SOPHIE
By the morning, I’d decided. It was time for me to say – no, tell him – that I was going to go away. It was time to leave. In the sunshine, the daylight coming through the skylight, I could squash down the terror of the night before. It’ll be OK, I told myself, I can sort this.
But he didn’t come. Not that night, nor the one after. My food stores got low. The milk went sour, so I poured orange juice on my muesli instead, and tried not to panic. When he turned up, early the following evening, it must have been straight from work, in his suit.
My heart actually leapt, I was so relieved to see someone. Then I remembered.
I was sensible about it, making us both cups of tea as I ran through what I was going to say in my head. Then I set out, as calmly as I could, both of us sitting on the sofa, why I thought it was time I should leave. That it was always the plan that I’d just hide for a while, give us some time to get things together. That there were all sorts of places we could go, now that they’d thought I’d run away, for months. No one would be looking for the two of us.
‘Like we said, before,’ I reminded him. We had, only – only I wondered what had we actually planned, how concrete was it? There hadn’t seemed to be any need to talk about dates, or timelines, or when we’d definitely go away, just after it had all blown over … I couldn’t remember.
He listened to me, his face blank.
‘No,’ he said, his tone almost mild. ‘No, you’re not leaving.’
‘But why not?’ I said. I made sure to keep my voice low. Reasonable. ‘I can look after myself, you can come and visit, wherever I am. A new start, like we talked about.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not realistic, to move you and get you set up somewhere. Where, anyway? You’d only have to hide away there, too. Someone one might recognise you, otherwise.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not an option.’
‘But you don’t understand.’ I didn’t mean to say it, but the truth spilled out. ‘I can’t stand it in here any more! I can’t!’
His face hardened. ‘Sophie. This is what we agreed. It’s what you wanted.’
‘But not like this. This was just until we got sorted, to give us some time. And I’m sixteen now, that’s important, isn’t it, even if they are still looking for me?’ My voice rose. ‘I can’t stay here forever!’
‘It doesn’t change anything.’ He looked at me, cold-eyed. ‘You were underage. In a court of law there’s no doubt about it. I’m more than twenty years older than you. It’d be prison, the end of my career. And I can’t go to prison.’
I was shocked. He made it sound so horrible. He’d never spoken about us like this before.
‘But there’s no need – I’d make them understand … we were in love. We are.’
I have a flash of inspiration. ‘I can go away, even if you can’t yet. Like they thought I did.’
‘With no job? Or something cash in hand so you don’t have to say who you are? You wouldn’t like that, not in the long run. And then what would you do? No,’ he says, almost regretfully, ‘you’d crack eventually, go back to mummy and daddy. I’ve thought of this already. There’s no alternative.’
‘But you could help me … you could give me some money …’
The threat, when it came, was uttered so matter-of-factly, it took a moment to sink in. ‘I told you I couldn’t live without you, Sophie. I’m not letting you go.’
It felt unreal. So this is us, for the first time, no pretending.
‘But I want to go,’ I said, pleading. ‘You can’t keep me here forever. Please. You can’t …’ Anger swelled up in me, the weeks and months of not saying how I felt, just pushing it down. ‘It’s not just up to you.’ I summoned my courage. ‘And I want to leave. Now. Give me the keys.’ I stood.
He looked at me from the couch, implacable. ‘Stop it, Sophie. I mean it.’
‘Give me the keys.’
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t.’ In the corner of my eye, I could see his jacket: hung on the back of the chair. Near the door.
I know it was stupid, but I still didn’t realise. I rushed for them, felt for the tell-tale weight, then wrestled them out of the pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him get up, walk round, like he wasn’t even in a rush. He intercepted me before I’d even got them in the door. For a second we struggled, then he twisted them out of my hand. ‘No,’ I screamed. ‘Let me go!’
Suddenly I froze, stunned.
And then his full weight was on me, the breath knocked out of my body, my back against the floor. He slapped me, once, round the face. Not a punch.
It wasn’t even that hard, really. I suppose it was the shock, more than anything.
‘It’s all about you, isn’t it. And what you want,’ he said. His voice sounded different, his accent slipping a little, somehow. ‘You little bitch.’
I touched my tongue to my lip, tasted metal. I couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
‘I’m going to leave now, Sophie, until you’ve calmed down.’ His voice sounded back to normal again, smooth and ironed out like a TV presenter’s. ‘And when I’m back, you’d better behave.’
He got up, leaving me on the floor. ‘Things are going to change around here. I don’t want any more of your whining, or complaining. I’ve had enough. Do you understand me?’
I wouldn’t look at him.
‘Do you understand me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, in a whisper.
I was quiet as he left, waiting to hear the bolts slide into place.
Slowly, I got up. I touched the side of my face.
Then I pressed my ear to the door, listening for his tread down the stairs to the next one.
My legs were shaking.
I’m not hurt, not really. I shouldn’t have pushed him.
But I knew. I knew this was different, a boundary breached. Even more than the other night, when he’d had his hands round my neck, his eyes unseeing.
This? This time he knew exactly what he was doing.
I waited a minute or two, till I thought he’d have gone. Something told me that he wouldn’t be back, for a while. Then I rushed to the window, pulling the chair underneath it, piling up the magazines so I could reach.
I’ll admit then, that was the moment. That I finally screamed. Almost just to see. If anyone would hear me, come and help. My throat still hurt from the night before. Still I felt silly, at first. Theatrical, like I was watching myself in a play. This couldn’t be me, in this situation.
But that didn’t last long.
And then I screamed, and screamed, and hammered on the window, my fists striking up against the glass. It didn’t shatter, not a bit. Eventually I stopped, when my throat was sore and hurting.
I listened. I couldn’t hear anything outside, not a murmur of a car engine or anything like that. Not even the birds through the thick glass.
And nobody came. Not then. Not later, when I tried again.
So I climbed down. I picked up Teddy and cuddled him close. I know it might sound silly, but that always makes me feel better. It’s almost like I’ve got a little friend in here. ‘It’s OK,’ I told him, although of course I was really telling myself. ‘It’s OK. He’ll come around. It’ll be fine. I’ll work this out.’
But underneath it all, one thought kept repeating, running through my mind like a drum beat that I couldn’t ignore.
I’ve made a very big mistake.