by Ruth Mancini
I was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, ever since he found out about Helena, he seemed to lose interest in me. Completely. I got the feeling that he was hoping that the two of you might get back together.”
“’The two of us’? You’ve got to be kidding me? There was no ‘me and him’. And I thought you said that he was mad at you for letting me in on the big secret?”
She shrugged. “It was probably just an excuse to get rid of me.”
“Is that when you left?” I asked. “That morning? Monday morning? Before I came round with the wallet?”
She nodded.
“And you didn’t come back again?”
“No. That was it. It was over. Like I said, he threw me out. I went to my sister’s.”
“And you’ve been there ever since?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
I thought about that for a moment. “So you don’t know anything about what happened next?”
She looked at me again for a long moment but there was no emotion on her face. “No.”
“Well, he attacked me,” I said. I thought of Catherine’s reaction when I’d told her what Martin had then tried to do to me, and I wondered if I should just stop now. This man was her partner, after all, or had been, until very recently. I’d caused her enough pain.
But what if she could help?
I took a deep breath. “He tried to rape me,” I continued. “In the kitchen. We were on the floor, right by the back door. Someone knocked over some bottles and they broke and it stopped him in his tracks. It distracted him, and I managed to get away.”
Lindsay carried on looking at me, without saying a word.
“I managed to get up and grab a knife from the draining board next to the sink. I managed to get out of the house. So, whoever it was who broke those bottles, they saved me from being raped,” I said. “And I wondered if...”
“If what?”
“If you knew who that might have been? Martin seemed to think it was cats, but I wondered if any of the neighbours might have got into your garden? A kid, even? If someone saw what happened, if they were looking through the window just before they knocked the bottles over, then they may be willing to give a statement to the police. They may want to help.”
Lindsay pursed her lips and shook her head. “I can’t think who that would be,” she said, quietly. “Sorry,” she added.
My heart sank. “Really? There’s no-one who...?”
We looked at each other for a moment. It was hard making eye contact with someone in sunglasses. “Please,” I said. “Would you just talk to your neighbours? The police don’t believe me. If someone saw what happened, Martin could be prosecuted.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “We don’t use milk bottles,” she said. “We use cartons.”
“Well, they were bottles of some sort. I don’t know. It was glass smashing, the sound I heard.”
Lindsay took off her sunglasses again, as if to say, ‘I’ve got my own problems, thanks to you’, and I felt guilty as I looked at her swollen eye again. But she didn’t ask me to leave, so I carried on talking, quickly, in the hope that she’d be persuaded to help.
“You said he wanted another ‘crack’ at me, but there never was any ‘me and him’,” I told her. “I never gave him any reason to think that there was. There was just one night, the night that Helena was conceived, and that time... that time he did manage it. He managed to have sex with me without my consent.”
Lindsay carried on staring at me, her one good eye piercing mine while her poor bruised eye tried its best to see. “What did he do?”
“He had sex with me while I was asleep. I think I was drugged.”
“He drugged you?”
I shook my head. “Not him. Someone else. He came to my flat after I was already out of it. He kicked my friends out under the pretext of taking care of me. And then he.... well, he did what he did. I didn’t know anything about it ‘til the morning when I woke up next to him naked. I had no idea how he’d got there, into my bed. When I asked him to leave, he went crazy. He pushed me against the wall and threatened me. Then I found out that I was pregnant and so I decided to go and live in France. I was scared of him. I didn’t want him in our lives, mine and my daughter’s. I’d seen what he was capable of.”
Lindsay nodded, very slightly.
“After we came back to England a few months ago, after I knew he’d found out about Helena, I was frightened. Really frightened. When I came to your house on Monday to drop off the wallet, I wasn’t expecting him to be there, to open the door. But, when he did, I knew I was going to have to confront him. I had to. He wouldn’t talk to me on the doorstep. He insisted that I come in, if I wanted to talk. But then he got really angry and... well, you know the rest. But I’m sure someone saw what happened. Those bottles smashing like that, just as he was about to... I mean, what do you think?”
Lindsay continued to look at me, blankly, for a moment. Then she shook her head and pursed her lips again. “Probably just cats,” she said, finally. “They’re always getting into that garden. Fighting. You know.”
My heart sank. I was fighting a losing battle. Lindsay didn’t want to get involved, and how could I blame her? But there was no way that I, or any of my friends, could risk cold-calling all the neighbours; there was a far greater chance of me being arrested again for harassment than there was of uncovering anything that would lead to Martin’s downfall.
“Okay. Well, thanks for your time. And I’m sorry. It can’t have been very easy – hearing all that, I mean.” As I turned to go, I looked her in the eye. “Although, you don’t seem very surprised by anything I’ve said.”
She didn’t answer.
“He’s done it to you too, hasn’t he?” I asked her. “He’s raped you?”
Lindsay’s good eye continued to bore into mine, but she said nothing for a few moments. Then she said, “I’ve got to go. I’m late for my next class.”
I picked up my bag, gave her a quick smile and walked towards the door.
“Lizzie,” she called, as I pushed it open.
I turned and looked back at her. She said, “I’m really glad you managed to get away.”
“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me.
17
By late November, I’d finished translating Oli’s ‘History of Neuroradiology’ and I’d booked my ticket on the Eurostar to return to France for a week or two over the Christmas holidays. The break was long overdue; I hadn’t been back to France since the summer, and I’d worked as many hours as I could at the hospital in the preceding weeks in an attempt to avoid being at home. Zara was sweet and supportive, but she had her own life – including a new man, who seemed to have practically moved in with us – and she couldn’t fill the hole that Helena had left in my life, nor could she say very much to ease the sense of loss that was permanently with me.
I deliberately avoided contacting my daughter, not wanting to give her any more reason than she already had to think that I was some kind of a crazy stalker, and that I was feeding my ‘obsession’ as she’d phrased it. Catherine, Zara, Christian and Suzanne had all advised me that she’d come round in time, if I’d just back off and leave her alone. But it seemed to me that the gap between the two of us was just getting bigger and bigger as time went on. It was clear to me that she was no longer attached to me in the same way that she had once been, and I knew that this was more than just the natural progression of her journey into adulthood and the desire for independence that came with the first year at University. She no longer texted me about the everyday trivia of her life (a photo she’d taken of a meal she’d cooked, or something annoying that someone had said to her at the gym), nor did she invite me to competitions; I guessed that her coaching team now included Martin, and that I was no longer needed or welcome as a member of her cheerleading squad. Although my heart skipped a beat every time my phone rang, it was never her who was calling. It was now nearly three months since I
’d last seen or heard from her, and it had left me feeling indescribably low.
I threw myself into my work. Oli had been asking me more and more often to help him in clinic, and I’d found myself becoming increasingly emotionally involved with the patients, the chronic pain and sadness that underscored their lives and the lives of their families being the only thing that could put my own torment into any kind of perspective.
On a windy Thursday morning in early December, as the country prepared itself for what was predicted to be the worst storm in sixty years, we lost one of our female patients, a girl just a year younger than Helena, who’d been battling bravely with a tumour for several months. I nodded calmly as Oli gave me the news at the end of the morning clinic, before making an excuse to leave and go back up to the office alone. I walked out of the clinic and up the steps and, to my horror, started to cry and shake uncontrollably. I brushed my tears away in embarrassment, hoping that the porters hadn’t noticed, but I couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard I tried. As I reached the door to the office, I heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs behind me and Oli’s hand was on my shoulder.
He followed me into the office and handed me a tissue, without saying a word. I was mortified. I’d never cried in front of him before and I didn’t know how he’d react. Some men couldn’t cope with tears, I knew, and I hoped desperately that I hadn’t made him feel as embarrassed as I was feeling right now. I blew my nose and turned my face away from him, trying as hard as I could to blink away my tears, but to no avail.
“I know how you must feel,” Oli said. “You never really get used to losing a patient, even when you know that she is fighting an uphill battle, and especially when it’s someone so young.”
I started sobbing again.
Oli took my hand. “But this is not just about Jenna, is it? It’s something more. Is it your mother?” Oli asked. “Has she become unwell again?”
I shook my head. “My mother’s just fine,” I gulped, in between sobs. “She’s doing really well.”
Oli nodded. “So, what is it? Something’s wrong? Can I help?”
I shook my head, my shoulders heaving uncontrollably and my breath coming out in short gasps. “I’m so sorry, Oli. I’m really sorry. This is so unprofessional,” I sobbed. “If you want to go and get some lunch, I’ll sort myself out, I promise, by the time you get back.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “And besides, I don’t like to eat alone.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“I think my idea is better,” Oli added.
I looked up at him, my cheeks wet. “What idea is that?”
He moved towards me and put both arms around me and held my heaving shoulders until they were still. He said into my ear, “We go someplace nice and we eat some nice food and we talk about whatever it is that has made you so very sad recently.”
I started to shake and cry again. The last time that anyone had put their arms round me and held me quite so tight – the last time that anyone had whispered into my ear – had been the day that Martin had pinned me to the ground and threatened me. I realised that I had in fact been frightened when Oli’d put his arms round me.
He held me tighter. “Lizzie. Lizzie. It’s okay.” He released me slightly as my sobbing subsided. He peered into my face. “Who has done this to you?”
I shook my head, not knowing where to begin.
He let go of me and took both my coat and his from the back of the door. “Come,” he said. “We are going. That’s it for the day. Everything else can wait.”
“But, the translation. We were going to submit it this afternoon...”
“It doesn’t matter. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“I must look terrible,” I tried to argue. “My eyes...”
Oli took another tissue from the box on the desk and dabbed at my eyes. “There. Your eyes are beautiful, as always,” he said. He took my arms, one by one, and helped me into my coat. He walked over to the desk and took out my handbag from the drawer where I always left it, and handed it to me. As we walked out of the building and down the street, the wind whipping at our coats and faces, he took my hand and held it tight. I couldn’t help feeling a little better than I’d felt in a very long while.
We ate side by side on a dark green leather sofa, next to a roaring fire, in a beautiful little pub off Gray’s Inn Gardens. I told Oli everything about Martin and Helena, about the real reasons I’d left England to live in France, and how scared I was that I’d now lost my daughter for good. Oli ate while I talked and tried to swallow a few mouthfuls of my food in between. When he’d finished his meal, Oli put his knife and fork down on his plate, neatly side by side, sat back in the leather folds of the sofa and handed me his phone.
“Call her. Call her now,” he said. “Call from my number so that if she’s with the pig, Martin, he won’t know it’s you. Just tell her you’re calling from work. Ask her what she’s doing for Christmas. If she says she’s busy and can’t spend it with you, then it doesn’t matter. At least you will hear her voice and you will know that she is okay.”
I nodded. I knew immediately that this was what I wanted to do, more than anything.
Helena picked up on the first ring. “Hello? Who’s this?” she asked.
“It’s me, Helena. It’s Mum. It’s Oli’s phone. I’m calling from work,” I told her.
“Oh, hi Mum. Are you okay? What’s up?” she said. She sounded a little hesitant, but friendly enough. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” I told her. “I just... well, I just hadn’t spoken to you in a while and I was wondering what you’re planning on doing for Christmas? I’m thinking that I’ll head back to France for a week or two.”
Helena was silent for a moment. “Oh, I’m not sure yet. Probably... probably I won’t, Mum. If that’s okay?”
I nodded and swallowed. “Yes, of course.” I gave a false laugh. “You’ve got your own life now, haven’t you? I didn’t expect that, don’t worry. I just wondered if there was anything special you wanted?”
“Anything I wanted?”
“For Christmas. You know.”
“Oh yeah.” Helena laughed. “How big’s your piece of paper?”
I laughed back, relieved at the normalcy of the conversation between us. “Well, I don’t think I can stretch to another car, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”
Helena was silent again. “Actually, Mum, I’ve got a present for you.”
“You’ve got me a present? Already? You normally go out on Christmas Eve and get me something from whichever shop’s still open.”
Oli, listening in on my end of the conversation, smiled and nodded as if to say, ‘I told you. I was right that you should phone her.’ He got up and went to the bar where I could see him ordering a nice bottle of something. The barmaid placed the bottle and two champagne flutes onto the bar.
Helena said, “I was thinking you could do with a car. So, you can have the Peugeot.”
“I don’t need a car,” I said. “Not really. Not here. It’s okay. And anyway, it’s yours.”
“Maybe you could take it back to France then? When you go?”
“Oh,” I said. “Don’t you want it anymore?”
Helena was quiet again. “Thing is, my dad’s bought me a Golf. It’s a bit... you know, newer? It’s a two thousand and nine plate.”
I was so shocked that I couldn’t speak for a moment. Martin was a swimming instructor. How on earth could he afford a four-year-old Golf? It must have cost him ten grand, at least. “Really?” I said. “Well, that’s... that’s lovely.”
“It’s just... you know. The Peugeot’s a left-hand drive and... well, it’s a bit French, isn’t it?”
“People do drive French cars in this country,” I said, indignantly. I hastily added, “But I can understand you wanting a right-hand drive. And something newer. A Golf... wow! Well, that’s... that’s lovely. You can’t go wrong with a German car.
You must be very pleased.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked me.
“No,” I lied. “Of course not. I think it’s great.”
“Yeah. And it’s got inbuilt SatNav, too.”
“That’s fantastic.” That was my idea for a present out of the window.
“I couldn’t believe it when he gave me the keys, and said that it was mine. It’s an early Christmas present,” she added. “Not just a ‘nothing’ present, you know?”
“No. Of course. What does Sky think of it? Isn’t he a bit... well, jealous?” I asked. “Or has Martin bought him one too?”
Helena laughed. “No! Of course not. And Sky hasn’t passed his test yet anyway. So, can I bring the car round? Thing is, I’ve only got the one permit. You know? And you’ve still got the one you got for Auntie Zara’s street, right? So can I leave it with you? You can drive it back to France when you go, can’t you, if you don’t think you’ll need it?”
“Well, I’ve already booked the Eurostar. But never mind. And yes, we’ve still got the permit. I suppose it’ll be handy for when I go to visit Granny. What about the tax and insurance?”
“Still valid. You can just switch it over. Dad’s sorted mine.”
Of course he has. “Well, yes, okay then. Bring it over.”
“How about next Thursday? I’ll come over around seven? We can have a Christmas drink or meal or something at the same time?”
“Sure,” I agreed, my heart lifting at the thought of seeing her again. “Shall I book somewhere?”
“Why not? Okay. ‘Bye Mum. Oh, and Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for, you know, giving me some space.”
I nodded. “That’s okay.” I stopped myself from telling her how much I was looking forward to seeing her again. “’Bye then.”
Oli sat back down in the seat beside me and grinned. “So?”
I handed him back his phone and looked at the two glasses of champagne sitting on the table. I hoped desperately that they weren’t going to turn out to have been premature.
“Well, it’s good news... and bad news.”