She's Not Gone

by Sarah Northwood

  My destination is one town further along, the place I work is a shop on the high street. Nestled between banks and a laundry, it’s not exactly London but the town is often full of shoppers and browsers. The shop itself isn’t grand but the large window at the front for displays beams out cheerfully amongst its neighbours. Housed on a single floor, it serves a needed purpose for the town and does quite well. I’m certain that’s mainly because of Jeannie, the manager. Jeannie and I have been friends for over six years since I started in the shop. She was the manager there and had been given permission from head office to take on some extra help since it was getting busier. Or perhaps she just informed them, I wasn’t quite sure. It was the two of us against the world and it didn’t take us long to become firm friends. She’d been there when Daryl and I first got together.

  Jeannie has a drive and determination that can make single bloody mindedness look like a hobby. The little boutique, which specialises in good quality children’s clothes, is in many ways her baby. It does well I think, because it's a part of a larger chain but I don’t think the big wigs at the head office would dream of changing a thing. Besides which, I’d like to see them try, anyone has a hard time telling Jeannie anything. The good value and customer service we offer makes my days colourful and lively with plenty of customers.

  I can’t help thinking about when I started working the after-school job, that person, that version of me, was some other Katie to the one who exists now. Back then, Mum decided I needed a firm hand and a bit of a responsibility in my life. It was true I was always a bit wild but I knew the real reason she wanted to get me a job—so she could use me for a bit of extra cash. I guess that was one thing I was good for, according to her. I never quite knew whether it was the job or Jeannie that was meant to straighten me out, but I was grateful for them both. Jeannie meant the world to me.

  I know Daryl would feel better if I quit but I don’t have many things left and this, my life such as it is, exists and endures for this one reason. If I were to leave, I know I would die. This moment of control and freedom, this tiny glimmer of independence is the only thread that I have left. Our friendship, my only friend, is all I have to hold onto. I need to keep that.

  The bus pulls slowly into the stop and I glance at my watch to see it’s eight-fifteen, leaving me plenty of time to get into work. I exit the bus at the bank and only have a few metres to stroll to my destination. All about me people are milling about but they don’t see one another, and they don’t have time to say hello. I wonder sometimes if they are lonelier than me.

  Daryl set up the mobile he’d given me at Christmas, his present, to have his own twinkly tone. That way, whenever he texted me I'd know it was him. The only other people I have on my list are Jeannie and Mum and I added those numbers in myself later. It's lunch time before the first ping goes off, vibrating in my pocket and sending the coins in my hand falling to the floor. Busy with Mrs McCallister, who came in to collect her daughter’s school uniform order, I feel it buzz again and again, which sends anxious jolts through my body. Jeannie gives me a look as I ask, “Can you excuse me for a minute, please?” She knows that Daryl distracts me. So far that's all she knows, perhaps she thinks we're just a bit too in love. Perhaps she's right.

  Jeannie moves across behind the counter to take over the packing of the school dresses for Mrs McCallister and nods, giving me permission to leave. As I head into the back room which doubles as our eating space I hold my breath. Slipping the Nokia from my pocket, I look down at the text messages:

  Where are you?

  Why aren’t you answering my texts?

  Where are you eating your lunch?

  Are you with someone?

  Are you fucking one of the customers?

  You’ve got five minutes to ring me back.

  Why haven’t you called?

  I’m coming now.

  I gasp at the last one and shakily pull up his contact on the phone. Daryl picks up on the first ring. “Where have you been Katie? Why didn’t you answer me?” he demands.

  “I’m sorry Daryl, I was with a customer,” I reply calmly, careful to measure my tone.

  “I bet you were, what was his name?” Daryl asks.

  Rather than reassuring him, his anger boils hotter. “It wasn’t a guy Daryl, it was a mum. She came in for some uniforms so I couldn’t get to my phone.”

  “I know when you’re lying, just like her. I’ll catch you one day, you know I will. Then you’ll be gone, just like that.”

  There’s a sinister undertone in his voice that frightens me. He’s talked about carrying a weapon before. I know I need to calm him down. “Daryl, I’m so sorry, I know you must have been worried. Please, you don’t need to come over. I’ll be having lunch with Jeannie like normal, I’m not going anywhere. You can trust me,” I plead.

  “Don’t think I won’t check up on you Katie. One day when you’re not expecting it, I’ll set a trap and then I’ll catch you. I know you’re a liar.”

  “Daryl, you can come whenever you want to, you know that. There’s only you, always and forever.” This at last seems to appease him. I can hear his breathing slow as he holds the phone to his ear.

  “Make sure you text me a photo later.” He ends the call.

  I know what he means. He wants to see a picture of me eating my lunch in the shop and if I don’t I’ll be punished. He will show me that I’m his, and it will be severe. Deep in the crevice of my mind, a thought that it should be easier than this surfaces. Isn’t there meant to be trust in a relationship, not fear? I push the thought aside and realise it’s my fault. I should have answered his texts. He’s told me plenty of times that it makes him mad if I don’t. I’m so stupid.

  I try to remember how it was when we first got together. When did things between us become this way?

  Chapter Three

  I shiver at the draft coming in through the window. It’s open a crack to let out the smell of dinner, a large lemon and herb chicken that I’m roasting. Instead of helping to get rid of the stinging smell, the wind just seems to roll it back in like a fog on the sea. I stare transfixed at the oven, in a quandary as to whether to turn it off or turn it down.

  Outside the dark has already arrived. Daryl must be running late. If I leave the poor bird in the oven any longer, it will likely be nothing more than a dried husk by the time he gets home. The ironies of our similar situations are not lost on me. Pulling the bird out onto the kitchen worktop, I decide it will probably be good if it rests for a bit. I rub at the goose-bumps on my arm and decide to close the window. My stomach growls at the thought of food, I’m so hungry. The knock at the door startles me and I almost drop the pan of potatoes. Perhaps he’s forgotten his key? I realise it’s more likely he wants a grand entrance. It’s not the first time he’s done this. I cover the food as best I can to keep it warm and move to the door. Opening it, a blast of cold air hits my face as if mentally preparing me for his arrival. I hope it’s not an omen. For a moment, I think about letting him in and then running out into the night. Running and never coming back.

  “Daryl, welcome home darling. Can I take your coat? How was your day?”

  He turns himself around and bends down a little so I can reach his coat. Diligently I remove his things and hang them up. Unable to read his face, I’m not sure which Daryl I’m going to get. Silent, loving or angry. I tremble a little. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Rather than answering me he sits down at the table and speaks one word. “Dinner?”

  “Yes, it’s coming. It will just be a moment.”

  “What have you been doing all day? You know, it’s really very easy Katie. One simple thing, have my dinner ready when I get home. It’s not too much to ask, is it? I’ve been working all day. You know how much responsibility I have Katie."

  I keep my eyes pinned to the floor, afraid that if I catch his gaze I'll inflame his anger. I wonder if he remembers that I work as well. I’m tired from the day just like him, but I know bett
er than to bring up the subject. The job at the shop is precious to me and so I don’t use it as a bargaining chip. If I were to even suggest working was a burden he'd make me quit in a heartbeat. It’s what he wants regardless. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter under my breath.

  Quickly plating the potatoes and the vegetables, a thought suddenly occurs to me. I place the chicken on the table. “Darling, you know how rubbish I am at carving. It needs an expert touch. Would you please do the honours?”

  His face lights up and his smile reveals the white of his teeth. He’s pleased that I’ve admitted he's better at something than me.

  “Wow, wonderful,” I say, admiring his work. I feel as I’m talking to a toddler. Massaging his delicate ego and exaggerating my praise. When he gives me a nod I sit down at the table. The room glows softly as a small table lamp flickers in the corner. Daryl is about to start eating when he looks at my plate and stops. I glance down quickly and hold on to the chair tightly, as the sinking feeling in my legs makes me wonder if I'm in quicksand.

  What have I done? What have I forgotten?

  I watch his face closely for signs of what’s to come. His arm stretches out across the table towards me. I cross my arms protectively and recoil back into the chair, wishing it would give out and give me more room. The flickering light reflects off his fork as he reaches over the table to my plate.

  “You won’t be needing that,” he says, as he spears his fork through the potato on my plate and brings it to his mouth. “Look how fat you are already. You really need to start running or something Katie.” He places his fork in his mouth then helps himself to big fat slices of the chicken, and places a single slice on my plate. “That’s plenty.”

  I sit rigidly in the chair, staring through the plate of food in front of me, biting my tongue. Daryl slurps and chomps next to me, oblivious to the pain he is causing. My stomach clenches as hunger finally gets the better of me and I eat. The thoughts inside my head echo around the room, as the silence hits the stark cold tiles beneath my bare feet. I want to scream out—I exist, I'm here. I'm more than a slave to your whims and desires. Instead, I decide to try and ease the tension with some conversation. I choose one of Daryl’s favourite subjects. “So tell me about your day, darling? Have you been busy?” His face brightens at the mention of his favourite topic.

  “Oh well, you know Jed is running the new implementation. I mean it’s ridiculous, everyone in the office knows I’m so much better at that software. I think they are just giving him a chance, you know?”

  I nod energetically, hoping I come across as sincere. I want to hang onto the moment and drag it out if possible. While he’s talking about himself the attention is off me, the pressure is lifted. As I clear away the dishes I have no choice but to turn my back to him. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder and see he’s engrossed in his conversation about his day. Punctuating his conversation with murmurs of approval or groans of agreement, I turn away once more, and chomp greedily on a piece of broccoli left on his plate. I must get food where I can—I’m starving.

  “I’m thinking about talking to head office about him. If I time this right, I could make VP.”

  “Wow Daryl that would be amazing. They’d be lucky to have you.” I continue to stroke his ego, and confirm his superiority over the world. I don’t believe a thing he tells me but in truth, I don’t know how the rest of the world sees him. Perhaps they only see the charming side as I once did? Still, I can’t help thinking if he's doing as well as he's told me, the wages we get would be a whole lot better. Not that I know exactly how much money we have, Daryl handles all of that, I’m not allowed money of my own. I continue to keep my eyes focused on him as we move into the living room. I worry that if I don’t show him he has my complete attention, consequences will follow. He struts into the room with his chest puffed out as if we live in a mansion and he's King.

  He grabs my arm roughly, pulling me towards him and I’m powerless to stop him. To Daryl, I'm nothing more than a possession to be used as he sees fit. When he reaches out to stroke my face, I will my body to remain in place, urging it not to recoil from his touch. I wonder how much I’ve heard of what he said, when he tells me, “I’m working on getting that house in Spain, Katie. You won’t believe how wonderful it is. The places I’m going to take you. The places I will buy for you.” His words sound hollow and insincere. I find myself nodding again and smiling but they are automated responses. The kind I’m surprised to find come almost automatically now. He kisses me on the lips. There is no question in his touch, no permission required. I belong to him and must do what he says. When he releases me, we sit down next to each other on the couch. I cross my legs and make myself small and untouchable, keeping my hands to myself. “You don’t have to buy things for me Daryl. This is more than enough, you’re enough for me.”

  “Oh, you’re so ungrateful. You must have your say, you have to say your piece, don’t you Katie? I understand you, you see. You are small and you think small. That’s why I’m in charge and it’s your job to look after the little things.” Getting up, he begins to pace the room as if inspecting the job I had been doing. “Look at this here.”

  I remain seated.

  “Well, get up you lazy cow!” he shouts.

  Doing as he asks, I move across to the mantelpiece. “Look at that!” he screams, grabbing at my shoulder. “What do you call that?”

  I stutter out the words, “A mark?”

  “A mark, she says. A mark, like it’s nothing at all. A great big fat juicy fingerprint, Katie, that’s what it is. If I’m going to build a life for us then you have to take care of things like this. It’s simple housework. It’s like I can’t even trust you with the little things! Can I trust you, Katie? Can I?”

  “Of course, Daryl. I am so sorry, I’ll go and clean it up right away. I know you’re only looking out for us.” As I turn away to the kitchen to get the cleaning things, I allow myself a few moments of silent tears. I won’t let myself cry any longer than that. I won’t let him see that he has hurt me again.

  Chapter Four

  Things with Daryl have been much the same over the last few weeks, a schizophrenic mix of emotions keeping me constantly off balance and unsure of what’s to come. One moment he's caring and loving and the next he grabs at me, or calls me a name, for some misdemeanour I'm unsure of. Physically and emotionally it's exhausting but sleep refuses to befriend me. In those few quiet hours of the night when Daryl is asleep, I'm free and can breathe. In those moments, I can be myself.

  I have arranged a surprise. I want Daryl to know that I can take care of the little things, as he calls them. I want to show him how strong I am. Perhaps I want to show myself too. I’ve arranged for us to go out. On a date. For one night only we’re getting out of this bloody awful flat and into the world. Out of the tiny living room with one second-hand sofa to show for its name. Out of the kitchen with its freezing bloody tiles and together like a regular couple. I won’t have to stare out of the window and wonder how the other half lives. Daryl and I will be living it. I know it will do us good to be like a normal couple, if only for a night. Maybe I can remind him of how it was when we first met. Maybe I can show him it can be like that again. Like a kitten with a new toy, I’m positively purring and unbelievably excited.

  I’ve scrimped so hard to save the money, turning the thermostat down lower, braving the extra cold just to save a few pennies but it will be worth it. It’s Valentine’s Day. A day of love. A day to remember. The whole night is a surprise, a trip to the theatre and dinner. I lie to myself that he will like the surprise, I lie to myself that I don’t fear how he will react. Jeannie has said I can finish early. Life just doesn’t get any better. I try to think of an analogy for someone happier than a pig in muck but I just can’t.

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw you this excited,” Jeannie says, whilst taking a large bite of her gluten free ham sandwich. For a change, the shop is so quiet the two of us decide to close up and have lunch t
ogether. We guess everyone is too busy being romantic to want to buy kids’ clothes. Perhaps I just like to imagine that everyone else in the world is happy. Today I’m going to be too.

  “I know, I know but I can’t help it. I’m just so looking forward to going out,” I reply excitedly.

  “Listen love, I don’t mean to put a dampener on things but shouldn’t it be Daryl whisking you away somewhere. Spoiling you for a change?”

  I ignore the undercurrent in her voice and the way her nose crinkles up suspiciously with the question she really wants to ask, and answer as honestly as I can.

  “Well, we have a modern kind of relationship. I mean, why should the man be the one to do all the romancing, hey? Anyway, what are you and Chris getting up to tonight? Or, shouldn’t I ask?” I say teasingly.

  “Same as every other night, I expect. Snuggling on the sofa and watching a movie. We’re far too old for all that other stuff. Besides, real love is about being there and being supportive of your other half. It’s not all flowers and ponies, you know.”

  The dig at what real love is about is not lost on me. I catch Jeannie’s gaze for a moment as I tell her emphatically, “I know that, I just want to make Daryl happy, is all.”

  Suddenly her tone changes. Concern etches sharp in her voice. “You know you can tell me things, don’t you Katie? You can tell me anything. Whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

  I gaze down at my half-eaten food and a rotten taste fills my mouth. I wrap the remains in foil.

  “I know Jeannie. But I’m fine. Really, there’s nothing to tell.” The phone in my pocket begins to buzz. I’d like to say I'm saved by the bell but the vibration of my phone brings only a cold sweat and dread. Not wanting to prove her right any more than she already is, I stand up. “I’m just popping to the loo, hun.”