by Owen Mullen
‘I’m all right. I just need to get away.’
‘How can you be sure? There could be internal bleeding.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘That’s your decision, but we have to phone the police.’
Light from the flames lent the rapture of a martyr to the woman’s features. Until she spoke and the illusion shattered. Her voice was empty, no salvation in it. ‘Then you might as well have left me where I was.’
Her certainty shocked Mackenzie.
‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘If he finds where I am, he’ll kill me. He’s already tried.’
She lifted her head and turned so Mackenzie could see the blackened half-closed eye, the purple swellings and cuts on her cheek, and the yellow gouges flecked with red on her throat. She’d assumed the injuries had come from the collision with the tree. They hadn’t.
‘Who tried?’
‘My husband.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s crazy.’
‘Is this the first time?’
The woman laughed and didn’t answer.
‘Did you report him?’
‘What good would that do? He’d deny it and things would be even worse.’
‘Why didn’t you leave him?’
The question wasn’t worth answering. ‘Just drive, will you? Drop me off wherever you like, doesn’t matter where.’
Reluctantly, Mackenzie started the engine. ‘You still need somebody to look at you. With the shock you’ve had you can’t–’
‘Listen,’ the voice was weak but insistent, ‘right now my priority is to get away as fast and as far as I can.’
Mackenzie dropped into first gear. In the mirror, fanned by the wind, the blaze had burned so quickly the fire was already dying. They’d been lucky. Another few minutes and it would’ve had them.
‘I should thank you.’
‘No need.’
‘You saved my life.’
‘Anybody would’ve done the same.’
‘Wish you hadn’t bothered.’
Mackenzie heard the defeat and identified with it. ‘Been in a few bad places myself. If I learned one thing, it’s that nothing’s so bad it can’t be sorted.’
‘My bag! Where’s my bag?’
‘I didn’t see a bag. Was there anything important in it?’
‘Only everything I have.’
Mackenzie didn’t know what to say; another blow to an already shattered woman. The passenger stared into the night and she decided against mentioning the hospital again. They drove in silence, past a sign with directions to Kirkintilloch and Lenzie.
‘What’s your name?’
‘I appreciate what you did for me back there, but in a couple of miles I’m getting out and you’ll never see me again, so why ask?’
‘Tell me your name.’
‘What difference will telling you my name make?’
‘No difference. Tell me anyway.’
‘…Caitlin.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’
Caitlin shot a glance at Mackenzie. ‘There’s nothing to say. I’m a lousy judge of men.’ She winced and touched her chest. ‘I made a mistake and I’m paying for it.’
‘Join the club. Compared to me, you’re playing in the second division.’
The confession took the other woman by surprise. ‘You don’t seem the type.’
‘And what type is that, exactly?’
‘The type who makes one stupid decision after another.’
The flicker of a smile appeared and disappeared at the corners of Mackenzie’s mouth. ‘Oh, I qualify, believe me. You’re in better company than you realise.’ She sensed an opening. ‘Seriously, my advice would be to get checked out by a doctor and call the police. Today rather than tomorrow.’
Fear and desolation poured off her. ‘I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘I can offer you a bed for the night if it’s any use. Unless you have other plans.’
‘I’ll take it.’
The volcanic rocks of the Campsie Hills were sleeping black dogs against the night sky. Mackenzie parked at the side of the house and helped Caitlin out of the car. Rain matted her hair, plastering it to her head, and in the half-light her cheeks were hollow and ashen. They staggered, arms round each other like drunk men on their way home from a session. At the back door, Mackenzie took a key from her bag. Caitlin slumped against the frame, grateful for its support, her arms cradling her ribs.
‘Feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a bit shaky.’
Mackenzie didn’t believe her. ‘Sure it’s not more than that? It really would be better–’
‘No. He’ll check the hospitals.’
Mackenzie let it go.
The lock released with a click and they stumbled inside. She switched on the light and eased Caitlin into a chair. The kitchen was bright and welcoming, the dying embers of a coal fire slowly devouring each other in the hearth in the middle of one wall. Against another, an ancient Welsh dresser held rows of blue-and-white plates and a wooden table, knotted and unvarnished, dominated the centre of the room. Two loaves covered by a checked tea towel sat at the end; the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air.
‘Is this where you stay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Big, isn’t it?’
‘Not big enough, unfortunately. Often wish it was twice the size.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t live here alone, it’s a refuge.’
‘A refuge, what do you mean? Who for?’
‘Women like you. Like us. Women who have nowhere else to go.’
‘And you’re the boss?’
Mackenzie laughed. ‘There isn’t a boss.’
‘But it’s your house, you own it?’
‘I don’t think of it as mine.’ She saw the question in her guest’s tired eyes. ‘As for being the boss… I’ll explain after I’ve made tea. Though, maybe you need something stronger?’
She took a bottle of Johnnie Walker from a drawer in the dresser and poured a stiff measure.
* * *
Caitlin watched the amber climb the inside of the tumbler. Since losing control of the car on the wet road, she’d been running on adrenaline, unaware how badly she’d been affected. Now, trauma was beginning to register: she shivered, suddenly cold, her joints aching. The alcohol couldn’t have come at a better time.
‘Be careful with that. Sip it.’
Caitlin held the whisky in both hands to stop them shaking. ‘What about you?’
‘I don’t drink. We keep it for emergencies.’
‘Emergencies like me, you mean?’
‘Hardly. With a house full of women, we’re not short of drama.’
The new loaf was still warm. Mackenzie cut into it and took her first real look at the frightened woman who’d almost driven her off the road a lifetime ago: under short blonde hair, the face – swollen, cut and discoloured – made it impossible to guess her age. Somewhere in her early thirties, maybe. The black eye didn’t help. Imagining her without it wasn’t easy. Remarkably, her injuries appeared to be limited to cuts and bruises, though not calling the police had definitely been a mistake, one Mackenzie hoped they wouldn’t regret.
2
The lady who had come into her life tonight was a victim, something she understood only too well: the eye was the least of it. Whoever did this had heard her cries and kept hitting her.
Another bastard!
Mackenzie filled the kettle. ‘Ready for that tea?’
Maybe the simple kindness was too much or maybe it was the sheer ordinariness of the question that tipped her over the edge: the tumbler fell from her hands and shattered on the flagstone floor, sending whisky and tiny shards in all directions across the kitchen as unhappiness broke her. Caitlin bent forward in her chair, silently rocking, her face twisted in despair. Mackenzie held her until she stopped trembl
ing, whispering, ‘It’s all right. It’s okay. You’re safe now.’
‘Am I? Am I?’
‘Of course you are. Safe as houses.’
The tears came again; Mackenzie let her cry herself out. When the weeping stopped she said, ‘Keeping it inside is the worst thing you can do. Even if you don’t want to, I think you should talk about it.’
Caitlin sobbed. ‘You’re right. I need to face this.’
‘I’ll get you another drink.’
‘No. Let me say it before I change my mind.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It took less than a week to realise I’d made a terrible mistake. Our honeymoon was a nightmare. His mood changed the moment we left the reception. From then on, everything I said, everything I did, was wrong. As though I’d stopped existing. Now I was his, he owned me. I was a possession. Sex was loveless and totally degrading, as if I was only there to be used.’
‘Why didn’t you divorce him?’ She already knew.
Caitlin ran her fingers through her wet hair. ‘I… I couldn’t… find the courage. So I told myself a fairy tale. Peter loved me – of course he loved me. It was early days. We needed time to adjust. It would get better. But it didn’t, it got worse. In public he put on a great act. As soon as we were alone…’ Her breath came in heartbreaking sobs. ‘Why ask me to marry him if he hated me? Why would anybody do that?’
‘Some people don’t have relationships, they take hostages.’
Mackenzie put her hand on Caitlin’s arm and let her cry it out.
Finally, Caitlin said, ‘Tonight I stopped kidding myself. We were in a restaurant in Glasgow. Peter was drinking heavily. I’d seen him like that often enough to know it would end with him using me as his punching bag. And I was right. As soon as we got home, he started. In the past I’d just taken it. Not this time. When he fell asleep, I stole his car keys and got out of there.’
‘What were you doing on the Strathblane Road? Where were you heading?’
Caitlin shrugged. ‘I was just trying to get away. I’d no idea where I was.’
‘Do you remember overtaking me?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you did. God knows how fast you were going.’
Caitlin grimaced and Mackenzie saw the pain on her face. ‘Let me look at that.’
She lifted her torn blouse. Underneath, from her breasts to her belly, was black and blue. She’d witnessed this or something like it more times than she could recall: it didn’t get any easier. She pressed gently. ‘Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. I’ll bandage it up. How could you drive in this state?’
‘Didn’t have a choice. I was so scared none of it registered until the car skidded and hit the tree. Then I woke up on the ground with you standing over me.’
‘It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.’
‘At least it would be over.’
The fire dwindled in the hearth. Mackenzie said, ‘Is there anybody I could contact?’
‘Nobody.’
‘There must be somebody, surely?’
‘There isn’t. I’m an only child and my parents are dead.’
Mackenzie sighed. ‘It isn’t too late to go to the police.’
The suggestion brought a sad smile. ‘Yes, it is. It was too late the second he decided I was going to be his. You don’t know him… he’s obsessed. He’ll follow me wherever I go and won’t give up until he finds me. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologise. You didn’t drag me into anything. I’m glad I was there. Would you like another whisky?’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’ll stick with tea.’
‘The best thing we can do is get you up to bed. We can talk in the morning. You must be exhausted.’
They climbed the stairs to the first floor. On the landing, Mackenzie whispered, ‘This is part of the original house. I’m just next door. If you’re unwell, don’t hesitate. Wake me up.’
‘I will.’
Mackenzie doubted it. Breaking away from an abusive relationship took courage. This woman had that and more, enough guts to steal the bastard’s car. They hugged before going their separate ways. Caitlin held on to her a moment longer. ‘Thanks again. If you hadn’t come along …’
Mackenzie smiled. ‘But I did, that’s all that matters. You’re safe and you’ll stay safe. Sleep well.’
Caitlin’s fingers found the light and switched it on: dark wood furniture she guessed had been here for years filled the room. Pictures hung on walls painted magnolia like a seaside B&B, the impression reinforced by the IN CASE OF FIRE instructions on the back of the door. She went to the window and gazed into the darkness. Somewhere out there, Peter was sleeping it off. It would be morning before he realised she was gone. His reaction was easy to predict. He’d rage and scream and smash things like he always did.
Tonight was the turning point – the last straw. She’d lain until he was asleep and began her escape. Getting caught wasn’t an option. Despite what he’d said, he’d never let her walk away. She’d crept into the room and stood for a moment by the side of the bed, listening to his snores echo through the empty house. Caitlin had considered smothering him, but decided she wasn’t strong enough. Though, after the degrading and humiliating things he’d done to her, he deserved it. Sober or drunk, Peter Sanderson was an animal.
In his inside jacket pocket she’d found the money he’d won, considered taking it all and changed her mind, settling for half, then unzipped a canvas bag and stuffed the notes in the bottom beside jeans and T-shirts pulled from the wardrobe. Clothes were unimportant. In the bathroom she put cream on her battered face, sickened by what stared back, crossed the bedroom and lifted the car keys from the bedside table.
don’t be here in the morning
That would be her pleasure.
For a second time, Caitlin thought of holding a pillow against his face and pressing until he stopped struggling. Tempting, but no. She wasn’t a murderer.
Mackenzie had asked a dozen times if she was all right and been told she was fine. Now Caitlin was alone, she wasn’t so sure: her body ached in a thousand places, her head so heavy she could hardly hold it up. She lay on top of the covers without bothering to undress, her weary mind pulling her back to the crash and to him. “Be lucky” was one of his expressions.
Tonight she had been.
A gentle tap-tap-tap made her jump. Caitlin peered wearily round the door, a look Mackenzie had seen many times. ‘Thought you’d need these.’
One hand held a glass of warm milk and honey, the other, two Paracetamol in the upturned palm. Under her arm was a pink hot water bottle.
‘All I seem to do is thank you.’
‘I told you, there’s no need. We’ve all been where you are. See you in the morning.’
Back at the bed she swallowed the tablets, sipped the milk, lay down a second time and stared at raindrops landing on the window and rolling to the bottom. Outside, a grey aura streaked with pink rose in the sky behind the Campsies. Dawn was coming.
Caitlin got up and locked the door.
3
In the quiet, floorboards creaked, then the key turned in the lock next door. Mackenzie understood. It was always hard at first with the new ones, everything was so raw. The sadness and resignation she saw in Caitlin wasn’t new; they all brought their version of it with them. Mackenzie had witnessed it more times than she could count. Fear, desperation, rage and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, convinced victims there was no way out. For some, help arrived too late: unable to stay strong, two women had returned to their partners and later, killed themselves – one lay down in a bath and slit her wrists, the other used the belt from her dressing gown to hang herself on a wardrobe door.
She pulled off her clothes and stood barefoot and naked in front of the mirror, assessing her body, knowing she looked older than her thirty-six years: there were lines at the corners of her eyes, her breasts sagged and the figure she’d once had was gone and wouldn’t be comi
ng back. Nevertheless, despite going through the horrific abduction, she was more fortunate than many. Memories from the past washed over her: the stalker in the black coat, the sounds of rats scurrying and scraping behind the basement walls where she’d been tied to a bed and, above all, the savage sexual assault which left her reluctant to ever again be intimate with a man.
For Mackenzie, the road back had been long. Generously, Adele offered to let her stay with her and the two boys until she felt ready to make plans of her own. No rush, she’d said. No hurry. Well-intentioned, though they both knew it was a stopgap rather than a solution. Her sister had her own problems, counting the days to her divorce from her husband after he’d admitted his affair and moved out. And sometimes, with the best will in the world, the strain became too great.
She had to find somewhere to stay.
A Sunday morning drive – to give Adele space rather than anything else – took Mackenzie out of Glasgow, towards Lenzie, Lennoxtown and the Campsie Hills. The sandstone house off a quiet country road immediately called to her. It wasn’t practical and was much too large. Living there by herself wasn’t a consideration. The idea and the decision to buy collided in the question: what if she wasn’t by herself? And the women’s refuge at the foot of the Campsies was born. Three years and scores of residents later, she might have imagined it. Except it was real.
But in the beginning, it had been emotionally tough going. Welcoming the first ones, their eyes devoid of hope, rekindled the horror of her own story; staying detached hadn’t been easy. Somehow, she’d survived the never-ending stream of victims and now, even with the extension added eighteen months ago, the refuge rarely had a spare bed for long.
A lot to be proud of.
Instead, she was rattled.
The car exploding in flames seconds after she’d pulled the woman from it had been terrifying to witness. Impossible to forget.
4
Sunlight from the window hurt Mackenzie’s eyes; she turned from it. The excitement and the adrenaline rush from the night before had taken its toll. She buried her head under the bedclothes, washed-out and exhausted.
