How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  ‘They’d try to take the settlement workers to the merger. And us …?’

  I laugh.

  ‘I doubt it. Troublemakers, us. Renegades.’ They would never take us. Not after the arguments and protests to get the ever dwindling-funding over the past years of government austerity. I lean over and touch her arm. ‘But if we do lose this place, worst-case scenario, we can still carry on. Kind of freelance. Outreach. Helping them stand up for themselves. It won’t end here.’

  But we both know how difficult that would be. We both know the consequences for the women and their children. They will be out of our reach, out of public view. Hidden away behind a set of statistics as someone in a research department ventures out once a year to interview a token victim for the Guardian opinion column. They will become another column on a spreadsheet, a paragraph in a government report that someone will read out, assuring us all that this problem is being dealt with, while these women step on and off the ever-spinning merry-go-round of abuse, until they fall off for good.

  So Janice and I know that it will end here. In practice, anyway. The embers of the service will survive in our hearts, and we will never stop fighting for what is right, but if the funding bid is rejected SafeMe will close.

  Janice stands. I smile at her.

  ‘It’s not over till it’s over.’

  Mid-afternoon my phone beeps and I grab it. It’s Vi.

  ‘Hello, Ria. It’s me, Violet. Look, Donelle’s cancelled for the kids. Meeting her man Ian. I’m really sorry but Danny’s got a hospital appointment or I would …’

  I’m suddenly alert.

  ‘It’s OK, Vi. Don’t worry. I can ask Terri. I’m sure she’ll do it. If not I’ll go.’

  But alarm bells are ringing. It isn’t like Donelle to drop everything and run after a man. I think about what she said, how she mentioned that he was demanding. Had I listened enough? I make a mental note to try to talk to her. I dial Terri’s number.

  ‘Hi, Terri love. Can you get the kids from school? Please? Sorry it’s short notice but …’

  She laughs. ‘Course. But I have to leave at four-thirty for my shift.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll make sure I’m back.’

  I see two missed calls from Donelle, both at lunchtime when I was in the archive room. It would normally be OK but I am suddenly filled with fear. Terri is great with the kids, but I haven’t warned her not to let anyone near them. No matter what.

  I pull on my coat and dial a taxi. I am dancing foot to foot, waiting in the yard. Janice comes out.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Kids. Donelle’s cancelled.’ I hold her by the shoulders. ‘Do not worry. I will be here, fresh and early, for the meeting tomorrow. Everything is ready to go.’

  I meet her eyes and she nods. The taxi arrives and the driver tuts when I tell him the address, only a short distance, but I need to get there quickly.

  We pull up outside the flat and I throw a fiver at him. I turn the key in the door and I see Jennifer’s coat in the hallway and breathe a sigh of relief. I panicked for nothing. I can hear her, giggling and singing, and Terri is laughing. I relax. It’s all OK, Ria. It’s all OK.

  But as I turn the corner into the tiny lounge, I see a huge bunch of flowers on the kitchen table, my lovely bright yellow painted table. Terri beams when she sees me, looking at the flowers.

  ‘Surprise. Aren’t they beautiful?’

  They are exactly the same flowers as the ones delivered to SafeMe. Fucking roses. I freeze.

  ‘Where did they come from?’

  Terri’s smile fades and Jennifer stops jumping up and down.

  ‘This guy brought them. Said they’re for you.’

  ‘Was he here? In here?’

  I move closer to her and she backs away.

  ‘Yes. He brought them in and set them up on the table. He knew the kids. Called them by their names. I thought …’

  I look at my children. He was here, with them. In my home. I gather them to me. Terri is mortified. I move very close to her.

  ‘Who was it? What did he look like?’

  She stares at me, suddenly tense.

  ‘I don’t know, Ria. I’ve never seen him before. Average height. Average build. Darkish hair.’

  ‘How old?’

  I see the tears spring up.

  ‘Forties, I think. Look, Ria, what’s this about?’

  ‘What exactly did he say? Exactly?’ I realise I am shouting at her. Right in her face. ‘Sorry. Sorry. It’s just …’

  ‘God, Ria, I’m sorry. I thought …’

  I regroup.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Terri. He tricked you. Did he say anything else?’

  She shakes her head. I spot a card on the flowers, in a sealed envelope. I grab it and rip it open.

  WANT TO PLAY THE GAME, RIA? LET’S SEE HOW GOOD YOU ARE.

  Tanya

  Diary Entry: Wednesday

  I don’t know what is going on. Another day has passed and he’s not back. Maybe he’s had an accident. But the police would have been here. I’ve eaten everything. There is no more food, but plenty of tea and coffee so I’m drinking black tea.

  I woke up late this morning and I didn’t feel too good. Apart from being hungry, my face seemed more swollen and red. I sat on the coffee table in the front room cross-legged and tried to clear my mind and think what could have happened. He hadn’t left because most of his things were still here. He would never leave this house.

  Not an accident. No. Illness? He would be in hospital and they would try to contact next of kin. Arrested? I was suddenly alert. The letter. I posted the letter. I started to laugh and I could not stop. I was hysterical. I knew the police were looking for me. Well, Alice. I knew. I pretended I didn’t care. That I was blasé about the whole thing. But at night I would cry silently for my dad. I knew him. He put full effort into everything and he would put all he had into trying to find me.

  But I also knew that if I went home Alan would be in trouble. He told me he was nineteen. He told everyone he was nineteen. But I saw his driver’s licence and he was twenty-five. He would be in deep trouble. So time just went on and I let my imagination change the story. I imagined that I really was Tanya and Alice was buried up near the rocks, near where Ria and I used to swim and where Alan and I first made love.

  So when my addled brain told me that he was seeing Ria still, that when he was away he was with her, that she was waiting for him in swanky hotel rooms, I wrote the letter. I told them that Alice’s friend knew where she was. That I was a friend of hers and she told me that she was jealous and had harmed Alice. That she had told her about that night when Alice went missing from her bedroom. The bedroom with the wooden rocking horse and the pink bedspread with butterflies on it.

  Oh yes, I had told them down to the last detail that Alice’s friend had described the room and Alice’s demise. That I was a close confidante but couldn’t bear to keep this secret; I wished to remain anonymous. I didn’t mention Ria by name – even when I hated her I just couldn’t. I just described her.

  I had laid it on thick and made sure that the police knew this was real. And that Alice was up by the pool where I had imagined her. Me. I don’t know what is real any more. But I also mentioned that her boyfriend helped her. So if they have arrested Alan and Ria I have sentenced myself.

  My laughter turned to tears when I suddenly realised that he might never come back. That he might have just left me here. I know there is no way out because if there was I would have found it years ago. I have water but no food. I don’t know how long someone can last without food.

  I traced my fingers around the walls, around the windows, trying to find any way that I could get out. I know the attic door has a padlock on it. I knocked on the outer walls to test for weakness but this house is solid.

  I spent the rest of the day just waiting. I went through everyone we know and ranked them in order of if they would miss me. Finally, just as I felt like I was going to pass out, I realised t
hat no one is coming for me. Somewhere, outside my body, I heard someone begin to scream. Then I realised that it was me.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Day 6

  I did consider phoning the police. Terri could not have been more apologetic, but I told her that it wasn’t her fault. He told her he was a friend; he knew my name and Danny’s name, the names of our children; said he had just come to drop off some lovely flowers? All very plausible. The kids needed their tea and I needed time to calm down.

  Then Danny phoned and said he would be back early. There was a dust storm brewing, apparently, and he would be flying back as the job was nearly finished anyway. He sounded worried.

  ‘I don’t know if they will pay us the full whack. There’s work locally when we get back, but …’

  I exhaled. Danny would be back soon and I hadn’t sorted this.

  ‘It’s OK, Dan, just get back safe. We can save. Don’t worry.’

  I panicked. I needed to deal with it before Danny did. I dialled 101 and then ended the call. What am I reporting? An old friend calling round? I know it is more, that he is threatening me, but I cannot prove anything. Except that I have texted him and asked him to leave me alone, but then they will ask me why I didn’t do that in the first place.

  So, instead, I lay awake all night, waiting for Danny to text me with his travelling times. Worrying. I walked the kids to school and did the ‘stranger danger’ drill, impressing upon them that they must not go off with anyone. Vi is collecting them today, the day of the funding meeting, as it is likely I will be home a little later, and Donelle’s shift starts at six o’clock.

  ‘Grandma Vi will pick you up. You must only go with her.’

  Simon grips my hand.

  ‘Are you OK, Mum? You look tired.’

  I nod and smile. ‘I miss Daddy. Just like you do. But only a few more days. Then we will be back to normal.’ Normal, I tell myself, even though my addled brain has almost forgotten what normal is.

  I watch them go inside and wait until the doors are shut and locked. I scan the area. No red car. I can’t get the flowers out of my mind. He was in my home. I promise myself that, the next time he pulls something like this, I will call the police straight away. When I get to work and there is no sign of him, I write up last night’s debacle in my diary and lock it in my desk drawer.

  Janice and I keep our business suits in the lockers at the end of the office. I open my locker and pull out a black Next trouser suit and a white blouse. The meeting will start in fifteen minutes and I watch through the window as the agency representatives file in.

  It’s taking place in the family room, and Janice has moved all the Xboxes and screens and set up a projector and laptop for presentations. I carry her suit through. She has made the room look businesslike, even down to jugs of water and glasses, and a duo of hot drinks dispensers on the side with eggshell-blue cups. I feel out of place in here, in my red jeans and white T-shirt, my hair unwashed and approaching deadlocks. Janice looks down at her smock, black with a splash of breakfast.

  ‘Better get changed. God, I feel nervous.’

  She is a shade of ashen white and I know this place means everything to her.

  ‘Que sera sera. Nothing we can do now.’

  She nods. We hurry through to the toilets and get changed. I pull my hair back in a tight plait and rub on the obligatory foundation, followed by a lick of mascara and some pale pink lipstick. The result looks semi acceptable, and at least I have made an effort. Janice squeezes into a black dress and black tights. Her over-bleached hair is reluctant to be tamed, but I manage to brush it through and capture it in an elastic band, the pony tail spiralling down her back.

  We are both uncomfortable and it makes the atmosphere thick and awkward. Janice pulls at the dress and I breathe in to fasten the button on my trousers. I give up with the jacket.

  ‘Fucking hell, Jan. Fucking hell.’

  She sighs, deep and long.

  ‘They are a bunch of bastards, but some of them must have a heart. Until I know, I’m not giving up.’

  We watch as the council officials file in now behind the police representative and the CAFCASS woman that we usually deal with. Marjorie Bates is herding them in, all bonhomie. My lips curl as I see Trevor Jones step into the yard and look upwards at the building looming before him. Then, behind him, a slim figure, all dressed in black. Adele Baker. Janice whistles.

  ‘Well, fuck me. She came.’

  Adele Baker is the head of the council. She is an almost mythical figure who spearheads all the positive change in the town, but is mysteriously absent from anything that goes wrong. When I heard the funding was in question this year, I wrote to her and asked her if she wanted to be the head of a town that has no domestic violence provision, one that can’t prosecute offenders because there is no one to defend the women. I used the ‘someone think of the children’ tack that I am so loath to roll out, because abused women should be enough, but they never are.

  I asked for money not only to continue SafeMe as it is but also to extend it into a children’s unit. I realise now, at this late stage, that I hadn’t mentioned this part to Janice. But it won’t matter. Because she was observing and I was doing the talking. I had prepared my death by PowerPoint presentation and, even in my highly stressed state with my personal life teetering on the precipice of disaster, I will myself to stick to the plan.

  The council do not like emotional interludes where people throw away the meeting agenda and stand on chairs crying. I know this from long experience of funding meetings, mostly other people’s in other parts of the country where I have been drafted in as an independent observer. The Rias and Janices usually start well. But, greeted by stony-faced number-crunchers, they grow determined to get their messages across.

  So I must not do that. And Janice must not do that. We will sit and nod and smile and listen and make notes until it is my turn to give my presentation, which I will do calmly and eloquently, even though I already feel like screaming the place down. Then we will listen again and shake hands and show them out, awaiting the result in a couple of days. All as if it is in a day’s work. Maybe one of our last here.

  I look at Janice.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nods and we go in, our double-act vibe never stronger. She has made name cards, and everyone is sitting in their designated place. I cannot help but stare at Trevor, who is messing with a clipboard. He doesn’t meet my eyes and no fucking wonder. Everyone is fussing around Adele Baker. Does she want a coffee, a biscuit? Is that chair OK, Adele? Is it warm enough in here for you, Adele? Close up she looks quite normal, in a very thin, over-groomed kind of way. Younger than I thought. Silent.

  We begin. There is an introduction from the head of the team that has been considering the funding bid, Emma Lewis. She goes through the budgets and the proposals for an hour and a half and I am almost losing the will to live. I made the mistake of sitting opposite the window and I watch as Sheila goes to the shop for ciggies and comes back. Malc walks up and down outside and there is a delivery of potatoes. Eventually, Emma finishes, and there are a set of reports from the agencies. This lasts another hour and it is lunchtime. I watch as the buffet delivery company fetches in some hot and cold platters and everyone grabs a plate.

  I nibble at a sandwich, seething, but smiling. This is not going well for me. Nothing unexpected has been introduced, and Janice is being the friendliest person ever, even twirling the end of her ponytail as she chats to George Allinson from the police liaison unit. Emma is talking at me, explaining how she single-handedly saved the budget of the local library open days. How this has benefited the children of the area, which, I admit, is admirable, but it does not answer my question.

  I drift away, fantasising about a time when I can walk into the local police station and tell all. I consider running a hypothetical scenario past George, just to see what he says. But I already know. Proof. Evidence. Catching someone is the act. Proving harm. Yada yada yada.
/>   ‘So in the end we had to settle for puppet shows.’

  Emma is obviously expecting an answer, and I oblige by nodding and smiling a ‘Really?’ in a very interested voice. The platters are bare and Janice is pouring elderflower cordial into a jug and topping it up with expensive sparking water. I push down the derision and smile, smile, smile. Janice sees my fake bonhomie and raises me.

  ‘Right, lovely people. Shall we reconvene?’

  We smile at each other. Next on the agenda: Trevor Jones. I sit and clasp my hands in front of me. He clicks his PowerPoint controller and tests the laser pointer on the screen.

  ‘Right then. Ladies. Gentlemen. Madam Chairman.’ He gives a little deferential bow to Adele Baker. ‘Shall we begin?’

  He clicks through the facts and figures, which are really only a rehash of my proposals and budgets and what has been presented today. He is merely regurgitating it, without passing any opinion, but I know it is coming. I can feel it as the slides click on. I am fine, calm, collected until he stretches to point at the screen and I see the cufflinks. A set of gold squares with a tiny diamond in them. It riles me beyond what I can bear and I feel my face set solid. Janice frowns but no one else notices as I glare around the room. He finally reaches his conclusion.

  ‘So based on this, I have reached my decision. My final decision.’ He says it like he is Simon Cowell on Britain’s Got Talent and I roll my eyes as Janice visibly wills me to stop it. ‘I hear all of you. I hear all the good things about SafeMe. About the boys and girls here and about the good work. But facts are facts. And there is a perfectly good space in a duplicated service only a couple of miles down the road that can provide adequate services.’

  People are making notes. Janice is bright red and I am past anger. George asks a question.

  ‘So is this based solely on budget decisions?’

  Trevor nods enthusiastically. ‘Budget savings, George. We simply can’t afford to keep this facility. But no services will be lost and most of the staff will be re-contracted. Those who fit the services, anyway.’