Invisible

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  Kim looked like a model in her cream, 1950s-style dress. When she threw her little posy of purple flowers though, I didn’t bother joining the rush to try and catch it.

  They’d asked me to do a reading too, but I gently refused. ‘It makes my stomach squirm just thinking about standing in front of people and speaking,’ I’d explained. ‘And what if someone realises who I am? I want the day to be about you two, not about me and my dramas.’

  ‘None of our friends or family would ever say anything bad to you,’ Peter had said, and Kim had nodded fiercely, tears making her eyes sparkle.

  ‘I know; I know they must be lovely people to be anything to do with you two, but…’ Finally they’d accepted my decision.

  To be honest I’d been in two minds about even attending the wedding, but I’m so glad I did. Kim has been my rock through all of this; I don’t know what I’d do without her. And in taking on his role as Kim’s protector and guardian angel, Peter seems to have adopted me too. She’s got a good man there. Funny to think they wouldn’t be together if it hadn’t been for Daryl’s crimes.

  After the ceremony and photos (during which I smiled nervously and tried to hide behind other people) everyone nipped across the road to the pub where the small reception was being held. A gorgeous meal and all kinds of speeches later, I took a tiny sip of champagne to toast the bride and groom – my first taste of alcohol in a very long time. It seemed wonderfully fitting though that it should be such a celebratory drink.

  Soon it was time for the obligatory disco. It was fun, actually. In the darkness that was only lifted by the rolling blue, green and red flashing lights, I even had a little dance. Then I sneaked away while no one was looking, trying to stay invisible so I could make my escape.

  Now I’m in my hotel room and I’m having a little cry. Not a huge self-pitying sob-fest, just a scattering of tears because I’m so happy for Kim and the wonderful life she has ahead of her.

  OCTOBER

  Thursday 3

  Since Kim and Peter’s wedding I’ve been struggling with something. In the end I confessed all to Marsha, needing to know how to handle it, and if I was going completely insane.

  ‘I keep thinking about the good times with Daryl,’ I admitted guiltily. ‘I used to hate thinking about those times, they made me feel sick – they still do, very much so, at one level, when I think about the terrible things he might have done first, to be in a good mood…’

  I swallowed, eyes darting round the room as if trying to escape the words I was about to say.

  ‘…But I’m so lonely that sometimes I…’ I stopped, reluctant to go further.

  ‘This sounds like a big confession,’ probed Marsha gently. ‘Something you don’t even like admitting to yourself.’

  I shook my head quickly to confirm she was right. She continued. ‘Okay, think of it this way: if you don’t recognise it and accept it, you won’t be able to take the next step, which is to stop it.’

  Ooh, clever. I thought about it for a few more moments, while Marsha waited patiently, and then ploughed on.

  ‘Sometimes I miss Daryl so much it hurts. Physically hurts. It’s weak, I know, and maybe that’s why he was with me, because I’m weak and pathetic and being with me made him feel powerful in the same way that raping those women made him feel powerful. Maybe with me it was emotional rape. I know our relationship was screwed up, abnormal. And I’m trying to come to terms with that,’ I gabbled. ‘But you’re right, maybe part of that is acknowledging my ‘addiction’ like they do at Alcoholics Anonymous. My name is so and so and I’m a bastard-aholic.’

  Marsha nodded. ‘This is just another part of the grieving process, of letting go.’ It is? Great, because I really want the letting go bit, and this harking back to ‘the good old days’ is worrying and confusing the hell out of me.

  ‘You loved him,’ she said simply. I did. I hate to admit it now, it feels dirty and wrong, but I did. ‘You haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge that or say goodbye to him properly because you feel repelled when you think of him. But you have to allow yourself to say goodbye to the man you thought he was; the one you loved. Otherwise you’ll never be free. Think of it this way: it’s as if the man you loved died.’

  ‘I wish he had died. It would be so much easier then,’ I nodded.

  I drew my knees up in front of me and hugged them, pushing myself further into the squidgy back of the large armchair. Turned and stared out of the window as I spoke, unable to meet Marsha’s eye.

  ‘The thing is, it’s like there are two different people when I think of Daryl now. When we were together all I saw was my amazing husband, who had some control and anger issues, which I swept under the carpet. Then when I realised the monster he really was, that was all I could see; the Port Pervert. Now though…now sometimes I find myself wanting him back…

  ‘No,’ I corrected quickly, ‘not wanting him back as such… Ah, it’s so hard to explain…’ I sighed, still staring out across the lawn. ‘I don’t want him back, not the reality of him. I want the fantasy. I want to go back to feeling loved and having a normal, boring life with a normal, boring bloke.’

  Another deep sigh that made my whole body shudder. ‘Then I get annoyed with myself, because it’s like saying I want the Port Pervert to be my husband, and I honestly, truly don’t want that. I don’t want mardy, controlling, murderous Daryl back, I want… This doesn’t make any sense, does it…?’

  ‘It does. You have to acknowledge the man you thought existed, acknowledge the love you had for him, then you can finally start the process of letting go and moving on from him. You’ve reached a really big moment in your healing process.’

  ‘Really, because it feels like I’m going backwards…’

  ‘You’re not. Trust me.’

  ‘It’s just easier to think of him as a monster than a man,’ I said, finally turning my head to face Marsha. ‘Because if I think of him as a person then I wonder why he became the way he did. I even start wondering stupid things like, well, maybe he did really love me. Is someone like that truly capable of love? I doubt it, yet he fooled me for so long. I don’t know. I don’t know him. I’m not even sure I know me any more.’

  I hugged my knees tighter then let them go. ‘I suppose I just thought that once I’d confronted him and symbolically won his stupid power game, that would be it. I’d be free from him, you know? That’s how it always is in films: there’s a big confrontation scene, and then the winner instantly gets to walk away and live happily ever after, all their problems solved.’

  The light shifted across Marsha’s glasses momentarily as she adjusted them on her face. She took a moment then replied. ‘What do you think you have to do to get your happily ending then?’

  God knows. But finally, we thrashed out a way for me to face my feelings. I’m going to write a letter to Daryl, one that will never be sent, of course; and hopefully I’ll pour all my feelings out and leave them on the page.

  Friday 4

  So, here’s the letter I have written not to the monster, not the Port Pervert, but instead to the fantasy man (who did on occasion truly exist) that was my husband. I’m sort of surprised by the tone of it; it almost felt like it wrote itself.

  Dear Daryl

  I know I’ll never send this letter – and I wouldn’t want to – and for that reason I know I can put down all kinds of things I’d never admit to your face.

  I miss you. I really do. Insane, isn’t it? It’s been almost seven months now since I found out the truth at the trial. My life had changed utterly. Aside from the obvious, I’ve a new car – the cauliflower car had been beaten up one too many times; a new flat, and lots of new furniture. You’d be blown away by the way I’ve started a new life – I can see your face now. You’d come inside the flat and be so proud of what I’ve achieved.

  ‘Wow, my babe did all this on her own?!’ you’d gasp. And you’d give me a big hug. Your face all lit up, and your head thrown back with laughter. You wouldn’t have chose
n the colours yourself – the dark red in the bedroom, and the knobs painted yellow in the kitchen especially – but you’d be so impressed. Your approval always meant the world to me. It still does. Just imagining your reaction makes me smile and feel better. But you’d tut at the red paint splashes on the carpet!

  I’m not writing this to have a go at you. I’ve tried to be angry - and sometimes I still am – but on the whole I’m not very good at it. It just eats away and grows and ends up making me feel worse. So instead I’m taking a different tack…

  I forgive you.

  Not for what you did to others, that isn’t my place. This is about me and you only. I forgive you for what you did to me.

  It’s hard. But I’d rather let it go and forgive you, because it’s better for both of us. Being angry and bitter will kill me. And won’t make any difference to you at all because you can’t see it or feel it. But love and forgiveness are far more powerful emotions. They will heal me.

  Perhaps on some deep, cosmic level you’ll feel that love and forgiveness and it will help effect your actions in the future and the way you feel about yourself. I think your low self-esteem has an awful lot to do with your actions – ironic as most people think only someone with a vast ego could do what you did. You’re all front though, that’s why you need to ‘prove’ yourself by overpowering others. Emotionally, physically…

  Perhaps you really did love me, and in some way you were fighting against that badness in you and that’s why you didn’t hurt me like the other women. Well, that makes as much sense as anything else…that is to say, no explanation will ever really make sense to me. It’s all insane.

  There’s a distinct possibility that I’m just kidding myself, but what’s the harm? You’ve already inflicted all the damage you could on me and others; there’s nothing left for you to do. That’s why I have to accept the way I feel, embrace it, then open my arms up again and let it drift away. I do this not for you, but for me, so that one day, a day that grows closer all the time, I’ll be free completely.

  Sometimes I imagine you coming round. When I’m walking home at night I imagine you’re waiting outside for me, standing by the wall, one arm up on the pillar, one leg resting up on a step, looking all confident and at ease. But you never are. And then I have to remind myself of where you really are, and why.

  I still ache for you, Daryl. I still long to put my head in that funny hollow in your chest that seems made for my head, and I can almost feel you breathing on my head – you know that funny habit you’ve got, like you’re trying to heat up the top of my head? Feel your arms wrap all the way round me. Sometimes, to help me go to sleep at night, I pretend you’re spooned up behind me. We fitted together so perfectly.

  But I’m not daft, I know we were far from happy together. That we argued, snapped, sniped. That you were selfish, controlling, manipulative… I often wonder what there is to love about someone with so few loveable traits. Don’t know. But I managed it anyway…until I discovered your absolute true nature.

  So again I say, I forgive you. With that, I give myself the gift of a blank piece of paper on which to write my life. A true fresh start free from emotional baggage.

  Goodbye.

  Thursday 10

  As soon as I’d settled, cross-legged in the chair and made myself comfy for my counselling session, Marsha asked if I’d written the letter. I smiled, feeling relaxed.

  ‘I did, and it’s really helped,’ I nodded. ‘I’m feeling much more at ease somehow.’

  Saturday 12

  Kim has come to stay for the weekend. As soon as she arrived though I noticed she seemed edgy and uptight, as though she had something to tell me but was dreading it.

  I poured a glass of wine for each of us, feeling confident that I could handle a small glass without it triggering a meltdown.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I checked as I handed over her goblet. ‘Something you want to tell me?’

  She bought herself some time by taking a sip. ‘You know me too well,’ she said, face halfway between a smile and grimace. ‘Well…it’s really exciting, but it’s also really sad…’

  Hmm, well that ruled pregnancy out then. What on earth could it be, I wondered.

  ‘Peter, Henry and I are…we’re moving to Australia!’ she announced apologetically.

  That I hadn’t expected. Now it was my turn to take a gulp of wine as I tried to rearrange my face into surprised delight. I think I managed it. Then I laughed, the news sinking in and genuine pleasure replacing the fake act.

  ‘Bloody hell! This is huge…it’s massive…’ I said slowly, shaking my head. ‘But it’s also a brilliant opportunity. So…how come? When did all this happen? When are you leaving?’

  ‘One question at a time!’ she laughed, clearly relieved by my reaction.

  Peter had apparently decided to emigrate and had put in the paperwork before he and Kim had even met. When they’d got together they’d found themselves talking about it more and more and decided to go for it together, but hadn’t wanted to say anything until it was sorted. They figured that that way, if their application wasn’t successful it didn’t matter.

  ‘But it was successful, and Peter’s got a fantastic job lined up in Sydney. He’s got an aunt and uncle, and some cousins over there too, so we’ll know people when we arrive,’ Kim explained, flushed with excitement. ‘The only problem is leaving you. I’ll miss you so much!’

  ‘I’ll miss you too, believe me,’ I replied, pulling a pained face. ‘Think of the lifestyle you’ll have over there though, enjoying the great outdoors in all that lovely sunshine. It’ll be wonderful for Henry.’

  ‘He can’t wait,’ she smiled shyly.

  I’m so pleased for her. I’ll miss her like crazy though, she’s my best friend, and has kept me going through the worst time of my life. I’ll never forget what she’s done for me.

  DECEMBER

  Saturday 16

  Last night I had a dream. I was in the arms of a man who gently ran a finger along my jaw then said: ‘I love you.’ Then I woke up. I’d forgotten how transforming the human touch can be, how warming and floaty it is to know someone loves you. Even though it was only a dream, it felt so real that I was in a good mood for the rest of the day.

  Sad isn’t it? But I don’t care. It made a nice change, and now I’m starting to wonder…could I one day have that feeling for real? It’s as though somehow the dream has melted part of me. I feel…excited almost about the possibility of a future at some point.

  Friday 22

  Kim and Peter came over for the last time tonight before they jet off to their new life in Oz. I can hear them in the living room, whispering excitedly to one another as they lie on the pull out sofa bed. They’re like a couple of kids. As for Henry, he can’t sleep at all either and instead has spent the evening bouncing round the room as if he’s eaten way too much sugar and E numbers.

  ‘I’m a bit worried he thinks the streets are paved with sweeties or something, he’s looking forward to Sydney so much,’ Kim confessed with a laugh earlier.

  They’ve got their proper leaving do tomorrow, so it’s a real flying visit, but I’m just grateful they made the effort to come and see me – especially as I had decided not to go to their official drinks.

  ‘Too many people…’ I’d explained apologetically, wrinkling my nose.

  They’d accepted it, because they know I never go out. The thought makes me nervous, I’m scared someone will recognise me, and then there is the thought of getting home…I know it’s stupid but I worry a lot about bumping into someone like Daryl.

  Peter and Kim though accept me for who I am, no questions, and it’s one of the many things I love about them. I can’t imagine them not being here for me, especially Kim.

  Tonight though, she did at one point put her hands on my shoulders and given me a stern look. ‘I understand why you won’t come to our drinks, but you know at some point you’re going to have to stop apologising for your existence and really join th
e world again. Hell, maybe even have some fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ I gasped in mock horror, my eyebrows shooting up. ‘Never heard of it.’

  But as I lie in bed, hearing the gentle rustle of their excited conversation, I think maybe she has a point. It’s taken me a long time to pull myself out of the quagmire of misery and reach a point of neutrality in my life, and I’m loving the peace of it. Perhaps though, there is more I can expect than simple steadiness. Perhaps I should take a look at how to be, dare I say it, happy.

  Perhaps that should be my new year’s resolution.

  JANUARY

  Thursday 11

  I marched into the counselling session as usual and settled down for a good chat. Marsha looked at me and smiled.

  ‘I love the way you walk into the room all confident, kick off your shoes, and make yourself comfortable,’ she said. ‘They are the actions of someone who is really at ease with themselves. And you’ve done it since the very first time you’ve come here.’

  I have? I thought about it and nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose I have,’ I laughed, not quite sure of the point she was making.

  She leaned her arm on the left armrest of her chair and surveyed me for a moment. ‘You’re happy, relaxed and at ease with yourself. Really, you always have been. I think our work here is done…unless you can think of anything else we need to cover.’

  Flummoxed, I opened my mouth to argue but couldn’t think of a single reason why I should continue seeing her.

  ‘You really think I’m ready? That I’m okay, I’m not crazy and I’m not going to fall apart?’ I checked.

  ‘You’re as sane and fixed as the next person,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Blimey, that’s a scary thought for everyone else out there,’ I joked. Then suddenly became serious. ‘I’m still driving myself mad with “why”; why did Daryl do those things.’