“Do you think it’s acceptable,” she folded her arms, “to bugger off and leave us all day like we don’t exist?”
“I needed some time to myself.” He unzipped his holdall and took out his wet towel. “I work hard all week, Michelle, and things haven’t been too good lately, have they?”
“So do I. I work hard too. And I know it’s been shit but I don’t go off all day, do I?”
“Look Michelle. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I’m back now. Let’s not do this. We have the rest of the day. What am I apologising for? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Yes you have. You’ve ignored all my calls. What if something had been urgent?”
“I’m sorry. My phone was in the locker. I didn’t hear…”
“Well, I’ve been thinking. I think you should leave.”
Paul, ignoring her, headed towards the kitchen to stuff his wet things in the washing machine.
Michelle launched herself in front of him, obstructing his path. “Go back to your girlfriend.”
“What are you on about?”
“I want you out of my house.” Her face was nudged right up to his. “I mean it.”
“It’s our house!” The front door was still wide open, allowing the prying eyes from the house opposite a front row seat.
“You don’t want me? You don’t carry on living here.” Her voice cranked up a notch. “Go on, pack your stuff.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m going nowhere.”
“I’ll ring the police.”
“And tell them what?” He was starting to panic a bit. He had expected ructions but nothing like this. With his foot, he shoved the door closed before returning to face her. He resisted the urge to slap some sense into her.
Her chin jutted out, defiantly. “I can tell them anything I want. They’ve a duty to protect us, especially with Emily in the house.”
“Protect you from what? From me? You’d do that?” In astonishment, he gaped at her. He raised his arm to scratch his face and she flinched. “Yes, of course you would. I don’t know what’s got into you. You nutter!” Backing away from her, he advanced towards the kitchen but she grabbed at his jacket.
“I said I want you out!”
“Oh yeah, and where am I supposed to go? And do you think I’d leave Emily with you?”
“I don’t care, I want you OUT!” As she shouted the final word, she lunged at him, making straight for the hand which held his set of keys.
“Get off!” he yelled as she dug her nails into his hand. It was taking every effort to keep hold of them. He was unsure what was smarting more, her entrenched nails in the back of his hand or the keys which remained locked within his grasp.
“Give me them,” her voice was thick with rage, as she clasped hold of one of the keys and twisted it across his fingers.
Letting go, she lunged for the landline telephone. “I’m going to ring them you know.”
“And tell them what?” Despite the situation, amusement bubbled up within him. “Please arrest my husband because he went to the gym?”
For a moment, a wave of calm seemed to stop her in her tracks and normality crossed her face. Paul was momentarily reassured. Until she smashed herself in the face with the telephone receiver.
“No! Stop it! Michelle! Please!” Grabbing her arm in mid-flight, he managed to wrestle the self-imposed weapon out of her hand before she tore from the hallway, into the lounge.
“Daddy, what’s happened?” cried Emily behind him. “Mummy’s face is bleeding!” Paul’s chest thudded with guilt as he peered over his shoulder to see Emily creeping down the stairs.
“She’s just had an accident,” he picked her up when she reached the bottom. “It’ll all be OK.” He then lowered her to the tiled floor as he stood for a few minutes trying to compose himself. He couldn’t believe it. He hoped Michelle stayed where she was. It was a miracle he’d not flattened her.
“Why’s there a police car Daddy?” Both turned to the window where blue light intermittently reflected through the hallway window. A police radio sounded in conjunction with Michelle’s sudden desolate sobbing from the lounge.
“Oscar winning performance darling, keep it up!” He shouted at the closed lounge door. “Oh for God’s sake!” He rammed his fist down into the bannister, not feeling the pain. “She’s rung them. I don’t believe it! She’s gone and rung them!” He rose and lunged towards the door, nearly knocking Emily over in the process. Before they had chance to ring the bell, he swung the door open.
“Paul Jackson?” enquired one of the two officers, both men. “There’s been a report of an assault. Can we come in?”
Paul held the door ajar, with a nod of his head as he faced them in the hallway, locking his eyes with one of them. No way were they carting him off. Not when he had done nothing wrong. He noticed them staring at his curled-up fists, bloodied from where he had punched the banister. He uncurled them and tried to focus on his breathing. Calm, mate, calm, he told himself. “The only assault in this house, pal, is the one she’s done to herself. Go to your room Emily.” She turned and ran upstairs. “No, all the way to your room please,” he added as he noticed her huddled form beside the banister. The adrenaline drained from him as he prepared to face the severity of his predicament.
“Your wife claims you’ve assaulted her.” The older officer spoke, his entire expression showing distaste towards Paul.
“I haven’t.” His voice was steady. “I would never hurt my wife. She’s lying.”
Michelle appeared in the lounge doorway, blood trickling from the self-inflicted injuries to her forehead, nose and top lip, tears streaming down her face. Well done you! Paul congratulated her silently. You look every inch the battered wife.
“Thanks for coming quickly,” she sobbed. “I know you’re busy, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You’re a liar,” Paul spoke through gritted teeth. “She really is. I haven’t laid a finger on her.”
The older officer nodded towards his colleague. “Take her back in there and I will talk to our friend here in the kitchen. Is it this door here?”
Paul felt the officer’s hand on his shoulder as he allowed himself to be led into the kitchen. All the while, he could hear Michelle’s weeping from the other room. How did they ever get to this?
Once in the kitchen the officer spoke into his radio. “I require another unit to 42 Bracken Bank, Osbaldwick.” After a few crackles and beeps, a voice acknowledged his request. “I will need an officer to take a statement alongside PC Taylor from the complainant and we may need to make provision for a child in the house.”
The full burden of the circumstances pressed down onto Paul as he contemplated what this meant for Emily. He could ensure the police took her to David’s but her presence in the house through all this would mean her school would be informed. And social services. Oh God … what had they done? “I honestly haven’t laid a finger on my wife,” his voice cracked, all hints of any sarcasm gone as he faced the officer.
“You’ll have the opportunity to tell us your side of things, but we will have to do that at the station. Paul Jackson. I’m arresting you on suspicion of occasioning a Section 18 assault. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
By now a third officer was in their home and had entered the kitchen. “If you could just face the sink, Paul and place your wrists together behind your back.” He jumped as the cold metal was snapped onto him. He had never been handcuffed in his life.
Flanked by both policemen, he was led out of his door and marched down the path, in full view of several neighbouring onlookers. Paul bowed his head. He knew exactly what they would all be thinking and wanted to shout out, protesting his innocence. It’s her, he wanted to tell them all. But what would be the point? In situations like this, it was a woman’s world.
“Stand there. Someone’ll
be along to process you shortly.”
Paul obediently positioned himself next to the tall desk. Everything was green. Sweat dripped from his armpit and slid down the side of his body under his loose-fitting tee shirt. Clearly the custody ‘suite,’ as he had heard it being described, was being baked from the outside in. A stench of stale sweat hung in the air. It was like being in hell. He couldn’t believe he was here.
“Right Jackson, this way.” A hostile looking man held a nearby door ajar. “We’re putting you in a cell for a while.”
“A cell! But I didn’t bloody do anything to my wife. She did it to herself. You can’t put me in there!”
“Remove your shoes please. And your belt. And any jewellery, including your watch.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” He outstretched his hands to receive the requested items.
“I’m hardly going to hang myself in there. It’s my missus who’s more likely to do herself in.”
“Just a precaution.” His voice was brisk and business-like. “It’s the same for everyone.”
“How long are you locking me up for?”
“It all depends on the Crown Prosecution Service. His eyes wandered towards the clock. At the moment you’re under arrest. They’ll decide whether you’ll be charged after we’ve interviewed you.”
“And when will that be?”
“Not too long hopefully. We’ll be liaising with the officers that are taking your wife’s statement and we’ll take it from there. It’s busy tonight so you might as well make yourself comfortable. I’m not sure how quick it will be.”
“Make myself comfortable? Are you having a laugh? I can’t believe it.”
The heavy door clunked shut behind him. Paul flopped onto the thin mattress.
Another metallic thump, coupled with the rattling of keys, signalled to him he was truly incarcerated. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out the barren, grey room. Perhaps he preferred the green. It wouldn’t be long until they released him, surely. He stretched out on the ‘bed’ and hoped Michelle would tell the truth.
Chapter Fourteen
Michelle jumped at the knock at the door. Who could it be? It was after midnight. The police had been and gone hours ago. She’d had a phone call to say Paul had been released and was going to spend the night at his brothers. She had been forced to admit the truth about what had happened. It was going to go too far otherwise. He would have been bailed to stay away from her. His job would have been in jeopardy and social services would have been called in. Her common sense had prevailed. But what was done was done and she knew she had hammered another large nail in the coffin of their marriage.
A bottle of wine had numbed her self-inflicted facial injuries, but it would take more than wine to deal with her internal pain. She had no idea why she acted the way she did sometimes. It just happened. Another knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. If it had been Paul, he would have let himself in. She hadn’t put the bolt across. Though maybe she should have done. She jumped again. Whoever it was wasn’t knocking, rather thumping on the door.
“C’mon. I know you’re in there.”
“Who is it?” She could make out a male silhouette in the darkness. She had switched the porch light off but now wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t Paul. She shouldn’t have called out. But as well as being curious as to the identity of the post-midnight caller, she was anxious not to have Emily woken up.
“Open the door, you stupid bitch.” The thumping continued.
Nick! It was Nick. She recognised the voice, although muffled. Oh God. This was all she needed. Once upon a time, Nick had fancied her. She’d had a drunken fumble with him in a club and he’d pursued her for a few weeks afterwards. It was before she’d ever met Paul and she hadn’t been interested. There was something about the bitterness inside him and a condescending attitude towards women that reminded her of her father. She hadn’t been able to believe it when he reappeared as Paul’s best mate, years later. And he never tried to make much of a secret of his hatred for her. Jealousy, she thought.
“What the hell do you want?” She called out in the hallway.
“To talk to you. Now. I’ve a few things to say.”
Against her better judgement, Michelle attached the chain and gingerly opened the door to the chain’s two-inch allowance. She stared at his face, rigid with dislike and immediately caught the fumes of whatever he had been drinking.
“You stupid cow.” He shoved the door. “What do you think I’m going to do? Just open it. I mean it.”
“No chance. What do you think I am, stupid?”
“You don’t want to know what I think of you. Let’s say, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to make you disappear.”
“Why?” Michelle’s anger was in danger of becoming tears. “What the hell have I done to you? Why are you here?” Michelle tensed the muscles in her leg to stop them trembling. “Has Paul sent you?”
“You’ll be lucky if he ever comes anywhere near you again after tonight. What’s wrong with you?” He booted the door.
“Fuck off Nick. It has nothing to do with you.” Her voice was a hiss in an effort not to wake Emily. “Keep your nose out of our business.”
“He’s been at my house. In bits. So it is my business. And I’m not going to stand by any longer and allow you to do this. You’re gonna get what’s coming to you.”
“What do you mean? Does he know you’re here?”
His bony fingers grasped at the door. “Take this chain off.”
“No chance. You’re not stepping foot into my house.”
“Your house! You work in a school for God’s sake. Make the most of the time you have left here. You’re a charity case. Leeching off other people.”
Tears sprang to Michelle’s eyes. Why was he so cruel? What had Paul been saying to him about her?
“I think you’re a nutter,” he continued. His voice rose again after she had managed to peel the grip of his fingers from the door, to close it on him. “You should be sectioned. I’m gonna do everything in my power to bring you down.”
She tried to keep the shake out of her voice. “Please leave me alone. Things are bad enough.”
“Aaargh, poor little Michelle. What’s the matter? Won’t your little hubby do what you tell him to?” His sneering voice became louder. “I’m not going to stop chipping away at him until he leaves you. With a bit of luck that will be now.”
“It’s none of your business Nick. Go away.” Although she was fighting back tears, she had a surge of energy. “Do one! Or I will ring the police.”
“Do it. You schizophrenic.”
“Right that’s it.” Michelle reached for her phone from the hallway table, pressed nine three times and held it to her ear. “Yes, police please. There’s a man outside my house. He’s been trying to break in and he’s threatening me.”
“Schitzo. Fucking schitzo.” He carried on shouting as she tried to listen to what the operator was saying.
“Can you hear him?” She was relieved when they affirmed they could and he would be taken into custody on their arrival, if he was still there.
“Yes. He’s a friend of my husband’s. I will give you his address.” She became calmer. More in control. She would take a knife to him if he got in.
“Just you wait. You’d better be looking over your shoulder. You wait.”
She wondered if the neighbours could hear him. She might need witnesses. “Can you hear him now? Yes, I will stay on the line.” Surely Paul would stick up for her, after this?
“The police are on their way.” She shouted through the letterbox. “Hopefully they’ll have you for drink driving as well.”
She stood against the hallway wall, listening to the fading away of his footsteps. Hopefully, Emily had stayed asleep. She picked up the telephone again, intending to contact Paul but then thought better of it and decided to check on Emily instead. The police were coming. And after they had gone, there would be only one way to numb th
e pain.
Chapter Fifteen
Paul taps his feet as he watches the clock devouring the hour. 6:40 pm. ‘Association time’ is sacred. Not that he particularly wants to spend it conversing with other inmates or playing pool, but he’s consoled by being able to linger on the outskirts of human interaction. Stephen’s not bad but there’s only so much conversation to be had with the same person, night after night.
His nails rap against the coveted phone card which he has traded with another prisoner for some legal advice. Without it, there would be over a week to wait until he could contact anyone. “C’mon!” 6:45 pm. Finally, he reaches the front of the queue and dials David’s number, the only number ‘verified’ so far by the prison.
“It’s me. You don’t know how good it is to hear you mate.” He chokes on his words as he hears his brother’s voice.
“Thank God you’ve rung. What the hell happened? Is there any word on Michelle?”
“No, not yet. You’ll probably hear before I do.” Paul leans against the wall as if this may prevent him from drowning in misery. “I didn’t do it. You do know that, don’t you?”
“But who the hell did if it wasn’t you?”
“We were arguing and I stormed out.” Paul grips the phone. “I was only away for half an hour or so. I found her when I got back … I can’t bloody believe it.”
“Are you coping in there bro?”
“Just about. I haven’t a lot of choice, have I? It doesn’t seem real.” Hearing David’s voice makes things momentarily normal, but things are never going to be ‘normal’ for him again. Even if she miraculously pulls through.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like. We’re trying to keep in touch with the hospital but they’re being cagey.”
“I can’t believe they’re pinning it all on me.”
“From what I’ve been hearing from Nick, you’ve been putting up with far more than a lot of people could.”
“That’s not going to keep me out of prison though, is it?”
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 8
