by Jo Jakeman
‘That was just after the accident – it has no … Argh!’ I stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to be drawn into explaining myself to him. Yes, I was on antidepressants and tablets for my anxiety, but so were many people nowadays. Could it be held against me?
I breathed heavily through my nose against the rising sickness. To the outside world, Phillip was the doting father. A court might be fooled into thinking that he was all he appeared to be: a police officer, a family man, someone with his child’s best interests at heart. I couldn’t run the risk of losing Alistair. I’d lost too much already.
I needed to expose Phillip for who he really was, and I couldn’t do that on my own. I thought about Naomi and her anger at the hospital. If I could convince her to press charges, I might have a better case against him. I wished now that I had gone to the police with each incident of cruelty, but what could they do when there were no bruises as evidence, and Phillip was one of their own?
I could hear everything like it was coming through loud-speakers. The rush of water in the pipes as Alistair flushed the toilet. The whoosh of the dishwasher. The tap-tap-tap of the radiators coming to life. Laughter from people walking in the street. The initial adrenaline from my anger had subsided as quickly as it had come. A familiar tightness gripped my chest, the threat of an anxiety attack. I couldn’t let it overcome me and play into his hands. I needed time to think, time to plan, but for now I wanted him to leave me alone.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Fine. Leave Alistair out of it, okay? It’s just a house. It would mean nothing if I didn’t have my son.’ I turned towards him and tried to look beaten. It wasn’t hard. I wanted Phillip to underestimate me. I lowered my eyes, which he would take as a sign of submission, so that he wouldn’t see the fire in them.
‘Good. No more messing about. Sign those bloody papers while I get some of my things from the cinema room.’ He slid his hands into his pockets and whistled through his teeth as he walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
What Phillip called a ‘cinema room’, I called a cellar. He used some of the money inherited after his mother’s death to lower the floor, soundproof the room and install a projector. It had been his sanctuary when he could no longer stand the sound of my voice. The leather sofa pulled out into a bed and there were nights when he had slept down there.
I hated the low ceiling, the lack of natural light and the smell of the leather. Call it whatever you liked, but it was still a cellar, a dungeon of sorts, somewhere to be shackled, a place of nightmares and creepy-crawlies. Watching back-to-back rom-coms couldn’t lighten the association to an acceptable level, and I had rarely been down there since Phillip had left.
He opened the door and sighed loudly.
‘What have I told you,’ he shouted, ‘about dumping stuff at the top of the stairs? It’s an accident waiting to happen – all because you’re too lazy to put things away properly.’ His voice wasn’t angry, he was almost conversational.
I walked into the hallway in time to see him toss my yellow coat on the floor.
‘And throw that thing away. You look ridiculous in it.’
I bent down and picked it up. I’d treated myself in the sale; loved the coat because it was the very opposite of everything I wore when Phillip and I were together. He used to choose my clothes for me and, at the time, I hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with that. He seemed to know what suited me better than I did. When I’d attempted to have a night out with colleagues or other mums, he’d look me up and down and pass judgement on my outfit. Too short, too tight, too much like I was going out to scare children. It was safer to let him dress me. I put the coat hood over the end of the bannister and stroked its arms. I wondered whether I would wear it again without asking myself if Phillip was right.
I could hear him huffing his way down the cellar steps, sidestepping the vacuum cleaner, and his pantomime exhalation when he saw the bags of clothes I’d dumped down there, waiting for a lift to the charity shop. Clothes that Alistair had grown out of, and clothes that I had grown away from.
I hovered at the cellar door, waiting for his criticism.
‘I just don’t understand you, Imogen.’
He never had. He was referring to the bags of clothes and boxes of items with no natural home but, for a moment, I thought he showed rare insight.
‘How you can live in a pigsty? Have some pride. You know you’re a laughing stock, don’t you?’
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I hated the way he made me feel and act. I’d had enough of him talking to me as if I was worthless. In my head I was shouting, ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up’, but, in reality, my lips remained tightly closed. I wanted to blot out the sound of his voice and make him listen to me, for once.
I’m not sure I knew what was truly in my mind as I stepped back into the hallway and took the heavy wooden door in my hand. I had no single, distinct thought as I slowly pushed the door closed until it clicked. The hands that turned the key hardly looked like my own, but there they were, sliding the bolt across the top of the door. Safe as houses.
Phillip was still searching through the DVDs he’d left behind; thinking he was in control; thinking he could walk all over me.
My hand lingered at the door. He would discover what I’d done in the next few minutes, unless I unlocked it now.
‘Mummy?’ Alistair shouted from his bedroom.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘I brushed my teeth.’
‘I’m on my way,’ I called back.
Now or never. I could open the door and walk away, and Phillip would never know, or I could show him who was really in control. It was crazy that I was even considering it. I placed my fingers around the key and, even though a voice in my head was telling me not to make Phillip angry, I slid it out of the lock and put it in the back pocket of my jeans.
EIGHT
12 days before the funeral
‘If you don’t let me out right this second, I’ll—’
‘Shush! Calm down, Phillip. You’ll wake Alistair.’
It was a little past nine and Alistair was fast asleep. He’d needed two bedtime stories to make up for the fact that Daddy had left without saying goodbye.
I bent my knees, sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall with my feet on the door. Though it juddered with every punch and kick, I knew it wouldn’t break. Everything beyond that door was state-of-the-art, but the old door itself was more than a hundred years old, and solid. The knowledge blew air into the embers of my confidence. There was an old black bolt across the top of the door and a lock and key at hip-height. It was a long, narrow key, heavy and strong. It was long enough to stretch the depth of the door, and was touched by many hands before me. Phillip used to keep the key on the other side of the door, so he could lock it from the inside. He used to want to keep me out. He never considered that I would want to keep him in. With no windows in the cellar and no door other than the one my feet were against, there was no way Phillip was getting out of the cellar unless I decided he was free to go.
‘When you’ve quite finished,’ I said.
I held the key to his freedom, and it was a warm velvet feeling across my chest. If I didn’t think too far ahead, if I didn’t consider the consequences, I was almost happy.
‘Naomi’ll be wondering where I am,’ he said.
‘Ah, but will she care?’ I spoke quietly, doubted he heard me, then raised my voice. ‘Did she tell you I bumped into her at the hospital?’
He remained silent, but I knew he could hear me.
‘Nasty cut, that. I was with her when she went for stitches. Do you think the nurse believed she walked into a door? I bet they’re used to seeing those sorts of injuries. Classic case of domestic violence, I’d say. You’re getting daring, aren’t you? You never used to do things to me that would leave a mark. Or evidence, as you’d call it.’
I liked the new me – the one who could say what she wanted to Phillip, without fear of retaliation or abuse. He could
n’t lay a finger on me any more and, when I set him free, which I would have to do eventually, he’d know that I wasn’t to be messed with. It felt good finally to stand up to him and I wondered why I hadn’t done it years ago.
I had a peculiar, elated feeling of not quite being myself, but I liked who I’d been replaced with. She was stronger than me, a wicked, cape-free crusader righting marital wrongs and slaying domestic demons.
‘Work will notice when I don’t turn up for my shift tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Actually, that’s how I know you’re hiding something. I went into the station and they said they didn’t know when you’d be back. It was a new guy, didn’t recognise me. He said that all your cases had been reassigned. He wouldn’t tell me why. Clammed up when I pushed. Why is that? Phillip? What’s going on?’
I heard him move on the other side of the door, but he didn’t reply.
‘I know you’re hiding something. Naomi thinks you’re going into work each day. At least, she did until I turned up on your doorstep telling her that you weren’t at the station. That’s why you attacked her, isn’t it? Because she confronted you about it? Is it another woman? I tell you, women will be the death of you, Phillip.’
‘I’m going to count to three …’ he said.
‘I’d think you could do better than that, at your age,’ I said. ‘What I can’t work out is why you’re off work. She’d have to be one hell of a woman to keep you away from that job. Phillip? Can you hear me in there?’
‘Yes, I can bloody hear you. I wish you’d shut the fuck up.’
I smiled to myself. I was getting to him. I might not know what his secret was, but at least I knew he had one.
‘You don’t want to tell me what’s going on then? Fine. I’m sure it won’t take me long to find out. I still know people at the station. All it would take is one phone call to find out what reason you’ve given for being off work. Oh, and while I’ve got your undivided attention, can we agree on a couple of things? Firstly, there’s no way I’ll let you take Alistair away from me. For what it’s worth, I don’t think any sane judge would let you have custody. Which brings me to my second point: as I’m the one looking after him, day in, day out, there’s no chance a court would agree to you kicking me out of the house. This is our family home, but … Are you still listening?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Well, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll agree to sell up and start again somewhere new. And I won’t slow down the divorce, either. How does that sound?’
‘What about Alistair?’ he asked.
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. Do you really want to spend time with him or is that just your way of getting back at me?’
‘He’s my son! It’s … it’s not the big things like school plays and sports days, it’s being there when he wakes up, and seeing his face when he loses a tooth. It’s the simple things.’
I moved closer to the door. It would destroy me if I were denied those moments with Alistair, but Phillip hadn’t given any indication that these things mattered to him. Perhaps he found it easier to talk with a closed door between us; I know I did. I wished I knew which of his words were truthful.
‘I suppose we could work up to you spending more time with Alistair, but only if it makes him happy. If he ever tells me you’ve hurt him or that he’s scared of you …’
We sat in silence.
I didn’t want Alistair to spend more time with Phillip, but he was his father. Perhaps I had been unreasonable. I told myself that the moment Phillip put a foot wrong, I would cut all contact with him.
‘If I agree to let you spend more time with Alistair, will you agree to let us stay in the house until it’s sold?’
He didn’t say anything, but at least it wasn’t a ‘no’.
‘And that thing with work? I won’t call anyone. I’ll stay out of it, okay? It’s your business and, as long as it doesn’t affect Alistair, I promise to keep my nose out. What do you say?’
I put one hand over my eyes, trying to stop thoughts of Naomi, trying to pretend it didn’t matter what he was hiding, and clinging on to blind hope that somehow we could work this out.
‘And if I say no?’ His voice was muffled.
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hoping to find strength there.
‘Then I’ll refuse to leave the house, stop you seeing Alistair and report your attack on Naomi.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘There’ll be doctors’ reports to back me up. Even if it doesn’t stick … well, no smoke without fire, eh?’
Phillip’s reputation was his Achilles heel. Always worried what everyone else would think about him, though this didn’t appear to extend to me. Even though he had committed adultery, he’d managed to escape with his image intact.
He didn’t say anything, but I heard him moving around. He knocked into the vacuum cleaner and swore.
‘Are you going to let me out or not?’
I knew I had to let him go before Alistair woke up, but was nervous about how angry he would be when I finally opened the door.
‘Do we have an agreement?’ I asked, touching my fingertips to the wood.
‘What? Yes! Just bloody well let me out of here,’ he said.
‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘God’s sake, Imogen. What do you want from me? A letter signed in blood? I’ve said “yes”, haven’t I? Despite what you might think, I don’t want to argue with you. I only want what’s fair.’
I nodded to myself. I smoothed my hair behind my ears and got to my feet. I’d got what I’d wanted, yet somehow I wasn’t satisfied. Had he given in too easily? Should I have asked for more?
I hesitated with my hand on the bolt. Phillip was still hiding something. Perhaps I should have kept him there while I checked in with Naomi. If I could have bought an extra couple of hours, I would have done, but I couldn’t keep him there any longer without being unreasonable, in the eyes of Phillip and the law.
I unbolted the door first and then rattled the key in the lock, hoping it sounded like I’d unlocked it. If he was planning to rush at me, I wanted him to attempt it while the door was still locked, but there was no movement from behind the heavy wooden door. I placed my hand on my chest, as if I could physically steady the beating of my heart. I was expecting the worst, which wasn’t entirely unreasonable, but for once it appeared I was being paranoid.
I turned the key and the click echoed about the hallway. I deflated as I began to turn the doorknob. Once I let him out, I would no longer have the upper hand, but it was nice while it lasted.
I saw Phillip’s hands dart out at me before I’d even noticed he was standing up. I yelped with surprise and fell. His hand scraped my face, fingernails connecting with my ear and ripping my earring out. I banged my head against the wall and he used the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes were cold and his teeth clenched. I brought my knees up to my chest and kicked out at him. My heels struck his stomach and he folded in half. His clawed hand slid off the wooden frame. There was a brief, gravity-defying moment when he fluttered at the top of the steps. Arms flapping, circling, and then he stumbled. His shoulder brushed against the wall and spun him around. Phillip doubled over himself, contorting his body into shapes that didn’t seem possible. He fell step by step by step, with a force that couldn’t be stopped.
‘Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!’
‘Mummy?’
Alistair’s sleep-heavy voice came from upstairs.
I slammed the door and pulled the bolt home. I backed away until I was against the wall. My ear throbbed but I felt no pain, only the aftermath of fear and confrontation. My limbs fizzed with fatigue and my chest was raw. My fingertips were bloodied where they’d stroked my damaged earlobe.
‘Back to bed, sweetie. Mummy just knocked the vacuum cleaner down the stairs. I’ll be up to check on you in a minute, okay?’ My voice was high and panicked.
‘Night-night,’ Alistair murmured.
‘Nig
ht, sweetie.’
I waited for the sound of his soft steps to cross the landing and then turned the key in the lock.
I walked into the kitchen and back out again, wondering about calling Rachel, an ambulance, the police. It was an accident, Officer, I only meant to lock him up. I never meant to … what? Kill him? Dear God, what had I done? I pictured Phillip lying at the bottom of the stairs in a heap, his neck broken. I leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, working on slowing my breathing. People fall downstairs all the time, I told myself. He’ll be hurt, but not dead.
‘Idiot,’ I said aloud.
I shouldn’t have trusted him, shouldn’t have opened the door. But the police wouldn’t see it that way. I shouldn’t have locked him up in the first place. Panic crushed the air from my lungs. I picked up the phone, but hung up before I could decide who to call. I drained a glass of wine without remembering pouring it. I closed curtains and locked doors. I prayed and I swore. I moved swiftly and silently up the stairs and looked in on Alistair’s sleeping form. I closed the door behind me and found myself back outside the cellar.
The moment of truth.
I had to see what I’d done, but didn’t know – couldn’t know – if Phillip would be lying in wait for me behind the door. I pressed my good ear to the wood and leaned on it, but couldn’t hear anything. I counted in twos all the way to eighty and unlocked the door. I listened. I counted again to eighty and slid back the bolt. I opened it in a rush, my body shielded by the door.
Nothing.
I glanced around the corner quickly and pulled my head back again.
Still nothing.
I peered cautiously around the corner. The steps, the cellar, being exposed inch by inch. I could see the bottom of Phillip’s shoe. Then his leg. In the weak tea-coloured light I saw that he was lying on his back, with his arms out to his sides as if he had been crucified. One leg was folded underneath him and his face was turned away from me.
I couldn’t tell if he was breathing, couldn’t tell whether it was a trap, but I had to know if he was still alive. I entered the cellar one silent step at a time, sliding my back against the smooth, cold wall to steady myself. Phillip’s ribcage didn’t appear to be moving; there was no sign that he was still breathing, that I hadn’t done the unthinkable. Suddenly he exhaled loudly and I froze. I reversed two steps and sat down. I was relieved that he was still alive. And then I was scared that he wasn’t dead.
