SOPHIE
You’d think it would have changed everything: his hands around my neck; the slap to my face. And it did for me. But the next time he came round, he just acted like nothing had happened, just setting down the bag of food and starting to unpack. So I went along with it, following his lead. I didn’t want to. But it was easier.
Safer.
We pretended he didn’t notice how nervous I was now, how jumpy.
And the days passed, lengthened into weeks, then months, then longer. I cried, when he wasn’t here. Because he didn’t like it when I cried. Through the skylight, I charted the passing of the seasons by that patch of sky: winter white; a green leaf blowing past, heralding spring; scattered clouds then the long blue of summer, giving way to grey. Eventually, the dull white of winter again.
I couldn’t forget what had happened, though. Now that I’d seen it, what lies underneath.
I knew he didn’t either. He stayed away longer, leaving days between his visits. When he does come here now, it’s never for long.
The really sick thing is, even now, we’re still pretending: that this isn’t what it is.
It was spring this year, when he’d turned up in the evening, looking pleased with himself. He had a plastic carrier bag in his hand, but it was too empty to be the usual food delivery.
He didn’t say anything as he handed it to me, where I was sitting on the mattress. I knew by his air of expectation how I had to react – that it’d be a bad idea to be less than enthusiastic.
It was just a little puddle of fabric inside, fuzzy and pink. ‘My blankie,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it?’ I pulled it out to smell it. Home. I looked down so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes.
‘Thank you,’ I managed. ‘But how did you – how did you get this?’
‘Don’t you like it?’ There was an edge in his voice, familiar by now.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I tried to make my face happy. ‘I missed this.’
That was the wrong thing to say. ‘Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, after all. I try and do these nice things for you.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Your parents spoiled you, that’s the problem.’ I hate it when he starts like this. I think he genuinely believes what he’s saying.
I was shocked the first time: ‘A spoiled little princess,’ he’d called me. I forget why, I hadn’t kept the place tidy enough, or got up quickly enough when he came in.
‘But you said …’ I’d trailed off at the look on his face, even as I thought of all the times before, when he’d told me the opposite: how it wasn’t fair how my parents treated me, that I needed looking after properly.
‘Thank you, really. It’s so clever of you to get it,’ I said carefully. I wanted to cringe at how transparent I was, but his shoulders relaxed. ‘I’d never have dared it.’ He liked that too. ‘I’d have thought it would be hard for you to get in …’ I wasn’t going to ask how.
‘It wasn’t too difficult.’ He picked up the remote and changed the channel.
So did someone let him into the house? I couldn’t think what excuse he’d use. But then what’s the alternative – that he waited until everyone had gone and … what? Let himself in?
A little chill ran down my spine then, as I remembered.
Once, he’d walked me back to the house, not just leaving me at the end of the road as usual. Mum and Dad must have been out, their cars weren’t in the drive. Still, he wouldn’t walk all the way up the house, seeing the security lights clicking on for me. I’d giggled, knowing he was behind me in the shadows, as I’d rummaged for the key under the old brick round the side. At the front door, I’d waved out at the darkness, confident that he was watching.
All the years later, is he still watching my house – my family?
I knew one thing, anyway. This wasn’t a gift. It was a threat.
Yet a lot of the time he’s sweet, even now. He likes to act as if we’re just like any other normal couple. So long as I’m doing what he wants.
‘You are happy, aren’t you, darling, just us?’ he asked me the other night, sitting next to me on the sofa. He likes us to watch TV, his fingers running through my long hair.
I stopped asking him for scissors a long while ago. He’s not stupid.
Tell him what he wants to hear.
‘Oh yes,’ I’d said. I caught the flat note in my voice, and tried again. ‘So happy.’ I almost left it there. ‘The thing is, I really feel that now, with time passing, maybe we can think about – what happens next. Where we can go, together. From here.’ My voice sounded weak, defeated, even to me. But I can’t give up trying.
‘Mm,’ he said, and put his arm along the back of the sofa. I made myself not flinch. ‘You know,’ he began, his voice soft in my ear. ‘You know … it really is just us now, isn’t it. No one knows you’re here, after all.
‘If anything were to keep me away, anything at all …’ He was stroking my shoulder, drawing little circles on my skin. ‘No one would know you were here. And what would you do then?’
He’s said it all before. Still, I was cold, staring at the flickering screen.
‘Of course,’ I echoed. ‘We must stick together.’
Because it’s the only option open to me. He has to trust me.