Amazingly, the doctors who arrived agreed and Peter was taken to St James’s for two days of recovery and tests. He had a full psychiatric assessment while he was there. I don’t know what they discovered, but it was obviously nothing that worried them because he was soon released.
It was another few weeks before I let Daniel see Peter again, but soon after that we were back to once or twice a fortnight. I’d dismissed the suicide attempt almost as soon as it had happened, electing to concentrate on wanting the best for Daniel. Watching him enjoy a fun and loving relationship with his father at last meant the world to me. It helped that Peter appeared to be really trying to be nice to both of us. The wrist-slashing episode aside, I have to say, we did have fun together once again as a ‘three’. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than seeing Daniel happy. As long as he perceived that I trusted Peter with him, that was okay by me. In fact, as the weeks and months passed, I soon realized it was a perception I was beginning to share as well.
Life in the spring of 1990, I have to say, was good. I had a bit of social security money coming in, I had my friends and family round the corner and Daniel and I even had a home with separate rooms. We still had to share a bathroom and kitchen, which were pretty grim, to be honest, filthy and full of cockroaches. But, with a bit of imagination, I had made our rooms feel like they belonged to us. While Daniel slept at night, I decorated the fireplace with hand-painted pictures of flowers. Then, during the day, we’d collect sticks from the park to spray silver and create a lovely display. They were just cheap, small things, but they really made a difference. After so long, I really was happy. And proud. I remember looking at Daniel sleeping one night and thinking, I’ve done a bloody good job here.
What is it they say about pride coming before a fall?
After a few weeks of visits and lots of happy times, I could see Daniel was more comfortable with his father than he’d ever been in Scotland. So when Peter suggested one day that the pair of them go out to the park and then maybe to McDonald’s for a treat, I thought, Why not? It will be good for both of them.
And I needed the break. Single-parenting is tough on everyone. You tend to snatch babysitting offers when they come.
‘Make sure he’s back for bath time at six.’
I felt a bit guilty enjoying an afternoon at home by myself and after three or four hours I was ready to have my son back. But six o’clock came and went. Then it was seven – and I was panicking.
Have they been in an accident? Is everything all right?
I needed to phone someone, but we didn’t have a landline and I was scared to leave the flat in case they returned. By half seven, though, it was decided. I grabbed my purse, left a note on the door and ran out to the nearest phone box.
My first call was to Grandpa. He obviously didn’t want to worry me, but he said, ‘You could call the hospitals, but you really need to tell the police.’
I could barely see the dial on the phone for tears as I made call after call. They weren’t in any hospital in the area – thank God. So where were they?
The police said they’d be round in five minutes.
I was in such a state by the time they arrived, I don’t know how they understood a word I was saying. After months of believing I was back in control of my own life, Peter had brought me back down to my knees at the first attempt.
All I could think of were his words on that staircase in Robertson Avenue: ‘If you leave me, I will fucking hunt you down and kill you. And then I’ll kill the kid.’
Oh God, what have I done!
It was the worst evening of my life. Going over and over everything that had happened in the last few years didn’t help, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d been so desperate to put the past behind me, to start anew, that I’d forgotten that history can always teach us something. My own vanity, that relentless desire to prove that I was free, had blinded me to the truth and now there was a chance my son could be paying the price.
Then, at midnight, there was a knock at the door. Two policemen were standing there and obviously I thought the worst.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Tobin, we’ve found your husband and son. They’re at home, in Bathgate. Your husband has asked if you would call him.’
Bathgate? Now I knew they were safe, I could afford to be angry. What the hell were they doing there? Peter had obviously had no intention of taking Daniel to the park or McDonald’s. As soon as my back was turned, they’d jumped into his van and driven the whole day up to Scotland. Even hearing the policeman’s words, I couldn’t believe Peter had actually kidnapped his own son.
What’s he playing at?
There was only one way to find out. With the policemen standing outside the phone box, I made the call. When he answered, Peter sounded perfectly normal, just as I’d expected. He never got upset or hurt. Only angry.
‘What have you done with my son?’ I demanded.
‘He’s here, at home. He’s fine. We’ve had a lovely day.’
‘That’s not his home!’ I shouted. ‘His home is here with me.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Cathy. So I’m only going to say this once. If you don’t come back to me in the next twenty-four hours, you will never see your son again. I promise, we will leave this country and you will never find us.’
That’s it, I thought. He’s won. I’ve got no choice.
I just wanted to sink down to the bottom of the phone box and sob. Then I remembered the policemen. But what could they do?
When I told them, verbatim, what Peter had threatened, there was a sudden flurry of radio activity. Then they told me I had to call Peter back and tell him I was coming ‘home’. I had to agree to whatever he wanted.
At nine the next morning I found myself in front of a solicitor. The radio activity the night before had, among other things, been getting her out of bed and up to speed with my situation. She was like my guardian angel. Just when I needed someone to take control and tell me what to do, there she was, calm and collected and with an answer to everything.
‘I’ve arranged a hearing with a judge to grant you sole custody of your son with immediate effect,’ she explained. ‘I have also requested an all-ports alert around the country. Your husband will be detained if he tries to leave.’
I couldn’t believe how quickly everything was happening, and the scale of it. Out of nowhere, I seemed to have an army on my side. I was whisked in front of the judge and, before I knew it, I had full entitlement to Daniel. From that moment on, Peter was breaking the law every moment he kept my son from me.
After years of being made to feel isolated and alone, it was incredible to have strangers moving so fast to help me. In the past I’d bitten my tongue, worried I wouldn’t be believed. But they all took me seriously. All those other battered wives out there who think they’re on their own need to understand that they’re not. There’s help available, whole battalions of it. You just need to be brave enough to ask for it.
So, within minutes of meeting this solicitor, she’d informed me the whole country was on lock-down as far as Peter was concerned. There were only two problems. One, we both knew that there were many, many worse things he could still do to make good his threat of never letting me see Daniel again. And, two, my custody claim only had jurisdiction in England.
The judge was obviously distressed that he couldn’t do more. ‘Wheels are in motion, but we need to go through the translatory process for it to apply under Scottish law,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll be able to act.’
‘How long does that take?’
‘About three or four days.’
‘But I don’t have three or four days! If I don’t get there today my son will be killed!’
It was incredibly frustrating. I had the full weight of English law behind me, but we were powerless to act for as long as Peter was in Scotland.
‘Of course,’ the solicitor suggested, ‘if you can get your husband to come across the border, then I can have bailiffs with you in minutes. You�
��ll get your son and Mr Tobin will be told he can’t come within a mile of you both.’
‘So that’s what I have to do then,’ I said and I left her office with renewed strength – a mother’s strength. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I would make it work. If I failed, there was a very real chance Daniel could die.
The clock was ticking and I still had to get to Bathgate. That’s when other members of my private army stepped in. ‘You’ll need to fly,’ Grandpa said, ‘so I’ve bought you a ticket from Gatwick to Edinburgh. I can come with you, if you want,’ he added. ‘It’s not too late.’
‘Thank you, but I have to go alone. If he smells a rat, that’s it.’
I phoned Peter to tell him my flight plans. I begged him not to do anything rash, but he sounded almost offended at the idea. There was me at my wit’s end with worry and he was acting like I was the one wanting to see him. Not for the first time, I seriously questioned his sanity. There was no emotion in his voice at all, no recognition of the hell he was putting me through.
Well, I thought, that could work to my advantage.
I caught the train to Gatwick and boarded an aeroplane for the first time in my life. I was already a mess and everything about the flight seemed to make things worse. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I didn’t know you were allowed to take your seatbelt off and I spent the entire journey gasping for a drink because I was too shy to ask the stewardess whether the contents of her trolley were free or not. I couldn’t afford to buy anything. It was such an ordeal, in fact, that it took my mind off the reason why I was flying in the first place. By the time I saw Peter’s van, I was calmer than I’d been for a long while. But then I spotted my son in Peter’s arms and my emotions exploded.
‘Daniel!’
I dropped my holdall and ran as fast as my four-inch heels would carry me towards the van. I didn’t say a word to Peter, didn’t even look at him. As soon as I was within reaching distance, Daniel flung himself from his dad’s arms and into mine.
‘Mummy!’
‘Oh, my precious boy, Mummy’s back,’ I said, desperately fighting back the tears. Then, remembering why I was there, I added, ‘And this time I’m not going anywhere.’
Peter hadn’t said a word. Eventually I looked at him and smiled. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’
I truly meant it. Daniel was obviously in fine spirits.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Peter said. ‘Of course I’m going to look after him.’ He paused. ‘That’s my job. Just like I’m going to look after you.’
Conversation during the drive back to Bathgate was stilted. While I just wanted to hug Daniel, Peter rabbited on about all sorts of rubbish, like he’d just picked me up from the shops. I replied when I could, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too relieved.
I assumed I was on top of my emotions, but the second we pulled up outside the house in Robertson Avenue, I thought I was going to be sick. I’d spent the unhappiest time of my life in that building. It only held bad memories. What the hell was I thinking going back in there? Suddenly the solicitor’s plan seemed like the most stupid idea in the world.
Each step up the path brought a fresh memory, each more grotesque than the last. And they all took place in that house. I began to sweat as the task ahead of me rose into my mind. It had taken me months to escape this prison the last time. What made my solicitor think I could pull this off?
Images of what Peter might do to restrain me flooded my mind. Would he board the windows, lock me in one room or tie me to a chair? He had to have something up his sleeve, I knew it. But I had to put that out of my mind now. Peter needed to be convinced that everything was fine, even if my legs felt like lead as I approached the front door.
Entering the place felt so wrong, but once I’d overcome that hurdle I could begin to concentrate on why I was there. I didn’t dare rush anything or Peter would get suspicious, so I began by telling him off for kidnapping my son. It would have been unnatural if I hadn’t. But then I apologized for running off in the first place. I told him I understood how much he’d been hurt and that’s why he’d taken Daniel. No, I didn’t believe he would hurt him, of course not.
I basically came out with any old nonsense I thought he wanted to hear. And he swallowed it. He truly believed I was negotiating to come back to him.
Of course, words are one thing. If I really loved him like a wife should, then I would share his bed. That night he subjected me to every sexual act he could think of and I went along with them all. I don’t know if Peter suspected my motives or simply got a kick out of his power over me, but he seemed to take pleasure in doing things he knew I would hate. He didn’t hurt me this time – perhaps he was saving that – but he came up with something worse. As he pushed me onto my knees and prepared himself to penetrate me from behind, I heard a voice. Daniel had entered the room.
‘Stop it, Peter,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Not now.’
But he laughed and kept pushing. That’s when I knew that he’d seen Daniel come into the room long before I had. He wanted my son to see me on all fours. That’s the only reason we were doing this.
I just closed my eyes and tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. I’d witnessed my own mother subjected to harsher treatment in the same position. However much it hurt, I couldn’t afford to show Daniel. He had to believe I was okay. So did Peter. Whatever the provocation, I was not going to rock the boat. If it was a test, I was determined to pass.
On day two I began to seriously work on him. It was no good going in there claiming he was a saint. I had to be semi-truthful, so I said, ‘Look, this is why I ran away. I found the relationship very difficult because I was so far away from home. I felt lonely and that made me act the way I did.’
On and on I went, blaming being isolated for the way I’d treated him. Having my phone calls monitored and my friendships ended like that had hurt me and I’d responded badly, I said. He lapped up every word – especially when I tried to take the blame.
‘I shouldn’t have taken your son,’ I admitted. ‘That was wrong.’
‘You’ve no idea how much that hurt me, Cathy,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have done it.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you.’
‘Yes, you should. You can always speak to me, Cathy, you know that.’
What a load of bull. The weird thing is, I honestly couldn’t tell if he believed it or not.
For ages we went on, toing and froing. Finally I sensed he’d been softened enough. It was now or never. Time for the killer punch.
‘It’s this place’s fault,’ I said. ‘Everything would have been all right if we’d stayed down south. I would have been the perfect wife, I know it.’
It was a dangerous game to play. I couldn’t just say, ‘Let’s drive down to Portsmouth and everything will be rosy.’ He’d get suspicious at that. But I planted the seed – just as he had done to me so many times.
When we returned to the subject later, I told Peter how happy I was in Portsmouth and how it was a shame we hadn’t moved there after Brighton when we’d had the chance of an exchange flat in the area. ‘We’d have been happy, I know it.’
Then the miracle happened. Peter said, ‘Do you think you’d be happy if we gave it a go in Portsmouth now?’
I really had to hold my excitement back. Could it even be a trick? I wouldn’t have put it past him.
‘Are you serious? I can’t think of anywhere better for us to be a family.’
He grunted, but that night in bed we started planning our new life together like a pair of excited newlyweds. I’d never seen him so enthusiastic about anything. We’d need a bigger place than Middlesex Road, of course, but it was fine to start with. And he wouldn’t mind looking after Daniel if I wanted to work. From my side, I promised to keep myself attractive for him and be a better wife. It was sickening really, but it worked. The following morning we loaded his white van and, for the second time in my life, I said goodbye to
Bathgate.
As we drove down the M8, Daniel asleep in my arms, I realized I couldn’t relax. Was it really happening? Was Peter actually driving us to Portsmouth?
Or is it a trap?
I pictured it all being an elaborate hoax. He’d tricked me into packing up his house and now he was going to dump our bodies and flee the country. Even as we crossed the border into England, I couldn’t shake the idea that he was up to something. I was such a terrible liar – I still am. It was inconceivable that the great manipulator hadn’t seen through my little act. But the closer we got to Portsmouth, the more I let myself believe he’d fallen for it. I allowed myself a brief flash of pride and a smile at the deception.
I must have learnt something during my life with him.
That smile soon vanished the moment we pulled into Middlesex Road and I realized the hardest part was still to come. Now I had to make the call to the solicitor so she could set the legal wheels in motion. A few days ago it had all sounded so simple. I’d light the flare and the cavalry would come charging in. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t see it working any better than when Granny had tried to shift those men from Telscombe Cliffs. Was this solicitor telling me Peter would just be removed from my flat and that would be the end of it? It was all very well these people saying they could do this and stop people doing that, but individuals like Peter live outside the realms of legality. Their brains work differently. They see laws as things for other people. What they want, they get. Life is all about going from A to B – it doesn’t matter how you get there.
I was close to giving up the whole idea. This was the man who’d nearly taken my head off when I’d undercooked his pork chops. He’d killed our son’s guinea pigs just for nibbling a bit of wallpaper.
What the hell is he going to do to me when he discovers I’ve been conning him?
The closer the moment got, the more I was leaning towards not going through with the plan. It was all very well my solicitor throwing him out of the flat tonight. But what about tomorrow night? Where will my protection be then? Or the night after? Or the night after that?
Escape From Evil Page 25