As I stood, a guard came over and accompanied me to the ladies’ toilets. I had a quick wee, washed my hands, saw they were trembling like crazy. I had to get myself together, couldn’t let myself fall to pieces so quickly. I took a sip from the cold water pooled in my hand then splashed my face lightly with the remainder. Deep breath, a quick check in the mirror; I looked okay, no real outward signs of nerves. That gave me the courage to walk out of the loo again, get patted down, then march back over to Daryl.
‘I want a divorce,’ I announced before I’d even sat down again.
The pupils in Daryl’s ice-blue eyes contracted. ‘I’m trying to be civil to you. I wanted to see you and talk about things, and you can’t even be bothered to ask me how I am before you start with your demands,’ he said, voice dangerous and low.
‘I didn’t come here for a row,’ I replied, voice steady, fidgety fingers plaited firmly in lap. ‘But I didn’t come here for a chat about old times either.’
He looked at my hands, eyes narrowing. ‘You’re not even wearing your wedding ring. We’re still married you know – or are you out fucking other people already? I bet you’ve been doing that ever since I got arrested, haven’t you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snapped. I know I shouldn’t have shown him he’d touched a nerve but I couldn’t help it.
Instantly he leaned forward and we started a whispered argument, faces inches from one another.
‘How could you?’ he demanded.
‘How…?’ I was flabbergasted. ‘How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful when you’re in prison – or doesn’t rape count as adultery?! You hypocritical, vile… How could you do those things? Why, Daryl? Why? I need to know.’
Instead of answering he reached out towards me. ‘Don’t touch me!’ I hissed, and squirmed away as though he was poisonous.
The anger rose inside me, making me shake far more than the nerves had. I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of him, but snapped my mouth shut and shook my head. Not like this. I needed to stay calm and in control. Right now I was playing into his hands; he wanted to rile me. I had to stick with my plan.
Frustration registered on his face as he realised I wasn’t going to bite further. ‘You’re a cunt, you’re a cunt. You’re just a fucking cunt,’ he sneered.
Those were the kind of words he’d thrown at his other victims too, when he’d been raping them. Thinking of them gave me strength.
‘Well, that’s charming,’ I replied sarcastically. ‘You’d think given the circumstances, of the two of us I’d be the one swearing and name calling, but I’m not.’
That was the moment I’d been waiting for. It was the tipping of the balance of power. Suddenly Daryl didn’t seem to know what to do now I was the one being calm and he was floundering in rage.
‘I think you should leave,’ he snapped.
‘I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, when I’ve finished our talk.’ I couldn’t believe my own gall. It felt exhilarating rather than nerve-racking.
‘You’ve really fucking blown it now,’ he shook, spittle flying from his mouth, cheeks reddening. ‘You’ll never get what you want from me. How dare you?’
‘That line again, Daryl? How dare I what? Speak my mind? Very easily. I’ve discovered I’ve got one since you’ve been locked away, and I’m rather enjoying using it,’ I smiled sweetly.
‘Yeah, well, you were so desperate to trust me. It was all your fault, everything was your fault. You kept nagging me about kids, I couldn’t talk to you about anything; it’s like that psychologist said, you’re the reason why I was forced to hurt those women. And you couldn’t even see what was in front of you, you just blindly kept on seeing what you wanted to see, kept on trusting me.’
It was the biggest metaphorical slap in the face he could give me. But I’d known it was coming and barely blinked. ‘You’re right,’ I nodded. ‘I did blindly trust you and that makes me sad. But then, trust and love are pretty normal behaviour within a marriage. As for nagging you about a family…yes, I was desperate for your child. And now, somewhere out there, one of your victims has a living breathing reminder of the vile things you’ve done to her. She has a beautiful baby created from hatred that should have been ours, created from love.’
For a second he looked stunned and there were tears in his eyes. He held my gaze for one, two, three heartbeats, perhaps thinking of the very different lives we could have had if only he were normal. Then he blinked and the tears were gone.
‘You still haven’t asked how I’m doing,’ he said petulantly, changing the subject. ‘It’s not easy for me in here, you know. I’m victimised by staff and inmates. My cell is tiny and there’s no separate loo, it’s right there in the same room as I sleep in; have you any idea how disgusting that is? Then there’s the mandatory drug testing, and you know how much I hate needles…’
Was the big bad killer really whinging for sympathy?
‘I haven’t even done anything wrong,’ he added, folding his arms, shirt sleeves straining across his huge muscles.
I looked in his eyes and could see he believed it. I was a bit scared when I realised that. ‘My God I’m so glad I came over today to have this out with you because you really believe your own lies,’ I gasped, stunned. ‘You have something broken inside you, there’s some emotional circuitry that’s gone wrong with you.’
I’d known that before, of course I had. But to stare into the eyes of someone and see close up that they aren’t connected properly, aren’t like other people, is a revelation. If you weren’t looking for it you might miss it, but now it was blindingly obvious to me.
Daryl’s smile was back as he lounged back in the plastic chair and it creaked in time to his gentle bouncing. ‘You know why I kept in touch with you after the arrest?’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘Because I though the jury would look at prim and proper you, with your neat clothes and your perfect hair, and your little girl walk, and it would colour the way they thought of me. I thought they’d think someone like you would never be with a nasty bogeyman.’
He sneered this last word, twisting his smile. ‘You couldn’t even get that right though, could you. Fucking useless bitch.’
Revulsion shuddered through me. Time to end this charade.
‘Will you agree to the sale of the house, and to me divorcing you?’ I asked calmly. ‘I’m willing to visit again and talk about the details with you, if you agree now and sign this paperwork to allow me to put our home on the market.’
Even as I was speaking he was shaking his head, smirking, arms still folded, slumped in his seat like a teenager. ‘Nope. I’m not going to let you go, Gorgeous. Never. I love you,’ he snickered, shark eyes glinting with humour.
I held his gaze and nodded. Now was my moment. ‘That’s fine, I expected no less. I know you must be feeling impotent in your cell, unable to exert any power over women, so you’re reduced to playing this game with me,’ I said, leaning forward to be certain he caught every word.
‘But know this: I will win in the end. All I have to do is wait for five years and then I can divorce you whether you like it or not. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. And in the meantime I’ll be out and about having fun, living my life without you in it, while you will be stuck in here.’ I waved my hands around airily to take in the depressing brick and concrete that surrounded us.
There it was, that familiar, furious look that had always set me back-tracking and apologising in the past. Daryl’s face like thunder, the storm clouds had well and truly gathered. I swayed slightly but held my ground, still staring straight into his eyes as they bored into me.
His full lips were white with fury. Then he swallowed and smirked.
‘Well there’s nothing you can do about the house,’ he replied, head bobbing arrogantly. ‘I’ll never agree to its sale. We’ll be tied to it for the rest of our lives. You’ll be tied to me.’
Still I held his gaze. ‘You lose, Daryl,’ I smiled. Then I stood and walked away.
He must have been too surprised to react, because it was only as the guard buzzed the door to let me out that I heard Daryl’s voice calling out to me. ‘Don’t see how I can lose. Tell me what you mean.’
I felt the familiar pull of guilt and more that always made me do as Daryl said. The urge to spill the beans was almost overwhelming. Almost, but not quite. Marsha had prepared me for this and I carried on walking, even though my legs felt like they belonged to someone else and wouldn’t seem to work properly.
I kept on walking until I reached my car and climbed inside. Put the keys in the ignition. Rested my hands on the steering wheel amazed at how very calm and in control I’d been…
…And then I fell apart. How I cried. For the loss of the man I’d loved, for the children I’d imagined, for the future I’d thought was guaranteed. It’s all gone, all dead, and I finally allowed myself to grieve.
But more than anything, I sobbed for the young woman who had wanted all those things. I’ve never allowed myself to really mourn her passing because it made me feel guilty, as if that was somehow detracting from what Daryl’s victim’s had suffered.
That girl was an innocent victim too though. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.
Trembling, I pulled my phone out from the glove compartment where I’d had to leave it, and dialled my parents. They’d lost that girl too, and now I could suddenly see how hard it must have been for them to see her death and watch me shuffling around trying to be her lookalike replacement.
Dad answered.
‘Th-thank you for everything you’ve done for me,’ I stuttered through the shuddering breaths the tears were causing. ‘I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through.’
‘Love, what’s happened?’ he panicked.
‘I’m fine, d-don’t worry,’ I huffed between sobs. Then I laughed, because actually it was true. I’d just confronted Daryl and had survived, shattering nine years of control he’d had over me.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, ‘for the first time in a long time.’
‘I don’t understand. Has something else happened?’ he said, then I heard muffled conversation as he put his hand over the receiver, followed by a clearer, ‘Here’s your mother.’
‘Sweetheart?’ Mum’s voice sounded high and worried. But as I explained everything I found myself laughing again through the tears and she was laughing too, with relief. Maybe I was hysterical. Whatever, it felt good. This morning I’d felt like I was weighed down with worry, now I was so light I could fly or run at 100 miles an hour or something.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ Mum said as we ended the conversation.
Yeah, I’m proud of me too. Part one of the plan went just how I thought it would. On Monday it’s time for phase two. Daryl would do his nut if he realised what that involved…
SEPTEMBER
Sunday 8
Well, it’s two months since I implemented phase two of the plan, and it all went really well.
Basically, I defaulted on the mortgage and handed in the keys of the house to the bank, and have declared myself bankrupt.
Everything Daryl and I owned has been sold off or given to charity, apart from a handful of things of sentimental value that I kept. Kim and Peter did the selling on my behalf as I didn’t want people to know whose things they were buying. They even found a home for the truck – it’s gone to a charity that a friend of Peter’s is involved in, who just so happened to be fundraising for a lorry to distribute goods to orphanages in Romania. Apparently, the charity couldn’t believe their luck when a ‘mystery benefactor’ donated one to them.
The proceeds from the sale were split fifty/fifty between Daryl and paying off my debts; I didn’t get a penny. I don’t care. All I wanted was to be free of Daryl. I’m sure he’s furious that I’ve managed to escape being tied to the house, and him, forever.
I told him he’d lose his twisted game, but he just didn’t believe me.
Now all he can do is wait helplessly in his prison cell as the days pass, knowing that all too soon five years will have gone by and I can divorce him whether he likes it or not.
While I wait for that glorious day, I’ve got to get on with life though. I feel so much better now I’ve moved to a different town on the other side of the country. Sometimes I catch someone looking at me as if they recognise me, but they can’t seem to place me. So far so good.
This is a fresh start, in a tiny flat that’s sparsely furnished with things from charity shops, but I love it because everything here is my taste. No impractical cream couch and carpets, no cold glass dining and coffee tables. Nothing pristine and perfect and sterile.
Instead I’ve painted the bedroom a deep, rich red, and the lounge a vibrant blue. To be honest it’s a bit garish, but I don’t care because I did it myself and they’re colours I never would have been allowed to have when I was married.
I’ve even managed to get a job at my local clothes shop. It’s not much money, but it isn’t taxing either and at the moment I still need all my strength just to keep myself together. I’m getting stronger emotionally and physically, but it’s still an effort a lot of the time. I feel a bit like a shattered teapot that’s been stuck back together and looks fine but leaks when you try to use it. At least I have managed to patch myself up somehow though, and maybe one day some of those leaks will be dammed too.
Thursday 13
Just back from seeing Marsha. It’s an exhausting trip, even though I stay overnight in a B&B, and really I should consider just finding a local therapist but…I trust Marsha and the thought of starting all over again with someone else is more than I can bear. Marsha keeps me sane.
As soon as I kick my shoes off and settle cross-legged onto the wide, comfy armchair, I start talking. And God it feels good to be able to say anything I want and know I won’t be judged.
Today I finally confessed my two deepest, darkest secrets to her, the first being my jealousy of Miss E, my doppelganger victim who has now had Daryl’s baby. Marsha listened patiently as I finally talked my way round to realising that I’m not a bitch for feeling that way. That I’m not some sicko who is jealous of what happened to her; I’m not even envious that the child is Daryl’s. I simply long for a child, and am a little jealous of every woman who has one.
‘It just seems more pronounced with Miss E because of the complexity and strength of emotions involved with all your memories of that time. That and the fact that she looks like you,’ Marsha explained. I nodded; that made sense.
I told her about how sometimes I want to die and that I get through it by saying ‘I can always kill myself tomorrow.’ Her reply surprised me.
‘That’s actually a really good coping mechanism,’ she said. ‘You’re not telling yourself you can’t do it, which you’re obviously not strong enough to do at the moment, but you’re also not giving in to the feeling. You’re simply telling yourself that you can’t do it today. Good idea.’
Wow, and I’d thought she’d think I’d need institutionalising or something. I’d been so scared of confessing that to her.
But she also took the time to point out that apparently if I take all my sleeping tablets they won’t kill me, just make me sleep for a really, really long time. Good job I never took them then, it would have been a right disappointment…
There’s no miracle cure for my problems though. The counselling helps but I still constantly have trouble sleeping, still feel terrible, still drive myself mad with questions. All I can do though is keep my head down and plough through this, hoping that one day I might just feel normal again.
Monday 16
My emotions are like the ebb and flow of the tide. Sometimes I’m still so lost and angry and confused and hurt and…everything else negative that the world can chuck at me. It’s hard, so hard, not to fall apart again then. Not to pull the duvet over my head and scream: ‘I give up world!’ Not to let myself be washed away by wave after wave of overwhelming feelings.
But there are also times when
I’m together and fine. Fine-ish.
There was a time when the bad days happened far more frequently than the good days. I think now the balance is tipping though. It’s an even split probably currently. Hopefully it will eventually be more good than bad…. Although sometimes I worry that I’m broken for all time now.
Tuesday 17
As the counselling works its magic, I find I’m able to think clearly away from it too. Like, today I had a revelation…
Why did I hang on so hard to a marriage I hadn’t even been happy with, one I’d been considering walking out on before the arrest? It’s something I’ve asked myself again and again, and today I came up with an answer of sorts: it’s a bit like being mugged.
Okay, here’s my logic for that… When you’re mugged, logically you know that your handbag is relatively worthless and its contents can easily be replaced, and so the right course of action is to let it go. Yet instinctively many people hold on. Clutch it tighter against them and pull for all they’re worth, trying to keep hold of a £30 piece of pleather that contains a cheap phone and some even cheaper make up. Someone’s trying to take it from them and so they’ll do whatever it takes to stop that thief.
That was me with my marriage, I think. Logic said I should have walked away, but when the going got tough and he was arrested, and it felt like someone was trying to tear us apart, I instinctively clung to it instead, telling myself everything would be fine in the end. Idiot.
Saturday 21
Today was Kim and Peter’s wedding. I’m lying in a hotel room, exhausted but happy. It was uplifting to be surrounded by so much joy.
It has though, stirred up a lot of old feelings and memories. As Kim and Peter exchanged vows I kept thinking of my own wedding day. I had so many hopes and dreams, and truly believed that that day was the start of them all coming true…
Theirs was a very small affair, but wonderful, and the looks on their faces as they exchange vows at the register office… It was exactly how two people in love should look at one another; as if no one else in the world exists but them and their happiness. They glowed.
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