‘Not now,’ I said. ‘Before, though. It was you. In the car.’
He sat down abruptly.
‘We were fighting. You were really drunk.’
‘Don’t,’ he said, hands over his face.
‘You grabbed my arm, pulled me.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
I looked down at myself. The blue neoprene knee support and its attendant strapping, the mottled red skin underneath scarred and burned. I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel anything. I just wanted to get away from him.
‘Have you got my bag?’
Mark looked up. ‘What?’
‘My bag. May I have it?’ I kept my voice carefully polite and neutral.
‘It’s in the hall,’ he said. ‘Wait here and I’ll get it for you.’
I moved with him, wanting to get my bag and be out of the house and away from Mark as quickly as possible. Once I was outside, I’d be able to think. I could call Stephen and he’d come and pick me up.
Mark was too quick, though, and he was on the other side of the door and closing it on me before I’d realised what was happening. It slammed shut and there was a scratching sound. I tried to open it, but the original period-feature lock was clearly fully operational. ‘Mark?’
His voice, startlingly close, reached me through the wood. ‘Don’t panic. I just want to talk.’
‘Let me out,’ I said, trying to sound calm and a little bit amused, as if this was just some momentary lapse of social etiquette and not a terrifying abuse of my civil liberties.
‘I want you to understand,’ he said, from the other side of the door. ‘You need to understand. I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Anger momentarily overtook my fear. ‘You made me crash the car! You could’ve killed me. You could’ve killed us both.’
‘I made a mistake. I was upset.’ Mark sounded distressed but his voice was measured, it still had that even tone that suggested a career in politics. It made me more frightened even than the locked door.
I took a deep breath. ‘Okay, fine. I hear you. A mistake. It’s fine, it’s over.’ I just wanted him to open the door, I just wanted to get out.
I heard a scraping sound and pictured Mark sliding down against the other side of the door to sit on the floor. I tried the handle again but it didn’t budge. I looked around but there wasn’t a phone.
‘Mark,’ I said, ‘this is crazy. You have to let me out.’
Silence. I tried the door again.
‘You’re frightening me.’
‘I wanted to stay with you. It all happened really fast.’
‘It’s okay,’ I lied. ‘I don’t care. I understand.’
‘I mean, I was really disorientated.’
Drunk, Mark. You were really drunk. Then the full implication of his words hit home. He’d left me in the car, bleeding and unconscious. ‘You left me for dead.’
‘That’s not true. That’s not how it happened. I think I passed out or something, and then I was on a kind of autopilot. I don’t really remember anything about the accident. I was out of the car and on the other side of the road.’
Nice for you. They had to cut me out of the car. I didn’t say it, though. I pressed my lips together and moved, as quietly as I could, to the other side of the room. I checked the bay window, but the sashes were locked down and I couldn’t see a key. Not that I’d be able to climb down the outside of the house, anyway. I looked out, hoping to see a passer-by who might be able to help, prepared to bang on the glass and wave my arms, but the street was deserted.
I limped back just in time to hear Mark saying, ‘Mina? Meen?’ He opened the door and pushed past me, grabbing my arm and pulling me over. I fell heavily to the floor, my knee screaming and pain blooming behind my eyes.
‘What were you doing?’ He was practically screaming into my face, spittle flying.
‘Nothing, I’m just listening.’
He lay on top of me, crushing my ribs. ‘You were trying to get out, don’t lie.’
‘You’re hurting me, I can’t breathe.’ I felt the pressure ease as he took some of his weight on his arms. His face was an inch from mine and I considered spitting at him. But what then? I might distract him for a split second but I couldn’t do anything with that advantage. He was bigger than me, stronger than me and far, far healthier. I was five feet tall and could barely walk. I had to calm him down. I had to be ingratiating.
‘I’m listening,’ I said. ‘I still don’t understand why you left me. You say you love me—’
‘You weren’t alone. A car had already stopped, there was someone leaning in, checking on you, and some guy was on his phone. I knew they were calling for help. There wasn’t any need for me to get involved.’
‘You were involved.’
‘But I didn’t have to be, that’s the point. What would that have solved? And I had to think of my position. I could lose my job over something like this and I was thinking of our future. I couldn’t buy us a house like this if I lost my job. Don’t you see? I did it for us.’
Suddenly, I realised what this was all about. It wasn’t about my understanding or about love; it was about silence. Mark Fairchild was terrified I was going to break mine. ‘Let me out,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going to the police or the papers or anyone. I just want you to let me go.’
‘You’re just saying that,’ Mark said.
He was right, of course, I’d say anything to make him let me out. The tightness in my chest was worse and there was a band of pain around my skull. I was angry and I was scared.
‘I need you to understand.’ The calm note in his voice had gone now. He sounded the way he did back in the car. I remembered the windscreen wipers going manically, the way he had swung from drunk angry to bat-shit insane. The way I had been truly scared of him.
‘Mark, I do understand,’ I tried. ‘It must’ve been a really scary experience.’
There was a short silence, as if he was weighing up my words, deciding which direction to take next. Finally, he said: ‘I walked along the verge but when I tried to climb the bank, I fell down. I woke up hours later in a ditch. The traffic had built up by then and it was getting light. I hitched a ride and cleaned myself up, then I went to the hospital to find you but you were asleep.’
‘I was in a coma.’ I clamped my lips together. When would I learn to shut up? I had to stop antagonising him.
‘I took one look at you and I knew that this whole experience had been a sign.’
‘A sign?’
‘To stop messing around. To get serious. We have another shot at happiness, Meen. We need to grab it with both hands.’
He sounded evangelical now, and all I could think of was the image of him grabbing me with both hands, wrapping them around my neck and squeezing.
‘I need to think,’ Mark said. Before I knew what was happening he had pulled me upright and into the hall. A door loomed in front of me and Mark wrenched it open. A moment later I was inside a cupboard and the door was slamming shut. I lurched forwards but was too late. The door clicked shut. I pushed against it with all my weight but it didn’t budge. Mark was leaning against the other side. ‘Mark!’ I yelled through the door. ‘Stop messing around.’ I tried to take a step back in order to give myself more leverage to push the door, but my heel struck something hard. I put my hands out and felt the walls of the cupboard and, behind me, the pitted metal surface of a water tank.
‘Just let me think for a moment.’ Mark sounded panicked. His usual calm demeanour had cracked open and I had absolutely no idea what was lurking inside.
It was so dark in the cupboard, I felt the air pushing in on me. The panic making colours flash through the blackness. Or was it the sensory deprivation? Hadn’t I read that somewhere? That if you deprived your eyes of light, the receptors started randomly firing. As if they couldn’t bear the absence of colour and had to start producing their own.
Why hadn’t I kept hold of my bag? My mobile was in the fro
nt pocket. If I had my mobile I could phone 999. I could get help. Without it I was lost and alone and there was no hope. Mark had gone too far. He knew it; I could hear it in his voice. I knew how logical he could be. The tone of his voice had changed. He didn’t sound angry or desperate any more, he sounded thoughtful. Calm. He would follow this situation to its logical conclusion and, as always, seek to minimise his risk. I was the risk now. I remembered the accident and his part in it. I was certainly going to remember that he’d frightened me and grabbed me and locked me in a cupboard. What would he do to keep it quiet? To stop me from telling anybody?
‘Let’s just forget about all this,’ I said. ‘I don’t care about the car. It was an accident. It’s over. Let’s just start again.’
A big sigh. ‘I wish I could believe you meant that.’
Oh, God. Oh, God. He was going to kill me. He could push me down the stone steps, he could hold a pillow over my face. I was weak and I was alone and I was utterly trapped. I felt something brush my cheek in the dark and let out a short, startled yelp.
‘All I wanted was for us to be together, to have a life together. It was going to be so perfect.’ Mark’s voice, on the other side of the door. He sounded robotic, like he was going through a little speech but saying somebody else’s words.
I swiped frantically at my face and neck, checking for the spider or whatever bug had landed on me. There was something soft on my T-shirt, I recognised the texture and shape immediately. A small feather.
Another brush, this time to the other side of my face, and then, something landing lightly on my head. I felt tiny claws tightening on my scalp. I was about to open my mouth, possibly to scream for help, possibly to try and startle the birds away, but feathered bodies pressed against my face and I squeezed my lips shut. Tiny feathers were sneaking up my nose, wings beating around my head, bodies pressing in from every angle. I’ve never been frightened of my birds but right there, in the suffocating dark, I thought: They’re going to kill me.
Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, the birds were gone. All except one. I felt it jump from my head, the air moving as it half hopped, half flew in the cramped space. Then it was burrowing into my jacket, a wriggling warm body trying to insinuate itself between the denim outer and the cloth of my T-shirt. The sensation was unbearable and, in the darkness, horrifying. I couldn’t stop thinking that the bird was trying to get to my skin. To peck at me, to rip at my flesh. I wanted to grab it but I was too scared so instead I frantically unbuttoned my jacket and opened it wide, flapping it to dislodge the bird. I gritted my teeth and brushed my hand over the inside of my jacket, waiting for the sharp pain of beak or claw. Instead, there was just clear air. The bird had gone. I patted myself quickly, checking for it, and found something else. A rectangular lump in my inside jacket pocket. My phone.
I slipped it out of the pocket. Mark wasn’t talking any more and now, with rescue a possibility, I was frightened he would open the door, snatch the phone before I could do anything. I pressed the screen, hoping it wouldn’t make a sound as it woke up. ‘Mark?’ I spoke loudly, wanting to cover any possible noises. ‘We can work this out,’ I said.
Nothing.
The phone was on, the screen glowing so brightly that it made my eyes water to look at it. I wanted to phone 999 straight away, but I knew that Mark was listening and that he’d hear me do it. I didn’t know whether you could text the emergency services, so instead I scrolled to Stephen’s number and typed a quick text. I asked for help, not knowing if he’d realise how seriously I meant it, and pressed send. Next, I dialled 999, my fingers fumbling and making mistakes. I had the phone up to my ear and had just started to say ‘police’ and ‘help’, the panic overtaking again with the adrenaline surge of calling, when light flooded the cupboard.
Mark was there, roaring. I couldn’t hear his words or the words of the emergency operator. I just kept talking. Mark knocked the phone out of my hand, but I carried on talking, I thought I was giving the address as fast as I could, but I could hear my voice and it was just garbled sounds.
I wanted to pick up the phone and say ‘Come quickly’. I wanted to say ‘He’s going to kill me’, because in that moment I believed it, but I didn’t get the chance.
My terror was so complete I couldn’t really see Mark any more. He was just a dark bulky shape, then his arms were around me, hugging me tightly. My face was pressed into the place between his chest and his armpit. In the past, that had been a pleasant place to be, but now I struggled against him.
To my surprise, he let me go. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid.’
My muscles were trembling and my bad leg was throbbing horribly. ‘I need to—’ I started to say, but then felt my head swimming.
Mark caught me before I hit the ground and I was vaguely aware of him helping me down the stairs and into the kitchen. Once I was sitting on a chair, he went to the sink and got one of the pristine glasses from the cupboard, filled it with tap water.
He passed it to me without saying anything, his eyes sad and beseeching.
After a few sips, I felt my head clear. ‘You can’t do things like that,’ I said. ‘You scared me.’
‘I know,’ Mark said. He sounded wretched. ‘I’m sorry, Meen. It’ll never happen again.’
I drank some more water, keeping hold of the glass and thinking of how I could use it as a weapon if Mark lost control again. I didn’t feel scared, though. Perhaps I’d passed through and come out the other side, used up all my adrenaline or something, but I felt weirdly calm.
Mark got down on to his knees next to my chair, an arm’s length away. ‘Mina, please.’
‘I don’t think we’re good for each other,’ I said, keeping my voice level. ‘I’m not angry with you. And I really don’t care about what happened in the car. I meant what I said, it’s in the past.’
He tipped his head to one side. ‘Why would you forgive me so easily?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not going to tell anybody about it. I’ve got no interest in ruining your life or getting you into trouble.’
Mark shook his head. ‘I wish I could believe you. I want to believe you, but after . . .’ He gestured helplessly, seeming to encompass the house he’d bought, my strapped up leg, the cupboard he’d recently used to imprison me.
‘I wasn’t very fair to you,’ I said. ‘Now that my memories are back, I’m quite ashamed of a lot of them. All you ever did was love me and I pushed you away. I was cruel. I should have broken up with you ages ago, but I didn’t. Being with you made me feel safe.’
Mark winced.
‘And it was convenient. I made you think there was something more between us when there wasn’t, when I knew it was never going to work long-term.’ I took a breath. ‘I didn’t love you and I shouldn’t have kept you hoping. I’m sorry for that.’
‘You did love me,’ Mark said. ‘Once. I saw it.’
I wanted to say ‘I really didn’t’ but he was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, instead.
‘So, what happens now?’
‘You need to get a new job.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mark looked instantly more his usual self.
‘London’s nice, you could try there.’
‘I just bought this house,’ he said. ‘And I have a good position at work, I’m not looking for a change.’
‘And I’m not looking to make trouble, but I can’t see you every day at the hospital. I can’t work for you. I forgive you and I don’t want to punish you, but I don’t think I should have to leave my job in order to protect you. That doesn’t seem fair.’
Mark opened his mouth but no sound came out.
‘You get a job in another hospital, sell this place or rent it out, I don’t care. Then we can both put this behind us and nobody gets hurt.’
‘And if I don’t agree?’
I shook my head. ‘You do agree. Really. Just have a little think about it and
you’ll see that it’s for the best all round.’
The doorbell rang and Mark jumped. ‘Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ.’
I felt a surge of panic. I didn’t want the truce to break, for Mark to flip out. ‘It’s okay. If it’s the police, I’ll tell them everything’s fine.’
It wasn’t the police. It was Stephen. I heard his voice and stood up in time to see him push past Mark in the hall. ‘Mina!’ he called through. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m okay,’ I called back and then he was there, his hands on my shoulders, his sweet concerned face peering down at me.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Mark had gone from placating to furious in one, frighteningly easy, step. ‘I knew something was going on between you.’
‘Do shut up,’ I said to him. ‘You’re not in any position to make accusations.’
Mark shut his mouth.
‘I’m fine,’ I said to Stephen, keeping my voice carefully calm. ‘I just need a lift home.’
His forehead wrinkled and he looked around at Mark, who’d followed him into the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’ He turned back to me. ‘Mina, you said—’
‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘But it’s fine. We were having a bit of an argument but it’s over now. I just want to go.’ I had the strongest feeling that I had to keep everything as calm and normal as possible. That this was the only possible way we would all get out alive.
‘Okay,’ Stephen said. He still looked worried, like he wanted to give me a quick physical exam, shine his little torch into my eyes and ears.
I held on to him, leaning against his body and letting him step around so that I was shielded from view.
Mark had visibly calmed himself. I could see him calculating the new situation. There was a witness now, another player. The situation had changed and he altered his demeanour to suit it. He was already remaking the last twenty minutes over to suit himself. ‘Here are your keys,’ he said, passing across the keys to my flat.
‘Thank you,’ I said. I was careful not to touch his fingers as I took them, as if the slightest contact would set him off again, change the rules of this fragile truce.
In the Light of What We See Page 27