by Annie Murray
‘Will I have to go?’ Joanne said, horrified.
Marcia nodded, smiling gently. ‘Well, of course – you don’t want people discussing you without you being there, do you?’
‘Well, no . . .’ It sounded terrifying, as if she was the one on trial.
‘Look,’ Marcia seemed to read her mind, ‘they’re there for you. Not to tell you off or be against you. It’s all to help you decide what to do. And to be honest, from what you’ve told me, you’ve been very strong and done the right thing. It takes some people years to do what you’ve done.’
Forty-Three
That first day seemed endless to Joanne.
It was grey and overcast outside, and in any case she did not want to go out. It didn’t feel safe. She wanted to wrap the house round her like a cocoon, even though it was dark and gloomy and foreign to her.
Megan came to see her, late in the morning, and once again they sat in Marcia’s office and talked about the case conference, which only increased Joanne’s worries.
‘The police will almost certainly interview your husband,’ Megan told her.
Joanne’s nerves were in such a state that all day she found it impossible to relax. The stress of all that had happened, of being in this strange place with other people whose reactions she was uncertain of, filled her with tension. Smells of other people’s food came from the kitchen. Her stomach was queasy and she found it difficult to eat anything, or to settle to do anything. Apart from seeing Megan, she stayed in her room trying to keep Amy occupied.
All she could think about was the telephone. She knew Dave’s work number off by heart. Perhaps if she just gave him a quick call? She felt as if a thick piece of elastic, attached to him, was pulled tight inside her. As if she needed to explain to him, for him to understand. This is why I’ve done this to you. Can’t you see? Marcia had told her it would be very unwise to contact Dave at this stage. Perhaps she should call Mom and Dad? But no, what could she say? The only person she could talk to would be Karen, and she wouldn’t be home until later. Maybe she should call Dave first . . . ? The thoughts spun in her head, giving her no peace.
Eventually, Amy’s bored restlessness drove her downstairs. She went to make a mug of tea. Thinking the kitchen empty, she walked in, her guard down. But there was someone there after all and she jumped, her pulse racing: Mariam. The girl’s head whipped round when she heard someone come in. She too was intensely on edge. But immediately she looked away again. Joanne examined her, a tiny, frail figure in a dark-blue Asian suit and a black scarf. She only looked about sixteen, but it was hard to tell. Joanne felt very sorry for her. Suppose she didn’t speak any English? She must feel so alone here without any of her own people.
She struggled to remember what she had been taught to say by some of the girls at school. Softly, experimentally, she said, ‘Salaam . . . ?’
There was a pause, then a tiny mutter came from by the cooker. ‘Salaam aleikum.’
But Mariam didn’t turn round. A moment later she poured hot milk into a mug and walked past with it, with only a flicker of a glance in Joanne’s direction. However, she looked a fraction less severe and frightened than she had the last time. She disappeared and Joanne heard no footsteps receding. The girl moved like a feather drifting over the ground.
Joanne thought about Sooky. An ache filled her. If only she’d just walk in here now. It would be so good to see her familiar face and friendly smile.
After her tea and some milk for Amy, she went to the playroom. The house was surprisingly quiet after the comings and goings of the morning. There had seemed to be a constant stream of people in and out: social workers, advisors about benefits and housing. To her relief there was no sign of Gina or her boys. She heard Marcia’s voice from behind the office door, talking fluently as if on the phone.
In the playroom she found the Irish woman with her two girls, who both jumped visibly when she opened the door and looked round with terrified expressions. With her was another woman with a young boy. Joanne realized the woman must be Doreen.
Hesitating at the door, she said, ‘All right if I come in?’
‘Course it’s all right,’ the Irish woman said. ‘But shut the door behind you, will you?’
The other woman merely nodded, sitting hunched on a chair beside one of the child-sized tables. She was horrifyingly thin and wrung-out-looking. Her hair, almost grey with a few streaks of remaining brown, straggled round an emaciated face, the skin loose and prematurely aged, out of which stared blue, watery eyes that seemed to hold an infinite sadness. Her son, also skinny, with a very pale face and cropped, mousy hair, had also leapt to his feet when Joanne came in. After looking at her, he subsided warily back to the floor, where he was playing with some cars.
Amy toddled over to the other girls as if drawn by a magnet and stood watching them chalking on a little blackboard. They were guarded at first, and then the oldest, Roisin, quietly got up, took Amy’s hand and pulled her to sit down with them. The little one, Siobhan, reached up and touched Amy’s pale hair.
‘That’s it,’ their mother said. ‘You play nicely now.’ She looked at Joanne. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Amy,’ Joanne said.
The woman said her name was Maeve. She seemed to take charge. ‘That’s Doreen,’ she added, nodding across the room. ‘And Danny.’
Doreen gave the faintest nod.
Joanne tried to smile at her. ‘I’m Joanne,’ she said.
The three of them sat there for a few moments, not knowing what to say.
‘Have you been here long?’ Joanne asked Maeve eventually.
‘Ah, no, just a few days. We’ll not be here long.’ She spoke in a way that suggested she wasn’t really here at all and was above all this. ‘Just a bit of a misunderstanding,’ she added.
Joanne looked at Doreen, who was rocking gently on the chair. There was something vacant about her, as if her spirit had long ago left her body. Joanne wasn’t sure whether to talk to her, but it seemed unkind not to.
‘What about you?’ she asked gently.
Doreen seemed to come to herself as if from another world.
‘Oh – me?’ She spoke with a soft Brummie accent. ‘I don’t know. I think . . . I mean . . . No . . .’ Instead of rocking, she began to move her head repeatedly from side to side. These somehow childish movements and her beaten, shocked look made Joanne feel great tenderness towards her. ‘No – not now. No, I won’t be going back . . . Can’t, not now. No . . .’
Amy’s needs helped to give the day some sort of shape. It was a relief to cling to this: getting her some lunch, then tea. Making sure she played and slept.
All Joanne could think about was home, the telephone, what was happening. All evening she was on tenterhooks. First of all Gina monopolized the phone for ages, talking loudly, quarrelling with whoever was on the other end. Even though the phone was down at the bottom of the back corridor, her voice carried all over the house.
‘I’ve told him – I don’t trust him, and I don’t love him. He’s a ****ing bastard to me, and he doesn’t deserve to have kids . . . I know, he’s a ****ing nutter, he ought to be locked up and the key thrown away, but in the end he is their father . . .’ On and on she went. Joanne’s nerves were stretched taut.
She couldn’t phone Mom and Dad’s house too early. She knew Karen nearly always stayed up watching TV. She needed to wait till ten or so, to be sure she’d answer. Was she even allowed to use the phone that late? She thought about phoning Michelle, but it was so long since they’d spoken, and Meesh might be sympathetic, but in the end she’d just say, ‘Told you so.’
By the time ten o’clock came, she was shaking with the need to do something. Gina had at last shut up and hobbled off upstairs.
She dialled and inserted the money, her blood banging. The phone connected: Karen. Thank God!
‘Hello?’ Karen’s voice sounded very cautious, as if expecting trouble.
‘Karen?’ she spoke quietly as if the house w
ere all listening. ‘It’s me.’
‘Jo!’ Karen’s voiced lifted in relief, then erupted into anger. ‘For God’s sake, where are you? We’ve all been worried sick!’
‘I had to leave . . .’ She broke down. Hearing her sister’s voice signalled her real world coming back to her in this foreign place. ‘Has Dave been round?’
‘Has he been round? What do you think? Of course he has! He’s been beside himself. What on earth’re you playing at, just disappearing without telling anyone? Where are you?’
‘Is he angry?’ She was snivelling down the phone.
‘What do you think? Yes! Well, no. He was at first. He was wild. Now he’s all over the place. What’re you playing at – everyone’s in a right state. You’ve caused no end of trouble, Joanne. Who’re you with?’
For a second she didn’t understand the question. ‘Who . . . ? You mean . . . ? I’m not with anyone!’ Her voice rose in indignation. ‘Is that what you all think: that I’ve run off with someone? For Christ’s sake, I’m in a home – a refuge. I couldn’t stand it any more. He’d been hitting me, for months. I never said, but then he started on Amy, and that was when I knew I had to go . . .’
She was weeping now, hardly able to get the words out.
‘How could you think . . . ? You got to believe me, Karen. I don’t know what’s up with Dave, but he’s not the person he used to be. He gets angry and lashes out. I’m frightened of him. And now the police might be onto him . . .’ She trailed off into sobs.
There was a silence down the other end of the phone, which seemed to go on forever.
At last Karen said very solemnly, ‘Is this true?’
‘Of course it’s true – what d’you think I am?’ Joanne wailed. ‘But don’t tell him! For God’s sake, don’t mention the police to him! I mean, they might not even . . . I don’t know. Just don’t say anything . . .’
‘I won’t.’ Karen sounded dazed.
‘Promise me.’
‘I won’t, I told you. I thought . . .’ Pieces of a puzzle were coming together in Karen’s head. ‘Last time I came over. There was something not right – I could see, but I never thought. Oh, Sis, I’d never’ve thought Dave . . . Is it really true? That’s not like him.’
More quietly now Joanne said, ‘I know. But it’s true. I don’t know what to do. I think he needs help. I’d come back, but my social worker says . . . I’ve got a case conference tomorrow.’
‘Case conference? You’ve got a social worker?’ Karen sounded very sober now.
‘Yes. I didn’t have any choice once I’d . . . It’s weird, Karen, everything just gets taken over.’
Slowly Karen said, ‘Look, I’ll have to tell Mom and Dad what’s happened. Try and get them to take it in. Where are you?’
‘I’m not s’posed to say.’
‘No, I suppose not. Mom and Dad aren’t going to find this easy. I’ll just tell them you’re okay – they’re worried sick.’
‘What’ve they said?’
‘Mom’s furious. More angry than I’ve ever seen her. She thinks it’s terrible. You know: Dave can do no wrong. Make your bed and lie on it – all that. Thinks you’ve gone mad. Dad’s been tutting, but it’s hard to know what he thinks.’
‘Well, yeah.’ They both laughed, faintly.
‘Stay where you are. I’m going to talk to someone at work, tomorrow if I can – get some advice. Look, are you okay? And Amy? It’s nowhere near your house, is it?’
‘No, it’s okay. He wouldn’t find us. And we’re all right for now. It’s not very nice – some of the other kids are terrible. But there’s a nice woman in charge.’
She wanted to break down and sob for her sister to come to her, but knew it would be unfair. She swallowed and kept control of herself.
‘That’s good. Now, look, phone me tomorrow – same time.’
‘I will.’ Joanne felt a surge of warmth and relief. Karen was all right really. She was more than all right, in fact.
‘Give Amy a kiss from me.’ Karen paused. ‘It is true, isn’t it? About Dave?’
‘It’s true,’ Joanne said miserably. ‘I wish to God it wasn’t.’
Forty-Four
The next night she spoke to Karen, quite late, once the house had at last gone quiet. Or, rather, Karen spoke to her. Joanne could hardly get a word in edgeways at first. Karen had consulted Hilary, her counsellor friend. She had also spoken to Dave.
‘The thing is,’ she spoke carefully, but Joanne could hear her enjoyment of a certain kind of authority in the situation, ‘Dave’s blaming you for everything – and, at the moment, Mom agrees with him. You know what their generation are like about marriages breaking up. You don’t do it. Must be the woman’s fault, she’s supposed to be the centre of the marriage and the household, blah, blah, and all that.’
Karen sighed, heavily.
‘To tell you the truth, I’m quite surprised what it’s brought out: the way Mom’s been on about it. I thought she might have been a bit more understanding. She won’t hear a word against Dave – she thinks you ought to come back and get on with it. Knuckle down, sort of thing.’
‘What, even if he’s violent to us?’ Her hurt and anger made Joanne’s voice shrill. ‘Even if he hurts Amy?’
‘The thing is, she doesn’t believe he’s capable of it.’
‘Why’s she taking his side? She’s my mom, not his!’ Joanne was trying to swallow down tears. ‘And what about Wendy?’
‘Well, you know what she’s like – in a world of her own half the time. Won’t hear a word against him, either.’
‘Was she nasty about me?’ Joanne wasn’t sure why she asked this, but she seemed to need to know if everyone in her life had turned against her.
‘No – she wasn’t actually. I just don’t think any of it’s really sunk in. Anyway, what I was going to say was, I had a conversation with Hilary, the counsellor woman at work. She talked to someone else, who she said had worked with a lot of battered women . . .’
Battered women? Joanne thought. She remembered Doreen, and the state of Gina’s toes. God, she’d become a label! She’d had enough of this.
‘Look, it doesn’t matter what she thinks. We had the case conference today. The police are going to interview Dave. It’s a first offence, and there wasn’t much evidence. Amy had some bruises, but they’d almost gone by the time we got here. He might just get a caution . . . If I go back, we might end up with a supervision order, I think they call it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Karen was silenced for a moment. ‘Well, I s’pose they have to . . . The thing is, if Dave’s blaming everything on you, no one’s really got anywhere and you’re safer staying out of his way. You need to give yourself some time to think, away from his influence – and with all this going on.’
‘I know,’ Joanne said, but her spirits sank, dismally. What she wanted to hear was someone saying: Go home – you can forget about this nightmare. She just wanted everything to be all right again.
‘No one’s really talked to Dave, I don’t think. Not properly,’ Karen said. ‘They’re all just saying, “Oh, poor Dave, his wife’s run off with their kid.” So he’s not really looking at himself. Maybe I should . . .’
‘Maybe you should be a counsellor,’ Joanne suggested wearily.
‘Umm,’ Karen said, sounding pleased. ‘Perhaps I should. But maybe the police had better talk to him first.’
September weather was setting in. The trees drooped, leaves turning rusty at the edges. Joanne ventured out with Amy. From the house they had access to Edgbaston Reservoir and Summerfield Park. The weather was changeable, but as often as possible she took Amy out, happy to get away from the house and all the misery and aggravation it contained. At first she felt vulnerable stepping outside. Everyone was obsessed with security and wary about the house being watched. Although she knew Dave had no idea where she was, she, like the other women, felt as if they stood out a mile as soon as they left the house. Doreen never went out at all.
Dave, she had heard, had been formally cautioned by the police. Although the pressure was always on in the refuge to make a plan, to sort yourself out, and Megan was in and out talking to her, Joanne knew she needed some days of quiet, to think.
She walked for miles with Amy in those gusty, early autumn days, sometimes stopping to feed the ducks. She would find herself standing for heaven knew how long, gazing out over the grey water, then coming to and wondering how long she had been there. Sometimes sobs rose up from her thoughts and she would weep uncontrollably, in the middle of the park. Her emotion was often brought on by thinking about her early years with Dave, how full of hope he had been: he had been special, chosen, brimming with confidence. She had almost worshipped him. She wept for all that had been lost, for both of them. Now he was full of rage with her and a sense of betrayal – according to Karen.
Thinking about the future seemed impossible now. It was as if she was in limbo in this place, this house of alien smells and people, which was neither a home of the past nor the future, but a holding pen from which her life must somehow go on.
She had great respect for the women who ran the refuge – especially Marcia, to whom she found she could talk easily, and she admired the way she handled a lot of difficult situations. But in Jackie she also saw someone who had special gifts, especially with the children. What they really needed, Jackie told Joanne one day, was a man to work there, to show the children that not all men are violent abusers. But such men were hard to find.
However, Jackie was one of the few people who could get any response out of Gina’s boys, who despite their angelic looks and winning ways were devious, angry and violent. Their blond sweetness would alter in seconds to show furious, snarling faces, boys who bit and kicked at any sign of attention and who went out of their way to trip up and bait other children. Maeve kept her cowering girls well out of their way, but there were endless problems involving the boys.
