Her Greatest Mistake by Sarah Simpson (23)

Before

I awakened in the rigid chair to the slam of the front door, a cramp-like ache in my neck for company. I didn’t know the time, but it was still dark. Jack hadn’t stirred so I was guessing it was not much after 6 a.m. Why did you leave so early this morning? You could only have had a couple of hours’ sleep. Still, it suited me well. If you were gone, time for action. I crept past Jack’s bed. With no time to lose, I needed to shower, dress and get us out of here. My stomach fluttered at the thought; a mixture of nervousness but also a timid excitement – we were finally leaving.

An hour later, Jack was dressed and sitting eating breakfast. It was then, I spotted the note.

Perfect. I had time to gather our belongings together. Perhaps make a few phone calls before I left since my mobile was in hundreds of pieces. I would do the sinful act of putting Jack in front of his favourite TV programmes and use the unexpected time. I then booked us a room at a bed and breakfast near Chipping Campden, somewhere remote, difficult to find. Somewhere to breathe for a while following our escape.

I sat with a coffee, pen and paper, time to go over all I’d packed for us, being not a lot. I hoped this was going to be a short-term solution, until we’d taken the next legal steps. What was I doing? Was it fair to be taking Jack from his home, all he knew, all his home comforts? Why, despite everything, did I still feel so guilty? Terrified too. It reminded me of the first time I’d abseiled, a team-building exercise; stepping blindly off the cliff edge, too scared to pay too much attention to where I’d end, should I fall. The first step off the so-called secure ground was always going to be the worst. I had no choice; we had to leave. For everything we had lived through, for all I’d witnessed; and for all my heart told me was to come.

Jack’s red medical book; I shouldn’t leave without it. I ran up the stairs to the spare room, I kept it in the drawer of the old pine wardrobe. With book in hand, I turned back towards the door; a perfunctory scan of the room, just in case. I noticed the bottom drawer of the old chest; the locked one, except it wasn’t locked, it was ajar. You must have opened it the evening before, and, in your drunken state, forgotten to lock it again. I couldn’t resist, sure I’d find the wads of cash. Boy, could I have done with some cash to take with us. Wrong. Most likely illegal. But principles wouldn’t keep us safe.

I slowly bumped the rickety drawer further out.

My heart missed a beat. Oh my God. Nausea crept upwards. Jesus Christ. I wobbled from my crouched position onto precarious knees. Pressing my hands hard to my temples. Wads and wads of cash. Thousands and thousands of pounds, but it was what lay beneath that shocked me; petrified me. My mind raced back to the conversation I’d heard the evening of the golf-club event. I’d dismissed it – why? Because I didn’t want to believe it? I was too weak to confront it? A most convenient oversight? Then images of the previous night; the poor beaten lad tossed down the steps.

A gun.

Jesus Christ. A gun. In our home.

Think, Eve, think. What to do?

It took me a while to remove myself from the chest and room. I glanced at the hallway clock over the galleried landing. I was taking far too long; I needed to get out. Why was it taking me so long to leave? I’d planned to leave hours ago. Still, you said you wouldn’t be returning until very late. I ran down the stairs, gathering and hurling belongings into the boot of my car. Not wanting to transfer my panic, I decided I would offer Jack refreshments before the start of our journey. My heart jabbing at my T-shirt, I couldn’t stomach any food, despite being aware of my cortisol-filled light head.

‘Come on, sweetheart.’ I held out my hand for his. ‘Milk and a biscuit?’

‘No, Mummy, want it in here. Please. This, my favrit bit!’

Normally, he wouldn’t be allowed to drink or especially eat crumbly biscuits in the sitting room. But this was time to mark new beginnings; new rules, or just fewer of them.

‘Why not, sweetheart? Why not? Mummy will bring it to you.’

I made sandwiches to keep us going; selected some other nibbles and drinks. Checked my bag for one final time, whilst willing Jack to hurry; I was beginning to feel exceptionally jumpy. I needed to leave, but didn’t want to unnerve Jack any more than absolutely necessary. What was the panic? I’d plenty of time, I reassured myself. Everything was packed, ready, all I could need, just in case. So one more mendacious act couldn’t possibly hurt.

I placed our shoes and coats next to the front door. Then made my way to your study. I’m not sure why but a gut feeling whispered in my ear to take your flash-drive. It was still there. You usually kept it under lock and key, with your mobile. Jack would still be a few minutes. I decided to check – no point in taking something to anger you unnecessarily, if it held no use for me. Your laptop was password protected, so I fetched the family laptop from the kitchen, booted it up and inserted the flash-drive. Hopping from foot to foot, willing the process to speed up. Finally, the option to open several files appeared. The latest with the date of the previous evening. I clicked it. One minute later, I closed it down as my body temperature soared; I couldn’t bring myself to observe any longer. I needed to get out of the contaminated house. You were evil, and the flash-drive could prove useful. Protection. Proof of something I didn’t want to know about.

‘Mummy’s just going to the bathroom, Jack. Then I’m afraid we need to turn this off.’

‘Oww,’ a small voice came back.

‘I know, sweetheart, but we’re going on a surprise adventure. Remember; a kind of holiday. How about that for exciting?’

‘Yay. But Daddy’s not coming, is he, Mummy?’

‘No, Jack, Daddy can’t come.’ Please help me God.

I was drying my hands upstairs when I heard it, the thump of the front door. No, please, no. You cannot be home, I silently prayed. I tentatively crept around the landing, then slowly moved down the stairs as my worst thoughts were confirmed. I could hear you, shuffling around in the study, muttering under your breath. What were you doing home?

‘Eve!’ you commanded. I didn’t need a scene. If I cooperated, you would leave again, I hoped. Then it struck me: what if you were looking for—?

‘Eve!’

‘Yes, Gregg, no need to shout. What is it?’ I took steps into your study.

‘Have you touched my laptop?’

‘No, why would I?’ I lied.

‘Because something is missing.’

I felt the beginnings of a blush. Why did I have to be such a bad liar? You moved from your desk to take my chin in your hand, tilting it backwards. Your lips a millimetre from my cheekbone, you snarled, ‘You’re a liar.’ I stumbled backwards; one sharp move away from snapping my neck in your grip.

‘Gregg, please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Please don’t find my handbag, I prayed.

You released me and stalked back towards your desk. Picked up the glass paperweight, then hurled it at the oak door. You were losing control; you didn’t understand the alien feeling. It was more frightening for me too. As you turned without words and moved back towards me, I tasted each step draw closer.

Not now, not now, please. I’m so close to leaving.

The force of your recoil flung me to the remorseless floor; my already bruised ribs ached with repetitive strain. Don’t let go, Eve, don’t let go, you’re nearly there. I sheltered my face as usual, repeating: not long now, not long now. Do. Not. Give. Up. Now.

I opened my jaw and released it, to check my face was still whole. Through the haze I heard a small voice, shrieking from the doorway, then it froze. You froze. You didn’t want Jack to find out who you were, did you? Everyone immobilised. I took my moment. I somehow stood, swiped up Jack, scrambled through the hall, bouncing off walls, and managed to finally sling open the front door.

Jack held tightly in my arms, I ran as quickly as my bare feet would allow. Why hadn’t I put my shoes on first? Because time wouldn’t have allowed it. We ran, half focusing ahead and half with eyes behind us in fear you would be following. We had no time; we had to get away. We had nothing, Jack and I, nothing; no time to collect our things, no time to collect our coats. It was freezing outside but I don’t think either of us felt it, at that point.

I had no car keys, no house keys, no money, no bag, no change of clothes for Jack, no food and no phone. But then who would I have called anyway? I didn’t have anyone left to call. Not strictly true – there were people to call; it was more, no one was aware of my situation. Anyone I’d have called would have been deeply shocked, requiring explanations. Stories, the lies, years of covering up and more, all the unimportant matters I didn’t want to be concerned with.

I felt Jack’s chubby hands holding on tightly to my hair tied at the back of my neck. It pulled and stung but didn’t matter; at least I knew he was with me. He was heavy to run with but it didn’t matter either. He didn’t speak, neither did I, not for a little while. We just scarpered, clinging onto hope. I didn’t even know what I was going to do, or where I was going to go. I only focused on increasing the distance between us and the house. Listening all the time for the roar of your engine. I knew if I could keep moving at a pace, I would eventually reach our nearest neighbour; about two kilometres away. Once I cleared the immediate parameters, I would need to put Jack down; he quickly became too heavy for jelly-like legs. The fight or flight borrowed charge would run out at some point. But I was worried Jack would not be able to move his little legs quickly enough, especially without his shoes, on the cold harsh tarmac.

Eventually, I buckled and positioned him down in front of me, taking his tiny hand in mine. I peered at his pink frightened face. I didn’t have much time. I needed him to stay as calm as he possibly could. Not easy, especially as I was anything but calm. Focused and determined, but inside the panic gripped. He looked deep into my eyes. I recognised the expression: unadulterated fear and bewilderment.

‘It’s okay, Jack, Mummy knows where we’ll go. Everything’s going to be okay. Trust me, darling, please. I promise, Mummy will sort it. Please try not to be scared.’

He didn’t speak; he didn’t know how to or what to say. He simply nodded. I pulled him in for a hug. As I did, I noticed my bare arms, turning from a pinky red to a blueish purple. I hated to think what my face looked like. I wished I could have explained it merely as the effect of the extreme cold and inappropriate attire, but it was, I expected, more to do with the beating. The pummelling and the booting. A vile metallic taste of blood and a slow-motion flashback of hard knuckles to chin bone. A new form of attack. Just how far were you going to go this time, if it weren’t for Jack? Would it have been lights out for me?

It didn’t matter anymore; we were free. Nearly.

Hand in hand we set off again, a couple of shoeless waifs and strays. I silently prayed; please let someone be in at the neighbour’s house, please. I didn’t know their names; how particularly humiliating for this to be our first formal introductions. A couple in their forties or thereabout, whom I’d only ever waved at in passing from time to time. But as the imposing grey granite house came into view, I heard the inimitable rumble closing from behind. It was possibly still a few hundred metres away, thankfully out of sight; obscured by bends in the country lane. I couldn’t let you catch us. We couldn’t go back now. Or ever. Irreversibly, you had overstepped even your concealed mark, and poor Jack; Jack had witnessed, heard far too much. Things that would without any doubt inhabit his conscience for the rest of his life.

I clutched Jack’s cold arms, yanking him up to me. And ran.

‘Jack, quick, we need to hide; we need to find somewhere to hide. I can hear his car, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.’

At the first opening, I trudged through thick gummy bog as the ground tried to suck us under. The cold sludge squelched between my toes as we slipped and stumbled on. Sheer bloody resolve mixed with terror allowed us through. We continued down the edge of the field before I plunged us both deep into the thick hedgerow. The week before, Jack and I had stood the other side picking cobnuts. Those same branches scratched at sore arms. Biting at my purple bruising. The first drops of blood appeared and smeared against Jack’s taupe trousers. His little face, horrified, as he tenderly touched my bottom lip, holding up his finger to show me: we matched. He appeared so abnormally calm but I could feel his heart thrashing out of time against mine. But we were together, and alive.

‘What we doing, Mummy?’ he eventually whispered. ‘Is Daddy goin’ to get us? Is he goin’ to hurt us, Mummy?’ I heard him; I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know the answer. I couldn’t afford for him to feel safe just yet. I didn’t want to frighten him either. I bit my tongue as it longed to reassure him.

‘Shush, darling. We need to keep very, very still. Shush now. It will be okay as long as we keep very quiet, very still.’ Words no three-year old could possibly be expected to understand. Let alone the circumstances. ‘Like a game of hide and seek. It is so important we keep very quiet. Try not to move, Jack. Try your hardest for Mummy, please.’

As I kissed the top of his head I heard the murmurs of a silent cry. Then a whimper. I held and squeezed him as tightly as I could without crushing his small icy body. As from somewhere behind, slithering over us, came the shadow of your dark car, ever so gradually creeping by. I stopped breathing. It slowed to a forbidding stop. No sound. I couldn’t even hear us breathing. I couldn’t feel our heartbeats. I waited, we waited, not a word was uttered between us. We both fully understood the importance of what hung on the next few moments. Shivering, as I felt my body temperature rise. Freezing, yet sweating. Still silence.

I caught the release of a car door. Then, more silence. I gripped Jack firmer. I could feel your cool anger through the bracken. Could you smell our fear? I couldn’t see anything through the density but your closeness was palpable. Standing a few feet away on the other side. A few menacing inches away. The smell of your aftershave assaulting my senses. I held Jack’s head tightly to my chest, shielding his ears. I pictured you in my mind’s eye; with one narcissistic foot touching smooth tarmac. Leaning on the immaculate roof of your low-slung Porsche. Scanning the area, listening. Attentive and waiting. Just another sick game for you. A game you needed to win. But I needed to win more.

Jack unsurprisingly let out the start of another terrified whimper. I stifled his mouth with my hand, hoping he hadn’t been heard. Clasping his cold cheeks in my hand, I kissed the top of his head, staring into his blue eyes, silently pleading him to hold on. Trust me. I couldn’t speak; it was far too risky. We crouched together for what felt such a long time, holding our breath as if submerged under water. We needed to resurface soon. We couldn’t go on for much longer. Jack especially.

I heard movement from the other side. You were out of the car. Your self-assured footsteps prowled to my left. Making their way towards what I could only imagine to be the field entrance. Where we’d lumbered through just moments before. Could you make out my footprints? Why hadn’t I thought of that? Holding an already fully constricted Jack, I somehow managed to squash us down even further into the abrasive undergrowth. As if without bones. Desperately attempting to time any noise of our movement with the noise of your leather soles on the tarmacked lane. Please, God, someone help us. Please, let us be invisible.

Your X-ray eyes surveyed our proximity. Glaring in our direction, directly at the shrubbery. I could feel them. I didn’t dare look up. I didn’t need to. Just one further malevolent step forward and I was sure you would see us. We were drowning, held down by your presence, your being. Sinless fear. Dark and darker. I felt myself slipping. I felt Jack slipping; his body became a dead weight. Was it the shrubbery? Was it the terror? Or had we finally passed out? A trickle of sweat and a further sniffle from Jack hurled me back to the moment.

What were you waiting for? Enjoying the moment? Knowing you didn’t need to move. Standing watching us. Biding your time. Laughing at our pathetic actions, our attempts to escape your prison. I pictured you looking at the boggy field entrance; understanding your dilemma, trying to decide if it was worth ruining expensive shoes for. Looking at my bare footprints, realising you didn’t need to do anything. You simply needed to wait. Prolong our agony and wait. It would soon be dark. I couldn’t survive without you for much longer, could I? Why spoil the fun? After a few moments your footsteps retraced. We took a gulp of air.

Then, the words, ‘I know you are there, Eve,’ stole my heart.

I was beaten, with no choice but to relent, despite my resolve to escape. My fear for Jack. The cold air, our isolation, thieved our options. I convinced myself it was only me you would hurt. Not Jack. But then Jack was your weapon. Your pawn. You knew the only true way to hurt me, to control me, was to hurt Jack. But with no phone, in the freezing plummeting temperatures, I would have to walk into the lion’s snare. I hated myself for it. I was trapped. As always. I dragged exhausted legs back through the field entrance and surrendered. You were sitting in the car, reading a newspaper, until your eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. I saw you smile. Jack sobbed as you climbed from the car to greet your family, looking to my feet in disgust. Your car had not long been valeted. You calmly strode towards us shaking your head, tutting.

‘You took your time, Eve,’ you said, reaching out. ‘Come to Daddy, Jack. What has your mummy done to you?’ You clasped Jack’s waist, and he dug his feet into me, tightening his grip around my neck. I swayed him away from your touch.

‘Don’t touch him,’ I reproached.

‘Stop being so fucking stupid. What else will you do? Catch a bus maybe? Call a friend? Your parents perhaps?’ You smiled in a sympathetic manner; a true impressionist.

Before snatching a defiant Jack. With Jack in your hands you dealt another blow, another lesson. My already bruised ribs crunched on the ground as Jack squealed. I felt nothing, as pain and cold numbness mingled, knowing this was just the beginning. You turned away with your traumatised son and strapped him into his seat. I pressed upwards. I couldn’t allow you to take Jack without me. Please forgive me, Jack, I had no choice.

We drove back in silence, you humming a cheerful tune to yourself, whilst Jack remained frozen behind. Why did you have to come back to the house? When I had everything ready to leave, why did I take so long, faffing? We could have escaped. As we turned into the driveway, I couldn’t believe my luck, seeing the unknown but familiar black car, the fat, balding man leaning up against it. He looked rougher than I did, nearly. A fleeting glance at you informed me you were not amused by his presence. You had an agenda for us, didn’t you? You thumped your palm on the steering wheel, knowing there would be a delay in my punishment.

‘Wait here,’ you instructed me, jumping from the car. I watched the frustrated, hostile exchanges before you returned and leant into the car; you hurled the keys at me. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I mean it, Eve. Do. Not. Betray. Me. The world is not a big enough place for you to hide.’

Thank you, God. Thank you. I watched them speed away before I dared move. I turned to Jack, sitting stunned in the back, and reached for his hand. ‘It’s okay, Jack. It’s over now. Come on, let’s get ready for our adventure. We need to be quick, sweetheart.’ I left him, running into the house, only to retrieve my keys, bags, shoes and coats before slamming the heavy door behind us. No going back.