‘Come on. I’m dropping you off with Grandma!’
She pulls herself up and, still giggling, puts on her hat and coat. Simon appears, already wearing a parka and a backpack. We set off, them excited and me reluctant as usual.
My relationship with my mum has never been good, but there was a steep decline when I was fifteen. By the time I was a teenager I had banned the ‘freshening’ process from my bedroom and covered the walls in pop posters. Mum relaxed a little, sensing this as normality.
How wrong she was. Nothing was normal about that time. I spot her in the distance, looking in the window of the coffee shop opposite Boots. I wonder if she’s looking for someone or looking at herself, constantly checking herself like she used to in the mirror at home. I suddenly feel self-conscious, like my fifteen-year-old self. Faced with her appearing every morning fully dressed and made up, a faint smell of hair lacquer around her, I was constantly inadequate.
She sees me and stiffens. No smile for me, but a bent-over kiss for Jennifer and a hand on the shoulder for Simon. I stand awkwardly, toes turned in. The unspoken instruction as she stares at my shoes make me push my feet together and I feel resentment swelling.
‘OK. I’ll be back here at four.’
She nods. ‘Fine. We’ll be here.’
That’s it. I walk away, glancing behind to see her whole demeanour changed now I’m gone and she is alone with Simon and Jennifer. An internal clock sets itself for the tide of missing them, flowing at me in waves until it is time to pick them up.
I head for the coffee shop, but my phone rings. It’s Janice.
‘Hi. We’ve got a situation.’
She sounds out of breath and I know she wouldn’t call me on a Saturday if it wasn’t urgent.
‘Let me guess. Velcro?’
She makes a noise, which, if she wasn’t so stressed, would be a laugh.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m on my way.’
I hurry to the taxi rank and jump in a cab. It’s not far and by the time I get there the police are there too. I pull my ID out of my bag and walk past the first police car and into SafeMe. Janice gives me a ‘thank God you’re here’ look and I gravitate towards the most frightened person in the room.
Sally Lewis is cowering against a wall, drawn up inside herself to make her body small. Her legs tremble and she is ready to defend a blow, her right forearm shielding her face.
Her husband, Jimmy, who we refer to as Velcro because he sticks like glue and will not leave, is dancing around Malc Edwards, our security guard. So far Malc is fending him off. Jimmy is like one of those guys you see in a Manchester night club. Wiry and lithe, arms outstretched trying to break up a fight that he probably started. Handy, as Danny would say. But my priority is Sally. I stretch out my arm.
‘Come on, love.’
She stares at my hand, alien to her.
‘He doesn’t mean it. He’s just upset.’
I nod. ‘Come on. It’s OK. Let’s get you somewhere safe.’
Janice catches my eyes and I see, just above the leather sofa and behind an orange stained-glass panel, four little heads: Sally’s children. They are in another room but can still hear everything. Sally follows my gaze then looks back at Jimmy.
‘Yeah, go on then, you fucking bitch. Go on then. Take my kiddies away from me.’
He’s still dancing around Malc. The policemen are outside – I can hear their radios – this is something they see every day. Domestic. Rows. They won’t intervene until I say or Jimmy looks like he’s going to hit someone. While he’s just shouting they stand back. He reaches into his pocket and we all take a sharp breath in, but he produces a phone.
‘I’m filming this. Filming you fuckers. For court. Once this gets to court they’ll see how I get treated by her. You lot. Them fucking pigs. It’s her who should be arrested. She stole my kids.’
He waves the phone around, its red recording light flashing, until it rests on me.
‘Big boss lady. Oooh. I must be important for you to come out on a weekend.’
I fold my arms. ‘They’re important, Jimmy: the children and your wife.’
He continues to film. ‘Yeah. Because that’s what always happens, innit? Eh? Women can run off with the kids and what can the bloke do about it? Eh? Fucking nothing.’
He moves closer to me, right up to me, and I hold my ground. I hear Sally murmur, like this has happened before, his MO. I see the police out of the corner of my eye move into the hall. The phone is almost touching my nose.
A child starts to cry in the other room. A young child. A wail that provides a background distraction and everyone looks around. Everyone except Jimmy. I watch him not even flinch when his son begins to cry. Sally hugs herself and starts to move but he steps in front of her. They are nose to nose now, him teeth gritted and face red. Her terrified. The police move in but it’s too late.
A trickle of liquid runs on to the wooden floor. Jimmy watches as it makes a ravine between the boards, his expression turning to a smile.
‘You dirty fucking bitch. You’ve pissed yourself.’ He turns to us. ‘She needs locking away. She’s not fit to look after them kids. Look, you all seen her piss herself in public. If that were me I’d be …’
An officer goes to take his arm but he jerks away, suddenly serious.
‘I never touched her, mate. I never touched anyone. Just here for my kids, me.’
There’s a brief face-off before they escort him off the premises, followed by Malc and Janice. Her shoulders are drooped because she knows there will be reams of paperwork for just this one incident.
Sally still does not move. Then she crouches down on to the floor and pulls her hoodie sleeves over her arms and covers her face. I touch her shoulder and she cowers away.
‘Come on. Come in here. I’ll sort this out.’
She looks up at me then down at the floor.
‘Sorry.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I’ll clean it up. Just tell me where the stuff is and I’ll …’
I watch as Janice goes through to the room where the children are. Sally’s son has stopped crying now and SafeMe is back to the quiet place it was less than an hour ago. I go to the staff shower room and Sally follows me. Once inside she is stripping off her clothes until she is naked. I can see round scars on her stomach, evidence of burns, and longer scars on her thighs. It could be self-harm, but I doubt it. She will tell me in time. She hurries into the shower and stands under the warm water with her back to me, not pulling the curtain. Her shoulders shudder a little.
‘None of this is your fault, Sally. None of it.’
There is a slight movement of her head but I can’t work out if it’s a nod or not without seeing her face. I leave her to have her shower and check the time. I need to be back in town by four. I clear up, then phone Janice.
‘Are the police still here?’
She laughs. ‘Yep. Didn’t arrest him. Just gave him the chat and sent him on his way. He’s back in the pub across the road.’
I end the call. That phone. Him recording. Was it a coincidence? I snort to myself. Of course it fucking was. Everyone’s got a phone. Jimmy’s a psycho but he’s a psycho who’s only interested in Sally. And would he spend money on flowers? Although he has got a motive. Or he thinks he has.
I check myself. No way am I letting a little fucker like Jimmy worry me. It could all be unconnected: the phone, the message. The flowers could just be an innocent thank-you from someone and the card got lost, but I’ve built it into something bigger.
Sally is out of the shower. I can hear her padding around.
‘Are you decent?’
I try to sound cheery in a desperate situation. She pulls the door and the oversized bath towel that barely covers me exposes her bony shoulders. I hand her a pair of old leggings and a top from the lost property, just until she gets back to her room. She is drained.
‘Can I see the kids?’
I stare
at her. ‘Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t you be able to?’
‘Well, after what Jimmy said …’
I take her hand. It’s cold and damp and she flexes her fingers free.
‘Look, we’re here to help. We’ll help you find somewhere. When you’re ready. And you can talk to me. You can tell me anything.’
Her eyes flicker up to my face and I know there is something to tell. But we sit there for almost an hour in silence. Sally warms up as the washing machine then the tumble dryer clean her clothes. She finally climbs back into them.
‘Can I go now?’
I nod. ‘You could have gone anytime. You’re not a prisoner, Sally.’
She leaves and closes the door gently behind her. I wait for the rush of gratitude and the tingle of joy that I have Danny and the kids. But all I feel is my fingers gripped tightly around the cheap phone deep in my pocket. Usually, when I see a woman trapped like this, I feel an overwhelming sense of my own freedom, my liberty. I also feel the depth of despair in my heart for women who have not yet escaped. Those in their homes enduring what Sally has.
Tanya
Diary Entry: Saturday
I’m so pleased that I went along to the doctors the other day. That lovely lady doctor was really good; I felt like she understood what was wrong with me. It was really hard to explain it with Al there, especially when she started talking about periods and all that sort of thing. I warmed to her and although Al didn’t think writing a diary was a good idea, she thought it would help.
So here goes. It’s only an old exercise book, not a proper diary. I probably won’t be able to do it every day. After we came out of the surgery Al said again it wasn’t a good idea and would just upset me more. In fact, he’s gone back to how he was before. He’s got this thing that he does, where his face changes just a tiny bit and I know he’s annoyed with me. Just a tiny bit, but I know.
Anyway. Where’s the best place to start? Probably the other day, when I first started feeling shaky and anxious again. I’d been sitting at my desk in the corner of the office when Jade came over. I could see Mr Simister looking at us through his office window, only his head visible. But like I know with Al when he is annoyed, I know with Mr Simister. His head bobs up and goes to one side. He usually comes out and interrupts, but the phone was ringing and he answered it.
Jade works on the other side of the office with Marcy and Karla. Al says that they are sluts. They wear very trendy clothes and high heels and swear a lot. I guess that’s why I have a long-term partner and they don’t. They are always talking about different men and how they had fun with them, which Al says means they had sex with them.
It would have been last Wednesday, I think. Jade had leaned over my desk and flicked a paperclip with her false nail. I picked it up and she stared at me.
‘Coming out tonight, Tan. After work. Just for one?’
I stared at my desk. She’s asked me on and off, and I never go. It was nearly home time, and I could see Al parked outside, staring in.
‘No. My husband is waiting for me. We’re going out to dinner.’
He’s not my husband and we’re not going out to dinner. But I had to say something to get rid of her. It didn’t. She sat there, looking at me and frowning. Then she pointed a long, French-manicured talon at me.
‘Won’t he let you? He’s always there, every night. Don’t you get a night out with the girls?’
I shook my head and carried on typing but Mr Simister was on his way over.
‘Get back to work. Come on. This isn’t a bloody knitting circle.’
I’m a bit scared of Mr Simister, if I’m honest. Al got me this job about a year after we moved in together. He’s one of his friends. I was annoyed at first because I never got a pay packet like all the others. They would go home on Fridays clutching a brown envelope with notes in it. Al told me that Mr Simister was trying out a new system, where he paid employees directly into the bank. As I didn’t have a bank account, he’d given him his details. That was all right, wasn’t it?
It upset me at first, but when Al started to buy me nice things and let me have a catalogue account, I could see it was the right thing. This way I never had to worry about money, he says.
So when I left work last Tuesday and got into the car I could see his temple throbbing. His hands were gripping the wheel and his knuckles were white. He was staring at Jade and Karla as they laughed and stumbled across the cobbles.
‘Thinking of going with them, were you?’
I caught his eye in the mirror. It was the night of my doctor’s appointment and I didn’t want anything to spoil it.
‘No. She asked me. But I said no.’
I always tell him the truth, because somehow he has a way of finding out if I leave anything out. His grip on the steering wheel loosened and he looked at me.
‘You can if you want to, you know. Only …’
I smiled at him. I know he only gets like this because he cares about me.
‘I know, love. But why would I want to do that?’ I patted the hand nearest to me. ‘I’m here, they’re there. That’s all there is to it.’
His temple was still throbbing, but he started the car. In the doctor’s surgery she asked me if I wanted to be alone with her. Al did his hand-squeeze thing, the thing we agreed was a sign just between the two of us. So I told her that I wanted him there. For support. Because I really do think I am going crazy.
Chapter Six
Day 24
Despite all the stress, I’m having a lazy Sunday morning, sitting around reading the papers. The kids are playing at my feet and this time last week Danny would have been here.
I’m still annoyed about Jimmy getting into SafeMe yesterday and almost attacking Sally. But thoughts of Danny have damped it down and I make tea and toast. It’s an unspoken tradition we’ve had since the first day, a shared love of thick socks and hot tea and slightly burnt toast. There has never been any need to be ‘on show’ with him. Dad had always appeared fully dressed in the mornings and stayed that way all day. Mum had very occasionally sat in the lounge in a brilliant white dressing gown with little roses dotted all over it. I was allowed pyjamas on to watch TV just before bed. This is completely different.
Danny usually slumps in the shabby chair opposite mine in his boxer shorts and T-shirt. He’s as lean as when I met him and is only just getting tiny lines around his eyes. He wears his hair long and natural and I think about him as I butter the tower block of toast.
I haven’t fared as well. Two children have taken their toll on my waistline. I often eat on the hoof, forever promising myself that I will prepare my food in advance and quit the Diet Coke. I did give up smoking, but the result was another stone in weight piled mostly on my legs. But Danny still looks at me just like he did when we met. He was one of the lads, slightly younger than me and rowdy drunk most of the time.
I knew he liked me. He started to go quiet when I appeared and stopped the constant pub-based swearing in front of me. He finally asked me out and our first date was at a posh restaurant in central Manchester. We sat in the lobby for ages, waiting to be seated. We were overlooked for posher, more attractive couples. Me with my badly dyed bright red hair, skinny black jeans and flat pumps. Danny in his brother’s too-big suit. We were no competition for the bronzed and Botoxed wannabe wags and their men.
Eventually I took control of the situation. This is what I do. My trademark. My personal statement. Take control of everything, except the one thing you can’t. I motioned towards the door and Danny and I escaped. Once outside he laughed loudly and took off the suit jacket. I tied it around my bag handle and we went to a tiny Lebanese eatery in the Northern Quarter. All lamps and candles and, it turned out, love. Yes. I knew there and then that this man was different. He felt like a confidant, someone I could finally be myself with.
I had just started working for SafeMe and I was enthusiastic about the future. Six months later we moved in together, into the back room of a shared house in the
city centre. We spent our days working hard, him digging roads. I was training on the job and doing a part-time psychology degree with the Open University. In the evening we sat in dark cinemas holding hands and watching Noir films that we could not tell you the titles of because all we knew was each other.
Danny wanted to settle, he would have bought a tiny outof-town terrace then and married me. But every time I became nervous. Every time my mum mentioned visiting home on the phone I was straight on Rightmove looking for a new rental. I didn’t want to be like them. I would find fault with our current room or flat, and we would soon be packing for our next move. I branded them adventures, but Danny was pissed off with another new set of walls to decorate. Especially when Simon came along, with Jennifer following swiftly fourteen months later.
I had six weeks off work with each of my children. No wonder people think I am Superwoman. But I am not. I worked right up to the first labour pain. Danny, who was still working temporary contracts, looked after them, feeding them my expressed milk. He loved it, but I knew his ultimate goal was a settled family life. I work in a place where I see the best and the worst of human behaviour. I see broken relationships and pain and suffering and, yes, violence. So I know what me and Danny have. We are not lucky because that would imply we have not worked for it. We have built this life, we are still building it, and this is what fuels my strength. But I’ve never told Danny why I can’t settle.
I’ve seen what lies and deceit can do to relationships and to people, what manipulation and control can do. Everyone has tiny secrets they are entitled to, private thoughts and actions that make us individual. It’s the mutual trust and sharing that strikes the balance. I have never told Danny about what my dad did. Or anything that happened when I left home. I know he will never understand why I didn’t tell him something so huge, something that damaged both me and other people so much. Danny hates liars. Lies are a deal-breaker for him.
I shudder inside. I’m not usually like this. If anything, I’m over optimistic. I reason with myself that I am tired and missing him. That everyone’s teenage years are shit and they aren’t constantly offloading on their partner. The fact that my dad is a huge racist has conveniently allowed Danny to think that this is the reason I meet Mum with the kids.
How to Play Dead Page 4
