Effie slid into the chair opposite. ‘I fell down the stairs.’
Lou rolled her eyes.
‘I’m serious. We were arguing upstairs, and he stormed out. I tried to go after him, and I tripped.’
Effie looked at her, willing her to believe what she’d said. It was half true – they had argued upstairs. She’d read somewhere once that if you were going to lie, you should try to incorporate some truth into it, to make it convincing.
‘Arguing about what?’
‘I dunno, the usual stuff.’
‘Usual stuff that made him move out and gave you those bruises? Do you think I was born yesterday? At least come up with something more original than falling down the bloody stairs.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Swear it. Swear on my life.’ Lou stared at her and shook her head when Effie didn’t reply. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She already knows.
Lou wasn’t stupid. Effie knew she could see through her lie. She looked at Lou, and her stomach swirled. Would it really be so bad to admit it? Would Lou really pity her?
Tell her.
They’d been friends since Effie’s first day at secondary school. She could trust her.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Effie said quietly. ‘It’s not like he’s been beating me up all the time.’
‘So he did hit you?’ Lou slammed her hand on the table and stood up, shaking her head as she paced the kitchen. When she stopped and looked back at Effie, her eyes were blazing with fury. ‘It doesn’t matter how often he’s been doing it; he still hit you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’
‘Lou, I’m fine. Really. Do I look like a battered housewife to you?’
‘Quite frankly, yes.’ Lou shook her head. ‘Effie, you need to call the police. You need to call the police and get his sorry arse thrown into jail.’
Effie sighed. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve kicked him out. It’s over, and he knows it.’
‘And what’s to stop him coming back and doing it again? You need to go to the police.’
‘What’s the point? To have some can’t-be-arsed police officer come round and ask questions and do nothing about it?’
‘It’s not like that anymore. They take domestic violence seriously now, Eff.’
Effie shivered at the words. Domestic violence. She was already just another statistic.
‘Olly’s a barrister. I can’t go up against him.’
Lou shook her head again. ‘That little shit. He deserves to be locked up until he rots. All you’re doing by not going to the police is protecting him.’
‘I’m not. I’m just trying to get on with my life.’
‘You do know I can report it on your behalf? It doesn’t have to come from you.’
‘I mean it, Lou. No police.’
Lou took her phone from her pocket. ‘Then at least let me take pictures, just in case you change your mind. Think about it a bit more at least. Just because he’s a barrister doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any kind of justice.’
‘Why?’ Effie’s arms instinctively covered her stomach as she pictured seeing shots of her bruised body plastered over a host of social media sites.
‘You have to have something to fight with. If he ever does anything like this again—’
‘He won’t. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’
‘Just in case,’ Lou pressed. ‘I still think you should go to the police, but if you won’t, then at least let me take some photos.’
Effie slowly lifted the top. ‘Okay, but you can’t show them to anyone.’
‘Of course not. Unless he tries something like this again.’
The clicking of Lou’s camera echoed through the kitchen, and Effie closed her eyes. Usually when Lou took photos, they were selfies of the two of them pulling silly faces and having fun. This time, they were documentation of abuse. How had her life come to this?
Later that night, Effie sat on the sofa, trying not to feel dwarfed in her big house. Lou had offered to put her up, but Effie couldn’t quite bring herself to leave. This was her dream house after all. It was just that she hadn’t banked on feeling so lonely when Oliver had left. She’d spent nights alone in the house when he’d worked late and once when he’d gone to a conference in Birmingham, but she’d always known he’d be back. Now, it was different. Perversely, she missed his presence in the house. She missed having someone else around.
She draped a blanket over her legs and switched the television over to reruns of Friends while she ate a bowl of soup. It was the first proper meal she’d eaten for days, and she greedily wiped the bowl dry with the last of a crusty loaf, feeling oddly calm. Lou finding out had released some of the tension Effie hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. Someone else knew, and she trusted Lou to keep her secret, whether she agreed with Effie’s feelings on what to do next or not.
She put the bowl on the coffee table and curled up under the blanket. How many times had she seen this episode? Too many, probably, but with the absence of anyone else in the house, its familiarity was almost as comforting as her blanket. When the door knocked, she ignored it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she was too snug to move. Last weekend, two Jehovah’s Witnesses had knocked on their door. It was probably them again, and she couldn’t be bothered to politely decline. She ignored the persistent knocking and hoped they wouldn’t look through the window.
‘Effie?’
At the sound of Oliver’s voice, her entire body ran cold and froze, as if the temperature in the house had suddenly plummeted. Her heart stopped mid-beat. The voice she’d heard was muffled, but there was no doubt that it was his.
‘Effie. Open up.’ He knocked again, but she didn’t budge until she heard his key trying to fit in the lock.
There was no way he could get in, but she shot up from the sofa and went to the living room doorway, peering into the hallway. Oliver’s silhouette stood on the other side of the frosted glass panes. She saw him press the side of his hand against the door as he tried to peer inside.
‘Effie? Come on, let me in. I just want to talk.’
His voice was soft and gentle, like it usually was when he wasn’t stressed or angry. It sounded like Oliver. Like her husband. She didn’t move as he crouched down and lifted the letterbox, looking inside.
‘I know you’re there. I can see your feet.’
Her breath caught in her throat as she moved backwards into the living room.
‘I just want to talk. Things have changed. I’ve started an anger management course, and I really want to tell you about it.’
Effie closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She had to stand her ground. She couldn’t let him try to explain and twist things around in her head.
‘Come on, baby. We don’t want the whole street to know our business.’
She heard the letterbox close and after a few seconds, she let out her breath in one long, slow exhale. He was gone. She’d resisted him. Even though her heart ached at the sound of his voice, she couldn’t, under any circumstances, let him get inside her head, especially now Lou knew what had happened. It was bad enough to be an abused partner, but it would be even worse to be the abused partner who kept going back for more. She turned around to sit back on the sofa and froze as her breath caught in her throat.
Looking back at her were Oliver’s blue eyes, big, round and sad as they peered through the window. Her shoulders sagged as she stared back into them. He didn’t move or say anything – he just looked at her. Her spine tingled as she took in the features of his face. She knew them as well as she knew her own.
Remember what he did. Remember how he hit you.
Effie closed her eyes against the tears. How did he do this? How could he make her begin to doubt herself? Her breathing quickened as she waited for him to do something, anything. Why wasn’t he ge
tting angry? Why wasn’t he banging on the window, calling her all the names under the sun? Why was he making this so damned difficult?
‘You’re fucking disgusting.’
He’d made her wet herself. He’d beaten her like an unwanted dog.
‘I love you.’
Even through the glass, she could hear what he’d said.
‘You’re fucking disgusting.’
She remembered how he’d spat on her, feeling the warm fluid trickle down her cheek in her mind. Where was that Oliver now? Why was the good version of her husband standing in front of her, looking at her like she was the oxygen he needed to survive instead of the uncontrollable monster she’d thrown out? Why was he getting into her head, making the good memories of their marriage play out in her mind like a montage, making her wonder if she’d been hasty in telling him to leave. She shook her head as she found herself wondering what would happen if she talked back or opened the door, and whether everyone deserved a second chance.
Effie opened her eyes and slowly, Oliver raised his fingers to his mouth and pressed them against his lips before touching the window in front of him.
‘I’m sorry.’
He looked at her again with those sad blue eyes, turned around and walked away. She heard him walk around to the front of the house and open and close the front gate. When she heard the BMW drive away, she slumped to the floor, hugged her knees to her chest and cried.
20.
Effie put her head in her hands. Her eyes were aching. She hated spreadsheets at the best of times, but this felt like torture. After a week off, she’d returned to work, but all she wanted was to go straight back home again.
‘Are you alright?’ Nikki asked.
Effie nodded and rubbed her eyes. ‘Yeah, fine. Just this thing is making my eyes hurt.’
‘I know it’s a bit of a mess. I tried, but I suck at Excel.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for taking care of it while I was off.’
She threw Nikki a smile, but the spreadsheet she’d carefully constructed no longer made sense. Something had happened to the formulas, and she couldn’t see what it was.
‘No worries.’ Nikki smiled back. ‘Are you sure you’re better, though? You look a bit peaky.’
‘It’ll take a while to get my strength back, but I’ll be fine.’ Effie turned back to her screen and squinted her watery eyes.
‘My flatmate had salmonella poisoning too once. I’ve never seen someone so sick before. It can really knock you for six. You shouldn’t have rushed back; I could’ve covered for you for longer.’
Salmonella poisoning. That was her excuse for being off, and thanks to the lack of sleep, her body really did look like it had been through the wars.
‘I had to come back sometime.’ Effie shrugged. It was true. As tempting as it was to hide away from the world, she’d had to leave the house.
Since Oliver had turned up, she’d felt trapped, even though he hadn’t threatened her in any way. He’d come back once more, left flowers and called through the letterbox, telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her, how much he’d changed. Afterwards, she’d lain wide awake in bed, already unsettled by the noises of the house, convinced that he was standing outside watching the house, and it was messing with her mind. It didn’t make her feel worried or scared. It was worse than that. It made her feel sorry that their marriage had deteriorated in such a bad way and that the person she’d thought was her rock was sleeping somewhere else, in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, instead of the one they’d once shared.
Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and she was so tired that even her teeth ached. All she wanted to do was sleep, and looking at a screen full of numbers wasn’t helping.
‘Did you hear about Sketch yet?’
Effie shook her head. ‘No. Why? What’s happened?’
‘XFM have profiled them and are championing their single this week. They’ve been booked for an interview on Friday and everything. How cool is that?’
‘That’s amazing,’ Effie replied. ‘Doug must be over the moon.’
‘I’ll say. Smith too.’
Effie sighed at the mention of his name. Smith was supposed to be the one with the messed-up life – surrounded by drugs, sleeping with another guy’s girlfriend while cheating on his own and getting beaten up to the point of hospitalisation. When had it all changed? Ever since he’d come back, her life had started to spiral out of control while his was steadying out. He had a girlfriend, a nice flat and a good job – a job where he was proving himself. Would he have been like this if they’d stayed together?
Effie pressed her fingers into her eyes. The truth was, it didn’t matter. She’d screwed everything up. She’d married someone she thought she knew and ended up on her own, and even if she hadn’t, it was too late. Smith was taken, pinned down into a relationship with Mile-High Claire.
She looked at the spreadsheet again and shook her head with a sigh. ‘Everything’s fucked.’
‘Okay, okay, shush.’ Doug called for quiet in the office and turned up the volume on his computer. The excitement was palpable as the Archive family huddled around his desk.
It had been the longest workweek of her life. Oliver hadn’t turned up again, but all the sleepless nights listening out for him had taken their toll, not to mention trying to appear normal in the office. She was struggling, but at five thirty on Friday afternoon, she’d stayed behind with everyone else to listen to Sketch’s interview. There was no doubt as to what this opportunity meant. Rush-hour drive time was one of two peaks for listenership, and all week long Archive’s collective energy had been ploughed into advertising and making sure the whole world knew about it.
Effie leaned against the wall and fanned her face with her hand. The blazing sunshine and heat outside would be perfect if she were sitting in her garden, but being in the office was a different story. She looked at her colleagues, all so engrossed by the radio that they barely seemed to notice the sweltering heat.
‘This is it.’ Doug grinned as Sketch’s debut single played through the speakers, and Effie smiled as everyone applauded, clapping their hands and slapping each other on the back. The long hours, the preparations for the launch – even the mind-numbing process of mailing out CDs – it had paid off. She looked at Doug, who was positively glowing. After twenty-odd years, Archive had a band that had made the transition from being an underground success to being on the cusp of a mainstream breakthrough. Next to him, Smith stood with his back to her and his arms folded, his T-shirt pulled taut against his broad shoulders. Even with his back to her, she could sense his pride.
Once the song had finished and the radio DJ introduced the band, the chatter in the office stopped, but Effie felt like she was on the outside, looking in. Her head was thick and fuzzy. When had she last slept for more than a couple of hours at a time? She blinked and pressed a hand to her forehead as the ground gently swayed under her feet. Jesus, it was hot. Her nostrils felt like they’d shrunk as she tried to take a deep breath.
Smith turned his head a fraction, and she moved her hand, pressing the backs of her fingers against the nape of her neck to try to cool herself down, but they felt as hot as the air around her.
‘You okay?’ Smith whispered, leaning back to look at her.
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot.’
He turned back to listen to the radio, and Effie tried to concentrate. What were they talking about? She could hear them speaking, but the words were jumbling up, meshing with the buzzing in her ears like static. She took another deep breath, and Smith turned around again.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘Yeah,’ she whispered back, but she didn’t feel alright. Her pulse was loud in her ears, and her head was getting lighter by the second.
‘You don’t look it.’ Smith frowned.
She was about to answer back, but her vision swam, and for a second there were two Smiths standing in front of her instead of one.
‘Come on, you need some air.’ He turned and put his hand on her arm.
‘The interview . . .’ she mumbled. Why couldn’t she speak properly?
Smith opened his mouth, but she didn’t hear a single word of what he said. The inside of her head turned to wool as her legs gave way beneath her, and everything went black.
‘Effie?’
Effie slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight. Her head felt oddly disconnected from her body.
‘Don’t worry – you’re alright.’ Smith was crouching in front of her, looking into her eyes. ‘You fainted.’
‘I feel sick,’ she replied shakily.
‘Here.’
He handed her a glass of water and kept his fingers at the base, steadying it as she took a sip with trembling hands. Slowly, the buzzing in her ears receded, and the brightness in her vision dimmed. She felt the heat of the sun on her arms and looked around. They were outside on the balcony.
‘How is she?’ Doug asked, stepping through the door.
Smith nodded. ‘She’s alright.’
‘Oh, god. The interview,’ Effie groaned.
She’d fainted right in the middle of it. She’d missed it and probably caused a commotion at the same time.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Doug replied softly. ‘All you need to worry about right now is getting better.’
‘I’m fine, really. It just got too hot in there.’
Doug frowned. ‘The air conditioning is on full blast.’
It was? She hadn’t felt it at all. If anything, she’d felt like she was in a sauna, wearing winter clothes.
‘Effie, you’re not ready to be back at work. You need to go home and rest.’
She opened her mouth to reply, but he put his hand up to stop her.
‘No arguments. Rest. We’ll make sure you get home okay once you’re feeling a bit steadier, and you’re not to come back until you’re fit and healthy. Understood?’
Love You Better Page 19