The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘The police picked me up. He’d reported the car stolen.’ I was aware how deadpan my voice sounded, how matter-of-fact. ‘He told them I’d tried to kill myself in a car once before, but that wasn’t true.’

  ‘And now you’re here.’

  ‘And now I’m here.’

  She went and sat down abruptly on the bed and gazed out of the barred window into the grounds. The winter trees stood stark against the white sky. ‘I was a mother, now I’m not even that anymore. I used to have people around me: work, friends, neighbours. They gave me an idea of who, and what, I was. At work I was a manager; to my friends I was a nice person and a good cook; to my neighbours I was someone who would always help them out. Now they’ve all gone,’ she said wistfully. ‘Maybe I was always just a reflection of other people. When I met Charlie, it was easy for him to tell me who I was.’ She turned and looked at me. ‘I wasn’t a whole person and he filled the gaps. I didn’t have to think anymore.’

  She knew. In all her madness, she knew her own reality.

  ‘But you’re not like that, are you?’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ I was vaguely surprised.

  ‘You’re solid, you’re yourself, and you’re still fighting. I can see it.’

  My eyes twitched warily. She got up and went to the notice board and pulled off a Chagall postcard of a floating bride. I could tell by the way it fell into her hand, this wasn’t an ordinary postcard. She flipped it over. ‘See?’ she said. On the back was a very tiny, very thin phone.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I watched her peel it off and glance at the door before handing it to me. ‘I’ve never seen one like that!’

  ‘I know,’ she smiled a little. ‘Neither have the staff.’

  Our fingers brushed briefly and she paused. ‘Is there one person out there who believes in you? All you need is one. Get out of here, Lucy. I can’t, but you can.’

  I briefly thought about Emma. Who was Emma? She could have been someone I’d known a very long time ago.

  ‘Come on ladies, dinner is served!’ A voice behind made us both jump. We looked round. Geoff hung on the door frame before lurching off. ‘Chop, chop,’ he called to a group walking past.

  I caught her eye and nodded briefly. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Thank yourself.’

  She turned away to the window and I walked back down the corridor. There was a nauseating smell of burnt fat in the air. It might’ve been curry, you could never tell. Slipping the phone into my pocket, I walked into the dining room.

  The tables were laid out in groups of six and eight, each with a pile of pale poppadoms balanced precariously in the middle. I chose an empty table in the centre of the room, knowing that the others preferred to be somewhere near the walls for safety. There were globules of yellow fat pooling onto the tablecloth.

  I already had an idea of what I was going to do. It was the thing I’d learned very early on from dealing with prisoners. Know the staff. Watch their habits. Most staff are lazy: the easiest route, the least work. I knew the staff that were on today. They wouldn’t have a clue.

  Each table went up one at a time to the hotplate. I went up alone.

  ‘This looks lovely.’ I gave the caterer behind the counter a huge smile and the ladle dipped twice to give me my extra helping.

  ‘You could do with feeding up,’ he said with a grin.

  I took my plate back to the table, and slowly began to work my way through it, one determined forkful after another, reaching across the table for a poppadom and pocketing the salt cellar on the way back.

  ‘The last supper,’ I murmured. No one heard me, no one was listening. None of the staff took any notice, and why would they? They never really listened. Their weakness was my strength.

  Melissa’s words were in my head as I felt for the press of the tiny phone in my pocket.

  Sweeping a surreptitious glance around, I sauntered back to my room, opening the small plywood wardrobe behind my door as though I was looking for something amongst the sad limp clothes hanging there. I glanced back over my shoulder. I could see the goings-on through the glass observation pane but I knew from here, they couldn’t see me.

  I rang Moire. She answered straight away.

  ‘Don’t speak, just listen,’ I said. ‘I’m going into hospital tonight… I can’t say when, but I’ll be there. Can you help me?’

  ‘What?’ she panicked. ‘What’s happened? What hospital? Are you okay?’

  ‘More than okay,’ I took a breath. ‘I just need your help.’ I said. ‘I’m getting out.’

  * * *

  I knew who would be on duty that evening. I’d taken a quick look at the Sunday rota in the office so I knew which charge nurse was on, plus today meant fewer agency staff – all paid next to nothing and barely supervised. The timing was perfect.

  I waited until just gone six and poured the salt into a glass of water and drank it straight off. My stomach immediately objected. Quickly making my way to the main office, I tapped tentatively on the door.

  ‘Yes?’ the nurse was sitting at the desk writing. He didn’t bother to look up.

  ‘I don’t feel very well. I’ve got terrible stomach pains and diarrhoea.’ I bent over slightly and clutched at the door frame.

  ‘Go and lie down, it’ll get better by itself. It’ll be just a bug or something.’

  He waved his pen at me dismissively, and so I immediately began to retch, concentrating on the thought of oozing fat and chicken curry all coming up, willing my stomach to heave the whole lot out. He leapt from his seat and backed away as a stream of vomit hit the floor.

  ‘Sweet Jesus!!’

  ‘I can’t cope with the pain!’ I groaned, almost sinking to my knees.

  ‘I’m scared for the baby!’ I moaned breathlessly.

  ‘Baby? What baby?’ He pressed himself against the wall in shock.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ I whimpered. ‘Don’t let me lose it.’

  I saw him reach for the phone, dialling frantically, as I retched and retched again.

  I was loaded into a wheelchair, a blanket tucked around my knees, and wheeled backwards into the waiting ambulance. I grabbed at the nurse’s hand. ‘Would you ring my husband for me?’ I pleaded. ‘Tell him what’s happened and ask him to come?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ He extricated his hand from mine. ‘I’ll ring him now.’

  One of the agency nurses came with me. She was young with a round face and scraped back hair. She sat at my side, picking her nails constantly and looking past me at the bored ambulance man who’d clearly seen all this before. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. Even when the wheelchair was bumped up the ramp and into A & E, and I was transferred to a trolley, I didn’t open them. I listened to the nurse consulting with the A & E staff at the desk, the whole time praying they’d hurry up and get on with whatever jobs they needed to do. I started to feel nervous. The corridor was busy with people rushing about. This would be a close-run thing; Paul would be on his way to the hospital, but I couldn’t make a move, not yet. My heart bumped behind my ribcage as I gingerly opened my eyes and peered through the lashes. The round-faced nurse was sitting nearby; she’d found herself some garish T.V. Choice mag. She kept checking the main nurse’s station and then looking back to the clock. Sighing, she chucked the magazine onto the desk.

  ‘I need the loo,’ she said to a porter with a trolley full of bed linen who was passing. ‘Can you watch her a minute?’

  He nodded but I could see he hadn’t understood a word of what she said.

  I waited for him to wander off with his load, then peeled back the blankets and sat up, pulling my clothes straight and following the nurse into the Ladies’.

  There was no one else in there, just the sound of someone urinating very loudly. I slipped into the end cubicle and stood with the tiny phone, fumbling to send the text as the nurse came out to wash her hands. I didn’t have long. I heard the main door to the toilet open and close. There were moments that felt like hours of silence
, and then the cubicle beside me squealed and shunted.

  ‘Are you there?’ Moire’s voice whispered and I nearly collapsed with relief as I undid the door.

  ‘I’m here.’

  Her face appeared. She handed me a bag and I pulled it open.

  Inside was a change of clothes, a woollen dress, a pair of leggings, a denim jacket, and a baseball cap. ‘CCTV won’t be looking for these,’ she grinned but then stopped as we heard the nurse outside, all panicked and high pitched. Moire’s attention snapped back.

  ‘Give it a couple of minutes. I’ve got a hire car, I couldn’t risk my own. I’ll bring it around to the exit barrier. Be as quick as you can.’

  She pulled open the door and I could hear the massive commotion outside.

  The young nurse was on her phone. As the door slowly closed, I saw Moire walking head down past them all and disappearing into a huddle of people.

  Terror grabbed me. I darted into the cubicle and frantically pulled on the clothes. Paul couldn’t be too far away. He would work this whole thing out. Once he heard I’d been admitted to hospital, he’d know the chances of me escaping were high. I had to move, and move fast.

  The corridor was frantic with activity. No one noticed as I slipped through the door.

  ‘The husband’s just rung,’ I heard one of them say. ‘They’ve told him which department. He’s on his way.’

  That galvanised me. I quickened my pace, keeping my face hidden as I hurried to the automatic doors which shunted open bringing with them cold air and the glorious scent of diesel and traffic dirt, birds, trees – and there was Moire, just as she said she would be, even though I couldn’t quite believe it: she was really, really there.

  I dropped into the passenger seat, not daring to look round, hardly able to bring myself to look at her as she pulled carefully through the barrier and out onto the road.

  ‘Paul’s already at the hospital,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she smiled round at me. ‘But you’re not, are you?’

  ‘Thank you.’ I breathed. ‘Thank you for doing this.’

  ‘So where now?’

  She caught the look on my face.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The realisation paralysed me. ‘All I have are the clothes that you brought me. I don’t have anything else. Not a thing.’

  ‘So, if I take you back to the house, do you think you can find your bank cards and passport?’ She shot me a glance.

  The memory of it sent a blast of fear into my guts.

  ‘I can’t see any other way. You’ll only have minutes, though. You’ll need to be a long way away before he gets back.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said. Then I paused. ‘Thank you, Moire. You’re doing all this for me and I’ve no right to ask you for anything.’

  She shook her head quickly and stared at the road ahead. ‘I couldn’t do it for Caitlin. She wouldn’t let me. So I’m doing it for you.’

  I pulled off the baseball cap and looked out of the window. The outline of Moire’s face was reflected there, like a ghost. Here was another person I didn’t know. All those things they told me about her. Was any of it true?

  Outside the window, life looked ordinary. Women and men in hats and coats, muffled up against the cold. Babies being carried, little children in mittens and anoraks shouting.

  ‘You know what today is?’ The sound of her voice made me jerk round. I noticed her knuckles tightening and loosening on the wheel.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s the anniversary of Caitlin’s death,’

  I was aware of the anger coming off her. Waves of it.

  ‘My mother and I laid a single rose on each of the graves. Three little roses, red against the black earth, can you imagine that?’

  The image, the horror of it floated in front of me.

  ‘It happened in the early hours of Sunday morning. So every Sunday I made sure there was a rose delivered to his doorstep, so he knew I was always out there, watching him. I saw him pick it up that day you were with him at his flat.’

  I thought of Paul and Caitlin, Caitlin and Moire, Moire and Paul – all their stories, told and re-told. Truth. Fiction. Who would ever know?

  ‘He threw it into a bin. The rage I felt when I saw him do that; the absolute rage. I knew then that roses weren’t enough.’

  I looked at the side of her face and saw her fixed gaze: blank and steady.

  ‘He said you had an affair with him. He said you’d become obsessed and you went to prison for stalking.’

  She stared hard out at the road. ‘He got me arrested and charged but the judge threw it out. I was obsessed. I wanted to prove he was lying. He told Cait I’d come on to him. Nothing was right between me and Cait after that. He’d used the ultimate weapon and he won.’ She shot a look across. ‘You do believe that, don’t you?’

  I watched the white lines on the road trammelling away under the wheels. ‘Of course I do.’

  What happened, what didn’t happen, lies, truth, all re-invented, re-told, re-packaged. Whoever knows, really? Black becomes white and then becomes black again.

  ‘We’re almost there.’ Moire turned into the street, my street, and the excitement grabbed me as though I was seeing it for the first time. There was the copper beech tree in its magnificent glory, its russet leaves quivering, waiting, its pull drawing me in. I remembered how much I loved this place. This was my home.

  She stopped at the bottom of the drive. ‘Five minutes,’ she warned, looking anxiously about. ‘I’m being serious. You’ve got five minutes.’

  ‘’ll be quick,’ I promised.

  I walked quickly up the path and a whole raft of memories flooded back: that first summer, the bees mumbling amongst the flowers; I could smell the heat of warmed grass and brick, and with it came a massive wave of sadness. This time the house was in darkness. The solid bay windows stood unseeing on either side of the beautiful front door, the one I knew I would never walk through again.

  I slipped down the side path, peering into the windows, and round to the back. I knew exactly what I was going to do. Bending to pick up a stone, I slipped off my jacket, wrapped it quickly and struck the glass twice, hard. The pane shattered, the shards tinkling inside. Carefully knocking through the splinters, I reached into the gap and unlocked the door. My feet crunched, scattering the broken glass in all directions as I hurried through the kitchen and up the stairs. He had no idea I was coming so everything was where it should have been. This time everything was easy.

  I ran down the stairs, my fingers flying, my heart skittering, still not quite comprehending that in minutes I’d be gone: I’d become invisible and disappear into some other life.

  I headed for the front door. My phone began to ring wildly and I clutched at it, thinking it was Moire as a long shadow lengthened like a weird marionette at my feet. I spun round.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Paul walked through the shadows. ‘It could be someone who really needs to speak to you.’

  I couldn’t move.

  ‘Like your new friend, maybe?’

  The terror surged in my chest, high and pounding.

  ‘I have to say, you do look shocked to see me.’ He raised his eyebrows in query. ‘Why’s that?’ he shrugged. ‘You didn’t really think I’d go to the hospital, did you? There seemed little point, I knew she’d bring you here.’

  I had turned to stone.

  ‘I’ve rung them, in case you were wondering.’ He waved his phone. ‘Your doctors were very concerned. They’re coming to get you – Both of you, probably.’ He looked round. ‘Where is she, by the way?’ He glanced back into the garden. ‘You really are two sad people together aren’t you? Folie à deux. A shared psychosis… Is she wondering where you’ve got to?’ He regarded me, coolly. ‘Why don’t you tell her I’m here?’

  He saw the track of my eyes past his shoulder to the open doorway and he glanced to follow my gaze.

  ‘Why don’t you tell her I’m on my own? You should invite her in. Le
t’s expose the madness.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me yourself?’

  He hadn’t seen Moire appear behind him. He hadn’t been aware of her bending quietly, the muted light moving around her silhouette, to pick up a shard of glass.

  But I had.

  He turned his eyes to her bloodless face, her arm held high as she sliced once, then twice, the puncture of the gash in his shoulder blooming red against a sudden glare of sunlight. He flailed round, grabbing her by the throat and I watched his hands, so large against the slimness of her neck.

  They dipped and whirled together as my mouth formed her name, watching her feet rising in the air, paddling like a mis-strung puppet. The shard tumbled as her arms thrashed wildly.

  He put his face close to hers. ‘I loved her… I adored her… She was my whole life, don’t you fucking understand that?’

  I saw his teeth were stained with blood as Moire’s eyes rolled and flickered in fear.

  ‘There never could be, there never would be, anyone else—’

  Run! Her voice shrieked and wailed. Run! Get out of here, Lucy! Just get out!

  But I didn’t.

  I don’t remember what was in my mind as I stooped to pick up the triangle of glass. My palm felt its bite, my eyes saw it lift and glint as it told its own story. His white shirt was made crimson, and his white skin turned scarlet. There was blood… more blood than I had ever seen before – down his neck, his arms, his back. Red, and more red. He wheeled blindly in the spray, reaching around for the thing that was wounding him, panting like an animal, wide-eyed and gasping, the black ‘O’ of his mouth no more than a hole in his face. He paused, his eyes hard and unseeing, gazing off into some past or future that I was never part of, and then toppled like a dying giant, his head cushioned amongst the shining splinters.

  It all went suddenly quiet.

  Moire wasn’t there anymore. The traffic outside began its pleasant rumbling, the birds started twittering but the room was still, only the drip of the tap plink-plinked against the enamel. I looked down and I saw that my dress had torn. The blood was seeping into the gashes like wounds. Around me, the glass lay like jewels on a seashore, shifting a little and glittering in its ruby gore. I was strangely at peace.