by Nikki Smith
I close the door firmly behind me and curl up under my duvet to wait for Tilly to come back. I need to get us out of the flat and away from Jack. We’re running out of time.
THEN
Jack – Day Five
‘Ali? Are you OK?’ I knock on the bathroom door for the third time. ‘You’ve been in there forever. Come on, let’s go. I thought you wanted to get to the shops before Lisa comes over this afternoon.’
There’s no answer. She hasn’t said a word to me since she woke up. I had stayed on my side of the bed, focusing on the cold strip of sheet between our bodies, moving my foot backwards and forwards over the edge of it, too scared to reach across to the other side in case she’d pushed me away. I had pretended to doze whilst she’d stared at the wall as she’d fed Tilly. I’d wanted to say something but hadn’t found the right words, dismissing the possibilities one by one until I had none left, our breathing being the only sound punctuating the uncomfortable silence.
‘Ali?’ I rattle the handle. My irritation spills over into
anger after another disturbed night. I’d got into bed long after I thought she was asleep, sliding in beside her before I realised she was still awake, staring at Tilly’s monitor.
I’d put my arm around her, but she’d stayed stiff, and I
hadn’t dared ask what the matter was, eventually succumbing to the softness of sleep before she had.
I’d stayed up late last night, spending hours surfing the internet, searching through companies who offered personal loans but hadn’t found one who would lend the amount I needed at a rate we could afford to repay. The firm Harry had recommended wasn’t any use. I don’t know where to go next and I’m conscious I haven’t got many days
left.
I knock again. ‘Can you talk to me please?’
Silence. Panic rises on tiny wings and flutters around inside my stomach. Has my father said something to her already? She’d been a bit quiet when I came back from the walk with Em yesterday, but surely she’d have told me if he’d contacted her?
‘I’m going to unscrew this lock if you don’t answer me.’
Nothing. What’s she playing at? She’s been in there at least twenty minutes.
I put my ear to the door but can’t hear anything except running water. I thump the wooden panel with the edge of my fist. ‘Ali! Let me in, for God’s sake.’
I’m about to go and search for a screwdriver when the lock clicks back. I turn the handle. She’s bent over the sink at an unnatural angle, holding her hand under the tap. Scarlet beads of water are splashed over the sides of the basin, leaving jagged trails that run towards the plughole. A red flannel lies on the floor beside her. I stare at it, momentarily confused. We don’t own any red flannels.
Ali doesn’t look at me. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ she murmurs.
‘Jesus.’ Blood oozes from a deep gash across her palm and down her wrist. I pull her hand away from the tap, grab the nearest towel and press it against her skin. ‘What the hell happened?’ I shout.
She clutches my arm in a vice-like grip and shakes her head frantically.
‘It told me … I did it,’ she whispers.
‘What? What did you do?’ I ask. There’s a broken disposable razor on the bathroom shelf. I look round the room, fitting the pieces together, refusing to acknowledge the inevitable conclusion.
‘It was an accident,’ she mutters blankly, not meeting my eyes.
I sit her down on the toilet seat. ‘Hold this tightly.’ I push her uninjured hand down on top of the towel.
‘I was trying to get the cover off the razor and it snapped,’ she says. ‘It was an accident.’
I fish through the various bottles and packets that line the shelves in the bathroom cabinet to find the roll of Elastoplast.
‘You believe me, don’t you?’ She’s shaking.
I nod dumbly and lift the towel up. I pull some Elastoplast off the roll, ripping it with my teeth and stick it along the length of her sliced skin.
‘Ali …’ I start to say.
She clenches her fists into balls. ‘Don’t. Just don’t.’
‘We need to see a doctor,’ I tell her.
‘No. I can’t leave the flat.’ She’s insistent.
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t.’
I take her hand in mine and kneel down in front of her. ‘We need to get you seen by someone. You might need stitches.’ I put one hand on the tiles, letting the coolness seep into my skin to steady myself. The panic I felt earlier expands in my stomach; hundreds of trapped birds flapping helplessly to get out.
‘I can’t. You don’t understand,’ she says.
The Elastoplast appears to have stopped the flow. I find a length of gauze bandage in the cupboard and wrap it round her wrist to keep the plaster covered. I have a horrible, sick feeling. Something is very wrong with my wife.
She looks over my shoulder and I glance behind me, half-expecting to see someone standing there. I hear my mum’s words in my head: How could you have been so stupid. I’d done this. It’s my fault. I need to fix it.
‘Explain it to me.’ My words are short, heavy. I want her to reassure me my father hasn’t been here. I refuse to think what could have happened if she’d pressed the blade any harder.
She glances towards the bedroom where we’d left normality. Tilly is silent in her Moses basket.
‘She’s fine,’ I say. ‘She’s asleep.’
Ali stares at her bandage, not speaking.
‘We need to go to the hospital,’ I add.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘At least come and sit in the bedroom whilst I … sort this out.’
For a moment I don’t think Ali’s going to move but then she gets up and I help her walk to the bed and sit her on the duvet before going back to pick up the bloodstained cloths. I hold them by one corner and carry them out to the kitchen, wrapping the flannel in a plastic bag and throwing it in the bin. I fling the towel in the washing machine and walk back to the bathroom, pulling off some toilet roll to wipe the red streaks off the sink and opening the window to let in some air before I shut the bathroom door behind me and go back into the bedroom.
‘I’m sorry, Jack. It was an accident. It just slipped.’ Her self-assuredness has returned. She’s buried the brief moment of vulnerability I witnessed and now she’s lying to me. I don’t respond. ‘It looks worse than it is,’ she adds. Perhaps my father hasn’t been here. Maybe she doesn’t know.
Our landline starts ringing in the hall. Ali stands up to answer it.
‘Leave it,’ I say. ‘We need to talk about this. Let it go to the answerphone.’
‘It might be important,’ she says, her unbandaged arm already reaching for the bedroom door.
I glance at Tilly, still asleep. I want to tell Ali that we’re more important, but she’s already left the room. I can hear the ringing stop as she picks it up. I pull back the door to see her sitting in the hallway, the phone next to her ear.
‘Yes. That would be nice, Dad. Any time’s good.’
I raise my eyebrows, silently mouthing ‘Not today’ at her.
She frowns and shakes her head. ‘Yes, she’s good. Slept a bit more last night. Yes, he’s here, d’you want a word?’
I shake my head. I don’t know what to say to him.
She covers the phone with her hand and holds it out. ‘He wants to speak to you,’ she says.
‘You’re going to have to tell him,’ I whisper. She stares at me. ‘The truth,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ she hisses as she presses her hand over the mouthpiece, ‘because you’re so good at that. I’ll tell him that the razor broke and cut me.’
‘You and I both know that’s not what happened.’
She stares at me, expressionless, no longer bothering to whisper. ‘That is what happened.’
I hesitate. ‘I’m not going to lie for you, Ali.’
‘Will you just speak to him.’ She holds out the phone and I li
ft it slowly to my ear.
‘Hi, Edward,’ I say.
‘I hope I didn’t disturb you.’ I wonder if he could hear our muffled conversation.
I swallow. ‘No … you didn’t.’
‘Oh good. I just wanted to see how Tilly was this morning.’
‘Tilly’s fine,’ I say.
Ali walks back into the bedroom, sits on the bed and looks at her in the Moses basket.
‘Ali said she’d slept a bit better,’ he says.
‘Uh-huh.’ I try to be non-committal. I just want to get off the phone.
‘And Ali’s all right?’
I hesitate. She looks up at me from the bed. I shut my eyes briefly. ‘Ali’s fine.’ A wave of guilt washes over me. I’ve lied to him twice now. I know what she’s just done
wasn’t an accident, just as much as I know I hadn’t told the truth when he’d offered to lend us that money. We’re hiding everything and I wonder if either of us are capable of being honest anymore. Every word I say is twisted, bent out of shape by the deceit that came before. I grip the handset. ‘Edward, Ali had a … bit of an accident.’
There’s a silence on the end of the line and Ali gets off the bed and walks towards me, holding out her hand for the phone. I wave her away.
‘Edward? Are you still there?’
I can hear him clearing his throat.
‘I’m here, Jack. What happened? Is she OK?’
‘She’s fine. Physically. She just cut herself. On her hand … well, hand and wrist. I just thought you should know.’
There’s another silence. Perhaps I should have broken it more gently. He’s usually so calm, dependable.
Ali’s standing in front of me, her jaw clenched as she pulls the phone out of my grasp. ‘Dad?’ I pretend I can’t hear the note of hysteria at the edge of her voice. ‘A razor just slipped and broke. I’m fine, honestly.’ She waves her arm around as if she’s suffered a small scratch rather than a four-inch gash. ‘I’m OK.’
I shake my head at her and walk into the kitchen, trying not to think about the red stains in the sink as I run the tap to get a glass of water.
I take it into the sitting room, where Ali is now perched on the sofa holding the phone, trying to give reassuring responses to the questions Edward must be asking. She leans forward suddenly, putting down her unbandaged hand on the coffee table to steady herself as the colour drains out of her face. I stand up and push past the coffee table to reach her, picking up the phone from where she’s dropped it in her lap. I can hear Edward’s voice repeating her
name.
She leans back against the cushions, and I put my hand on her forehead. She feels clammy. She reaches for the phone, but I don’t let go of it.
‘Edward?’ I say.
‘Jack? Where’s Ali? Is she OK?’
She looks at me, her face as white and crumpled as a piece of paper.
‘She’s fine,’ I lie. ‘She just felt a bit faint, but to be on the safe side we’re going to get her checked over by a doctor. I’d better go.’
There’s another silence.
‘Edward?’
Nothing. I need him to say goodbye. I don’t want to hang up on him.
‘I saw it. Sticking out under the door,’ he says quietly.
I have no idea what he’s talking about but I have to get him off the phone.
‘I’m going to have to call you back later,’ I say and this time I do hang up.
I pass Ali my glass of water. Her hands tremble as she sips it.
‘I’m fine,’ she says.
‘No, you’re not,’ I retort. ‘You almost passed out. We’re going to the doctor.’
‘I—’
‘I’m not arguing about this, Ali, we’re going.’ I hope my insistence hides how terrified I am at this situation which seems to be unravelling around me faster than I can grab one of the loose threads to pull it back together. I pick up the car seat in the hall and lift Tilly into it before ushering Ali reluctantly out of the front door.
We head outside and walk slowly down the pavement. I’m holding the handle of the car seat with Tilly inside and see him before we reach the car. He’s standing on the other side of the road, behind the row of parked vehicles, staring at us. He looks at me and smiles. That smile. My stomach turns to ice.
Ali hasn’t noticed, she’s too busy opening the passenger door. I help her into her seat and shut it behind me. He raises his hand slowly, still smiling, putting three fingers in the air. I shiver. I think he means I have three days left, but I’m not sure. Now he’s seen Tilly, I’m more worried he’s trying to tell me he knows there’s three of us, and so many more possibilities.
As I walk round to the driver’s side, I don’t look at him. I can’t bear to see him gloat.
‘I can’t …’ Ali says as I start the engine and pull away.
I glance across at her. Her face is ashen.
‘I really can’t go,’ she says.
‘Why not, Ali, why can’t you go?’ I thump the steering wheel. ‘You need to be checked over by a doctor.’
She looks at Tilly in the back seat, not answering.
‘I’m not discussing this,’ I say. ‘We’re going.’
I turn out onto the main road. The traffic isn’t busy and the surgery’s only a couple of miles away.
‘You don’t understand.’
‘What don’t I understand?’ I ask.
She doesn’t reply. Her knee twitches. She goes rigid and presses both hands to the sides of her head.
‘No. I can’t. Don’t make me go, Jack. I know you’re going to take her away.’ She begins to rock, the seatbelt locking mechanism the only thing restricting her movement.
‘Stop it, Ali.’
She rocks harder. I glance in the mirror. There’s a line of cars behind us. She begins humming, a horrible monotonous sound.
‘Stop doing that,’ I say. She raises her voice. ‘Stop humming. You’re going to upset Tilly.’ I can’t stand it and reach out to grab her wrist. ‘Stop fucking humming! I’m not taking Tilly anywhere. All this … everything you keep saying … it’s all in your head,’ I scream at her, the stress of the last few days overflowing in an explosion of anger.
She pulls away from me with a screech, undoing her seatbelt, flailing her limbs as her humming turns into an inhuman wail so loud it makes me wince. I have no idea how to deal with this situation. She jerks away and reaches for the door handle, trying to pull it open.
‘Don’t do that!’ I shout, but she’s not listening.
I pull into a side road without indicating and brake to slow down. She grabs at the steering wheel and I fight to keep control. We’re going to crash. I jam my foot on the brake, praying no one’s following behind us, and try to push her away, but she’s still fumbling for the wheel and her hair’s in front of my face. I can’t see anything. I’m so scared for Tilly and the pavement’s getting closer and I don’t know what to do, but I need her to stop and I slap her across the face. A blow where I feel her cheekbone hard under my fingers and her head twists sideways with the force. The sound reverberates around the car in the silence that follows as we screech to a halt, the tyres bumping as they hit
the kerb.
I tell myself I didn’t have a choice. I’d been protecting Tilly. We’d narrowly avoided crashing into someone’s garden wall. God knows what would have happened if she’d managed to open the door. But in the seconds after my anger evaporates, I wonder if that’s really the whole truth. I clasp my hands in front of me, pretending they don’t remind me of my father’s, not quite believing what I’ve done.
Trembling, Ali touches her face and the shame that descends like a thick cloud makes me think I’m going to be sick. I can’t bring myself to look at her.
I fumble to get out, ripping the knee of my jeans on the metal catch of the car door as I slam it shut behind me. I take large gulps of air. A few people drive past me along the residential road, but none slow down to give me a second glance. I walk over to
the low red-brick wall in front of the house I’d almost crashed into and sit down. There’s no movement from inside the car.
I wonder if Ali will flinch like I’d seen my mum do when my father touched her. Whether she’ll hold back those last few words in an argument in case they provoke me too far. I’ve turned into the man I despise most and wish more than anything I could erase the last few minutes.
I walk back to the car and open the passenger door. Ali’s unbandaged hand is pressed against her cheek. She stares ahead, refusing to look at me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’ She doesn’t move. ‘You scared me …’ I mumble. ‘I didn’t know how to make you stop.’
She moves her hand away from her face, revealing an angry red mark.
‘I’m not going to the doctor’s,’ she says, looking at the windscreen in front of her. ‘I’ll tell them you hit me. Take me home, please.’
‘Ali, you’re not—’
‘I want to go back to the flat.’ She pulls the passenger door shut, and I’m forced to snatch my hand out of the way to avoid trapping my fingers. Remorse prickles over my skin. I can’t risk going to the surgery; the evidence of my guilt is on the side of her face.
I get back in the car. Tilly’s still asleep. Thank God she hasn’t witnessed any of this.
‘You need to see someone, Ali.’
She shakes her head.
I try a different approach. ‘Will you talk to Lisa instead?’ It’s a compromise on my part, but at least Lisa’s medically trained. I don’t think I can deal with this situation anymore on my own. I’m terrified of what could happen if I lose control again.
Ali nods as she whispers something that sounds like she’s agreeing with the suggestion, and then looks straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the windscreen. She doesn’t speak for the entire journey.
I pull into our road, searching the pavement for any sign of my father, but there’s no one there. Ali gets out and unclips Tilly from her car seat. I follow her, pausing before I put the key fob up against the panel by the front door.
