A flash of anger crosses my face.
‘Whoa, with that glare I’m out of here.’ He dashes to the door and almost flings himself through it in his haste.
I throw myself down on the sofa, completely bored. There’s nothing to do but watch a television programme until I fall asleep.
I come to wondering where I am. The side of my face is crushed into the arm of the sofa. Drool runs from the corner of my lip. I glance at the clock. It’s after one am. I presume Jarrod went straight upstairs so as not to disturb me and after coming around for a minute or two I walk upstairs to the bedroom. He’s not there. The bed covers are completely untouched. I run back downstairs. Jarrod is always back by midnight. My anger rises to the surface. Where the fuck is he? I stroll into the kitchen to get a glass of water. My mouth is dry from being asleep and it needs to be well lubricated for when he does get home and I give him a piece of my mind. I raise the blind and peer at Edward’s house. There’s no sign of anyone on the street. From the corner of my eye, I notice movement. Sandra is waving to me from her window and indicating I should come outside.
I walk out of the front door to meet her.
‘They’re late, aren’t they? What are you still doing up? You should be resting that baby.’
‘I fell asleep on the sofa. Shall we collect our husbands? It's that bloody Edward. He’s leading them astray.’
Sandra laughs, ‘They’ve probably passed out on his sofa.’ She looks back at her house. ‘I’ll lock up. The kids will be okay for a few minutes, won’t they?’
‘We’re only going three doors down. You can see your house from there. Don’t let me go there alone. Jarrod will complain I’m embarrassing him, whereas if we both turn up, we can appear like overbearing wives together.’
‘Okay. Let me lock the door.’
As we walk down Edward’s path, there’s jazz music coming from the house. Subdued lighting comes through the net curtain.
I knock on the door, but there’s no answer.
I tut and turn towards Sandra.
‘What shall we do now?’ she asks.
‘You can see a bit under the net curtain.’
Sandra looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
‘I snooped a while back, so shoot me.’ I laugh. ‘It would seem I’m a nosy neighbour.’ I wander to the front and bend to peer underneath. I feel the weight of my bump as I get into this uncomfortable position.
Jarrod lies on the floor. It takes me a while to process the fact that his lips are locked with another man’s. That the other man, Edward, is fucking my husband up his backside. I can just make out small grunts accompanying the loud jazz music. Dave is passed out in a chair. I turn away and throw up in the garden.
Sandra rushes over. ‘Mel, whatever is the matter?’
I point.
She looks through the curtains herself. Her scream rings out into the quiet of the street.
My thoughts rush at me. They’ll know now we’re here. I need to get away. If I run back to my own home, maybe I can pretend I’ve never seen this. Go back to my settled, normal life.
But Sandra is in front of me, battering on the window.
‘Stop it.’ I grab hold of her arms. ‘We need to get out of here. Then decide what we will do.’
She nods. ‘I’m going back to my babies.’
She runs towards her house. I attempt to run after her though with my pregnancy I’m not fast. A stitch starts in my side, and I pause in the middle of the street, rubbing my stomach. Edward’s front door opens, and Dave dashes through it. Jarrod stands in the doorway watching Dave but avoiding my gaze.
It’s this distraction that means I’m in the middle of the road when the taxi comes around the corner, hitting me sideways on. No one would expect a woman to be standing in the middle of the road of a quiet cul-de-sac at one-thirty am I’m sure.
The world goes black.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MELISSA
January 1988
When a car collides with the side of a pedestrian, the impact to the lower body means that the lower half accelerates while the top stays relatively still. The body then wraps around the front of the vehicle, in my case, causing my head to hit the windshield, tearing my face in the process. The resultant fall to the ground causes my skull to fracture. The taxi will have a dent in the hood and a smashed windshield. This will be recorded by the insurance companies, along with the burnt tyre marks on the road from braking. It’s the braking that caused my injuries, although not braking would have been far worse.
I watch Greys Anatomy these days and consider this is what it must have been like on scene and in the hospital. Shining lights in my eyes to check pupil responses. Listening to my chest, hearing the diminished breathing caused by the diaphragmatic rupture. You kind of need the muscle that runs across the bottom of your ribcage to breathe. Blunt trauma creates a whole host of problems.
Losing a lot of blood sends a body into hypovolaemia. When this happens, it tries to save blood. My body considered my unborn baby to be non-essential to my survival and stopped the blood running to my uterus, diverting it elsewhere. If the car impact hadn’t already caused the death of my daughter, then my own body would have killed her instead. It’s a sobering thought and not one a mother wants to dwell on. My womb and my dead child are removed from my body. I do not get to cradle her because I am unconscious.
Torn knee ligaments, lacerations, abrasions.
I spend time in the intensive care unit as they wait to see if I’ll live. I’m moved to the high dependency unit. Then to a general ward where I’m given physiotherapy. Finally, I’m allowed home.
Home.
After several months in hospital, I’m unsure of what to expect when I get there.
I know what not to expect.
My husband.
I lost him the night of my accident. He ceased to exist, just like our daughter. I was abandoned without a second thought, no explanation, nothing.
From that day, I distract myself from my thoughts every time he comes to my mind.
My parents open the door. The house belongs to me now. It’s clean. My mother has obviously been through it with stealth. My house is stocked with groceries. A vase of flowers sits on the table. As soon as they leave, I throw them in the bin; they remind me of my days in hospital. I never want to see a flower in a vase again. Later, I gaze out of the window and stare across at Sandra and Dave’s. I wonder how they went on. If they are still together. Then I look at Edward’s.
Later, there’s a knock on the door. A glimpse through the peephole reveals Dave. His hair is greyer; he looks ten years older than the last time I saw him.
I open the door, slowly. I’m unsure if I want to open it at all.
‘Dave.’
‘Can I come in?’
I pause before opening the door and indicating that he should enter.
Dave is a tall bloke, and he seems too large for my living room. I can’t help but think about the last time I saw him. I mustn’t let these thoughts in.
‘How is Sandra?’ I ask.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ he says. His eyes close, tears on his lashes.
I don’t want him to speak. I don’t want to know what that tone of voice means. That given up, reluctant tone.
‘She blamed herself for you being in the road. She’d look at the kids and say it wasn’t fair that she had two daughters and you’d lost yours. She couldn’t look at me either. She wouldn’t believe I hadn’t taken part. I didn’t know, Mel, I swear.’
‘How did she…?’
‘She took an overdose.’
‘When?’
‘A month after the accident.’
I stand still though I don’t know how. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but I’d like to be alone now.’
He nods and walks towards the door.
‘Is he still here?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’ Then he updates me.
Edward now lives with his girlfriend, Inez. While we all suffe
red, Edward moved on.
Damage to the brain after an accident can sometimes leave a person suffering from behavioural problems. It can be like they are two different people, Jekyll and Hyde if you will. I like to blame my accident, but I had issues with Mr Bonham from the get go. The man is inhuman. I vow that one day I will get that man to show some emotion. To apologise for the actions that resulted in my loss. But for now, I am too damaged, too broken and I hole up behind the walls of my home and try to survive each day.
Dave and I become close. We cling to each other, with the shared history of that evening. The first time Dave kisses me, I let him. He’s a decent looking bloke, but I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore, there’s not much room beyond the hatred I keep deep within. I realise however that I can become a mother to Becky and Joanne. Babies I never gave birth to but can love as my own. Dave wants to move, but I insist we stay in his family home. I tell him the children need that stability. We get married. One thing I discover is sex is something that can be loving one minute and like animals attacking each other the next. I realise what a pathetic lover Jarrod was and that the right lover can make your body sing to the heavens. I crave Dave’s contact, even if I struggle to sum up my feelings for him. With the girls, I try my best to show good and positive emotions. Our life together, bearing in mind our past, is a good one. But the hatred simmers beneath me like a pilot light, kept on, waiting to be turned up. I tell Dave the truth from the beginning of our relationship. That one day I will make them pay. He hates them as much as I do. He says he’d help me, but I’m not sure I’d let him.
After I moved into Dave’s, I sold my own home and put the proceeds in a bank account, telling Dave my parents were struggling financially and I’d given them a loan. I learnt to type, and as the children got older, I began work as a medical secretary to a surgeon. Dave refused to take any money from me towards the household bills, telling me to spend it on myself or the kids. I bank my salary too. My parents pass away. I keep the home we moved to when I was fifteen, but I save the money from their investments. All saved. For what at that point in time I didn’t know. But there, in case I needed it.
All the while Edward lives across the street with Inez. Inez with her long dark hair, gleaming white teeth and legs up to her armpits. They never even glance towards me or Dave. It’s like they live in another world. They taunt me with their blandness. I wonder what they are like behind closed doors. The house remains the same from the outside. The same uniformity. Edward’s routine never changes, despite now having his partner living with him. Turn your thoughts off, I tell myself. One day, but not now. A man like Edward considers everything. The fact that I do nothing will hopefully taunt him as he will expect my next move at any moment.
However, I let the years’ pass. Because when I’m ready, I need to have nothing to lose.
CHAPTER NINE
SAM
1 September 2014
I take Edward puzzles. Sudoku, crosswords, anagrams. Sometimes I sit and watch him while he does them. He can solve an anagram at a rapid pace. His intellect is sharp. That’s what I want. I don’t need him going into a confused state while he’s here. I want him to know exactly what is happening. I want him to figure out this puzzle. Who I am and why he is here.
‘I have a new treat for you today, Edward. A new puzzle. Let’s see if you can figure this one out.’
I make sure his other hand remains restrained, and I am clear to do my work.
I bring out the shaver and shave the hair on his chest.
Edward blanks his face and pretends I’m not touching him. I sweep over his skin with a towel and rub him down with alcohol wipes. I love the smell, so strong like they mean business. I breathe it in. Then I get my pens. Slowly I outline the letter M all over his chest. As I do, I say it. ‘M. M. M. M. M.’ This gets his attention. ‘What?’ I ask. After a flash of annoyance crosses his features, no doubt directed at himself, he goes blank-faced again. I leave a decent space after the M as there are more letters to go there, four in total. ‘I.I.I.I.I.’ ‘N.N.N.N.N.N.’ ‘E.E.E.E.E.E.’ I laugh. ‘E.E.E. That’ll be the sound you might be making in a minute.’ I outline the same letters on his back.
Nothing. The blank face remains.
While you are tattooing, good hand-eye coordination is required. However, the main talent is attention to detail. My purest trait. Attention to every single possible detail. I am completely focused on the tasks I need to execute.
My tattoo machine is one of the best you can buy. The best equipment for the best tattoos. Metal tubes. No disposables for me. Then I begin. I work solidly for two hours. This sounds like a lot, but when taking care, it means just a small amount of the body is now covered with permanent letters. I’ll do this daily until my project is complete. I’ve almost done with Edward now, to be honest. I wrap his abdomen in cling film. I’ll come back and wash my work with warm soapy water in a few hours and blot it. I need to make sure there’s no chance of infection.
Adrenaline will be coursing through Edward’s body now. I get up to leave him, and he gives me the filthiest look I’ve received so far. Apart from a tightening of his jaw, he remained impassive throughout my work. His strength is admirable, but it just makes me want to break him more.
‘I have no idea what you are trying to achieve, but this smacks of desperation.’
I smile at him.
‘Yet I know your body has always been a temple to you, where you can worship that god you follow. You know, yourself. Now when you look in the mirror, you’ll always think of me.’
‘You flatter yourself.’
‘I’m pleased with my work. I am a fucking brilliant tattooist. I have you to thank for that, Edward. Had you not put me on the path I found myself on, I may never have learnt, and I was a natural. That’s what my teacher said. It’s really hard to get an apprenticeship, but I was that damn good.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Oh dear, Edward. Is it so hard to work out?’
‘I don’t understand your puzzles. Just tell me who you are and what you want.’
I smirk. ‘What if I said that when I knew you my name was Melissa Simmons?’
Edward’s eyes widen, and his jaw slackens. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why is that ridiculous?’
‘Melissa is decades older than you. Brunette. Different eye colour. I don’t know who you are, but you are not Melissa Simmons.’
I sit back in my chair and cross my legs. This time my smile is genuine. A great big beam across my face. Then I talk. ‘I’d better explain the puzzle that you aren’t getting, Ed. Let’s give you an anagram. Your clue: Sam lies. Have you worked it out yet? Melissa. Get it? Rearrange the letters of Sam lies. Yes, I fucking well do.’
Ed rattles his chain, trying to get away from the wall. Finally, I have the reaction I’ve been looking for.
‘You’re lying. You have to be. Who are you and what do you want?’
‘All in good time, Edward. I’m bored now.’
I close the door on him and tidy my equipment away ready for tomorrow.
CHAPTER TEN
MELISSA
June, 2000.
Dave always knew the day would come. At twenty, and sixteen years of age, our daughters were old enough to deal with my leaving. Becky had a child of her own now, and Dave doted on his grandson. I wanted to. I made it look as if I thought Jude was the cutest grandchild ever, but in truth, I was restless.
I had to win.
So, I left.
My travels took me to Suffolk, a place of childhood holidays. I recalled seeing the heavily tattooed punks from the shop on the sea front - my parents dragging me along when I wanted to peer in and see the permanent artwork being etched on people's bodies. My mother tutted at my interest and declared that they’d regret it when they were older. When they were sixty and had a past boyfriend/girlfriend’s name on their arm. The tattoo shop was still there to my utter delight. Tattoo Heaven. I walked in and asked to be an appren
tice. Bobby, the owner, took one look at my appearance - a thirty-five-year-old woman with medium length dark brown hair, perfectly manicured hands and Clarks shoes on my feet and he guffawed. He made me a coffee, and I never looked back. He had nothing to lose. I didn’t need a wage, and I was a quick learner. I’d adored art at school and took to my new profession like a brick takes to cement. I built a firm foundation in a new career and developed a friendship that would last for years. Bobby told me he had no intention of settling down with one woman. There was too much pussy on offer, especially the babes who loved getting tats and hanging around the parlour. I moved in with him, rented a room in his house. It didn’t bother me hearing him banging his whores. I stayed there for three years. Bobby knew everything, and he understood when it was time for me to move on.
‘I’m here when you’re ready for the next step. I’ll help you all the way, you know that.’
‘I know.’
‘I love you like a sister. Going to miss seeing your face around here though.’
‘Trade will be affected by the loss of one of your star tattooists.’ I snorted.
‘You’re joking, but it’s true. There’s always a place for you here, Mel. Always.’
‘I won’t be the same when I return.’
Bobby shakes his head. ‘You’ll always be you, but like our customers, with a few modifications.’
From Suffolk, I travelled to New York. Now thirty-eight, I was more than ready to experience more of life. It was time for the scars of my past to heal. The ones on my body from the car accident had faded, but I made an appointment with a plastic surgeon. My years working as a medical secretary for a surgeon had prepared me for what lay ahead. After several consultations, the surgeon began the work of clearing my body of its scars. I lived as a New Yorker, soaking up the best places on earth, while I continued with surgery. I attended dramatic arts classes, learning how to speak in different tones and accents, and became a total gym bunny. I often ran around Central Park when I wasn’t recovering from surgery. I had my hair cropped short and dyed blonde. I had a facelift, breast augmentation, a butt-lift. The fake tan took my pale skin away, and contacts turned my brown eyes blue. Living on salads and fruit, my skin became youthful and glossy. The process took years, during which, I kept in touch with Bobby and Dave, though I never sent photographs or anything in writing that could fall into the wrong hands. Dave kept me informed about Edward and Inez. Edward was becoming a big name at the accountancy firm he’d moved to after “the incident”. They still appeared happy.
MInE: A Hate Story Page 4
