How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  I can see it in my mother’s face. That it is the elephant in the room. The thing between us that will not be mentioned that is always there. Her eyes are on the tablecloth now but I know she will be thinking about it. Reasoning out what happened. About how I was always round at my friend’s house. Sleeping over. She liked it like that because at least that way she could placate Dad without me there. I just annoyed him. I was aware of it early on. So I gravitated towards Alice and her perfect life.

  We spent all our time together until we discovered boys. Just the thought of what happened makes me hot, and I push it all away. Not that it matters to anyone but me because I became invisible in all the drama. My feelings were inconsequential beside the mountain of problems Alice left in her wake.

  That is why I left. This is why I avoid my parents. This is why I keep away. That and Danny. She still lives in that world, near to Dougie Peters, but I escaped long ago. And that’s how I would like to keep it.

  She doesn’t take it up.

  ‘And bringing up the children, too. Who, by the way, are a credit to you.’

  I’m really suspicious now. She’d had a part-time job in a local accountant’s office because ‘looking after Dad’ is a full-time job in itself. His man-child demands were ever increasing as I got older until he sat in the window like a huge baby, having food and drinks brought to him. His clothes washed and pressed in the way he instructed. I don’t want to as it seems to be going so well, but I have to.

  ‘Me and Danny.’

  She puts her cup down gently.

  ‘That’s partly what I wanted to say. As well. And that I’m proud of you.’ She reddens. ‘I liked Danny. It wasn’t me, you know.’

  I stiffen. ‘But you didn’t say anything. You just let him do it.’

  She shakes her head slightly. ‘And I had to fight to see Jennifer and Simon.’ She stares at me. ‘Give things up.’

  It slowly sinks in. There are the good guys and there are the bad guys. And there are the very bad guys. Janice and I made a wall chart, like the ones you get on colours of urine and dehydration. One about happiness and the bastard-level of your partner. A bastardometer. I mentally place Dad now at around 55 per cent on the bastardometer. Controlling but not violent. Ruling with silence. Then I remember when he hit me. How I froze. Like her. Played dead until he was satisfied he had adequately controlled me. More like 85 per cent.

  ‘Give what up?’

  ‘The bit of money I earn at Jones’ accounts. He didn’t want me giving it to you and … Danny.’ She rolls his name around her mouth as if it were brand new. ‘So he made me put it directly into a joint account and gave me an allowance.’

  I gasp. ‘A fucking allowance? Sorry. But why did you agree?’

  She pulls a face and reddens. I want to make her say it. But she doesn’t.

  ‘He would have been difficult. He would have stopped me going out shopping, which is where he thinks I am every Saturday.’

  I look at her. This is not the person I knew. She is softer, more relaxed. Not, I realise, hidden behind a fake mask of complicity. I smile and she tries to.

  ‘Right. So what about all this? Is he aware of your newfound Madonnaesque vibe?’

  She pulls the jacket around her.

  ‘My Great-aunt Edna died. I was looking after her. She made me Power of Attorney years ago and just about six months before she died she wrote me a cheque. I never cashed it, because it would have gone into the joint account and …’ She is talking very fast, and I recognise the fear of being found out. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Anyway, I read your article and I thought, Why not? So I opened an online account.’

  She looks very proud of herself.

  ‘But he must have noticed?’

  ‘Oh yes. He has. But now I’ve got the money what can he do?’ She looks from side to side. ‘It was quite a lot. And I checked, it’s legal, because I helped out she can pay me the going rate. She left a letter. I can declare it as earnings and pay tax on it. I asked Mr Jones.’

  I smile.

  ‘Mum, you don’t need to justify it to me. Or to anyone. I’m pleased for you.’

  She pulls in her lips.

  ‘Is it too late?’

  I shake my head. I think about Shelia and Sally; I look at Jennifer and Simon.

  ‘No. It’s never too late.’

  Tanya

  Diary Entry: Saturday

  I don’t know why I am doing this because no doctor is ever going to see this diary. It occurred to me when we were in the taxi on the way home. He was drunk and trying to kiss me and the driver watched in the mirror. I am never going to be able to give it to the doctor because he will always be there.

  Which, I suppose, begs the question: why don’t I just walk out of work and go to the doctor’s and tell them? Or the police? I hated myself last night, at that party. When he was probably talking to another woman or tapping his foot while he watched a game of pool. I hated myself for not turning around and walking out. On to the street. Keep walking until I was on the main road. There was bound to be someone around who could help.

  But there are many reasons why I can’t. The first one is because I would get in trouble. We both would, for what we did. Al has explained very clearly what would happen. I don’t really care about that. I know that for all my dressing it up and my excuses this house is a prison, so what would the difference be?

  The other main reason is because I know what the consequences would be if he caught me. Which he did last time. No matter what happens, he will always be there somewhere. Waiting for me. That’s what he told me. He would find me. This is also the reason for carrying on writing this diary because I know something bad will happen at some point and I want people to know. I don’t know if anyone would find it in the gap under the unit, but I need an outlet or I’ll go mad.

  So I’m going to write something now that I have never told anyone. Never. I block it out, but it’s important I write down why I can’t just walk away. Then I will know it is real and I’m not a coward.

  He bought me a dog. Tina. She was a little girl, wiggly and furry with a funny little face. He gave her to me at Christmas and it didn’t take me long to train her. We would walk her at night and it almost felt like we were a normal couple, talking and walking our puppy. Tina loved me. Al built her a little outdoor kennel at the back of the shed for when we were at work. It even had underfloor heating and a little bed. She would run out of the kennel when I opened the back door and launch herself at me.

  She slept in the hallway at night, and the times Al crept across the landing she would bark as if she sensed my fear. It didn’t stop him. He still came in and I still held my breath, but at least I knew he was coming.

  Then one day, a terrible day when I had completely lost the plot after Al had been out all night, I snapped. I waited for him in the kitchen, Tina dancing around me to go out. But I couldn’t let her out because the shutters were down. Eventually I heard the shutter click up and there he was. Looking rough, smelling of beer.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ I screamed it at him. ‘Tina wanted to go out. Where were you?’

  He stood there for a moment, then he walked up to me.

  ‘Shut up.’

  I stepped back.

  ‘No. No. I won’t. You can’t treat me like this.’

  Quick as a flash his hands were in my hair, the strands popping at my scalp. He jerked my head sideways and held me over the sink. He turned on the water and shoved my head under. My hands were on his, scratching and tugging at him and he suddenly let go. I spluttered and gasped for air and turned around.

  He was holding Tina by the scruff of the neck right in front of my face. I moaned.

  ‘No. Alan. Please. Don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please.’

  But he turned around and took her. The door slammed and the shutters closed and I heard the car start up. I was screaming and crying and banging on the locked door until I bruised my hand.

  Eventually I was exhausted. I
lay on the kitchen floor, my scalp raw and my eyes almost closed. I lay there until he came back. He came in and pulled me up. I looked behind him.

  ‘I drowned her.’

  He was smiling. I screamed and screamed and I thought I was going to die. He held me against the sink and he pushed his body against me. Pulling down my pyjama bottoms and pushing inside me. I sobbed and sobbed, not even pretending to like it like he had made me do before. Not even checking that he had a condom on; my worst fear is that I would be pregnant because what would he do then? I know what he is capable of. I know. When he had finished, he lolled against me and whispered in my ear.

  ‘I drowned her. And I’ll drown you if you ever try to leave me. You signed up for this, remember?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day 17

  ‘So she actually ate a piece of cake?’

  I am lying in bed, the Sunday sun pouring through a gap in the curtains, talking to Danny on the phone long distance, and he picks this fact from the whole conversation about my mother. I sip my tea.

  ‘Yeah. It was like she had never had cake before. But I guess there’s a lot about her life now that she’s never had before.’

  He laughs. I can picture him looking puzzled and scratching his head. I miss him so much.

  ‘D’you think she’ll leave him?’ He pauses for effect. ‘You know, using your Superwoman special powers of deduction? What do you think?’

  ‘Nah. But she’s making a stand, which is good.’

  ‘Speaking of which. Donelle.’ I feel a stab of fear. Has she said something? ‘So what’s the story, then?’

  I pause.

  ‘About what?’

  I know that eventually this is going to explode in my face. I need to tell him, but I can’t. ’

  ‘I spoke to Mum and she said Donelle’s a bit moody. Some new guy.’

  ‘Yeah. She met someone. She thinks it’s the real deal but …’ I think about Donelle. God. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I’ve missed something. Vi’s right. She’s fretting. It might be love or it might be worry. Poor Donelle. She’s helped me so much, I need to speak to her.

  ‘Right. Well, I’ll rip his head off if he hurts her.’

  And this is exactly why I can’t mention my little problem. If I told him about the texts and especially about the pictures and my hair he would immediately interpret this as a cross between some fucked-up romantic pursuit and terrorism. He would do some serious damage. It’s also why I can’t talk to him about my past. Danny and Donelle had each other. He was always asking me about my childhood and my friends but I managed to skip over it. It’s just too painful. I thought me and Alice would be friends for life. She was like a sister; we were inseparable. Every now and again I think about her and I get a sense of anticipation, like when I was going to meet her. To a sleepover at her house. Or playing out. But I can never tell Danny about her because of what happened. It would just add to his anger about my parents and how they treated me.

  ‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll speak to her. She’s here a lot of the time, I would have noticed if anything was seriously wrong.’ I fucking wouldn’t, though. Not enough, anyway, it seems. I’m so focused on saving myself. ‘Let’s look forwards, Dan. We’ve got a major opportunity to get out of debt and move here. I want this all to go well.’

  He tells me he loves me and I tell him. I do love him. I lie there until our beautiful children burst in and jump on me and I am reminded of what is really important. We are off to Vi and Danny Snr’s for Sunday dinner. When we arrive I scroll through Rightmove and look at houses I have ticked as possibilities.

  ‘Simon wants to stay at the same school, but there are plenty to choose from,’ I explain convincingly to Danny Snr. Even though I cannot really predict what will happen in the next twenty-four hours, let alone the coming years. ‘And once we are on the ladder …’

  Danny Snr is impressed. He helps me choose three houses and we email for details. They would stretch us to within pennies of our budget, but we cannot let it stop us. Danny’s philosophy is to go the whole hog, take a chance. But my previous avoidance of staying in one place has left nothing to chance and it scares me. I nod and smile because deep down I know this is what I want more than anything. Our own home. Where we can shut the door and close out the world.

  I text Danny the details. He replies immediately.

  This is exciting. It’s really going to happen, isn’t it? They’ll have a garden to play in. We can install a glitter ball. Only seventeen days to go.

  Yes. All I have to do is hold this situation down for seventeen days and then … what? At least Danny will be here then and everything will be back to normal. This month has been tough so far and the intervention by some psychotic stalker has not helped. Just seventeen days.

  The one good thing that had happened is the surprising show of strength from my mum. As we sit in Vi’s front room, the kids playing on the floor and Danny Snr behind them, laughing and joking with them, I have time to sit back and think. Vi will not allow anyone else in her kitchen when she is cooking, despite my protestations. It has always given me a break, just to sit and not do anything – a complete luxury for most working mums.

  I hadn’t read the news article about me, just glanced at the picture then on to the next client, the next problem. It was never about me, more about the funding message. I hate attention. Hate it. Without even looking I know I will look odd in the photograph, over-dyed and pasty-faced. I’ve had it thrown at me that my feminist values make me look scruffy and unprofessional. But my appearance is less feminist values and more that I don’t have hours in the morning to curl my hair and dress up. I’m already dealing with work way before I get there. Texts, emails, all done on the hoof. My wardrobe of bright colours has no distinction between work, home and going out.

  I know I am not someone to aspire to in terms of appearance. I’m slightly overweight and my nails are short and functional. So I had never imagined in a million years that anyone would aspire to be me. Or admire me. Superwoman of the Year, with the tacky star, was thought up by me and Janice. There, in the dingy office we call work-home to get maximum publicity because we have to be everything. Marketing, advertising, services, management, accounts. And still it isn’t enough for the council funders, who would love to shut us down just so that they could claim ‘savings’.

  But the person I least expected to has seen through my hard shell and into my heart and finally seen what I am really about: my mum.

  I watch Vi through the crack in the kitchen door, transferring roast potatoes from a tray on top of her stove to the oven. She has always valued me, recognising that Danny loves me instead of resenting me for taking him away from her. She just included me in him. I get up and stand at the door.

  ‘We’re going to buy our own house, Vi.’ She smiles but her eyes roam to the children and Simon in particular. She knows as well as I do that he’s had trouble making friends. But now he is close to two boys in his class.

  ‘Any idea where?’

  ‘Round here; maybe closer to town or nearer Heaton Park. Nearer school.’

  For all that she likes me, she has been critical of my constant need to move around, fearful that I will take the children and Danny away, but separating this from our friendship. She laughs now.

  ‘So will this be the last move?’

  I laugh too.

  ‘Well, it’s the first rung on the ladder. But it will certainly be for a long time. I can’t see either of us moving into the next tax bracket just yet.’

  Her eyes flicker around her home. They bought their house when the children were little, an old semi in the middle of a middle-class area. This did not go down well locally and they were subject to much abuse. Danny told me they had windows broken and dog shit posted through their letter box. But they stuck it out.

  ‘Kids will love it.’

  Which means kids need stability. I know that Simon suffers if things are unbalanced. He does not have my resilience,
he has a softer nature that I know, if nurtured, will turn into the love and kindness of his father’s character. We stand in shared silence, the way only friends can without feeling uncomfortable. She wipes her hands on a tea towel and herds me to the table. She rips a piece of bread and spreads butter on it thickly.

  ‘Help yourself.’ I do, and she pours us a glass of minted water from a decanter. ‘Got the idea from a restaurant. I liked it so I bought one. I got one for you too.’

  ‘Thanks, Vi. It’s lovely. No Donelle?’

  ‘No. She’s working. Too hard. And this guy. She seems … anyway. Her and Danny, lately, and you. Oh yes. And you.’ She reaches over and opens a newspaper at the awards page. I shake my head.

  ‘It was staged, Vi. I awarded it to myself!’

  ‘But Daniel is so proud of you. We are so proud of you.’

  I nod and smile.

  ‘Well, let’s hope the funding people are proud of me or I’ll be out of a job.’

  She butters another piece of bread. I hear Danny Snr and the kids laughing loudly.

  ‘You’re missing the point. This means a lot to us. You’re like a daughter to me and Daniel. Let us help you with the deposit for this house.’ I sigh. Danny will not let them. He wants it to be all his own work for his own family. ‘We’ve got a bit put by for if Danny and Donelle went to university but they didn’t so I was going to save it for grandkids. But you can use it for this. To settle.’

  She looks hopeful.

  ‘I can ask, but you know how he feels about it.’

  We have a huge Sunday dinner and I almost feel like things are back to normal. But then Vi pulls me into the kitchen. This is her domain; this must be serious. She folds her arms.

  ‘Donelle. I’m concerned. She’s not telling me something. Has she told you?’

  I smile. ‘No, Vi. And I’ve seen her most days. She’s got a new man. Maybe it’s love? It can do that. Especially when someone’s had a rough ride. Maybe she’s just worried about it working out?’