What is going on? Where is my husband and was he even in Skye? If he is in Skye, who is he with?! I made my excuses at work about a bad migraine coming on and headed home. I had to do some digging but where to start? Of course … the P.C.
I log on and immediately check the search history. This is slightly reassuring. There are lists of websites listing accommodation for rent on Skye. At least he’s not lied to me about where he is going but there was something going on here. In all the years we’d been together I couldn’t think of a time he’d ever lied to me like this. If he’s not there on work, then what?
I select five of the most recent links to properties he’d been looking at and start dialling round. “Hello, yes, I am trying to locate my husband Thomas Taylor. He was due to check in with you yesterday but there’s an urgent family matter I need to discuss with him, and I can’t get through to his phone.” No luck with the first three calls but on the fourth call I strike gold. “Yes, Mr Taylor has booked to stay with us but I’m afraid he’s yet to check in. If you do manage to contact him perhaps you could ask him to call us and let us know if he’ll be needing the room. If I don’t hear from him by this afternoon, I’m afraid I’ll have to re-advertise the accommodation.” I pause briefly.
“There’ll be no need for that. I’ll take the booking, thanks. If there is any surcharge for amending the details, please let me know.”
I hang up and the enormity of what I’ve just done hits home. I’m going to abandon work and Michael to go on a wild goose chase up north to try to find out what the hell is going on!
Potentially I could keep trying his mobile and if I managed to get through to him, we could have a chat about why he’s not been answering his phone. I could even go so far as saying I’d spoken with his work and they have confirmed they’re not expecting him. But even if I did this, could I trust his response? He has lied to me repeatedly over these past few weeks. There have been the texts going back and forth late at night; that postcard; the fact he said he’s going there on business and most worryingly where he was staying. OK he didn’t give me the details of the accommodation he was staying at, but I’d just discovered he’d booked and paid for accommodation and had never arrived there.
I could think of only two scenarios. Either he is having an affair and he’s shacked up somewhere on Skye (that’s if he’s definitely in Skye) with his mistress or (God forbid), he’s been involved in an accident and that’s why he was unable to check into the accommodation and return my calls this morning. I don’t want to run away with this and force myself to calm down. I need to rule out that he has had an accident and decide to try calling him again.
He answers on the third ring. Relief floods my system. Thankfully, he’s not been involved in an accident. He tells me he’s fine, doing well in fact, and taking in some sightseeing before starting work tomorrow. The earlier feeling of relief is oh so quickly replaced with an intense anger. I can’t believe this is the same man I married all those years ago. He is so happily spinning lie after lie to me. Through gritted teeth I somehow manage to maintain some decorum and tell him that sounds wonderful and that I hope he gets on well in his search for a new financial adviser. Yeah right! As I hang up, I can feel a huge knot which has formed in my stomach twisting and tightening and, with it, a painful throbbing in my temples and tightening in my chest. This only leaves the other possibility, that he is having an affair, I can think of no other logical explanation.
Another worrying prospect is that I travel all the way up there and there is no Thomas to be found! If he hasn’t checked into his accommodation was he even in Skye? I reason that I don’t have anything else to go on and his latest search history did show that he was looking at accommodation there (albeit he hadn’t checked in) so it’s the best I have to go on for now.
I need to make arrangements for Michael whilst I’m away and phone my best friend Amy. Her son Lucas is also good friends with Michael, so I think he’d be happiest staying with them. She is a saviour. I’ve given her next to no notice and she’s got no problem whatsoever in taking him in. I tell her it’ll only be for a few days, that something urgent has come up. And, like a true friend she senses that I don’t want to go into it and doesn’t push me for any more information. Let’s just hope Michael is on board with this arrangement too.
Work already think I’m unwell so there’s no problem there, I just need to keep the pretence going and phone in daily to notify them of my absence. My mind wanders … if he is having an affair, what then? Could I remain married to him or would this be the end of us? If we split up what would this do to Michael? He is at a crucial time at school with exams coming up and the thought of disrupting his little world with this bombshell (if it is true) makes me feel physically sick.
It then occurs to me perhaps there is a third explanation. I’d ruled it out long ago because he was so matter of fact about going there on business. I had had no reason to doubt him because, up to that point, to my knowledge he had never lied to me before. I recall a conversation I’d had with him when we discussed what he was going to do when he arrived. I had asked for reassurance that he wasn’t going to delve into his past and he said there was no way he was going down that road, that he’d stay away from the croft and all the ghosts from long ago. He said the only person he’d contact would be his mother. Perhaps this was a lie?
Thomas had done an excellent job over the years of putting a brave face on and burying things, but I know him better than even he realises, and I can see the cracks and chinks in his armour. There have been many occasions over the years when I’ve seen the little lost boy look come over his face; when he’s completely left the room lost in his own world. He always snaps back to reality, a false smile scrawled across his face for my benefit, with him thinking he has successfully covered any momentary lapse in his otherwise happy demeanour. I’ve also heard him cry to himself (and, on occasion, talk to himself), always when he thinks I’m out of earshot. He does such a masterful job of trying to cover this up when I approach him after such an incident that I don’t have the heart to push him and then the moment passes.
If this was the explanation and he was finally going to confront his demons, then he’d need my support. Either way I reason I’ve made the right choice in going there but decide for now to keep my visit a secret from him until I have more information. Thomas is not the only one with secrets, perhaps he might find out more about his wife than he bargains for when we re-acquaint in Skye …
CHAPTER 11
October 1998
T
he long days of Summer have been replaced with shorter daylight hours. But with it, Autumn has brought the most spectacular sunsets I think I’ve ever seen; a result perhaps of the intermingling of the two seasons before Summer lets go of her grasp completely in surrender to Autumn.
You are never quite sure what weather October will bring on Skye. We have had Autumns where the rain is relentless, flowing down the mountains and hillsides and saturating everything it comes into contact with. This is particularly difficult on the croft. The soil is predominantly peat based and when it’s saturated there is backbreaking work to do to ensure the ditches and drains are clear for the ‘run-off.’ Mercifully, October thus far has been mostly dry, which is unusual as we normally expect to see a fair bit of rainfall. Instead, we have the start of cool crisp days and these mesmerising sunsets and for that I’m grateful.
I had completely forgotten what day it was until I sat down at the breakfast table. There was a card sitting there for me and as a special treat mother had made pancakes which I devoured in no time. I open the card and it simply says, ‘Happy 14th Birthday Son, love Mum.’ There is no pile of gifts waiting to be opened but she whispers in my ear and tells me that she has bought a bar of my favourite chocolate and put it in my schoolbag. When you don’t have much in this world your expectations are low and little gestures like this mean a lot, I know I’ll savour every mouthful.
Our happy moment is short-lived as I
hear the thud of his heavy footfall approaching. I’m not quick enough to remove the card from the table and with a flourish he snatches it away. “Lots of love, mum?! Aah, right enough, son, you only have one parent, it only took one of us to bring you into this world, didn’t it, Mary?! Did you simply forget about this, Mary, you simpleton, or are you trying to belittle me on purpose?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer as he ploughs on “No, you two are as thick as thieves, always conspiring together, I never quite know what the pair of you are up to and I don’t trust either of you. You have your own ‘thing’ going on, don’t you, and you seem to have forgotten about little old me! Well, I will not be cast aside. Perhaps it’s time to make my presence truly known!”
It occurs to me that his fiery temper and episodes of emotional abuse (especially towards mother) were escalating. Before it was every so often he seemed to need to let off steam and you prayed you weren’t in the firing line. Now it felt as though there was no escape. He was so volatile, prone to an outburst at any time, often with no provoking required. I had noticed he was drinking more too, whisky being his tipple of choice so perhaps there was a link between the two?
Anyway, by now I knew the drill. Do not give him eye contact and under no circumstances, ever answer him back unless he specifically asks you to do so. We were at stage two now; the interlude after the initial outburst where he collects himself in a relative silence, pondering our destiny. This I realise is always the worst stage, where we are left to sit and conjure up what weird and not so wonderful fate he has in store for us. I wonder whether I’ll be involved in this punishment today. He is angry at mother for not including his name on the card and it’s my birthday so perhaps he’ll let me off? Then I chide myself for wanting mother to face his wrath alone.
I wish there were some way we could stand up to him but each time I let my mind drift towards ways we could ‘get our own back’ I am reminded of what life would be like then, it would be completely unbearable. Would he then resort to physical violence too? If he did, mother would be number one target and I couldn’t have that. I’ve seen it in his eyes and the colour of his face; that anger he has is barely under control. He looks as though it’d take nothing for him to reach that tipping point. I couldn’t bear the thought of him using mother as a punchbag. Her life wouldn’t be worth living.
I feel a burden of responsibility as far as mother and my siblings go. I do all I can to protect them all. As time goes on, my siblings are becoming more aware of the situation and their anger and frustration is growing too. Caroline especially is losing patience and I’m concerned that she will push things too far. Only the other day she confided in me that she has dreams about dishing out punishments to father; more severe and fanciful than what we have ever had to endure. She also talks about what would happen were we to pick up the phone and notify the authorities. She has convinced herself that were the Police to be informed, all our worries would be a thing of the past as they would sort everything out. I’ve tried to explain it’s not as simple as that. I feel sure father would turn on the charm if needed and what would the chances be of mother speaking out against him? Not in your wildest dreams, he has her exactly where he wants her. No, it would be quickly dismissed then we’d really be in for it!
James is also growing in confidence and, with it, his sense of restraint is dwindling. Along with Caroline, he needs checked and kept in line because he too is simmering away, growing increasingly intolerant of father’s behaviour. It seems as though the fear they both once had has been gradually replaced with anger and a sense of injustice at why we have to put up with this! He is also frustrated with mother. He thinks she should ‘grow a back-bone’ and stand up for us all and do something about getting us out of there. I explain it’s not as simple as that; she’s unable to do this but I suspect this is falling on deaf ears as his anger, frustration, and intolerance grow.
The only one who doesn’t have a lot to say on the subject is Juliet. She is like a little sponge taking it all in and I often worry about her the most. What is going on in that little head of hers? There is simply no shielding her from what is going on.
The responsibility I bear when it comes to them all feels like a heavy burden on my shoulders. It feels as though I have no one to vent my feelings to. I can’t speak to mother about anything as I don’t want her to deal with any more than she’s currently going through. Her mental health doesn’t look too good just now. I’m no expert but she’s becoming increasingly forgetful. I’m getting up extra early in the mornings to lend a hand with feeding the animals and laying out the breakfast things because there’s been a couple of occasions recently when she’s forgotten to do the morning feeds and God forbid if she gets anything wrong with his breakfast so I’m there to make sure that doesn’t happen.
I can’t say anything to school friends or teaching staff either for the same reasons. Our lives would not be worth living if any accusations were pointed in his direction. I sometimes wonder, however, if our lives are worth living as things currently stand. The thought that things could worsen is too much to bear and I know I’ll never utter a word. I dream about leaving at 16 as soon as I am able to but then I’m torn. This would mean leaving mother to face his wrath alone, without my support.
I snap back to reality as I’m aware he’s shifted in his seat. The tension in the air is palpable. The kitchen window is ajar, and I can hear the familiar noises around the grounds of animals calling to each other, snuffling and happily grazing. It always astounds me how utterly normal everything around me is. The world just carries on; everyone and every beast living their own little life and then there’s me, stuck in this recurring nightmare. Sometimes reality is indistinguishable, and I question whether this is actually happening or if I’m in some sort of quasi dreamlike, nightmarish state.
We move towards stage three now, the dishing out of the punishment. He breaks the silence; “Well I suppose you’ll be expecting special treatment today, son, on your special day and who am I to deny you that! Mary, look in the cupboard, woman, have you got any of my chocolate muffins left?” This had me baffled. Where was he going with this? A chocolate muffin is something I can honestly say I have never tasted in the confines of the croft (they are his special treats, and we would never be allowed to touch one). I’ve only ever tried one a handful of times at school.
Mother dutifully obliges and retrieves one and places it down on the table. “Excellent. Don’t ever let it be said that I’m not good to you, son. By the looks of it that’s my last one so you’re in luck. It wouldn’t be right though if your mother and I didn’t join you in celebration now, would it? I’ll have a Scotch. Mary, move it, I’m thirsty, woman, come on now.” She doesn’t delay and fetches a whisky over ice for him from the dining room drinks cabinet. This is all way too civilised and I’m nervous. What has he got planned for us? I daren’t look up; my eyes still obediently downcast towards the table and the muffin looking expectantly up at me.
There is a pause whilst he takes a large swig from the glass and the noise when the glass makes contact with the table again echoes around the room. “Fill her up, Mary. Would you have me die of thirst, woman? Your idea of a measure and mine are clearly worlds apart. Fill her up good this time, we’re celebrating the lad’s birthday, are we not?” She shuffles back through and does as he asks, then returns to her seat alongside mine. I imagine she’s a bundle of nerves wondering what he’s got in store for her.
“Well, let’s take a look around the table shall we. Birthday boy has a chocolate muffin, lucky old him, and I have a rather large glass of Scotch here thanks to you, Mary, but there’s something missing, isn’t there? Mary, you have nothing in front of you and that we need to remedy! We can’t have you sitting watching us tuck in with nothing for yourself now, can we? Come on, lad, follow me because I have an idea.” Follow him? Follow him where? All the food and drinks were inside, but he’d already strode out heading towards the front door. I kept up as best I could. He appeared to b
e on a mission striding out towards the field adjacent to the croft where our Highland Cows were grazing. Oh no, he can’t be …
He stopped walking and motioned me to come over. He handed me a bag and instructed me to collect some of the steaming muck one of the cows had clearly only recently defaecated. I have a strong stomach and working on the croft has hardened me to all sorts of sights and smells, but I can feel the bile rising up rapidly as I realise his intention for the stinking deposit. I lose control and the contents of my stomach are there on show for all to see and the bag he handed me lies at the bottom of the pile of my vomit.
He looks as though he’s going to really lose it with me. He is absolutely fuming. The cool, calculated persona now replaced with blind fury and he’s barely able to contain it. “Get back in there now, you useless piece of shit, and get me another bag … NOW!” Resistance is futile so I move as quickly as I can and fetch one of Jess’s poo bags from mother’s coat pocket in the porch. If there had been anything left in my stomach it wouldn’t have remained there because the stench of the fresh manure intermingling with my vomit was indescribable. He seems completely unperturbed with the stench, standing only inches away from it, his eyes and attention solely focused on me.
“Hurry up, you lazy brute,” he roars at me. My feet deceive me as they make their way towards him as no part of me wants to be there. “Get on with it then, get a decent dollop.” A decent dollop? Caroline’s words ring in my ears, ‘it’s time to show him a piece of his own medicine’, and I am sorely tempted to get more than just a ‘decent dollop’ to throw right at that smug face of his! How wonderful would that be? Watching him stood there with a mixture of my vomit and cow dung plastered all over him! As always, however, the voice of reason takes over and I know taking matters into my own hands is only going to make things worse for mother and I. So, with a heavy heart and limbs, I bend over, doing my best to block off my nose, breathing instead through my mouth. I attempt to take a small portion but he’s watching me with hawk eyes. “I don’t think so, smart arse; you can easily double that! No more time wasting; fill her up and back inside with you now, boy, before I change my mind. Do you want to forfeit your muffin and join your mother?” He takes one look at my face which says it all. “No, I didn’t think so, now get moving!”
IT’S TIME: COULD YOU RISK YOUR SANITY TO SAVE YOURSELF? Page 9