The solicitor I’d consulted a few weeks ago had assured me I could apply for some emergency funding in court. It wouldn’t take too long to achieve, he’d promised. I’d make my way to the courts in Leamington Spa in the morning to file my application. I was already exhausted but the adrenaline fuelled my hypervigilant state.
At some point, in the early hours of the morning, I heard you return, slamming the front door with force. My neck stiff with tension, I could hear you staggering around as items clattered and clanged on the floor. My stomach twisted and turned; I could see my legs physically trembling as I imagined your drunken black mood. Why hadn’t I taken the opportunity to leave that night? Then, I listened intently as you consciously climbed each moving stair. Please, don’t look for me. Please. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans, baulking at the taste of bile. Seconds later, I stopped breathing, aware you were standing on the other side of the door, listening. My heart missing a beat as the door opened slowly, I slumped low in the chair, feigning sleep.
Your thuggish self staggered towards me, kicking at toys on your way. A robot began to bellow instructions. I didn’t dare glance at Jack. I squeezed my muscles tightly, worrying I was going to lose control of my faculties. The game had changed tonight. You were far more evil than even I’d believed. My heart jumped to my mouth. I felt sheer fear, sweat glistening at my brow as you loitered, soaring over me. You kicked out at my left foot. I pretended to stir in my sleep before slumping lower in the chair. How did you not notice me shaking? I only had the alcohol to thank. Heavy fumes smothered my lungs as you exhaled in my face. Chortling to yourself. My eyes scrunched tight. I was petrified – you must have realised I was awake?
‘Pathetic,’ you whispered in my left ear.
I held my breath.
‘Absolutely, sodding pathetic.’ You switched to my right ear, stumbling, thumping down hard sharply on my lower arm. ‘Look at the state of you!’ Your face millimetres from mine. Hot breath tickling my tortured face. Before swaying back, still leaning hard now on my wrist with your full weight. You flicked my face with your fingers. It stung, bringing tears to my clamped-shut eyes. I resisted flinching. ‘Look at the state of you,’ you spat in my face. ‘No wonder you’ve no friends. No one. Even your interfering parents left you.’ You snatched my mobile from my tightly bound fingers, hurled it, smashing it against the wall. Jack stirred. Please, God, no, Jack, please.
My chest ached, ready to explode. You hovered, glowering at me. Your eyes burning through my soul. Then you spun, kicked my right foot, before staggering back out of the room. No key for this door, I thought. I stole a gasp of air.
Please, God, let this be the end. I’d got away lightly this time.