by Nicole Trope
That night, after they had made love and he had drifted off to sleep in the big hotel bed, she had tried to figure out why the incident had disturbed her so much. It could have been the precision with which the socks were thrown or it could have been something else she had noticed. Alex had apologised again and again and he had continually asked if she was okay as they made their way to the hotel, but there was something else underneath all his concern that bothered her. In the moment between the socks hitting her eye and Alex apologising, Liz had seen him look at her with a small flicker of amazed triumph. He had hurt her and he had seemed, only for a moment, to be proud of the fact that he could hurt her. It was a bizarre understanding that she came to. She couldn’t discuss the incident with anyone because it was only a pair of socks, a rolled-up ball of cotton. People would probably laugh at her.
If she thought about it the right way, if she blamed herself enough, then just about every incident was just an accident.
The first time Alex had really hurt her he was trying to get past her in the middle of an argument over her bringing Luke into the bed at night, and he had shoved her a little. Well, more than a little. She had been standing in front of the bedroom door at the time and the round brass doorknob had pressed deeply into her back. Luke was only two months old and she felt like death would be a solution to her sleep problems. Someone suggested co-sleeping and Liz finally got a few hours in between feeds but Alex hated sharing his bed with the baby. She would curl her body protectively around Luke and he felt excluded.
The doorknob had left a purple circle on her back. It was the first time it had ever happened. Before Luke arrived there were times when she felt him getting close to an explosion but then she could always prevent it. She had no idea why she wanted to prevent it. She told herself it was love and that she didn’t want him to be unhappy. She told herself that marriage was about compromise. Alex was big on the word ‘compromise’.
After Luke was born she was just so tired that she didn’t see the telltale signs that she’d pushed him too far. She couldn’t dredge up the energy to distract him with sex or cook him his favourite dinner or just talk him out of his anger.
He had been so apologetic that first time. He had asked to see the bruise again and again and then cursed himself for marking her flesh. Something about the way he looked at the bruise had felt familiar but she couldn’t think what.
She hadn’t remembered the sock incident then.
He had brought her flowers and cooked dinner and walked the hallway with Luke for hours so that she could sleep. Liz had wanted to talk things through and maybe get Alex to agree to talk to someone about how he was feeling but she didn’t really have the energy. She was too tired, too grateful for his apology. It was only later, after she had left him and spent the nights at her mother’s house trapped in the chat rooms of the abused, that she remembered about the socks and it occurred to her that each time he hurt her there was a moment that she saw if she was watching him: the moment when he was pleased that he had managed to hurt her.
She had laughed out loud at the memory of the socks and then, when she realised that it had been the biggest sign of them all, she had cried.
He was always brilliant in the loving phase. The phase that came after the tension phase and the explosion phase was the best time to be married to Alex.
‘After he broke my arm the first time he got me a car,’ said Rhonda. ‘It was a piece of shit but at least I could get to the shops.’
‘He took the kids for three days so I could go on a girl’s weekend after he gave me two black eyes,’ said Cherry.
‘He let me get pregnant again and he didn’t touch me the whole time after he punched me in the stomach and I lost the first one,’ said Glenda.
It took her a long time to see the pattern. Men who really beat their wives weren’t so sorry after it happened, were they? She didn’t dare look it up on their shared computer and there was no way she would give either of her parents the satisfaction of such a discussion.
When she had joined the group and listened to the other women talk sentimentally about the loving phase and all that came with it she had felt completely stupid. She was an educated woman but she had imagined that such a thing could not possibly happen to her.
She kept quiet, she made excuses for him, she blamed herself and she learned to be very, very good. She moved Luke out of their bed and lay still while Alex climbed on top of her and Luke screamed. She asked him about his day first before she told him about her day. She cooked his favourite foods and pushed pieces of meat past her lips because he liked company while he ate. She did all the right things but somehow she still managed to make him angry enough to hurt her. The list of triggers was growing longer and longer.
Some days she thought she had seen all the triggers but then a new one would pop up which she only noticed when she was nursing a bruise. Unfolded washing had become a trigger on a day when the rest of the house was perfect. The laundry basket sat on top of the washing machine in the laundry. He’d had to go looking for it because the laundry was at the back of the house but he’d found it and he had added it to his list and the bruise on the top of Liz’s arm had taken days to fade. The next day he came home with takeaway food and a bunch of roses. He seemed to think it was a fair trade and she had smiled and accepted his apology again.
When she had finally taken down the suitcase when he was at work and crept out of the house her mother had been horrified.
‘You never let a man put his hands on you, Liz. Didn’t I tell you that over and over again?’
Liz had merely nodded at her mother. If you weren’t in it you couldn’t understand it.
‘At least you left him the first time he did it,’ her mother had said, little knowing it was far from the first time. It was just the first time that the bruises couldn’t be hidden.
Liz had known after he punched her in the face because the chicken was overdone that they were moving into a new stage. If he didn’t care who saw what he had done then she was in real trouble.
After his fist had connected with her face Alex had said, ‘Go show that to your mother,’ and then he had gone out to get himself some proper dinner.
In the morning he had been horrified at the damage he had caused. He had begged, literally begged her to stay inside until she was healed. He would do everything. He would stay home and take care of Luke so she could rest. He would cook and clean.
He told her he was ashamed of himself. He even shed a tear or two. She had accepted his grief and his shame and his pleas for her to forgive him and told him that she would be fine. She would stay at home until she was ready for the world again. She told him to go to work and he could call all day to find out how she was doing. She mentioned his boss, who was ‘an arsehole’, and he smiled at her for remembering how important it was for him to stay on top of things at work. He told her he loved her and that she was the perfect wife and mother and that he was going to be better. He was going to do better.
Even nodding hurt but Liz had nodded to let him know that she understood.
Once he had left the house she had known what needed to be done. She and Luke made a game of packing for a holiday at Nana’s house. They packed quickly in order to leave before the first phone call so that Luke would not give anything away. Alex always asked to speak to Luke. He always got Luke to tell him what Mummy had been doing.
So they packed and Luke touched her black eye gently with his chubby little hands and wondered how she had hurt herself and Liz looked at her son and knew she had to pack faster and leave quicker.
Because always, every time something happened, the idea that Luke might one day be included in his rages was there. Luke was always clean, just sleepy enough to give no trouble and adoring when his father came home. But Liz knew she couldn’t control his behaviour forever.
Alex loved his son more than anything. His absolute adoration of his child was the right way for him to feel about Luke but he was wary about Liz feel
ing the same way about the boy.
‘There are two boys in your life, Liz,’ he said. ‘Remember that.’
But Luke was getting bigger. He had some distinctly unlovable moments like every child did. He wanted to stay up and play and sometimes he wanted his toys out of their boxes and strewn across his bedroom floor. Sometimes he wanted to jump when it was time to lie down, and he could shout and cry when he got angry. Liz saw the possibility of Luke testing his father. And Luke had no idea where that could lead. Alex had called her before she got Luke out of the house but by then Luke knew they were keeping a secret surprise from daddy. A wonderful secret surprise.
‘Me and mum are playing dress-ups,’ Liz heard him say into the phone. Just the way she had told him to say it.
The second time Alex called Liz had told him that Luke’s hands were covered with paint, and by the third time they were safe in her mother’s house and Liz was bracing for the moment when Alex walked back into an empty house.
She had spent the first two weeks at her mother’s house just waiting for Alex to break down the door and drag her home again. It was only when she realised that he had little or no strength in the outside world—in the light, where people could see him—that she could finally relax.
He couldn’t touch her now because she had moved out of his house. He couldn’t hurt her because she didn’t live with him and now Liz wondered as she stared at the phone in her hand if that meant he needed to find another way to hurt her. Did he miss the feeling of triumph he got after he threw the socks and pushed her into a door and punched her in the eye? And if he missed it, what would he do to get it back?
How far would he go?
Now she dialled his phone one more time. If he would only answer she would use the right words. She would say whatever she needed to say. She would suggest she come and meet them and they could do something together as a family. Alex wanted them to be a family again and she could play along with the best of them. There was a deep feeling of unease taking over her body. She wasn’t there for Alex to take out his rage on. There was only one person there he could hurt and that was Luke. As she dialled his number she finally allowed herself to acknowledge her worst fear: that Alex was capable of hurting his son in order to hurt her.
Alex’s phone was still switched off.
She went into the lounge room.
‘We need to call the police again,’ she told her mother. Her stomach rolled over and she could feel beads of sweat forming on her face. Her heart was racing. What did they call this? Animal instinct.
Something was very wrong.
If she had to put her fear into words she knew it would sound silly. She could call the police station and say, ‘My husband is late bringing back my son and I’m really worried because he took his blankie away and he knows how important that blankie is to Luke. He was the one who bought it for him. After I found out I was pregnant I called Alex and that very night he came home with this blue blanket edged in satin that was so soft it made me want to cry. I wrapped our son in it when he came home from the hospital and we had to search the internet to find two or three more because he could never sleep without his blankie. I keep one at my mother’s house and one in the car just in case he needs to touch something to feel safe and now his father has taken it away. I’m worried because I think that if he’s taken away the blankie he’s trying to make him grow up and I know what my husband does to grownups who piss him off.’
‘Don’t wait, Liz,’ said her mother. In Ellen’s concerned gaze Liz could see her own fear reflected. ‘Don’t wait any longer, just call them.’
Ellen had put down her knitting. Her hands began a dance, twisting and turning as they sought the glass that would hold something to make this moment and all moments to come easier.
Liz wanted her mother to tell her to relax, to calm down and have another cup of tea. She wanted her to say, ‘You can’t get this hysterical every time he’s late bringing Luke back.’
But her mother said, ‘Call them.’
Liz felt like she was riding a sea of nausea when she picked up the phone.
She dialled the police station again.
Something was very wrong.
One hour late
‘Good afternoon, West Wood police station, can I help you?’
‘Yeah, um, I called a while ago about my son. He’s out with his father on an access visit and they’re not home yet.’
‘How long ago did you call, ma’am?’
‘I called at about twenty past two.’
Lisa looked at her watch.
‘Okay, ma’am, can you give me your full name and your son’s name and your husband’s name again?’
The woman on the phone talked and Lisa wrote down the details again and compared them to the last call.
She hadn’t done anything about the first call. The phone had not stopped and when it finally quietened down some woman came in with a broken nose and bled everywhere while she screamed about the ‘fucker’ who had hit her.
It crossed Lisa’s mind that she should have done something but she let the thought go. There was no point in looking back because there was nothing she could have done anyway. She took a deep breath and sent up a little prayer to the heavens that this was still just an ordinary day.
‘Okay, Liz—can I call you Liz?’
‘Yes, sure, that’s fine.’
‘You need to come in so we can discuss this further.’
‘No . . . no I can’t leave. If they come back . . . I need to be here.’
‘You really need to come in, Liz. That way we can raise our level of concern.’
‘I can’t come in. I’m not leaving this house.’
The woman sounded stubbornly attached to the idea of remaining at home.
‘Is there anyone else out looking for them?’
‘No, we haven’t—I mean . . . I’m going to call . . . I’m going to call my father. He could go out to look but we have no idea where they are.’
‘Could your father stay at the house and wait for them while you come in and file the report?’
‘No, I told you: I can’t leave. If he comes home and finds me gone it will piss him off.’
‘Who will it piss off, Liz?’
‘Alex. It will upset Alex and I’ve already . . .’
‘You’ve already what, Liz?’
‘Nothing. I just don’t want to come in and I want my parents here with me. I need to stay here!’
‘Okay, Liz, it’s okay. I need you to stay calm so we can sort this out. Don’t yell at me and I won’t yell at you and we can talk this through.’
‘Sorry, I’m sorry . . . I’m just . . .’
‘I know, Liz. I understand. Okay now . . . tell me when you last spoke to Alex.’
‘He just called now.’
‘And where did he say they were?’
‘At an arcade, at a shopping centre. He didn’t seem sure which shopping centre.’
‘He didn’t seem sure? Was he upset? Did he sound agitated?’
‘No . . . Well, yeah, I guess. He sounded angry.’
‘He sounded angry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he angry with?’
‘Me, of course. He wants to reconcile and I don’t. I didn’t want to discuss getting back together again. I just wanted him to bring Luke home.’
‘Did you talk to your son?’
‘I did and he’s okay. It’s just a feeling I have. He’s very late and he usually brings Luke back on time. In fact, he’s always on time. Time is a big thing for Alex. He hates to be late.’
‘Okay, Liz, I know I asked you before but I need to ask again: is there any reason why you are concerned about your husband and son being late?’
‘Well, he’s an hour late now. That’s pretty late.’
‘Okay.’
‘Look, I know it sounds stupid but he switched off the phone after we talked and he seemed really angry. He says he wants more time with my son, with Luke, but I’m wo
rried that he might decide to keep him or something.’
‘Why do you think he would do that, Liz?’
‘I don’t know. He’s angry about the separation and he has a temper.’
‘Ding, ding, ding,’ thought Lisa. ‘And there it is.’
‘Has he ever harmed you or Luke?’
‘Not Luke—he’s never hurt Luke.’
‘But he’s hurt you?’
‘Yes.’
Lisa took a deep breath. The woman on the phone said ‘yes’ and that ‘yes’ could mean anything. It could mean that her husband hurled ugly words at her occasionally. It could mean that sometimes if he wanted sex and she said ‘not tonight’ she wound up doing what he wanted after he pushed her down and held her there. It could mean he gave her a little slap with an open hand or a punch with a closed fist, or it could mean that every now and then he put her in the hospital.
Two months ago she had been out on duty when there was a domestic violence call. She and Max had been working together then, and when they had arrived they found the wife barricaded in the bedroom, refusing to come out. ‘Has your husband hurt you?’ Max had asked and the woman had said ‘yes’ through the door. Just one word. Just ‘yes’.
Eventually, when she was sure he was handcuffed and the ambos had arrived, the woman had opened the door.
Lisa had to hold on to her stomach when she saw her. One arm dangled uselessly by the woman’s side and there were bleeding cuts all over her face. Three of her teeth were missing and her leg collapsed out from under her when she tried to walk. They had asked if her husband had hurt her and all she had said was ‘yes’.
Lisa knew that there were so many possible scenarios behind a ‘yes’ she couldn’t even begin to count them. She gave herself a small mental kick for not asking the woman the last time she had called.
‘I wish you’d mentioned that earlier,’ she said.
‘It’s not something . . . I didn’t know it would be relevant.’
‘Yes,’ said Lisa. ‘It’s very relevant.’ She was angry now. ‘When was the last time you suffered abuse at the hands of your husband?’