How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  He nods. ‘Aye. She told you about Bobby, didn’t she?’

  I tense. The video is running and this cuts both ways.

  ‘You know I can’t tell you about my conversations with Sheila.’

  He sighs. ‘Aye. Well, I know she would have because she took his things. Is this what this is about? Because I can tell you now, it wasn’t my fault, that.’

  I shake my head. ‘We’re not apportioning blame, Frank. We’re helping Sheila because she asked us to. She’s fine. Settled. No need to worry.’

  ‘He was already dead. Inside her. That’s what the doc said. But she said it was my fault. I never bloody touched her. He was already dead. But all she does is go on and on about it.’

  I am silent. Everything that Sheila has told me, all the complex issues of this long relationship, all passing through me because neither of them could communicate with each other. Even after all these years. As he fiddles with his British Lion cufflinks, I wonder how it started, how they lost their connection. The early pictures of them that Sheila showed me suggest that they were happy once. He waits for me to say something and when I don’t, he continues.

  ‘She’s driven me bloody mad. I’ve given her everything she wanted. Every bloody thing. Except a kid. So praps she’s not as bloody innocent as she makes out, eh, lady?’

  I meet his gaze.

  ‘I never said she was innocent, Frank. But here’s what it looks like to me. You are living in yours and Sheila’s house without a broken arm. And she is living in a women’s hostel with a broken arm and many, many historic injuries, which she is too scared to tell us about. According to the law, there is never an excuse for violence, no matter what the other person has done. There are other ways to sort out issues. To get help. Or to walk away.’

  He stares at me, furious.

  ‘Are you suggesting I hit my wife?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know if you did or didn’t for sure. Someone has. But if you didn’t, why are you here, at the perpetrators’ meeting?’

  He laughs suddenly and loudly, a fake, over-practised laugh that makes me jump in my seat.

  ‘I’m just playing the game. She’s fucking nuts. On the change. I’m only here to get her back.’ He leans closer. ‘I never touched her. Understand? Never touched her.’ He stands up and stretches, far too close to me. ‘This place. Up for funding, is it? I might be able to help you.’

  I get up and open the door. He walks out, not looking back, and I watch him shake hands with Malc and press some notes into his hand. Frank gets into the car and he is gone. In an instant Malc is in my office placing four fifty-pound notes on the table.

  ‘Just think of it as a donation.’ He mimics Frank’s thick Manchester accent. I want to laugh but I am so shocked at the terror Frank can impose and the thought of Sheila enduring him day in, day out. I flick off the recorder and sit in silence, contemplating how I can protect Sheila.

  I already know I am lucky, but when my phone beeps and it’s a text from Danny I slide the yellow arrow to zero.

  Hope you are OK, babe. Day 16. Nearly halfway. All good here. I’m there for you every minute of the day. I love you x always x

  We have argued just like everyone else, but Danny is a genuinely nice person. And there are a lot of them about; it’s just that I work at the other end of the spectrum. It’s not that he would never consider doing anything naughty. Years ago he came home with some bottles of home-brewed vodka that his mate had made. I knew from his deep frown and concentrated look that he was up to something the minute he walked through the door. We lived in a rented ground-floor flat in the city centre at the time. Every single time we heard a police siren, which was a lot, he was out the back where he had hidden his booze stash, transferring them to the bin. Then bringing them back when the sirens faded. He hardly slept until they were gone, donated to the house party of a distant friend.

  And then there’s his temper. He has a tipping point, something that, over the years, we have negotiated and I protect him from. I know he would never hurt me, I am absolutely sure. But I have seen him on the edges of pub fights in the early days and, later, neighbourhood arguments, and it is there.

  But Frank. He has terrorised Sheila, controlled her, and now he’s trying to control this situation. He’s trying to menace me, too. Is it him? I’d checked out his pockets; no telltale second phone, but there is only evidence of the latest iPhone, sleek and slim. I don’t want to accept the Xboxes and I can’t help but question where they came from, but Janice has already started to unpack them.

  Her ethos is that every little helps and if we don’t actually know they are stolen, then we can accept them. Donations are so few and far between, especially for the children here, because they truly are forgotten. This is a family service, but the focus is on the women, even though their children have suffered the same.

  Frank’s visit has shaken me, but I did fine. I didn’t cave, and I got him on record just in case this goes further, which I have a strong gut feeling it will. Danny is fine, my stalker still hasn’t been in touch and all is as well as it can be. I can hear the women come back and as I walk through Sally’s children chant, ‘Ria, Ria, diarrhoea; Ria, Ria, diarrhoea.’ For the first time in ages, I smile.

  Janice hands an Xbox to each of the children and it is like Christmas Day, except completely silent. It is only when people have been to the depths of sadness and hurt that you see their true gratitude. These little people cannot believe that they are being given something. They look at Sally for approval. Then back at Janice, who is organising the rough couches at the back of the room around the game monitors also supplied, overlooked by the twinkly branches. The children hold the boxes as if they are pots of gold. Janice laughs loudly.

  ‘Come on! Shape yourselves! Mario’s not going to find them pizzas himself, is he?’

  It’s a golden moment as they and the other four children we have with us at the moment settle down and Janice sets everything up. Soon, they are mesmerised in quiet concentration. Sally stares at them and then I see it. I see her, like so many of the women before her, break.

  She has spent every minute since she arrived completely focused on her children. The guilt of what has happened, that they have been ripped from their homes, even though it is not her fault, is building steadily. The children’s well-being is the dam and guilt and shame are the flood, just waiting for a gap in the responsibility and here it is. She buckles. Physically. I see her and catch her and guide her to a side room. I shut the door just in time, because she lets out a wail, deep and visceral. I hold her as she grieves the marriage she thought that she could save. The man she loved once and the innocence of her children that has been lost somewhere in the shouting and fighting they have witnessed.

  I hold her and rub her back, my cheek against her hair and I think that this is exactly it. This is what the funders, with their spreadsheets and their calculators and their tick sheets, would be denying. This physical witnessing of the consequences of prolonged pain and torture endured. The open channels for tears and welcoming of uncertain explanations because we are not in court, we are just here for each other.

  She cries for a long time and then she wipes her reddened eyes and her nose.

  ‘He’s back. He’s out there again.’

  I nod. ‘The thing is, they will build a case against him. It’s good he was arrested. Couple more times and you can get an injunction.’

  My words sound empty and her face crumples.

  ‘What does he have to do to me? To us? He’s already … and I thought that was it. I thought once I was here and he started, the police would sort it?’

  She begins to cry again and I hug her and look out of the window. Jim is sitting there in the front window of the pub, back in his usual position, staring menacingly at the door of SafeMe, where Malc stands guard. Jim has a black eye, no doubt from his struggle not to be arrested and to ‘just see his wife and kids’. Sally sobs into my shoulder and my gaze moves along the street to a red Skod
a parked just outside the gates. I peer at the shape in it, then, still holding Sally to me, flick my screen on to the CCTV image on the gates.

  There’s someone in the car. Parked outside the gates. Just watching the gates, he and Jim both focused on this building. I feel Sally’s grief-racked body and my own fear rise slightly. But there is no law against sitting in a pub or parking on the street. I make us both a coffee and add this to my diary. I check myself. It could be completely innocent. Or it could be someone waiting for me. Sally sees me staring and follows my gaze.

  ‘Is that the social worker? Nice he was. He was in here yesterday.’

  I swallow hard.

  ‘Here? Where?’ I say it evenly. I don’t want to scare her.

  ‘In here.’

  ‘In my office?’

  She nods. I rush outside to Malc.

  ‘That guy yesterday. Sally said it was a social worker …’

  He sighs. ‘Duty. Yeah. He was here about an hour.’

  I can feel sweat dripping down my back, soaking into my T-shirt. He was here. He was here.

  ‘What did he look like, Malc?’

  He makes a face. ‘Fortyish. Might be a bit older, I suppose.’ Then he stands up straight. ‘He had the right paperwork. I checked.’

  I breathe out.

  ‘Right. Is that his car?’

  We both look up the road at the Skoda. Malc frowns at me.

  ‘I don’t think so. Look. Is everything OK? I mean, I did check …’

  I shake my head. Is everything OK? I don’t know. It probably was the duty social worker. He had the right paperwork. I am losing it.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. Sorry. I’ll just check the CCTV. Can’t be too careful.’

  Malc’s hurt and his face shows it. I’ll make it up to him, I promise myself. I rush back to my office and rewind the CCTV. This guy isn’t hiding. He’s sitting in my office, back to the camera, chatting to Sally. Then he’s walking through SafeMe. Black jeans. Black hoodie top. Brown bag slung over his shoulder. But I never see his face. He could be anyone. Or he could just be the duty social worker.

  I phone Social Services to check. They have no record of it, but then again they have no record of Sally on their files either, at first glance. I rub my eyes. This is how it gets you. Suspicious. Paranoid.

  I try to ignore it and Sally tries to ignore Jim. By the time I leave to go home, making a show of talking to Malc to make things right, the car is gone but I am still shaking.

  Tanya

  Diary Entry: Monday

  It’s late Monday night and I’m sitting near the base of the shower again. The water is running. Today has been excruciating. On the outside everything continued normally, but on the inside I was seething. My new-found knowledge about Al’s life has pushed me closer to cracking point, the point where I annoy him so much he lashes out.

  He says it’s my fault and it probably is. I know I am heading there now. It feels like I am in a car with no brakes but I don’t care because anywhere is better than where I was before. The morning routine went as usual, except I couldn’t help but think of Tina and how I missed her even now. Words like ‘bastard’ and ‘monster’ rose into my mind, but I pushed them down in case they slipped out. I knew that outwardly he could never know what I was thinking. I am well practised.

  I got into the car and shut the door gently. No slamming. No signals that I was upset. Instead, as I waited for him patiently as he preened in the hallway mirror, I looked at the mileage. 56,782. I repeated it over and over again in my mind during the journey and, once in my office, I wrote it down. I watched as he drove off, just to make sure there was no pause, no slight hesitation that happens when he suspects something is going on.

  I don’t have a mobile phone, which caused much hilarity when Karla and Jade found out.

  ‘How do you text people, then?’

  Jade was genuinely curious. I shrugged.

  ‘I don’t have anyone. My dad’s dead. Just Al.’

  She pouted. ‘But what about your friends?’

  I didn’t answer her. I got on with my work. But yes, what about friends? I didn’t have any friends, obviously. But it wasn’t always like that. I had plenty of friends at school. I was quite popular, mainly because I look exactly like Sissy Spacek in Carrie. Everyone has a best friend. I had her. We grew up together. We slept in a tent at the end of my garden, lay underneath the bright stars on that hilltop holding hands. We swore we would never be apart.

  I don’t really like to think about her. Not after what she did with Al. We had been so close, gone everywhere together. But he told me. He said he had to tell me the truth. We had to have honesty if we were going to be together for ever.

  She went after him. I saw it that first night, in the disco. Her eyes were on him as much as mine were, and when he chose me she was livid. In the back of his car on the way home I saw her trying to catch his eye in the rear-view mirror. He would smile at her, then at me. But he chose me.

  It didn’t stop her. She tried to cause trouble, telling my dad he was dangerous. Ha. I have to give her that one, but she could never have known what would happen. She was trying to split us up, to come between us. So she could get her claws into him. Which, of course, she did.

  So even if I wasn’t in this mess, I would actively choose not to have friends, because I don’t trust anyone. That’s what I was thinking as I sat at my desk: that I didn’t trust anyone. Not him. Not her. Not Mrs Simister. Not Jade. I felt a big tear run down my cheek. It took me completely by surprise, and I sniffed heavily. Was he with her now?

  Five o’clock ticked by and he pulled up outside. I got my coat and said goodnight to everyone. 56,782. I am good at maths. With nothing else to do – I am rarely allowed books or newspapers and only selected films when it suits him – I have taken advantage of the Microsoft Office help files on my computer at work. I had to teach myself as I am not allowed a computer. We can’t access the internet at work, but I have heard everyone in the office discuss it. So I have done what I can without it.

  56,782. It is twenty-two miles from our house to my work. So he would have done sixty-six miles today so far. That’s if he had gone home and stayed there. I have no idea where this haulage company where he works is. I expect it is in Oldham, so add ten miles for the journey to and from work. I glanced at the mileage. 56,899. 117 miles. So today he’s driven 51 miles.

  It just meant that he hadn’t been at home all day. Maybe he’d decided to go into work. My pulse was banging in my head. I regulated my breathing, so the seething did not escape. But it was even worse than I thought. When we stopped outside the house he reached on to the back seat and pulled over a Tesco bag. I saw the outline of Jacob’s Cream Crackers. Miniature cheeses and tubes of Primula. The crunch of crisps. This only meant one thing. I didn’t know if I could carry on. If I could have got out of the car and run away at that moment I would have. But I was frozen to the spot.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Day 15

  I go through my morning routine of cornflakes and teeth brushing and combing out and waxing hair and skin. I push on wellingtons as it is raining and we will get wet. He is not giving up. He is not giving up.

  The thought stops me in my tracks, little hands pulling at mine until I look at my children. A red car approaches. It isn’t him, and I am relieved when I pass the school gates and step into relative safety. I scold myself for being paranoid. But someone saying they are watching you is different from seeing them do it. I see Simon’s teacher.

  ‘Hi, Lucy. Hi. Look, can you remind the office that neither of them is to go with anyone else?’

  She frowns.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Ria? You look exhausted.’

  ‘No, no. Just, well, reports of a strange man in our area. So just checking.’

  I walk away and turn back to see Jennifer filing into her class and waving at me. She is holding hands with her friend Janet and I can’t help but think about school and Alice. All this always comes back to me when I
am stressed. I want to warn Jennifer not to rely on Janet, that she could hurt her like Alice hurt me, but I also remember the love. The friendship. The sharing and the laughing. I also recognise Jennifer’s longing for Janet’s life. The way she stares longingly at Janet’s mother and the cockapoo in the back of the status car. I was like that with Alice. Her dad Dougie, laid-back and academic, in contrast to my racist, sexist father. Her messy home, no one tidying up after her. She could draw on her bedroom wallpaper and not get into trouble. Maybe that was why she was always smiling. That’s why I leave Jennifer be. I wave back. Simon is with his friends and, for a second, my heart feels warm that he has settled.

  I walk to work, think all the way about making a police report. I make a note to at least write it down in my diary, just in case, so if anything did happen to me someone would know – what? By the time I get there the day is in full swing. There are two new residents: a young woman who has no recourse to funding and has had her children taken into care – she is crying loudly in the main room – and a family of three, a woman and two sons, the older son who came with her had to move into a hostel because he was over sixteen.

  It is completely heartbreaking but I must do my job and do my best for them. Janice punches me in the arm.

  ‘Another day, another dollar. Anything else from dick pic?’

  I smile. ‘No. Nothing,’ I lie, because I know if I tell her my now paranoid mind thought he was parked up outside she will immediately call the police. Maybe she should. ‘Hopefully he’s given up.’

  She nods. Her look tells me she is there for me every minute of the day, but she just says: ‘Yeah. Right.’

  We glance out of the window and Jim is in the pub nursing a pint. It is ten-fifteen and we know that he will sit there all day drinking until he is either asleep or banging on the door with a blunt instrument demanding to see Sally. She comes over.

  ‘Still there.’ She seems brighter today. I hug her.

  ‘You’re doing brill. Honest. We’ll get something sorted out for you soon, you know.’