‘Other boys and girls have mums,’ he told me one day. ‘Why can’t you be a mum?’
‘Then who would be your dad?’ I asked attempting to work with a child’s logic.
There was a stage that lasted for about three months. He could not go to sleep until I told him stories about his mother. Stories that would have made little sense to a three- or four-year-old, but stories that were punctuated with the words ‘your mum’. Two magic syllables that could make his life complete.
All of the photos we looked at were well thumbed, some even wore chocolate and jam stains like medals. Each of them came with a story that Pat, by now, knew by heart. Nonetheless he insisted I tell them all over again.
After I completed my repertoire Pat turned his gaze on me.
‘Mummy’s watching me, isn’t she, Dad?’
‘Of course she is, son.’
‘Do you think she likes Anna?’
‘I’m sure she does,’ I answered. So far I had managed to keep the reality of my relationship with Anna from Pat. Pride was a factor in this, but I also wanted him to feel secure within our little family.
We were eating breakfast when he said it. Ryan was in his highchair chanting, ‘Mummy do it, Mummy do it,’ meaning that he wanted Anna to spoon him his Weetabix. Normally, no one could ‘do it’ but Ryan himself.
Pat sat down in his chair and poured some Sugar Puffs into a bowl.
‘Could I have the milk, Mum?’ he said.
Anna opened her mouth as if to say something, left it hanging open and pushed the milk over to Pat. Without looking at her, he spooned the cereal into his mouth like it was the last plateful on the planet. Anna’s eyes were large and bright with moisture as they met mine. Her smile of joy threatened to spill completely over into tears. She leaned forward and kissed Pat on the head.
It was moments like this that I clung to, evidence of her vulnerability that I thrust to the front of my mind whenever Anna bore down on me.
‘I said, what fucking time is this to be coming home?’ Anna’s whisper was now a low growl.
Without even looking at her, I walked past her into our bedroom. She chased after me, feet drumming on the carpet.
Thrusting her chin up at me she said, ‘Well?’
‘Well, nothing.’ I stood in front of her. The last argument we had I had cowed down to her in an attempt to see if passive behaviour would deflect her fury. It didn’t. Tonight I would give as good, verbally, as I got.
‘You useless prick. You leave me all night with the boys and then you come in at midnight and expect a smiling wife.’
‘I expect nothing, Anna. But a civil wife would be nice.’ My alcoholic fog had all but dispersed.
‘I’ll give you fucking civil.’ She ran at me and drove her fist towards my groin. I managed to get my knee up in time.
‘Just leave it, Anna.’ I pushed her away from me. ‘We’re both tired. Let’s just get some sleep.’ I spoke through clenched teeth, trying to keep a hold of my irritation.
‘Don’t fucking tell me to leave it, you arsehole.’ A few more expletives were hurled at me. ‘I don’t mind if you go out with your precious brother, but I expect you in at a decent hour.’
I began to undress. But I didn’t turn away from her. I had learned early on in our marriage that was a foolish thing to do. Wearing only boxers and a t-shirt I padded over to her. Before we got married I always slept in the nude. The night clothes I chose to wear now were a precautionary measure. It kept a further layer between her and my skin.
‘You’re a liar. You do mind that I go out with Jim. You hate it. You’re jealous that I have a decent relationship with my family. That there are people who love me. Who have you got? Nobody, cos you’ve scared them all off.’ I braced myself for her reaction. For a moment there was none. It was the first time that I had ever been so unkind to her. Her stunned expression backed my theory.
She quickly recovered. Her right hand shot up and grabbed a chunk of hair. With a speed that surprised me she tugged my head down towards her. Satisfaction that I had obviously stung her alleviated the pain that crowded the back of my head.
‘Ya big bastard,’ she spat. Her other hand raked at my face.
I pushed her away from me, lost my balance and fell onto the bed. She jumped on me. Her knees drove into the small of my back while her fists flailed at my back, neck and head.
‘Get off me you mad bitch,’ I shouted. Until now, concern that we would wake the boys had quietened my voice. This was too painful. ‘Get off.’ I pushed up off the bed, throwing Anna off my back.
I heard her fall onto the floor. She grunted. Then her voice took on a pitiful whine.
‘Andy, I’ve hurt my back.’
Guilt punched anger out of the way and feeling that I had gone too far I leaned over the bed to see if she was alright.
‘Wanker!’ she laughed, and drove a fist into my face. Her blow caught me on the chin. I fell back but managed to keep my balance.
‘I had two brothers,’ she crowed. ‘I learned every trick in the book.’
My fists clenched inadvertently by my side as I took a step towards her. One punch and I could take her out. She read the furious look on my face.
‘Just try it big boy,’ she said defiantly. ‘The police will be down here sooner than you can pack an overnight bag.’
I knew she was right. Any violence on my part would result in me being locked up. God knew what would happen to the boys then. Or even my job. I would be labelled a wife-beater and I was sure the bank would take a dim view of that. I slunk out of the room, fully expecting my turned back to become a target of more blows.
In the bathroom, I examined the welts on my face. They had begun to smart. My chin was only faintly bruised. Fortunately Anna’s nails had not broken the skin. So I would only have to explain away some red lines instead of scabs.
Her fist slammed into my right kidney.
‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’ She was beside me. Her eyes those of a stranger, her nostrils flared and her mouth drawn in a tight, white line of hate.
I screwed my eyes shut against the pain that blossomed in the small of my back. How long would this go on for? How long could I take it before I hit back? What sort of damage would I do once I started?
‘Daddy,’ Pat appeared at his door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing, son,’ I brushed past Anna, ‘C’mon we’ll take you back to bed.’
‘But you and Mum are shouting. We don’t like it when you shout.’ He was wearing his Darth Vader pyjamas.
‘Mummy and I are fine, just you go back to bed.’ I patted his behind and led him back to bed.
Closing his door, I turned to face Anna, fury simmering in her expression. She followed me into our bedroom, punching at my kidneys as we walked. The only ploy available to me now was to pretend she was having no effect. Teeth clenched in pain I walked to the wardrobe. I plucked my coat from its hanger, a thick wool coat that Patricia had bought me the Christmas before she died. It would keep me warm as I slept on the couch
‘Where the fuck are you going?’ demanded Anna.
‘I’m going to get some sleep. On the couch.’
‘That’s what you think.’ She ran out of the room.
Kicking my feet into my slippers I followed her. When I walked into the living room she was pouring the contents of the kettle over the couch. She faced me and almost purred with satisfaction.
‘So where are you going to sleep now?’
‘Fuck you, you mad, sad, bitch,’ I drove my arms into the sleeves of my coat and walked at a furious pace out the front door.
Huddled against the chill night air, I don’t know how long I walked for, my mind chanting ‘bitch, bitch, bitch’ until the word lost meaning.
What the hell was I doing? I had allowed a woman half my size to chase me out of my own home.
What kind of a man was I?
As I passed a shop door, it opened and the shopkeeper pro
pped an advertising board for a newspaper against the wall. He looked at me as if he recognized me. Smiled and then went back inside. It was already morning.
Eventually – I have no idea how long I was walking for – I returned to the house. Anna had obviously fallen asleep waiting for me. She was in the armchair. The quilt from our bed pulled up tight under her chin. Her pale cheeks looked scarred – streaks of mascara showed where furious tears had flowed from her eyes.
As I stood there, I imagined my hands around her throat. Felt the thrill of revenge as her imagined face turned red and she fought for breath. With Anna dead we could get back to a normal family life. I’d get some sleep. Wouldn’t be woken up in the middle of the night with her knees kicking into my kidneys, her nails tearing into the back of my neck.
My boys wouldn’t grow up to accept violence; to see their father as a bent and broken man.
Then I saw Anna at my feet with staring eyes, as still as the grave.
I almost bent over with the horror of the thought. My breath caught. My gut torched with the pain of it.
Despite everything, I couldn’t hurt her.
There had to be another way out of this situation.
If I left Anna, she would certainly get custody of Ryan. All she needed to do was claim I had hit her and she would probably get Pat as well. Then she would deny me access. I knew how petty she was. Concern for the boys would be the last thing on her agenda; pain for me the first. What kind of a mother would she be to the boys without me to deflect her anger? How violent could she be with them? I had to save my two beautiful boys from the fate of being brought up solely by Anna.
Looking down at her sleeping form, I could see nothing of the deep well of anger that could drive her at me for hours on end. All I could see was the small, slight woman I had fallen in love with. And God help me, I realised standing there, with my muscles slowly thawing, I loved her still.
Dragging myself up the stairs, I looked in on the boys before heading for a shower. They were both stirring from a deep sleep. Planting a kiss on each of their foreheads I vowed once again to protect them.
Hot needles of water offered some refreshment to my tired muscles. I turned away from the shower-head to let the water work its magic on the dull ache in my lower back. My kidneys had taken a bit of a bashing and I was beginning to notice their protest. Arching my back I let the water drum on my flesh. The pain eased only slightly. Perhaps if I peed, that would help. Looking down at my feet I noticed a pink taint in the water. Shit. Blood in urine was not a healthy sign. Anna must have done more damage than I first thought.
At work that day it was all I could do not to flinch each time I moved. Staying alert was also a problem. Thankfully, subsequent visits to the toilet showed no signs of blood. I wouldn’t have to try and explain that to a doctor.
That evening, once the boys were safely tucked up in bed, the onslaught began afresh.
Anna waited until we were in bed this time, sleep demanding my full attention.
‘Useless prick,’ she shouted in my ear.
My eyes felt as if they were glued shut. But her fist slammed into my kidney and they shot open.
‘Owww,’ I moaned.
‘Listen to me, when I’m talking to you, arsehole.’ She pulled at my hair.
‘No, we are not going through this again.’ I climbed on top of her and using my superior weight advantage pinned her arms and legs down. Her teeth flashed dangerously close to my nose. Then she stopped struggling.
‘Honey, get off me,’ she moaned. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘Well, I need to sleep. Do you promise to leave me alone?’
A coquettish look appeared on her face. ‘Well, that depends.’ She pressed her groin up against mine, ‘That depends on what comes up.’
‘What?’ I couldn’t believe the change in her. Although I had witnessed her rapid changes of mood before, they never failed to catch me off balance. She continued to rub against me, her fingers stretching under the waistband of my boxers, kneading at my buttocks.
‘Ooh,’ Anna cooed. ‘Somebody is enjoying this.’ Her eyes pierced mine. ‘You want to fuck me don’t you? You want to fuck me till I bleed, don’t you.’
I kept my expression blank lest she should discern my distaste at her choice of words. ‘No, I don‘t want to fuck you.’
‘Liar,’ she smiled with triumph. ‘You’ve never been so hard.’
It was true that the traitor in my groin was showing definite signs of life, but I was far too tired to do anything about it.
‘Just let me sleep, Anna. I’m shattered.’
‘No way. I want you and I want you now.’ Her voice was low, quiet and chilling. The warning was clear in those bright, beautiful eyes.
‘Anna.’ I tried unsuccessfully to keep the pleading tone from my voice. ‘Please. I’m tired.’
She reached under the waistband of my shorts and grabbed my penis. It didn’t fill her hand as well as she hoped.
‘Get harder.’ Her voice was a muted growl.
Her hand began to move. I felt myself harden again, surprisingly quickly. No, I said to myself.
‘No,’ I said aloud. ‘No.’ I pushed her away. ‘Just leave me alone. I want to sleep.’
‘No sleep for Andy until Anna gets her pole,’ she chanted in a sing-song voice. ‘No sleep for Andy.’
‘Fine.’ I jumped out of bed. ‘Then I’ll just walk the streets again.’
I was going to make a stand. I was not going to be bullied into having sex. No matter how much she wanted it. Or my Judas prick, for that matter.
As my slipper-clad feet slapped the pavements of Ayr once more, I wondered at my energy, that I could cope with this for another night. As I congratulated myself and considered whether or not my rugby training had given me this much grit and endurance, a question thrust itself to the forefront my mind. Why didn’t I just let her fuck me? In every other aspect of our lives she was doing that very thing.
What could I do? How could I get out of this horrible situation?
I thought about how I might react the next time she attacked me. Shook my head as if to disperse the terrible imaginings provided by my mind. Each answer I came up with was discounted until all I could think about was Anna dead at my feet, by my hand.
4
Life at home was becoming more and more of a strain, I had to look for ways to keep my sanity. Anna didn’t know what she was doing, I reasoned. She was a victim of her past. I drove her to it. It was all my fault.
It was my fault.
It was my fault.
These were the legends that coursed through my mind. Flames of self-doubt licking hungrily at any suggestion that I might be blameless; that I might have any control.
While at work, there were times that I could barely read the charts and reports in front of me. My brain was disorientated from lack of sleep. I could see the numbers, I could follow the line of figures, but they made as much sense as if they had been written in Sanskrit. All of this made escaping into work futile. Besides, I didn’t want to give any clues to my colleagues that things weren’t quite what they should be at home. In the past, I had myself participated in office gossip sessions where people questioned the marriages of those who were overly conscientious at work.
The Rugby Club was a contender as a distraction from my problems. But it was ruled out after a suggestion of a night out there received an answer in the form of a knee to the groin. I deserved it. I should have known not to mention the club.
Another woman was definitely not an option. Anna was particularly zealous in checking for signs that I was being unfaithful. I was having enough problems with one woman. Two, was two too many.
The boys were a constant source of joy to me. Their trusting, beautiful faces thrust up to mine every day in a rainbow of grins. I would have been lost without them. But I couldn’t rely on them to be my rescue party, my cushion against the blows.
I had also begun to realise that my boys were much more aware than
I thought possible. They might not have the vocabulary to articulate what they saw and felt, but they might note the tension and translate whatever was going on as their fault. For this reason, I had to try and make their lives as normal as possible. Even if this was at a cost to me.
While I waited for some other possibility to occur to me, I could just go and get pissed.
If I was going to endure a beating anyway, I would be as well as to take it like a drunk. Inebriation would be my anaesthetic. And in my darkest moments I imagined that final irrevocable act.
With a deep, burning shame, and in great detail.
‘You look like shit,’ Roy Campbell said as he entered my office.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. Keeping my head up was using all of my energy. A witty riposte was nowhere near the agenda.
Sheila Hunter walked in with him. I managed a smile when I saw her. What a transformation. One divorce and two promotions later, she continued to look every inch the modern professional. She was now Roy’s assistant and handled his particular brand of ‘humour’ with irony warmed with the suggestion of a smile. She had known a real hard man. Roy Campbell was a pet mouse by comparison.
The smile with which she greeted me had concern laced around the edges. ‘Hi, Andy,’ she said the smile turning into a slight frown.
I mumbled something in reply and moved my attention back to my sales figures. A blush heated my ears and I wondered at my discomfiture. Why would a woman I liked and one that I admired make me feel so uncomfortable? Even as I asked, I knew the answer. I envied her composure and her strength. I also wanted to tell her everything that was going on, because I knew that, of everyone I came into contact with, she alone would understand. She alone would be able to offer advice.
But I would never be able to admit to anyone what was happening. What self-esteem I had left was wrapped up in the torn linen of the thought that I at least had the appearance of a strong, confident, capable male.
‘We’re on our way down to Girvan,’ said Roy, ‘for a wee inspection.’ He rubbed his hands together, no doubt at the thought of catching some poor member of staff out. ‘And just thought we’d pop in, say hello.’
A Suitable Lie Page 16