Sometimes he was so tender… when she thought of his tenderness her bones ached. But they remembered their brokenness too, and she clenched her jaw. She could go to London – he’d never find her there. She could change her name, do her hair differently, even learn to walk differently! Stand tall, step out, walk firmly on the earth. Just a slight catch of the knee from where it hit the coffee table…
Another knock on the door: Eve’s face again. ‘This is Michelle.’ A fierce-looking young woman emerged from behind Eve’s back. ‘I’m next door, okay hen? Ye want anythin’, gie me a call OK?’ Anna nodded and tried for a smile but it didn’t matter – they knew what she was feeling. They all knew.
Soon as he realised she wasn’t coming back, he’d find a replacement. By the time I get to London… that’s what he did, soon as he lost something. He’d find some sad neglected kid and like a fat spider he’d reach out and grab her.
Going to the shops, feet dragging, dark glasses, timing herself in case she took too long (Who did you meet? Don’t lie to me! Who did you talk to?) If she said ‘one of the neighbours’ he’d demand to know which one and then he’d go up to them all nice and friendly, ask how they were and casually say, Anna mentioned you’d had a chat yesterday. He’s such a lovely man, your fella! They all said. Anna would nod and try to smile. Hiding it was the worst thing – but she couldn’t tell anyone.
Evenings in the shelter they all gathered out the back to smoke (Anna didn’t smoke but it helped her fit in) and swap stories. She was shocked by the way they accepted violence but then she heard herself joining in. Broke my arm in three places. Had to keep going to different hospitals. Shoved me down the stairs, held my hand over the gas, put my face in the oven, held my head under water… the endless, banal litany of domestic violence. The women were all on a short fuse and fights would break out over nothing, over a pair of tights or a hairbrush – then there’d be a sudden tenderness, everyone huddled in the kitchen listening to each other’s stories, nodding sadly.
I thought if I took it, if I never fought back…
I thought once I’d been to hospital…
I thought once I’d called an ambulance…
I said I’d never go back…
I thought, I thought…
Some days the universe seemed to speak to her, leave little messages in graffiti or slogans written on coffee-cups. Be your best self. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Always be yourself unless you can be a unicorn.
Leave means leave.
She’d given up so much for him; her degree, her hobbies, her friends… what had he given up? He talked of sacrifices but the sacrifices were all hers. He talked of hard work but round the house he did nothing; truth be told. He couldn’t fix the boiler but was too mean to pay for a plumber so for months she’d had to boil the kettle and take cold showers. He wouldn’t let her pay for a plumber either, said it made him feel emasculated.
The idea of going to London made her feel faint. For ten years this town had been her world; they’d never taken holidays because he’d say we need to save money. But what were they saving for? Then he’d say anyway, what’ve they got abroad that we haven’t? He didn’t want her having her own passport, that was the truth of it. Then as usual, having it both ways, he said England was so boring it wasn’t worth holidaying here either. Wouldn’t let her learn to drive so she had to get the bus to work…
Work! She could do better than that miserable office. Go back to college, finish her degree. Move down South… little by little the plans were hatching. And then the next day coming back from the shop with Michelle she saw his car sitting just outside the hostel, engine running. Before she could run indoors he’d climbed out to stand between her and the shelter.
Sarada Gray 