Darryl, one of her many boyfriends, had a distinctly mean streak. Effie clearly remembered hearing the shouts, the furniture being toppled over in the next room, the way he’d pinch her mum’s arms whenever she’d snap back at him in public. That had been Penny’s one and only attempt at normality, living a standard life at Effie’s request. At eleven years old, all she’d wanted was to be like everyone else – to have a mum who had a normal job, who wore normal clothes and had a normal boyfriend, like Darryl. After eight months of abuse, of trying and failing to shield Effie from what was going on, Penny had vowed never to do it again. She’d said that if living with Darryl was normal, she’d rather live her life as abnormally as she could. Effie sniffed. She couldn’t go to her mum. Penny would be too disappointed that Effie hadn’t learned from her own mistakes.
Scanning the bedroom, her gaze swept over the pictures on the walls until she stopped to look at the small frame holding the receipt from the bar where she’d met Oliver. His battery had died, and she’d written her number on the back of it. He’d said the old-school gesture was romantic and she’d agreed, especially when she found out that he’d kept it, even after he’d stored her number in his phone. It was things like that that made a home, or so she’d thought. She’d always wanted a house full of keepsakes, a kitchen table that was always laden with books and papers, a hallway littered with wellies and shoes. She’d wanted a house that felt lived in and warm but the beautiful, smart, respectable home she now found herself in felt positively arctic.
She looked at the bag again and scowled, her sadness slowly being overtaken by fury. Why was she packing? Why should she be the one to leave? She tipped the bag upside down and replaced her things with Oliver’s, randomly pulling things from drawers and the wardrobe. She hesitated when she touched the sweater she’d bought him at Christmas, remembering how perfect that morning had been. It felt like a million years ago as she sat on the bed again, shivering. He’d scared her so much she’d wet herself. Shame crept its way down her back. It wasn’t a good place to be in, no matter which way she looked at it.
Her head jerked up as Oliver’s footsteps bounded up the stairs, and she stood up, holding the bag as the door swung open. Terror held her in its grip so strongly that she couldn’t even breathe, but Oliver said nothing until he looked down and saw the bag in her hand. His eyes flicked from the bag to the heap of clothes on the bed. When he looked back at Effie and the grim set of her mouth, he inhaled sharply and his face crumpled.
‘You’re leaving?’
Effie didn’t say anything. There was nothing she could say.
‘You can’t.’ His voice was thick with suppressed tears as he shook his head. ‘You can’t leave, not like this. You know I didn’t mean it.’ He stepped towards her, but she backed into the wall.
‘You said the same thing the morning after Valentine’s Day.’
She thought back to how he’d slapped her and how he’d apologised, saying it was reflex. Not meaning to do something implied what happened was an accident, and while he’d managed to convince her that it was after Valentine’s Day, there was no way that what he’d just done could have been anything other than intentional.
‘That was different,’ he replied. His voice was soft and coaxing, but it made Effie’s skin crawl. ‘I just—’
‘Don’t come anywhere near me.’ She backed into the wall as he stepped towards her. ‘Take one more step and I swear to god, I’ll scream.’
He stopped in the middle of the room. The beam of a car’s headlights sped past, creating a wave of shadows on the wall as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
‘I’m not going to hurt you – you know that. You’re my world. I can’t lose you.’
She tightened her grip on the bag. ‘You already have.’
‘Effie.’ His voice cracked. ‘You can’t.’
His eyes, so dark and menacing just a while ago, looked back at her with pathetic sadness.
‘Give me one good reason why I should stay.’ She winced at the pain in her stomach.
‘Because I love you. I know I’ve got problems, but I’ll fix them, I promise. I was angry that you’d lied, and work’s been getting on top of me. You know I’m not a violent man, Effie.’
She pointed towards her eye. ‘So did I do this to myself?’
‘You made me do that. You hit me. You slapped me, remember?’
Yes, she remembered, but that had been reflex. Punching her in the face and kicking her senseless wasn’t, and she shook her head at him, disgusted that he was trying to turn it around.
‘Don’t you dare blame me. I hit you, but you didn’t have to hit me back. You didn’t have to kick me like a ragdoll and spit in my face.’ Oliver flinched as she hurled her words at him.
‘I know I went too far. I don’t even know what happened.’ His shoulders drooped.
‘You went through my phone. You had no right.’
‘She texted while you were in the shower. I did call you, but you must not have heard me. It’s not like I intentionally went through your messages. I’ve never done that – I trust you. I love you, you know I do.’
She looked him in the eye. ‘So you keep saying. But the thing is, I don’t want love like this.’
Oliver sniffed as tears rolled down his cheeks. She’d never seen him like this before, so contrite. He looked like he’d shrunk to a tenth of his size as he stood in the middle of the room.
‘Please don’t say that. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll take anger management classes, whatever it takes. Just please, don’t leave me.’
Her head flooded with the memory of him holding her hair and spitting in her face, the way he’d prodded her with his foot.
‘You’re fucking disgusting.’
Her stomach turned as she tried to stop her chin from wobbling, trying not to cry or show him any signs of weakness.
‘Baby,’ – he dropped to his knees and looked at her – ‘please. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, don’t go.’
‘I’m not.’
For a second, Oliver’s eyes brightened, and he reached out a hand towards her, but the look in his eyes gave way to confusion as she rolled her shoulders back, ignoring the pain and threw the bag at him.
‘You are.’
18.
Effie winced as she dabbed a cotton wool ball doused with antiseptic lotion on the cut under her eye. It stung like hell, but it was nothing compared to the pain she was feeling inside.
He’d gone. He hadn’t even put up a fight when she’d thrown the bag at him. It was like he’d admitted defeat as he slowly picked it up and walked downstairs without saying a word before leaving the house. There was nothing he could have said anyway. He must have known after seeing her face that there were no words that could ever make what he’d done okay.
The skin under her eye socket was swollen and split, streaked with dark, dry blood. A deep red bruise had already spread, covering her eye completely. She didn’t need to look under her jumper. She knew her side and abdomen were covered in red blotches, like a rash.
Effie threw the cotton ball into the bin. The look on Oliver’s face when he’d come into the bedroom . . . For a second, it had flickered with shame and disgust. At least, she hoped that’s what it was. Despite everything he’d done, she didn’t want to believe she’d really married a monster, incapable of true remorse. The truth was, she hadn’t expected it to be so easy to tell him to leave and really mean it. What did that say about their marriage, about her? Was any of it even real? Had she ever really loved him if it had been so easy to tell him to go? And what if he’d really meant what he’d said, about him changing? What if what happened was just a blip, and he really was still the nice, dependable Oliver she’d married? Her head was filled with so many doubts, but all she felt now was numb.
For the third night in a row, she lay in bed, staring at
the ceiling and running through every memory of her relationship with Oliver, trying to pin down where it had all gone wrong. And for the third morning in a row, she watched the sun rise over the rooftops through her window, having reached no conclusion.
Her phone vibrated on the bed next to her. Another voicemail. She’d diverted all calls, and if the rate of alerts was anything to go by, her mailbox was probably full. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. Instead, she listened to her street waking up. She listened to the postman opening and closing front gates until she heard her own letterbox clang, followed by the thud of envelopes hitting the floor. As the hours passed and the sun rose higher, front doors opened and closed as people left for work, and the chatter of children on their way to school floated through the air.
Her mobile vibrated again, and she sighed, sitting up. Maybe it was work. She’d told them she was ill and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week, but it wasn’t unheard of for them to call on a day off. She held her breath as she took the divert off, bracing herself for the barrage of missed call alerts from Oliver. As the notifications popped up on her screen, she frowned. Missed calls from Lou, a couple from Mickey, two from the office and fifteen from Izzy, but not one call or text from Oliver. She was about to dial through to her voicemail when it rang, with Izzy’s name blinking on her screen. Effie diverted it before switching her phone off and burying herself back under the covers.
Two days later, Effie jolted awake and sat up in bed. She wiped the sweat from her chest and strained her ears, listening for the noise that had woken her from an already restless sleep. She’d never noticed before just how big the house was. It seemed like every room had doubled in size, and noises she’d never heard before filled the house at night. The boiler ticked over loudly, and the wind whistled through the sash windows. She’d taken to closing all of the doors in the house so they wouldn’t creak. For peace of mind, she’d had the locks changed on the same day Oliver had left, but even still, being alone was testing her to the limits. After a few minutes of silence, she slowly lay back down.
Stop being ridiculous.
She’d lived on her own for years; it wasn’t as if she was scared of living by herself. Effie turned on her side and took a deep breath. She was being paranoid, that was all. The numbers on the digital clock on the bedside table flicked over, and she closed her eyes. She had to shift the dull throb that had lodged itself in the back of her head since the night Oliver had left. She had to sleep, but the sound of rustling outside made her eyes snap wide open.
It’s probably a fox. Go to sleep.
But when she heard the noise again, her paranoia became something else. There was someone in the garden, she was sure of it. She sat bolt upright and grabbed her phone from the bedside table. What if it was a burglar? All of the windows and doors were locked, and the alarm was enabled. A burglar wouldn’t be able to get in without making a real disturbance, but her skin bloomed with fear as she sat perfectly still.
Calm down. It’s nothing. You’re overtired, and your mind is playing tricks on you.
If she didn’t hear anything else in the next two minutes, she’d pull herself together and try to sleep.
A minute passed. Then two. Slowly, she began to relax and lay back in bed, her heartbeat slowing to a steadier pace. Even if it had been a would-be burglar, he’d have given up and moved on to the next house after seeing no way in. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and loudly exhaled. There was nothing to be scared of – except for the unexpected vibration of her phone. Her stomach jumped as it buzzed next to her, and she almost let out a nervous laugh. She was turning into a jumbled bag of nerves.
‘Seriously, you need to chill the hell out.’ She heaved a sigh as she spoke quietly to herself in the dark room and slid a thumb across the screen.
She read the message, and tears pricked her eyes. She turned her phone off and put it in the drawer, but she could still see the message as clearly as if her mind had photographed it.
I miss you. I need you. I love you.
She was sure all three statements were true, and a flash of confusion and anger hit her. Why had he messaged her? Did he really think a nine-word text message was going to do anything to repair what had happened? And why had she felt a glimmer of happiness when she’d seen his name? This was the man who’d made her wet herself through fear. The only thing she should feel thinking about him was hate.
Effie huffed and turned onto her back. She’d meant what she’d said to him. She didn’t need his kind of love.
19.
These are some impressive flowers. They were left by the door.’ Lou handed Effie a bunch of deep red roses and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?’
Effie looked down into the flowers and sighed. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
As Lou stepped past her into the house, Effie took a deep breath. Since Oliver had gone, she’d avoided everyone, and it was only when Lou banged on her front door with relentless vigour that Effie took the first tentative steps to re-entering the world. She looked at the flowers again and put them on the sideboard without reading the card. With their luscious, thick blood-red petals and expensive cellophane and paper wrapping, she knew they were from Oliver, and he had nothing to say that she wanted to hear. She took a quick look in the mirror. Thanks to the Internet, she’d found a plethora of makeup tips to cover bruises, and she’d been experimenting, since she’d have to return to work soon. Still, she took her hair from the ponytail it was in to let it fall over her face.
‘How are you?’ Effie asked. Lou was looking much better than she had the last time Effie had seen her.
‘I’m fine. Nothing’s really changed, apart from you dropping off the face of the earth. What’s going on?’
‘Tea? The kettle’s just boiled, and it’s a long story.’
Lou nodded and followed Effie into the kitchen. It was a long story, and she needed to come up with a cover quickly.
‘I’m sorry I disappeared.’ Effie looked down as she dropped teabags into two mugs.
‘What’s up with you? Have you been sick? You don’t look so good.’
Effie slowly pressed a teaspoon against one of the teabags. ‘I’ve been better.’
‘Where’s Olly?’
Effie sighed, knowing there was no way to dress it up. ‘He’s moved out.’
Lou’s jaw dropped. ‘No way. When?’
Effie slid a cup towards her. ‘Last week.’
‘Why? I mean, what happened?’
All Effie could do was shrug. Despite being alone with her thoughts for over a week, she still hadn’t come up with an acceptable cover story as to why she was now living alone. My husband beat me up was a sentence she never wanted to utter aloud.
‘The flowers are from him?’ Lou asked, and Effie nodded as she picked up her cup. ‘Has something happened with Smith?’
Smith. The sweet smell of sweat and grass filled Effie’s nose, and a pang hit her in the solar plexus so hard, her thumb slipped in the handle of her cup.
‘Shit,’ Effie swore as half the cup of tea spilled down her top, scalding her skin.
She handed her cup to Lou and whipped off her vest. As Lou gasped, Effie stood frozen on the spot.
Shit.
How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t look up at her best friend. She daren’t. She didn’t want to see the look of horror and pity that would no doubt be plastered all over her face.
‘Effie,’ Lou whispered and put her cup down. ‘What the hell?’
She flinched as Lou reached out and touched her skin. She’d grown so used to seeing it over the past few days that, perversely, she’d almost forgotten it was even there. Effie closed her eyes, wishing she could rewind just a few seconds. Lou’s seeing the bruise would change everything. It would make it all real. Until now, Effie had been able to at least try to push wh
at had happened from her mind, almost as if it hadn’t happened at all and that she’d told Oliver to leave because of something else.
‘What happened?’
The entire right side of her abdomen was covered in big yellow and brown bruises. It wasn’t anywhere near as tender as it had been, but that was little consolation.
‘Did Olly do this to you?’ Lou’s voice was thick under the strain of tears.
Effie stayed quiet. Why had she taken her bloody vest off? Now what was she going to do?
‘Effie? Did he do this to you?’
If she didn’t speak now, Lou would know for sure, and everything would be ruined. Lou would make her go to the police and she’d have to sit in a room, telling people all the ins and outs of her life.
‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
‘No.’ The sudden intensity in Lou’s voice made Effie snap her head up. ‘Don’t.’
‘I’ll wring his fucking neck.’
Lou slammed down her cup, and Effie squeezed the vest in her hands. ‘Lou, stop. It really wasn’t his fault. Honestly.’
Why was she protecting him? Lou was her best friend. They didn’t have secrets. Effie looked at her. Lou’s face was set with horror, concern and an anger Effie had never seen before.
‘So what happened then? And don’t tell me you walked into a door.’
‘Can I change my top? Then we’ll talk.’
Lou looked back at her for a few seconds before sighing loudly as she nodded, and Effie ran up the stairs. As she pulled a fresh T-shirt from the drawer, she ran through excuses in her head. She wasn’t protecting Oliver; she was protecting herself. She didn’t want the drama that telling the truth would bring, and what did it matter now anyway? Oliver was gone. They were over. He couldn’t hurt her again. She headed back downstairs and into the kitchen.
Lou shook her head. ‘Please tell me why you have a bruise the size of Australia on your side.’
Love You Better Page 18