Her Greatest Mistake

by Sarah Simpson

  ‘Eve!’ you commanded. I didn’t need a scene. If I cooperated, you would leave again, I hoped. Then it struck me: what if you were looking for—?

  ‘Eve!’

  ‘Yes, Gregg, no need to shout. What is it?’ I took steps into your study.

  ‘Have you touched my laptop?’

  ‘No, why would I?’ I lied.

  ‘Because something is missing.’

  I felt the beginnings of a blush. Why did I have to be such a bad liar? You moved from your desk to take my chin in your hand, tilting it backwards. Your lips a millimetre from my cheekbone, you snarled, ‘You’re a liar.’ I stumbled backwards; one sharp move away from snapping my neck in your grip.

  ‘Gregg, please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Please don’t find my handbag, I prayed.

  You released me and stalked back towards your desk. Picked up the glass paperweight, then hurled it at the oak door. You were losing control; you didn’t understand the alien feeling. It was more frightening for me too. As you turned without words and moved back towards me, I tasted each step draw closer.

  Not now, not now, please. I’m so close to leaving.

  The force of your recoil flung me to the remorseless floor; my already bruised ribs ached with repetitive strain. Don’t let go, Eve, don’t let go, you’re nearly there. I sheltered my face as usual, repeating: not long now, not long now. Do. Not. Give. Up. Now.

  I opened my jaw and released it, to check my face was still whole. Through the haze I heard a small voice, shrieking from the doorway, then it froze. You froze. You didn’t want Jack to find out who you were, did you? Everyone immobilised. I took my moment. I somehow stood, swiped up Jack, scrambled through the hall, bouncing off walls, and managed to finally sling open the front door.

  Jack held tightly in my arms, I ran as quickly as my bare feet would allow. Why hadn’t I put my shoes on first? Because time wouldn’t have allowed it. We ran, half focusing ahead and half with eyes behind us in fear you would be following. We had no time; we had to get away. We had nothing, Jack and I, nothing; no time to collect our things, no time to collect our coats. It was freezing outside but I don’t think either of us felt it, at that point.

  I had no car keys, no house keys, no money, no bag, no change of clothes for Jack, no food and no phone. But then who would I have called anyway? I didn’t have anyone left to call. Not strictly true – there were people to call; it was more, no one was aware of my situation. Anyone I’d have called would have been deeply shocked, requiring explanations. Stories, the lies, years of covering up and more, all the unimportant matters I didn’t want to be concerned with.

  I felt Jack’s chubby hands holding on tightly to my hair tied at the back of my neck. It pulled and stung but didn’t matter; at least I knew he was with me. He was heavy to run with but it didn’t matter either. He didn’t speak, neither did I, not for a little while. We just scarpered, clinging onto hope. I didn’t even know what I was going to do, or where I was going to go. I only focused on increasing the distance between us and the house. Listening all the time for the roar of your engine. I knew if I could keep moving at a pace, I would eventually reach our nearest neighbour; about two kilometres away. Once I cleared the immediate parameters, I would need to put Jack down; he quickly became too heavy for jelly-like legs. The fight or flight borrowed charge would run out at some point. But I was worried Jack would not be able to move his little legs quickly enough, especially without his shoes, on the cold harsh tarmac.

  Eventually, I buckled and positioned him down in front of me, taking his tiny hand in mine. I peered at his pink frightened face. I didn’t have much time. I needed him to stay as calm as he possibly could. Not easy, especially as I was anything but calm. Focused and determined, but inside the panic gripped. He looked deep into my eyes. I recognised the expression: unadulterated fear and bewilderment.

  ‘It’s okay, Jack, Mummy knows where we’ll go. Everything’s going to be okay. Trust me, darling, please. I promise, Mummy will sort it. Please try not to be scared.’

  He didn’t speak; he didn’t know how to or what to say. He simply nodded. I pulled him in for a hug. As I did, I noticed my bare arms, turning from a pinky red to a blueish purple. I hated to think what my face looked like. I wished I could have explained it merely as the effect of the extreme cold and inappropriate attire, but it was, I expected, more to do with the beating. The pummelling and the booting. A vile metallic taste of blood and a slow-motion flashback of hard knuckles to chin bone. A new form of attack. Just how far were you going to go this time, if it weren’t for Jack? Would it have been lights out for me?

  It didn’t matter anymore; we were free. Nearly.

  Hand in hand we set off again, a couple of shoeless waifs and strays. I silently prayed; please let someone be in at the neighbour’s house, please. I didn’t know their names; how particularly humiliating for this to be our first formal introductions. A couple in their forties or thereabout, whom I’d only ever waved at in passing from time to time. But as the imposing grey granite house came into view, I heard the inimitable rumble closing from behind. It was possibly still a few hundred metres away, thankfully out of sight; obscured by bends in the country lane. I couldn’t let you catch us. We couldn’t go back now. Or ever. Irreversibly, you had overstepped even your concealed mark, and poor Jack; Jack had witnessed, heard far too much. Things that would without any doubt inhabit his conscience for the rest of his life.

  I clutched Jack’s cold arms, yanking him up to me. And ran.

  ‘Jack, quick, we need to hide; we need to find somewhere to hide. I can hear his car, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.’

  At the first opening, I trudged through thick gummy bog as the ground tried to suck us under. The cold sludge squelched between my toes as we slipped and stumbled on. Sheer bloody resolve mixed with terror allowed us through. We continued down the edge of the field before I plunged us both deep into the thick hedgerow. The week before, Jack and I had stood the other side picking cobnuts. Those same branches scratched at sore arms. Biting at my purple bruising. The first drops of blood appeared and smeared against Jack’s taupe trousers. His little face, horrified, as he tenderly touched my bottom lip, holding up his finger to show me: we matched. He appeared so abnormally calm but I could feel his heart thrashing out of time against mine. But we were together, and alive.

  ‘What we doing, Mummy?’ he eventually whispered. ‘Is Daddy goin’ to get us? Is he goin’ to hurt us, Mummy?’ I heard him; I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know the answer. I couldn’t afford for him to feel safe just yet. I didn’t want to frighten him either. I bit my tongue as it longed to reassure him.

  ‘Shush, darling. We need to keep very, very still. Shush now. It will be okay as long as we keep very quiet, very still.’ Words no three-year old could possibly be expected to understand. Let alone the circumstances. ‘Like a game of hide and seek. It is so important we keep very quiet. Try not to move, Jack. Try your hardest for Mummy, please.’

  As I kissed the top of his head I heard the murmurs of a silent cry. Then a whimper. I held and squeezed him as tightly as I could without crushing his small icy body. As from somewhere behind, slithering over us, came the shadow of your dark car, ever so gradually creeping by. I stopped breathing. It slowed to a forbidding stop. No sound. I couldn’t even hear us breathing. I couldn’t feel our heartbeats. I waited, we waited, not a word was uttered between us. We both fully understood the importance of what hung on the next few moments. Shivering, as I felt my body temperature rise. Freezing, yet sweating. Still silence.

  I caught the release of a car door. Then, more silence. I gripped Jack firmer. I could feel your cool anger through the bracken. Could you smell our fear? I couldn’t see anything through the density but your closeness was palpable. Standing a few feet away on the other side. A few menacing inches away. The smell of your aftershave assaulting my senses. I held Jack’s head tightly to my chest, shielding his ears. I pictured you in my mind
’s eye; with one narcissistic foot touching smooth tarmac. Leaning on the immaculate roof of your low-slung Porsche. Scanning the area, listening. Attentive and waiting. Just another sick game for you. A game you needed to win. But I needed to win more.

  Jack unsurprisingly let out the start of another terrified whimper. I stifled his mouth with my hand, hoping he hadn’t been heard. Clasping his cold cheeks in my hand, I kissed the top of his head, staring into his blue eyes, silently pleading him to hold on. Trust me. I couldn’t speak; it was far too risky. We crouched together for what felt such a long time, holding our breath as if submerged under water. We needed to resurface soon. We couldn’t go on for much longer. Jack especially.

  I heard movement from the other side. You were out of the car. Your self-assured footsteps prowled to my left. Making their way towards what I could only imagine to be the field entrance. Where we’d lumbered through just moments before. Could you make out my footprints? Why hadn’t I thought of that? Holding an already fully constricted Jack, I somehow managed to squash us down even further into the abrasive undergrowth. As if without bones. Desperately attempting to time any noise of our movement with the noise of your leather soles on the tarmacked lane. Please, God, someone help us. Please, let us be invisible.

  Your X-ray eyes surveyed our proximity. Glaring in our direction, directly at the shrubbery. I could feel them. I didn’t dare look up. I didn’t need to. Just one further malevolent step forward and I was sure you would see us. We were drowning, held down by your presence, your being. Sinless fear. Dark and darker. I felt myself slipping. I felt Jack slipping; his body became a dead weight. Was it the shrubbery? Was it the terror? Or had we finally passed out? A trickle of sweat and a further sniffle from Jack hurled me back to the moment.

  What were you waiting for? Enjoying the moment? Knowing you didn’t need to move. Standing watching us. Biding your time. Laughing at our pathetic actions, our attempts to escape your prison. I pictured you looking at the boggy field entrance; understanding your dilemma, trying to decide if it was worth ruining expensive shoes for. Looking at my bare footprints, realising you didn’t need to do anything. You simply needed to wait. Prolong our agony and wait. It would soon be dark. I couldn’t survive without you for much longer, could I? Why spoil the fun? After a few moments your footsteps retraced. We took a gulp of air.

  Then, the words, ‘I know you are there, Eve,’ stole my heart.

  I was beaten, with no choice but to relent, despite my resolve to escape. My fear for Jack. The cold air, our isolation, thieved our options. I convinced myself it was only me you would hurt. Not Jack. But then Jack was your weapon. Your pawn. You knew the only true way to hurt me, to control me, was to hurt Jack. But with no phone, in the freezing plummeting temperatures, I would have to walk into the lion’s snare. I hated myself for it. I was trapped. As always. I dragged exhausted legs back through the field entrance and surrendered. You were sitting in the car, reading a newspaper, until your eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. I saw you smile. Jack sobbed as you climbed from the car to greet your family, looking to my feet in disgust. Your car had not long been valeted. You calmly strode towards us shaking your head, tutting.

  ‘You took your time, Eve,’ you said, reaching out. ‘Come to Daddy, Jack. What has your mummy done to you?’ You clasped Jack’s waist, and he dug his feet into me, tightening his grip around my neck. I swayed him away from your touch.

  ‘Don’t touch him,’ I reproached.

  ‘Stop being so fucking stupid. What else will you do? Catch a bus maybe? Call a friend? Your parents perhaps?’ You smiled in a sympathetic manner; a true impressionist.

  Before snatching a defiant Jack. With Jack in your hands you dealt another blow, another lesson. My already bruised ribs crunched on the ground as Jack squealed. I felt nothing, as pain and cold numbness mingled, knowing this was just the beginning. You turned away with your traumatised son and strapped him into his seat. I pressed upwards. I couldn’t allow you to take Jack without me. Please forgive me, Jack, I had no choice.

  We drove back in silence, you humming a cheerful tune to yourself, whilst Jack remained frozen behind. Why did you have to come back to the house? When I had everything ready to leave, why did I take so long, faffing? We could have escaped. As we turned into the driveway, I couldn’t believe my luck, seeing the unknown but familiar black car, the fat, balding man leaning up against it. He looked rougher than I did, nearly. A fleeting glance at you informed me you were not amused by his presence. You had an agenda for us, didn’t you? You thumped your palm on the steering wheel, knowing there would be a delay in my punishment.

  ‘Wait here,’ you instructed me, jumping from the car. I watched the frustrated, hostile exchanges before you returned and leant into the car; you hurled the keys at me. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I mean it, Eve. Do. Not. Betray. Me. The world is not a big enough place for you to hide.’

  Thank you, God. Thank you. I watched them speed away before I dared move. I turned to Jack, sitting stunned in the back, and reached for his hand. ‘It’s okay, Jack. It’s over now. Come on, let’s get ready for our adventure. We need to be quick, sweetheart.’ I left him, running into the house, only to retrieve my keys, bags, shoes and coats before slamming the heavy door behind us. No going back.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cornwall 2016

  ‘So, Milly. I’m so happy you and mum are communicating again.’

  She nods. ‘Yeah, it’s good. We’ve been over all the… stuff. He’s gone now, Mum’s boyfriend. I was scared that he’d come back. But Mum’s said she’ll go the police again if he does, so I’m kinda okay with it now. I got myself all worked up about it.’ She pulls back her sleeve. ‘Couldn’t get it out my head. I did this, the other night.’

  I’m looking at a nasty cut, on her arm. ‘Okay, thank you for being honest.’ I smile at her. ‘Can I ask – what played through your mind when you hurt yourself? What did you tell yourself? Take your time, put yourself back in the exact moment, think about where you were, what you were wearing. What were you thinking, Milly?’

  ‘That I’ll feel better when it’s done. That I’ll be okay.’

  ‘Okay. And did you?’

  ‘Not this time. I felt guilty.’

  ‘Guilty?’

  ‘Yeah. ̛Cos of Mum. I promised her. And she’s really sad already.’

  ‘She is, but mostly because she’s been so worried about you. Perhaps you can see now, it’s the thought of harming yourself, rather than the actual act of doing it, that makes you feel better, for a moment?’ Two lost eyes search my face. ‘The expectation of what the harming will give you. Not the actual harming itself. The actual harming hurts, I’m guessing?’

  ‘It does, yeah.’

  ‘It probably hurts even more now, because now you realise Mum is there; is going through all this with you.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘The harming, it stops you from working out what makes you so unhappy and, more importantly, what to do about it. The bully, remember, the voice in your head, it tells you what to do, that it’s the only way and for the best. It’s the very thing that has locked you into a world of hurt. It lies to you, Milly. Prevents you from working through any problems, so it can keep control of you. For good reason, because if you fight back, stop listening to it – it will lose power, die. Does this make sense?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So today, let’s knock out the lies, and replace them with truths. Put a plan together, decide on a better way to deal with problems.’ She nods at me. Her happiness has fallen prey to the bullies in her life, aided by the Internet. I can’t remove her from this social world she now lives in, only help her to stay in control of her choices.

  I drive home, thoughtful about Milly and the many others. Is this another victim of the instant satisfaction society? I’ve a problem; it needs instant resolution. I don’t want to think about it, wait and sort things through. But then, if I’
d taken this approach instead, maybe Jack and I would be free by now. I had a bully in my head, I heard it and, on the surface, obeyed it; but I also repelled it. Needing to get close enough, in order to be rid of it. I always kept in mind just how convincing the lies were becoming. That bullies are cowards, and at some point they need to be faced. I’m fearful but also weirdly excited with the thought of being rid of you. Petrified of being in your presence again, but I’m stronger now; I’m as ready for you as I’ll ever be. I hope I’m doing the right thing. Last week, at 08.10 sharp, you called my mobile. Only this time, for some reason, you forgot to withhold your number – was this deliberate? Whilst sitting with Milly, I decided – tonight is the night, I am going to text you.

  My journey home is lost in thought. Then when I arrive, straight away I notice Jack is not back yet. The house is in darkness. Where is he? He was supposed to be dropped home after football, before now? I call his mobile; it diverts to voicemail. Though I’m as sure as I can be it was a deliberate rejection. Why would he do this? He knows how worried I quickly become. My imagination begins to fire: is he with someone he shouldn’t be with? Doing something he shouldn’t be? Or has someone else taken his mobile from him? I drop my briefcase to the floor, suddenly aware of the weight. Should I go and look for him? I sweep through the ground floor, flicking light switches. My mobile pings in my hand:

  Back in 5. Stop worrying x

  My breathing begins to move down my chest – but why didn’t he pick up my call in the first place? I gather up my coat and briefcase; at least he’s safe. It’s all that matters. I clatter through the front room, towards the stairs as Humphrey bounces down the last step, meowing, twirling his soft fur around my legs.

  ‘At least I have you.’ I drop my briefcase again to pick him up, as he nuzzles his cold nose against my cheek. But there’s a scent of something. Not in the air; a foreign scent, not unpleasant, more – unknown. I sniff at Humphrey’s fur again. It’s on him, the strange smell. He must have been in all day, with no way out. Yet, someone else has stroked him. A subtle smell of something woody, slightly sweet, hand cream? Aftershave? I tread through to the kitchen; everything looks the same. I try the back door; it’s locked. I scan the room looking for deviations; nothing as it shouldn’t be. Then it occurs to me, how is Humphrey in the house? When I left this morning, he was outside. I’m sure he was, or was that yesterday?