‘I didn’t do this. I wouldn’t,’ he said, and tried to come towards me, but I moved behind the table and looked around for a weapon to protect myself. ‘I was asleep,’ he said again, but I could see the doubt creeping over him. He was certain he’d seen dancing badgers in the living room a few nights earlier.
‘I want you to leave. Now,’ I said. ‘Or I’m calling the police.’
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘You’ll go back to prison,’ I said, picking up a knife from the drainer which made him stop where he was. ‘I’ll call the police, and they’ll see what you did, and you’ll go to prison.’
‘But I didn’t do it.’ He paced back and forth, hand rubbing at the same spot on his forehead. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said again, his voice stronger this time, surer.
‘You’ll probably get a few years. Is that what you want?’
‘Polly, why are you doing this?’
‘If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call them, I swear I will,’ I said, waving the knife towards him, showing how serious I was. ‘Just go, Jacob. Just leave me alone.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not going. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t hit you. I know I didn’t. I know it.’
‘So, who did, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘You think I did it to myself? You think I go around hurting myself and trying to blame you? I’m not the crazy one. You are,’ I said, and jabbed the knife in his direction.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ he said.
‘That’s not what the doctor says. You know what Doctor Turner said to me that day when you went outside? He said you were insane, that you needed help and that he wanted to lock you up. It was only because I said I’d look after you, that you’re still here. And now, I wish I hadn’t bothered.’
‘You’re lying,’ he said.
‘Am I? You really think you’re normal? You’ve never been normal, Jacob. You’re just like your mum. You’re both crackers.’
‘Stop it,’ he said.
‘I’m just being honest. You said people lie to you all the time, well, I’m telling you the truth. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in the loony bin right now.’
‘Liar!’ he said, and shoved the table at me. ‘You’re lying, about everything. So, you leave. You get out of my house.’
‘It’s my house, Jacob. You sold it to me, remember.’
‘No, I didn’t. You’re lying.’
‘You can leave now, or I’ll call the police and you’ll either end up in jail or the mental hospital. Your choice.’
Jacob ran around the table and grabbed my arm, trying to get the knife from me. We struggled and he pushed me into the fridge, but I refused to let go, bringing my knee up and catching him in the balls. He let go of me and bent over, clutching himself.
‘I’m giving you one last chance,’ I said, and looked at the knife.
He ran from the kitchen, down the hall and out the door. I watched him run down the street, not even looking back. He was gone.
I closed the door and locked up, went into the kitchen and realised I was still holding the knife, so I wiped it down and then tidied up the rest of the mess. Then, I made a cup of tea and had a sit down, wondering what to do with the rest of my day.
49
I walked down the hallway at the home, past other visitors, past the carers, and not one person asked me what’d happened. No one blinked at the mess of my face, no one cared enough. They were all too busy. But I was glad. I didn’t want people asking questions.
In Mum’s room, I pulled up a chair beside the bed and watched her face as she lay there, half propped up with lumpy pillows. She was asleep, her mouth open, her skin sallow. She looked like the living dead, and I wondered if she’d ever be right again. At least she couldn’t see me. Couldn’t see what I’d done.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I said, and buttoned up her bed jacket in case she was cold. ‘How are you feeling?’
I knew she couldn’t hear me or respond, but I didn’t know what was worse, sitting there talking to myself or sitting there in silence. So, I told her about work and how boring it was, about the temp who’d been a drug dealer and that he got sacked for doing his business in the break room. That wasn’t strictly true, but it made for a better story.
I told her that Sasha had been dumped and that she’d put on a lot of weight, which wasn’t true either, as far as I knew, but it was just something else to tell her. And then I was running out of things to say, and all I could think about was Jacob. I wondered if he’d gone for good, if I was that lucky, or if he’d come crawling back when he thought I’d calmed down. I wanted to talk to someone about it. But I knew I couldn’t. I had to keep it to myself. About the house at least.
‘Do you remember Jacob? The weird kid I went to school with? You made me go to his party when I was little?’ I asked. ‘I hated it, and I was so angry that his family had that nice house. And you always said life wasn’t fair and that was it. But I knew you were jealous too. I knew you wanted that house as much as I did. And you always said you had to look out for yourself, didn’t you?’
Cathy popped her head in the room, and I stopped talking.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked, and I turned and nodded, forgetting about the state of my face. Cathy gasped and stepped into the room. ‘What happened?’
I shook my head and looked away. ‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ I said, and she stood there gawping at me until I stared back, wide eyed. She got the hint.
‘Anyway,’ I said when Cathy had left. ‘I ran into Jacob one night. I knew it was him straight away, he looks almost exactly the same. I didn’t really want to talk to him, but he saw me and started talking, and you know what people are like. And then I kept running into him. To be honest, I’m not sure if he was following me or something. I felt sorry for him, so I talked to him. I guess it was the same as when we were at school and I was the only one who’d stay at his party. I’m a sucker, I suppose.
‘So, anyway, we started seeing each other a lot, and then, he told me his mum had died so it’s not like I could just walk away, could I? But he’s so needy.’
I looked at her, but there was nothing. Not even a flicker of life or a twitch of a muscle. She was just lying there. She didn’t know what I was saying at all.
‘I wish I hadn’t let him touch me,’ I said, my voice even quieter now. I didn’t want the nurses to hear this. ‘But I suppose we both got what we wanted in the end. He got me. I got the house.’
50
When I got home, I unlocked the door and went inside, and I just knew he was there. The TV wasn’t on, there was no smell of burnt food, but I could tell he was in there, somewhere. His presence somehow announced itself. Maybe I’d known deep down he’d come back, that I was naive to think he’d just go like that, without a fight, without more of a struggle. I certainly wouldn’t have.
I walked through to the living room and found him sitting on the settee in the almost dark, no TV to distract him, nowhere for his thoughts to be directed except at me. He turned to me as I went in, but his face was blank, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or if he’d forgiven me again, that he’d thought the events that took place earlier were just another little squabble. A lover’s tiff.
I put my keys in my pocket and wondered why he hadn’t changed the locks. Wondered why I hadn’t changed the locks when he ran away. Had I been so confident I thought I didn’t need to take precautions? Was Jacob so stupid that he thought things would be okay between the two of us when he came back? Maybe he was just too stupid full stop. Doing something like changing the locks would be beyond him.
‘What’re you doing here?’ I asked as he stood up, my words stopping him from coming any closer.
‘I live here,’ he said, and from anyone else it would’ve sounded sarcastic, but from Jacob, it was just a plain fact. A straight answer to a straight question. But it also meant he hadn’t taken to h
eart anything I’d said or done earlier. That all my efforts were for nothing. What was it going to take to get him to go and leave me alone?
‘We’ve been through this,’ I said. ‘You can’t stay here anymore.’
‘I can,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the money back.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s too late for that.’
‘Here,’ he said, handing me a wad of notes. ‘You can go home.’
‘This is my home,’ I said, and took the money anyway.
‘It’s my home,’ he said, sounding like a child. ‘My mum wouldn’t want you here. She wouldn’t want me to leave.’
‘Your mum is dead,’ I said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with her.’
‘It’s her house. My house.’
‘Not anymore,’ I said, and walked away from him, into the kitchen.
‘You have to go, Polly,’ he said, and came up behind me, pulling at my sleeve. I spun around, and he moved back, startled by my anger.
‘I’m not going! And if you don’t get out of my house, I’m calling the police.’
‘You can’t,’ he said.
‘Watch me,’ I said, and pulled my phone from my bag. ‘Who are they going to believe, Jacob? We’ve been through this. I’ve got proof you sold the house to me. I’ve got proof you hurt me. Do you really think some policeman is going to walk in here and take a look at both of us and throw me out on the street? You’re pathetic, Jacob. You always have been. Even your mum thought so.’
‘She didn’t,’ he said, and suddenly, he was the ten-year-old boy that no one wanted to play with.
‘Do you know what she told me when I came to your birthday party? She said she wished she hadn’t bothered spending money on someone that nobody liked. That she was embarrassed you were her son, and she wished she’d had one of the other boys, one of the kids who played football or could read and write properly. She wished I was her kid. When everyone else had gone and there was just me left, she told me she wished I could stay, and you could go home to someone else, that you could be somebody else’s problem instead. Because that’s all you are Jacob, someone’s problem. So, don’t think your mum would care for one second whether you stayed here or not, she’d probably be glad to see the back of you.’
I saw it coming, but I didn’t flinch, didn’t try to move away from it. He was fast and used his whole body, all thirteen stone was behind his fist, and it felt as though my skull had shattered, and I fell to the floor, blinded for a while, my ears ringing, blood flowing.
I could hear him, but he wasn’t really speaking, or if he was the pain in my head was distorting things so it just sounded like noise. Angry, feral noise, like a wild animal loose in the house.
When my senses returned, my faculties more or less intact, I cowered, did what I could to defend myself from him, but I was on the floor, and he was over me, his fists swinging randomly, hitting whatever they found nearest. I could feel pain shooting up from my ribs, my legs, my arms, my face. I couldn’t tell one body part from another after a while, I felt like one giant bruise forming beneath his hands. A mass of bones just waiting to crack and crumble.
I was curled up in a ball when he stopped, the ringing in my ears constant. I could hear him breathing, heavy sobbing gasps for air. I knew he was still looking at me, standing over me, staring down at the mess on the floor, the mess he’d made.
My eyes were closed, but I could feel him there, feel his body heat that mixed with my own and was making me burn. My skin ached and throbbed, it hurt to move, to breathe.
‘I’m sorry.’
At least that’s what I thought he said, but when I finally opened my eyes, at least the one that wasn’t swollen shut, all I saw was the back of his heels running out of the kitchen. He thundered down the hall and out of the door, slamming it behind him, and all I was left with was the ringing in my ears and the pain in my bones.
I’d thought twice about it, but I guessed that in the short term, it would at least keep him away and maybe, hopefully, even get rid of him for good.
I tried to stand up but everything hurt, and walking, even to the kitchen table, was a struggle. He’d really done some damage, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d imagined having to inflict something on myself, some measly little shallow scratch with a knife or another mug in the face. But this was better. There was probably even some forensic evidence. His knuckles had likely left an imprint on my skin.
I managed to drag myself to the mirror in the hallway and looked at the damage, at the blood and the bruises and the way my body curled in on itself. And then, I called the police.
Two officers called to the house; one man, one woman. When they’d come to the door they didn’t seem interested, offhand almost, as if I’d interrupted their tea break. But then they came in and saw me under the florescent lights, and they changed. They got out their notebooks and pens and scribbled things down as I told them what’d happened. They asked too many questions, and I had to tell them things I didn’t really want to get into, about our relationship, and whether this was my house and if I had somewhere else to go, as if I should be the one to leave after what’d happened.
But they took it seriously, and the woman took some photographs of my injuries as evidence of what Jacob had done. They wanted me to go to the station and to the hospital, but I refused. I wasn’t leaving the house. Never again. They looked at each other, a sneaky glance that I saw easily, even with my swollen eye. She’s mad, their glares said. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving and letting him back in.
‘Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?’ the male officer asked. ‘Any friends or family he could’ve gone to? Any favourite pubs or places he might be hiding at?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He’s got no family. I don’t know his friends. He never mentions anyone. He’ll probably come back here.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t want to leave?’ the woman asked. ‘We can find somewhere for you. A hostel or shelter, if you don’t want to go to a friend.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not leaving.’ They both sighed and stuffed their notebooks back into their pockets. ‘So, what happens now?’ I asked.
‘We’ll look for him,’ the man said. ‘If he comes back here, give us a call immediately, or if you hear from anyone about where he might be.’
‘That’s it?’
‘There’s not much we can do until we find him,’ he said, and they turned towards the front door.
‘I need to change the locks,’ I said, and they looked at each other again, and the man nodded slightly.
‘I’ll call someone,’ the woman said, and went outside to use the phone. She sounded tired, and I wondered if they were nearing the end of their shift or if she was just constantly bored in her job.
She came back in and said someone was on their way and that they’d wait with me until the job was done. I offered them a drink, and they accepted, but the man got up and said he’d make it. The woman sat there on the settee and looked around, probably judging the state of the place, making assumptions about me from the house and from what’d happened.
I ignored her and stood by the window, looking out for the locksmith arriving, wanting it done as soon as possible so they’d all go and leave me alone. I just wanted to sleep.
And then I saw him.
Jacob was standing on the other side of the road, his hands in his pockets, his hood pulled up. He was staring at the house, but I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me yet. He was looking at the police car parked in front of the house, and I knew he’d be terrified. His eyes left the car, then, and he started to walk away, but he noticed me standing there and stopped. We gazed at each other for a few seconds, and I wondered if I should tell the police officer sitting behind me that the man who’d beat the shit out of me was standing across the street, that he was there just waiting to be arrested. But I decided not to. There’d be time for that later. Instead, I smiled and gave a little wave, knowing that was enough.
Jacob
took off down the street, faster than I’d ever seen him move. And I knew he was gone for good this time. It was over. I’d won.
51
By the time the locksmith and the police had left, I was exhausted. I went into the kitchen and took a few Ibuprofen with a glass of water and then dragged myself up the stairs to bed. I wanted to collapse beneath the covers and sleep for a long time, knowing that Jacob was gone, that he couldn’t get in anyway, even if he was stupid enough to come back.
But the smell in the bedroom reminded me of him, and I just couldn’t bring myself to stay in that room. I knew I’d never sleep, and that if I did, his face would haunt my dreams. So I limped to his mother’s bedroom and climbed onto the mattress where she’d died and pulled the bare duvet over myself, aching for sleep.
I somehow slept without any trouble, the memories and fear fading out as I drifted into sleep. There were no bad dreams, no good dreams, either, just a long nine hours of sleep that did me the world of good.
When I woke, I felt refreshed, and though I still ached and things still hurt if I put pressure on them or moved too quickly, I felt much better. But I knew I couldn’t go to work, not in this state. Instead, I made an emergency doctor’s appointment, making sure I saw Turner so that he could see just how bad things had got.
The look on his face said everything. As I walked in, his mouth dropped, and before he’d even taken a look at me, he was talking about the police.
‘I’ve already spoken to them,’ I said. ‘I just need a sick note.’
‘You’ll need more than that,’ he said. ‘Have you not been to the hospital? Had any x-rays or anything?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. I just can’t go to work like this, so a sick note would be helpful.’
He looked me over, saw the way I clutched my side. ‘You should’ve had stitches,’ he said. ‘And your ribs could be broken. You really need an x-ray to make sure.’
No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller Page 19