The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  I was very aware of the word ‘still’ even though I’d never discussed with her how I felt.

  I made a little noise of assent.

  ‘I think it’s associated with the general anxiety,’ Paul put in. ‘Lucy misreads situations.’ He squeezed my knee and slid me a gentle sideways look. ‘She misunderstands conversations and even simple exchanges of information. She sees criticism where there isn’t any: imagines that I’m slighting her. She misremembers things we’ve spoken about, believes that I’m out to get her, thinks I’ve hidden things from her, thinks I’m trying to control her.’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth.’

  ‘Is this right?’ Diane looked concerned.

  ‘Yes… well, no. It is, but—’ I saw their eyes meet.

  Diane placed the flat of her hand on the notebook in her lap. ‘Perhaps we should think about offering you these support sessions for a little while longer yet. Maybe discharging you now is a bit soon Lucy.’ She made that slow, patronising nod that I hated so much.

  ‘No!’ I said, a little too sharply and they both looked at me. ‘No… I mean I’m fine. I’m doing really well…’ I broke off.

  ‘No one’s saying that you’re not.’ She attempted to be soothing. ‘We’re just saying you need a bit more support for a bit longer. Do you agree with that assessment, Paul?’

  Paul nodded. ‘That’s exactly right. But of course, you’re entitled to feel differently, Luce. This is about working out what’s best for you. No one’s trying to force you to do anything.’

  I looked from one to the other and said nothing. I mimicked her slow nod. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Of course.’

  Diane began to speak. I don’t know what about. It was as though some surreal whirlwind had taken over: everything around me was moving very fast. Their voices came to me loud and then soft. They couldn’t touch me; it was keeping them out, but it was also keeping me in, locked in a place I didn’t want to be.

  * * *

  ‘Emma’s just sent me a message. She says you’re not answering her calls.’ Paul stood in front of me holding his phone. If this was another test, then I was adamant I was going to pass it.

  ‘Talk to her for me, would you?’ I blinked up at him. ‘Explain I’m not feeling so well. I’ll speak to her another time.’

  It had been two weeks since I’d had any contact with her.

  ‘Only if you’re sure?’

  ‘Perfectly sure.’

  I could tell he was pleased and I felt a small shiver of victory.

  He went to work every day and I was there when he left. He came back and I was there when he returned. I suggested that we went shopping together, cooked together, cleaned the house together. I began to behave as I knew he wanted me to. I was compliant, but not too compliant, I made jokes that weren’t funnier than his, I chatted about things that I knew would interest him but I barely listened to his answers.

  I was a nodding doll on the outside, but inside I was angry, raging. There was a force bubbling away in me that was difficult to contain, but I had to, for now. It had to stay all tucked away like a gift to myself: a present I’d wrapped up carefully and put away in a drawer. It was the fire that kept me going.

  This time, this time, he had to believe he had total control. He didn’t have to guard or monitor me anymore. I was his: absolutely, completely, mind and body. He had to believe he had me exactly where he wanted me – and for that to happen I would make the ultimate sacrifice.

  One night in bed I, made the decision. I steeled myself, turning over to face him, and put my hand on his thigh. His eyes batted sleepily.

  ‘Paul,’ I whispered. His skin was alien under my hand. My fingers touched the coarseness of the hair and I felt a gag of nausea. Swallowing, I moved closer and put my lips to his. It was wrong, appallingly wrong: my throat rebelled, every inch of my body cried out with the abomination, but I moved my mouth in the way I knew I was supposed to move it, heaving as his tongue parted my teeth. He shifted his weight, using his knee to push me onto my back. My whole body was screaming but I held it in, the tension keeping my legs straight, my hands poised against his shoulders as if to push him off at any moment.

  ‘Do you want this?’ he said softly into my ear.

  I didn’t think I could speak. I nodded silently, feeling a tear leak down my temple and cluck gently into my ear. No, I didn’t want this, but I wanted to escape from this more. I wanted freedom, and this was what I had to do to get it.

  ‘I want this,’ I said. ‘More than anything.’

  Afterwards, he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. He seemed relaxed and happy. He had his arm around me and I lay stiffly with my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrub of his heart. So strong. So powerful. It was never stopping; not unless someone stopped it. I tried not to think about what had just happened.

  I pushed it out of my mind.

  ‘Thank you for coming back to me.’ He hugged me closer. I tucked my resting hand under my face, keeping my skin away from his. I pretended to stretch and turn over. He immediately turned with me, spooning himself around me. I curled into a ball, the violent urge to extricate myself almost unbearable.

  He kissed the back of my neck and I felt the soft wetness turning cold. I shivered and he held me even closer. Every pore shrieked. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing: the regularity of the tempo, until I heard its soft tock-tock and felt the weight of him slipping heavily against me. It was my moment.

  Slowly, I moved his arm from around my waist and laid it on his thigh. His breath changed imperceptibly and I caught my own, letting it hang there until I could peel myself away, inching in tiny increments to the edge of the bed. He snorted and I jumped as, with a huge waft of the covers, he turned over and began to snore.

  I almost fell off the mattress, half slipping onto my hands and knees, feeling the welcoming prickle of the carpet and crawling on all fours until I found my heap of clothes on the floor. Gathering them up, I winkled open the door and slipped quietly onto the landing. Keeping my bundle close, I half shuffled, half scooted down the stairs and paused at the bottom to pull on what I had: knickers, jeans, bra, but no jumper. Shit! It was freezing! I cast about, desperate, and then remembered that there was an old coat I’d used for gardening hanging in the back lobby. Finding my handbag, I scrabbled about in the bottom, looking for my car keys. They weren’t there. Swishing around frantically, I saw Paul’s lying on the table and grabbed them up, slipping out into the night.

  The darkness was sharp with November cold. A slight dusting of frost sparkled prettily revealing the silver outline of his car. I slid quickly into the driver’s seat and I took a glance up at the bedroom window. It stayed blank and still. Closing my eyes, I turned the key, praying that the car would start. The engine roared into life, sending a whole scatter of birds in the beech tree into a frightened squawking. I didn’t have time to worry. Easing the car into reverse, I backed off the drive, and without another look, drove calmly away.

  The streets and roads were empty. His car was bigger and more powerful than mine and I manoeuvred it easily, taking in all the signs that would lead me to the motorway and beyond. I didn’t feel scared this time. This time I had done it. I had absolutely done it. A tickle of excitement shivered as the streetlights whizzed past. I glanced at my speed; there was no need to get stopped, not when I’d done so well; not now I’d got away. I’d walked out of my life.

  I could finally breathe. The pressure had gone, the grinding weight had lifted. I wound the window down. I’ve done it, I said to the night. I’ve actually done it. The bitter air made me gasp with delight. I let it rummage through my hair, whipping strands across my face, pummeling my skin to a smarting, clean, freshness. I closed my eyes and then opened them. The black road tunnelled in front of me. I drove into it like a soothing blanket, watching the telegraph poles flashing by as they marked out the distance: the space I was putting between me and him. I had won. His darkness hadn’t overwhelm
ed me… And then I thought of the children, of Caitlin. How he had taken their lives, piece by piece, suffocating them until his shadow had finally snuffed them out. I looked into the mirror. Caitlin’s face loomed grey and quiet, sitting there somewhere in the back. I peered round: the children were there too, asleep, leaning across her lap, one either side. I watched the flickering shadows from the street lamps oscillating across her face, on, off, on, off, and then I became aware of another light: bright and maddening, joining in. Blue. Brilliant blue light. I jammed my foot down as hard as I could and the car obliged, boosting up to another level, skimming and flying, the violent thrumming drum of air from the open window battering my face.

  My heart raced with the speed: I’m not going back, I’m not going back, I’m not going back. And then something began to fail, the car began to lose speed, no matter how much I stamped and begged the accelerator it wouldn’t give me what I needed. The flashing lights got closer, filling the mirrors: the blue blinding roar of them, the wailing sound, filled the car as it began to roll and stall to a halt.

  I sat silently, staring straight ahead, listening to the slam of the car doors, the twittering radios as the dark shapes came towards me. There was the gritty sound of feet on tarmac and I was forced to look round at the figure that was standing there.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ I said craning up into the face that was peering down at me. ‘I have to go. Please, don’t keep me long. All I want to do is get away. I can’t stay here.’

  ‘We won’t keep you any longer than we need to.’ The policeman reached in and patted me on the wrist. ‘Only until you’re better.’

  I blinked and when I looked back up at the face, it wasn’t a policeman. I looked harder. It wasn’t a policeman at all.

  ‘What kind of officer are you?’ I said.

  ‘The nice sort,’ said the face.

  I looked back to the passenger side. I wasn’t in Paul’s car and it wasn’t dark.

  I looked at the hand on my wrist and then at the chair arm where my own hand was resting. There was no car, no streetlights, no children, no Caitlin. There was a nurse in a different sort of uniform than the kind I’d seen before.

  ‘Who are you?’ I said.

  ‘I’m the charge nurse. Now you just sit there and relax.’

  And then I remembered. I remembered what he’d done. My clothes, the car keys, his car. Why hadn’t I realised there would be no petrol? It was all very clever. I knew no one would ever believe my story so I didn’t try to tell it, there really was no point. I’d given Paul everything: my mind and my body but I’d never given him my spirit. Now he thought he had that too. I’d tried, I’d failed.

  I sat in that chair and ‘relaxed’ as I was told to, and while I was sitting and watching, I realised something vital. All this time I’d been playing by his rules. I’d exhausted myself trying to out-think and out-manoeuvre him. And there, I knew, lay my mistake. The days of playing by someone else’s rules were over. Now I was going to make up my own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The days and weeks moved with the big black hands of the clock on the wall. The ward was bright with Christmas decorations put up far too early. Tinsel drifted lazily in the waft of sub-Sahara temperatures. There were curtains pinned with jolly Father Christmases that hid the open mouths of any distress behind them. I saw the mouths and bodies being wheeled off to somewhere that wasn’t Santa’s Grotto.

  I wasn’t going to be one of them.

  Emma didn’t visit. Paul didn’t visit. I knew he’d spoken to them though; I knew the ‘you need no distractions from outside’ were his words, not theirs. I didn’t argue or ask why. Being a patient in a psychiatric hospital was really no different to being a prisoner in a prison. The clever ones not only didn’t argue or ask questions, the clever ones went one step further. They were the ones that no one ever noticed. They were the ones no one really saw. Compliance, I realised, was only part of it. The key to it all was the one thing I’d been trying to avoid all this time.

  You had to become invisible.

  Every morning, including Saturdays and Sundays, we sat in our circles with our cod psychologist leaders and we listened to their quiet judgements as they encouraged us to ‘find our true selves’ as though we’d dropped them somewhere and not realised. But I knew the drill. This bit was easy.

  ‘As I said, it’s all a blank, really.’ I looked away through the barred window at the slats of sky: a gauzy haze on a solid white nothingness – the way the drugs make you feel… until you learn how not to swallow them.

  The other women shuffled uneasily in the stifling, cranked-up central heating, designed to make us sleepy. The fluorescent overhead light buzzed. I noticed that the window glass reflected the institution clock face in reverse. Its black hands crept forward a little then dropped back.

  ‘One detail.’ I was aware that Trevor Jones, the one in charge, was staring intently at me. ‘There must be something you remember?’

  ‘Anyone else?’ Geoff cut in. Geoff was the charge nurse. He sounded nervous. ‘How about you, Melissa?’

  ‘No,’ said Trevor. ‘Hang on. Let’s stay with Lucy for a moment.’

  My eyes slid from the window. His gaze shifted over me, the camera shutter lens snapping: click: face, click: breasts: click: legs. He thinks he has me.

  Someone coughed and broke the spell.

  ‘I— I lost my children.’ Melissa said suddenly. The group attention wavered and Trevor frowned. ‘The police had gone into my flat, I’d only been gone ten minutes, twenty at the most—’ She stopped as her voice cracked.

  ‘They took them.’ Her bitten ochre fingers sawed relentlessly, desperate for a smoke. I heard the words but felt nothing. I was aware of Trevor’s eyes briefly flitting from her to me and back again.

  ‘I found blood in the cot – on the blankets. I don’t know what happened.’

  Her mouth was lined with practised pain. Her voice was becoming part of the walls and the floor, a noise trembling over the stacked chairs in the corner.

  ‘My husband said… My husband told me…’

  There was the bang of a door on the unit and someone shouted an obscenity. Trevor leaned in, nodding towards Melissa in the way he’d been taught to do. His job was to show he could connect, but without really connecting at all. He began to speak at length about how there are consequences for our actions, and how, if we applied some thought, we might achieve a different outcome. He showed he had no idea about Melissa, who she was, or what her life was like at all.

  I looked down, noticing a stray hair clinging to the thigh of my tracksuit and I picked it off, letting it fall, watching it twist in the artificial light. Trevor couldn’t keep his eyes off me. I knew what he wanted. I was vulnerable. He had all the power. I was a woman in an institution. I’m a woman, full-stop: that makes us all fair game, just like Moire said.

  His eyes tracked over Melissa. Tell us what you did, I could feel his itching. Every inch. Show me your vulnerability and I can use it against you. In suits or out of them, his kind were all the same – wanting to get inside: push and force their way in. Oh yes, I knew all about men like Trevor didn’t I?

  Melissa closed her eyes briefly and nodded in acceptance. He wrote something on his notepad. I saw her take it in. Tell us what to think and we’ll think it. Tell us what to do and we’ll do it. Back-of-a-crisp-bag psychologists with the power to make your time easy or hard. Be grateful.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Melissa. ‘Thank you.’

  Precisely.

  Geoff smiled and glanced at the clock. ‘Shall we leave it there, Trev?’ It was Sunday, I could see he wanted to get off. He looked for confirmation.

  Trevor pushed his chair back from the circle although there was no need. ‘Good idea.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to see someone on the unit before lunch anyway. I’ll take the girls back.’

  I stood, looking round at the women who couldn’t look less like ‘girls’ if they tried: pale,
shabby creatures with greasy hair and eyes like pack dogs. There were loud voices in the corridor outside that rose and fell. Melissa caught my eye but then looked away. Maybe she thought I was a plant. I knew I didn’t look anything like the others. Paranoia was the one thing that bound us. We trusted no one, we didn’t even trust ourselves: whatever that was. Whoever we had been in the past, we certainly weren’t anymore. The drugs took care of that.

  We walked like the prisoners we were, scuffing our way back to the unit. Trevor unlocked the door and that smell hit me again: it was in the walls and floors; it came out of our pores. We smelled of surrender.

  * * *

  Melissa walked by my side; she was prettier than average, blonde. In her old life she was the kind of woman who would have looked after herself. She was the kind of woman who appeared at any board meeting in any office in the country. She and I were from the same mould, and now look at us.

  ‘Be careful, they all work for him,’ she muttered, her eyes flitting nervously: left to right.

  I glanced enquiringly at Trevor, who was locking the meeting room door.

  ‘No, not him,’ she hissed. ‘Him. My husband. He pays them all. They can’t go against anything he says, even if they want to. He talks through people on the TV and the radio. He makes things happen. He made things happen to the children. It wasn’t me who did those things.’

  I glanced down at the mottled marble lino and the flat roll of my plimsolls as they thrust the floor away beneath the soles of my feet. I was walking but going nowhere.

  We reached Melissa’s room and I took a look inside. It was neat and ordered. There were books on a bookshelf: Chagall and Monet, and art print postcards on a cork board.

  ‘I went to university, you know.’ She trailed a finger down the pictures. ‘I had a job, I had a life, but it makes no difference.’ Her hand dropped. ‘Every avenue I take, every way I turn, every therapy programme or drug trial – whatever it is, I just keep coming back to places like this. Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be…’ She tipped her head and regarded me. ‘How about you?’