How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  She looks at me. ‘I worked in an office at the hospital, you know. I had a really good job. The kids were settled in school. Good reports. We weren’t one of them families. You know.’ Her voice is pleading, her expression desperate. Janice laughs.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Shameless. No, I know, Sally. I know you are an intelligent woman. And this is just a blip. You’ll get support out there.’

  We all look outside and Jim takes a gulp of his pint. Is it only words? No. She will get support. She will get outreach and a panic alarm and everything we can arrange to keep her safe. Will it be enough? It all depends on what Jim does. Yet there he is, free as a bird, and here she is, trapped in a cage.

  We are in a glass bubble of safety here, and right now I am thankful for it. My children are safe at school and I am safe here. Danny texts at lunchtime, triumphant.

  Day 15. We’re halfway there, babe! The next two weeks will be tough but after that I’m all yours. I love you x always x

  I go to text him back, but decide to ring instead. He answers in one ring.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  I suddenly realise that he would think this was trouble, but I turn it around quickly.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to speak to you. Hear your voice. You know.’

  I suddenly realise that I have been lonely. Donelle and Janice are the best friends anyone could wish for, but Danny is different. He is laughing now.

  ‘You soppy bugger. Mardy arse.’

  I laugh too. ‘Well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.’ I sound sarcastic because after twelve years and two children and the day-to-day slog I am severely out of practice. But he is game.

  ‘When all this is over I’ll never let you out of my sight. Or my bed.’

  I feel a thrill like when we first met and this is it. This is what I want out of life. This feeling. I giggle and he giggles and then he asks the question that I know is on his mind.

  ‘Soon be back to normal. Donelle OK?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s fine, been dropping the kids off and rushing off so I’ve not spoken to her about this guy yet, not even stopped for a brew, but she seems OK. Your mum is on top form as well.’

  He sighs. ‘Right. Back to it.’

  I hear the drilling and hammering in the background.

  ‘Yeah. Me too. See you soon, love.’

  He is gone and I do miss him already. I wish things were back to normal, with us in our little flat with the rumble of trains comforting us, the birds singing outside our bedroom windows and the kids running in and jumping on our bed. And no constant buzz of fear that something terrible is going to happen. It won’t. It won’t. I tell myself over and over again that this is just some arsehole who is fucking with me. As the day goes inevitably on in its march towards evening, I almost believe it until another message arrives.

  I see it bounce down on the cheap phone on my desk right in front of me as I am checking the invoices for the catering services. The ping is jolly, lulling me into a false sense of security until my eyes scan the words. I almost don’t want to open it. I feel like leaving it sitting there, walking away into the distance and never coming back. But the anger rises, ‘the how dare you’ fuckery that always proceeds fear. I open it.

  I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. I’M ALWAYS WATCHING YOU.

  I am fucking fuming. I am beside myself with anger and frustration and I hit ‘reply’ and begin to type.

  LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL GO TO THE POLICE

  I press ‘send’ and my rational mind, the one under my raging angry-bitch face, knows this is the right thing to do. The start of resistance. A reply I can send on to the police and to legals if it comes to it. But at the same time, on planet psycho, I know that it could also be perceived as the beginning of ‘the game’. Where the hunted kicks back and attacks instead of running for their life. I have no way of knowing which way this will go, but I do know that I feel physically sick.

  I toy with the idea of forwarding the message and my reply to Carole, just to alert her, but I know deep down that she will repeat that I have no ID. I go through every scenario in my mind and arrive at the semi-comforting position that I have told whoever this is to back off.

  But the phone pings again and a photo appears. It’s me leaving the police station after my chat with Carole. A message follows.

  LOOKS LIKE YOU ALREADY HAVE. ANY LUCK? DIDN’T THINK SO. STILL WATCHING.

  I am unable to eat, and when I get home in the evening and Donelle has cooked egg, chips and beans, a perennial favourite, I pick at it, pushing the food around my plate. She touches my arm gently.

  ‘Are you OK, Ria? It’s not that guy, is it?’

  I sigh. I am half relieved and half sad that I can’t confide in her further. I can’t risk her telling Dan. I’m keeping silent about this now.

  ‘Just some stuff at work.’

  She nods. ‘God, I don’t know how you do it. All that, day in, day out. When Dan’s done with this job, you need a holiday. I can get you cheap flights. Anywhere.’

  I smile. Donelle is so kind, just like her brother. She dotes on Jennifer and Simon and I pray that she will meet someone – the right someone – and have kids herself one day.

  ‘Maybe. But we’ll be busy house-hunting.’ I see Simon wince and duck his head. She sees it too. ‘We’re looking in this area. So the kids can stay in school.’

  She laughs. ‘Wow. It’s really happening, Ria. I’m so happy for you both. You all.’

  Over a glass of wine that I sip slowly, she tells me about all the difficult passengers this week. A heavily pregnant woman flying Manchester to Edinburgh who needed the loo every two minutes. A businessman with a huge sense of entitlement who insisted they put a pillow behind his head for him and adjust it every time it slipped. I snort.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got your hands full as well. See, I couldn’t cope with that.’

  She waves the comment away. ‘Ah, you get used to it. We don’t care. Just A to B with a coffee service. Anyway, I’ve got a lot outside work at the moment. The kids and … Oh, by the way, I’ll get them from school all next week, but if anything changes?’

  But it’s too late. She has hinted at something and I see a glow about her.

  ‘Ah. How’s it going with lover boy?’

  She fakes embarrassment. But I need some good news.

  ‘Early days. We’ll see.’

  ‘So the worries …?’

  She waves her hand to dismiss the thought. ‘Just silly stuff. Only because he cares. I did the right thing and asked him about it. We talked. I guess he has a point. I just wish we could be together all the time but his work and my work …’

  She has a wistful look. It lifts me. Seeing someone so happy is a complete contrast from the broken relationships I face at work. My heart lifts and I cling to the good things: Danny’s ‘halfway there’, Donelle’s happiness, both my kids safe in bed. Suddenly life is not so bad and I drink my wine. Eventually Donelle goes to leave.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Sis. Get some sleep. I know you miss Dan, but it’s all for the good, yeah?’

  When she has gone I text Danny. He’ll be on his way home from work but I need him to know.

  I love you x always x. Just sayin’

  He texts back almost immediately.

  Me too, babe, always. Goodnight, beautiful x

  It almost makes the day right. Almost. But not quite.

  Tanya

  Diary Entry: Tuesday

  I am not at work. I am in the house with the shutters down and Al has gone somewhere. I don’t know why I am writing this diary now because I have lost all hope again. This is never going to stop. All the diary has done is make me think I can do something, anything. But I can’t.

  I knew as soon as I saw the carrier bag. Al never carries Tesco bags by the handles, he grabs the neck of the bag. It both annoys me and frightens me because I know what happens next. There is no pattern to it and this is not the same as when I have annoyed him. In a lot of ways it is wors
e.

  I tried to act as normal as possible as we went inside, even though I was shaking. I started to get out the pans to cook dinner but he was already arranging the cheese and crackers on a tray. Emptying the crisps into the little bowls we usually use for cornflakes. Then he handed me a black and gold plastic bag. I knew what was inside without looking.

  I am not allowed in Al’s study at all. I am not usually allowed in Al’s bedroom, which used to be ours, either. But I know the drill. I found myself sitting on the king-sized bed in a transparent black baby-doll nightdress, the horrible nylon stiff and new. The bedroom is spacious but seems dwarfed by the huge screen on the wall facing the bed. I was mesmerised, watching the bright colours and people speaking and laughing on some kind of game show.

  The cheese and crackers were on a table at the end of the bed and Al appeared with a bottle of fizzy wine. I could feel the panic grow. He took the glasses and filled them to the top and handed one to me, smiling. I automatically smiled back. Any falter would have only made it worse.

  He fumbled with the remote control, his excitement palpable. Visible. The screen dimmed, then flickered to light and for a second I saw myself reflected, my eyes wide with fear. The title screen flashed on: Jane Mourino. Hotel Getaway. Running time 126 minutes. Al licked his lips.

  It started innocently enough, like it always does, with a young woman in some kind of normal-life situation. Al handed me the fizzy wine and I sipped it slowly. He patted the bed and I moved nearer to him. I have heard Jade and Karla talk about their boyfriends ‘watching a porno’ and they think it is fun. But I am fairly sure that what comes next is not the same as what they are doing with their men.

  My eyes fixed on the screen as Jane Mourino submitted to two men in her hotel room. They started to have sex and Al tipped up the bottom of my glass and I forced the liquid down. He left the room for a moment to fetch a condom or use the toilet and this is where I usually try to vomit, but it never works. So this time I looked around. He is untidy and there were clothes strewn on the bench under the window. I pulled open a drawer and saw a wallet and some keys.

  Then I saw some receipts — bank and credit card statements. I used to go through them all for him, balance his bank account, but over the past year this has stopped. I grabbed them and folded them up as small as I could. The window was open — the only window in the house that actually opens — and I quickly pushed the folded paper through the gap. I knew it would land on top of my clematis. Al does not go into the garden.

  I jumped back on to the bed and lay there feeling the fuzziness of the drug Al always puts in the drink to stop me screaming wash over me. I wondered vaguely why I cared about her when I would do anything to be rid of him. But I concluded that I am damaged. Damaged. He came back into the room and pulled at me, manoeuvring my floppy body into a position where he could do the most damage.

  I can never go to work the day after. And sometimes the day after that. I suspect that sometimes I should have gone to hospital, but he never takes me. I sometimes wonder if that is why I have never got pregnant. Because I am too damaged. Today I am groggy, too. I hate myself and I hate him.

  I managed to go outside when the shutters were up, telling him I was emptying the bin. I grabbed the screwed-up, damp papers I had thrown out of the window and almost put them in the bin too because who am I kidding? All I am doing is torturing myself by thinking anything can change. I’ll go to work tomorrow and everyone will ask me how my cold is and I will nod and smile.

  Now, though, I am looking at his bank statements. The income column shows his salary, but halved, and my meagre weekly wage. The outgoings are the usual bills and credit card payments. I move on to the credit cards. He has bought a lot of new clothes over the past three months. Hotel bookings … I mentally calculate the dates and they tally with when he said he was away at work. But then I remember he isn’t working.

  I stop and think. He is obviously with her. Not that I can do anything about it. Or is he? He could be working on and off. There are payments to Ann Summers and a few restaurants. Tesco.

  I rip up the documents and flush them down the toilet. I shower again for the fifth time and lie on my bed. I am playing with fire. I can feel the burn deeper inside me now and I know that this is not going to end well. But I am not going mad and I am going to have to do something.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Day 14

  By the time we are all up and having breakfast it’s nearly time to leave for school. I drew a heart shape from shaving foam on the mirror to remind me of Danny when I feel bad and Jennifer and Simon giggle when they see it. I take it as a good beginning to this Wednesday halfway through the week and make a flying start by cooking pancakes and dusting them with icing sugar and lemon. We eat them on the sofa. I let them watch children’s TV for a while, savouring the warmth and comfort because each day seems to be getting harder and harder.

  When I have dropped them off I head to work, more confident now I have confronted this bully. He is still on my mind, but I’ve stated my case. I have nothing to be sorry for. I repeat it over and over again, telling myself that it will all be OK.

  When I approach SafeMe I see that there are more immediate matters to deal with: Jim is standing beside the front door staring at Malc. Malc is guarding the doorway and staring at Jim.

  ‘Come on, Jim,’ I say as I get nearer. ‘This isn’t going to achieve anything.’

  He turns to face me. I can smell the stale beer and tobacco, the sweat from unchanged clothes.

  ‘Fuck off. It’s your fault I can’t see my kids.’

  I face him. ‘Do you want them to see you like this?’

  He staggers backward and raises his arms. ‘Like what? Like fucking what, you stuck-up bitch.’

  He’s pointing at me and then suddenly he does the comedy ‘watching’ signal. Two fingers on his eyes then towards me. I face him. I move closer.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’

  He steps back. A wide grin emerges, speed teeth and whisky-chaser breath. I can feel Malc behind me. Jimmy opens his arms in an exaggerated shrug and stares at me?

  ‘What?’

  I lunge forwards but Malc catches me and guides me through the front door, my pulse racing. Janice is waiting. She looks worried even though the scene behind her is children playing computer games and the women chatting with coffee.

  ‘He’s been there an hour. Shouting. This is escalating and Malc can’t be there all the time.’

  I think. I wanted to field Sally away, get her settled without a scene. But it looks like that isn’t going to happen.

  ‘I’ll call the cops.’

  But as I say it I hear a crash and a rock hits the mesh outside the window. Unable to make any headway on the door, Jim’s throwing stones and, as I watch, he finds a thick piece of wood and starts to batter the window. Malc doesn’t know whether to leave the door unguarded and stop him or not. Janice is dialling. I look around. Sally has herded the kids into the children’s room and levered a chair against the door, effectively locking them in. The other women stand around the main room, unsure what is happening, but I know. I know exactly what she is about to do.

  Before I can reach her she has unlocked the bolt on the front door and she is outside. She is standing in from of Jim, screaming at him.

  ‘Come on then. Come on. This is what you want. Finish it, big man.’

  He stands in front of her, holding the piece of wood like a bat, aimed at her head. Malc cannot get to him in time to stop him if he swings. He shouts at us.

  ‘See. See what I have to put up with. Crazy fucking bitch.’

  Sally is crying.

  ‘You said you were going to kill me. You said that. Even if I am crazy, which I’m not, I don’t deserve that. But I don’t have a choice, do I, cos you won’t leave me alone. So go on then. Do it.’

  I see the police car pull up and two officers get out and come up behind Jim. He sees them and raises the wood.

  ‘You took my kids
away.’

  She nods. ‘Yeah, I did. Because they’re scared of you. You took all my money. You never saw them, always in the pub. So now you want to see them? And this is the right way to go about it, is it? For once, Jimmy, you can’t have it all your own way. You can’t bully me and frighten me. So do your worst.’

  I see a flicker of regret cross his face.

  ‘What happened, Sal? How’s it got to this?’

  She looks like she is going to cry, but faces him off.

  ‘You. You did this, Jimmy. You bullied me and made me scared to leave my own house. You made me lose my job and we might both lose the kids. All because you wanted to go to the pub. Cos you wanted to shag other women. You’ve ruined all our lives.’ She finally breaks down, but still stands there. ‘So come on, big man. Do it.’

  I see him raise the wood further and Malc reacts a fraction and then the policeman behind Jim grabs Jim’s arm. There’s a scuffle but Sally stands frozen to the spot, her hands covering her mouth. The police lead Jimmy away and she shouts after him. ‘I want to make a complaint. I want him charged. I’ll go to court.’ They bundle him into a police car and I can see she still wants to help him, she is still trying to care for this man who has taken everything from her. As they drive him away and another police car arrives to deal with the aftermath, she turns to us, shaking. ‘I’m not scared of him now.’

  I hug her and Janice goes inside to make sure the children, who will have been oblivious to this but, unsupervised, are all right. This time Sally is not sobbing. She hugs me back and I can feel from her stance that now this is on her terms. She draws away and wipes her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know what took me so long.’

  I take her inside. She hugs her children and I know what I have to do now. I go over to Janice.

  ‘Taking an early lunch. Now that’s out of the way.’