by Deborah Bee
‘So, you believe her?’
‘Clare?’
A few seconds pass while Celia thinks.
‘Of course I believe her. Emotions are very real, DS Clarke.’
‘Right. Most of the DVs we see have a hard time managing their emotions, Celia.’
‘Clare’s experiences are more intense, I think, than many that we deal with.’
‘In what way?’
‘I think most DV victims spend at least some part of their everyday in a non-threatening environment. Maybe when the kids are home from school. The hours when the partner is out of the house, at work. Or the hours when they themselves are at work.’
‘Go on.’
‘Clare has been living under the control of another person, twenty-four hours a day. No let-up. No non-threatening environment. Even when he wasn’t at home, he could come back at any time. He played with her like a cat plays with a mouse.’
‘So that means . . .?’
‘That means that now she’s out, she’s not able to acclimatise. She’s used to being controlled. Now she can make her own mind up, she can’t decide what to do, who to listen to. She’ll be prone to losing control of her anger, exploding at well-meaning people, erratic moods. She might be crying one minute and lashing out the next.’
‘Why would she get so upset by a question about who her GP is?’
‘We’re awaiting her assessment by Emma Tudor, the community psychiatric nurse. She’ll be able to help with all this.’
‘So, you’re not sure what it was about the GP?’
‘No. I’d say she’s suspicious, negative and paranoid about other people’s motives. She twists her hands together. She avoids eye contact. She shuts us out when it gets too terrifying.’
‘She’s terrified of her GP?’
‘No, she’s terrified of trusting anyone. Especially anyone who is kind. I’d say it’s typical of someone who has suffered intensive long-term abuse by a partner. It’s like PTSD on a massive scale.’
‘So, nothing calculated?’
‘Calculated?’
‘She couldn’t be making it all up?’
‘Well, I doubt it. She dissociated at the end of the last session. She just froze. Couldn’t seem to hear what we were saying to her at all.’
Dissociated. Interesting word, thinks DS Clarke. Didn’t she terminate the interview, she thought. Didn’t she simply walk out? That’s what it seemed like to me, she thinks.
‘I can only give you my observations, of course,’ says Celia, with a smile. ‘I don’t have an opinion, only observations.’
DS Clarke thanks Celia for her insightful observations and, for once, Celia Barrett leaves, not looking like a woman expecting the end of the world. DS Clarke imagines there was not a lot of joy in social work.
DS Clarke imagines she was Clare. Walk in the victim’s shoes. She imagines she was sitting opposite Celia, in Cerise, staring down at her burnt, bitten fingers, smelling the stench of paraffin on her dressing gown and the dull pain in her leg and the back of her head. She imagines how tired she might be. After everything. And all the questions. And the hospital. After two years living with a monster.
Or after telling the police a pack of lies, for whatever reason. She imagines she’d be very tired. And if the questions got too close to uncovering her lies . . .
‘Tell you what,’ she says out loud. ‘I’d dissociate if I had something to hide. I mean, all you do is sit there in a daze. Wait for an opportunity. And run.’
DS Clarke smiles, glad to have some insightful dialogue with herself.
Twenty-Two
Clare
I’m not sure I’ve laughed that hard for years.
‘It was when Aiysha started writing down all that stuff Big Debbie was saying,’ Sally says, when she could finally get the words out. ‘Do you think she actually wrote down, “I think you’re talking shit”?’
We’re back in our sitting room, half-whispering in case anyone hears us laughing.
‘I nearly exploded at that point,’ I say. ‘It was like being in school assembly all over again.’
‘I couldn’t even look at you,’ Sally says.
‘What a bunch of misfits,’ I say. ‘But I’m including me in that. I’m not saying . . .’
Sally nods.
She’s funny for an older person. Most people her age don’t find stuff like that funny. And they don’t swear or anything anymore.
Not women.
My dad swore.
‘You wanna doughnut?’ she says, holding up the bag.
‘No,’ I say.
‘You eaten today?’ she says.
‘No. I’ve got to see the doctor again at six. The one from the Royal Free. She’s coming here, for a follow-up appointment.’
‘You’d better eat something, then, or your glucose will be through the floor.’
‘God, she kept going on about glucose.’
‘I’ll get a plate,’ Sally says, and disappears out of the sitting room.
Coco!
Coco!
Coco!
What have we said about sugar?
Wonder what he’s doing right now.
Driving around, searching, going to my work, I bet. Louisa’s moved away so he can’t try her.
Down to the canal, see if I’ve thrown myself in.
That would have suited him.
Babe, you’re just weighing me down.
She’s cutting one of the doughnuts in half and handing me the plate with both halves on.
She’s takes a bite of one herself.
‘Do you know who all the other women are?’ I say. ‘They don’t exactly talk much.’
‘I only arrived just before you,’ she says, ‘so no, not really. Prashi is the Indian lady with the two girls. Big Debbie is well, Big Debbie; don’t know her story. Marina’s the one from Cyprus who leaves next week, and the one who looks like Debbie, only with dark hair is Sarah, I think, but I’m not sure. She’s the one who steals Cadbury’s Creme Eggs.’
‘The other big one?’ I say. ‘Not that I’m fat-ist . . .’
‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘And just to prove that point . . .’
She dips her hand into the bag of doughnuts again.
I’ve eaten both halves of doughnut on my plate. I kind of wish I hadn’t.
You really need to cut down on sugar, babe.
You don’t wanna see how big your ass looks from behind.
She throws me the bag across the crooked IKEA coffee table.
‘Cut it in half. It never feels so bad if it’s in halves,’ she says, licking sugar off her lips, and gazing out of the window again.
‘What’s your story, then?’ I ask because she looks sad. Lonely, like I am. Wishing she was somewhere else. Just like I wish I was somewhere else.
‘I’m from round here . . . well, now I am, but I didn’t used to be,’ she says. ‘I came down from Liverpool twenty years ago. My ex was a bad lot and I gave evidence against him, got him put away for twenty years, but now he’s out and we don’t know what he’s up to and until we do, I’m stuck here.’
‘Who’s we? You got family?’ I say, mouth full.
‘We is me and the police. I had family,’ she says, ‘but after he went inside, the police advised me to start all over – new place, new job, new everything, so his family wouldn’t come after me. It’s like witness protection but it wasn’t called that then and, if I’m honest I’m not sure it was worth it.’
The bandages on my shoulders and legs are starting to itch.
‘You shouldn’t scratch,’ she says. ‘It means it’s getting better.’
I stop scratching.
‘What about you,’ she says.
‘Me?’ I say, stalling.
Wonder what I should tell her.
‘My “partner”,’ I spit the word out. ‘My “partner” turned into a monster.’
He didn’t start out a monster.
Tell me what you want.
<
br /> Babies?
Four!
That’s how many I want.
OMG. Same.
Four babies and we’ll live in the country.
OK! By the sea. I love the ocean. I’ve always loved the ocean.
You won’t need to work, babe.
I’ll work for both of us.
We’d get a ton for this place.
We could get something amazing outside of London.
On a cliff.
OK, on a beach.
I love dogs too!
We can have loads of dogs. We can have a whole pack of dogs.
And a whole pack of babies.
‘He used to get so excited. Said he wanted babies. And dogs. To live by the sea.’
‘And is that what you wanted?’ Sally says, tucking her feet up on the sofa.
‘It is exactly what I wanted. I mean, not right then. Not when I was twenty-one. But in a few years.’
‘And did he change his mind?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think he really meant it. When he said it, even, he didn’t mean it. None of it. I think he just pretended that he wanted what I wanted.’
‘Why would he?’
‘I don’t know. To reel me in, I guess. I don’t even know why he was interested in me in the first place. He was so good-looking. I was a geek compared to him.’
I don’t like talking about this stuff.
I want to change the subject.
I don’t know why he lied.
He always lied.
‘He had some issues with his childhood. But he would never admit that. He’s not the sort of person to ever admit there was anything wrong with him.’
‘Lots of people have bad childhoods, doesn’t mean they beat up women.’
‘Yeah, but he lost his mum. Imagine how hard it is to lose your mum, when you’re really young. I was sixteen when mine died and that was bad enough.’
‘Didn’t turn you into a raging psycho though, right?’ says Sally.
‘That was different. You know what boys are like with their mums. Can I tell you something? Something not to tell anyone.’
Sally’s nodding.
‘He was like two different people. One second he was crazy about me. Buying me underwear. Desperate to have sex with me. Telling me I was his princess. The next minute, I’d only gone and poured him the wrong soda water, hadn’t I! And it was like a bomb had gone off in his head.’
Who were you talking to?
When I came in.
Who were you on the phone to?
Why were you talking about me?
I don’t care if she’s your friend.
DON’T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT ME.
NOT EVER.
Give me your phone.
Give me your fucking phone.
NO MORE PHONE CALLS.
‘He wouldn’t let me talk to my friends. He wouldn’t let me go to work. In the end, he wouldn’t even let me go out of the house.’
Not alone.
Only with him. To the doctor’s.
He wouldn’t let me drive. Nothing.
It was my car and he wouldn’t let me drive.
‘But you got away,’ Sally says. ‘And you’re here now and you’re safe and you can put all of that stuff behind you and start thinking what you’re going to do next. A brand-new start, right?’
‘I only got away because he made a mistake.’
I knew he would one day.
He lost control.
Wrecked the entire house because he was that drunk.
You should have heard him crashing around the house after he’d locked me away. Sounded like a tornado had hit it.
‘I’ve been waiting and waiting for him to lose total control. And he did and he slipped up. Waiting and waiting.’
There’s a noise outside the door.
‘Clare, the doctor from the Royal Free is here to see you,’ says Mrs Henry.
‘At least you can say you’ve eaten,’ says Sally. ‘Come on. You’re going to be fine.’
‘Will you tell them I’ll be two seconds, just need to go to the toilet,’ I say.
*
‘Hi, Clare,’ the doctor says, scrutinising my face for too long. ‘Remember me? Doctor Ridley. I saw you yesterday.’
She has a backpack. She starts unpacking it on the table. Clear plastic pouches with cotton wool in them, dressings, scissors, and tape.
‘Clare, I’ll catch you in a second,’ says Sue, from the door.
She’s nice.
‘Give you some privacy.’
There’s a lock on the inside of the door.
And a grey blind that unrolls to cover over the narrow window.
‘How are you feeling now, Clare?’ says Doctor Ridley, ripping open the pouches. ‘Will you take off your top for me.’
I wonder why they always add ‘for me’ at the end of those sentences.
I take off the fleece and pull up my T-shirt.
The T-shirt is out of the garment wardrobe.
Garment wardrobe!
‘If I take these dressings off and put some waterproof ones on, you can have a shower,’ she says. ‘It’ll be good for you to feel clean.’
I’m going to run you a nice bath.
That’s what you need.
That’ll make you feel better.
It’ll only hurt a little when you first get in.
I wonder how bad I smell.
‘Did you eat lunch?’ she says.
‘I just had doughnuts,’ I say. ‘Does that count?’
‘Sure does,’ she says, writing something down on a sheet attached to a clipboard. ‘Rice? Pasta?’
‘Working up to that,’ I say.
She changes the dressings. Takes my blood pressure. Looks in my mouth.
I say ‘ahhhhh’ while she presses my tongue down with a big lolly stick.
She stares at the backs of my hands.
Then the fronts.
She pulls down my lower eyelids then looks in my ears with a torch.
She stares at the door while she listens to my chest.
She stares at the floor while she counts my heartbeat.
She holds out my forearm.
‘We’re going to have to reset this at some point,’ she says. ‘You didn’t get it looked at when it was broken?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Any point asking why?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘Well, you’re nearly good as new,’ she says. ‘On the outside. How’s the inside going?’
Dirty bitch.
Dirty on the outside.
Dirty on the inside.
A fraction too early to tell?
I think that.
I don’t say that.
It’s only been a day or so . . .
A day compared to two years.
‘I’ll be OK once I’m home,’ I say. ‘Do you know if he’s been locked up yet?’
‘You’ll have to talk to the police about that,’ says Doctor Ridley. ‘I’m just a doctor. I’m paid to stick you back together again, nothing more. Clare, I need to ask you something,’ she says, looking at me so directly in the eye that it’s like she’s trying to see into my brain.
Or my soul.
What does she want?
I feel myself start to blush.
Like I’ve done something.
‘We’re waiting for detailed tox reports on the contents of your stomach, but I wondered if you know what it was that you drank?’
‘The blue liquid?’
‘Yes, the blue liquid?’
I can’t remember. I don’t want to remember.
He said I had to drink it. Said I was dirty.
Dirty on the inside.
‘I think you said it was possibly paraffin. You were certainly covered in it. But do you think you’d drunk paraffin as well?’
Clear plastic bottle.
CAUTION KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN
Blue label
DO NOT SWALLOW
Red writing
FLAMMABLE LIQUID
Black screw cap
DANGER! COMBUSTIBLE LIQUID AND VAPOUR
HARMFUL OR FATAL IF SWALLOWED
Drink it, you little bitch.
‘It wasn’t paraffin, was it?’ she repeats.
It’s not a question.
‘Not paraffin,’ I say.
It’s like trying to remember a dream.
Touching my hair.
Smelling my fingers.
‘Something else?’ I say.
‘Something else,’ she agrees.
I can’t think straight.
I start to cry.
Not because I feel sorry for myself.
Not because I want sympathy from her either.
I just want to be away from all this.
‘If it was paraffin it would probably have killed you. Especially when you were sick. If it gets into the lungs . . .’
Drink it up, babe.
You’ll be nice and clean by morning.
Twenty-Three
Sally
‘What’s the gossip?’ Sue goes, like I’d have gossip, stuck in here. She’s standing by the door to the main hall, turning her nose up at the coffee before I’ve even made it and keeping her eyes half on the stairs, in case someone comes in and sees us chatting.
‘None,’ I say. ‘Clare’s typical DV, Sue, shit-scared and embarrassed to be a victim – and guess what? She’d probably take him back in a heartbeat.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’
‘Well, no. Maybe. Half the women here would take their partners back if they came knocking. You should get your head out of those text books, Sue, and listen to what women are saying to you, cos she’s no different from any of them. Trouble with women is they think they can fix anything, including raging psychos. Love ’em enough and you’ll fix ’em, can’t help who you love, see.’
‘I have more self-respect than that,’ Sue says, looking back at the door again.
‘You have no idea, Sue, really you don’t,’ I say, slamming the plastic cutlery drawer shut. Sometimes professionals are so thick; thick about life, I mean.
‘Well, whatever. Chapman’s due here in five minutes and we’ll finally be able to get a full statement out of her.’