I Own You

by Dawn McConnell

  He turned away and the four of us exchanged relieved looks, but then, just as he was walking towards the front door, he patted himself down. ‘Wait!’ He suddenly stopped, stock still.

  What now? I braced myself against an attack – what’s he looking for in his pockets? A knife, a gun?

  ‘I’ve lost my car keys,’ he sighed. ‘They must have fallen out of my pocket.’

  Oh Jesus!

  ‘Okay, kids,’ said Bryce slowly. ‘Let’s all look for Stuart’s car keys, shall we?’

  It was almost comical the way the five of us spent the next ten minutes crawling around on our hands and knees for his keys, until eventually Charlotte found them halfway up the stairs.

  Once Stuart finally left, I got Bryce cleaned up. While we were in the bathroom and out of earshot from the kids, he filled me in on what had happened.

  While Bryce was in the kitchen making porridge, Stuart had smashed one of the glass panels next to the front door and let himself in. He’d stood there for a moment, hammer in his hand, assessing the situation, and then he’d walked deliberately towards Bryce, swinging the hammer, smashing photos and pictures as he went. He pushed over the breakfast table, sending dishes flying. And then Stuart threw himself on Bryce, punching him several times before biting down hard on his cheek. As he said the words, I realized I could see the indentation of Stuart’s teeth marks on Bryce’s torn and bleeding skin.

  ‘Where is she?’ he’d demanded. ‘I’m taking her home. Dawn is mine. She was always mine and she always will be.’

  He’d jumped off Bryce to look for me – and that’s when I’d come out onto the landing and found them both pounding up the stairs.

  ‘We should call the police,’ I said as I dabbed at Bryce’s cheek with disinfectant. ‘After we’ve taken the kids to school, we should call the police.’

  ‘What about Callum? This is his father.’

  ‘I don’t care. We can’t have this, not with your kids around.’

  ‘Let’s think about it,’ said Bryce. ‘I just don’t know if it’s for the best.’

  But Bryce, as wonderful as he was, just didn’t understand the way Stuart worked. I knew that unless we reported him now, he would keep coming back for more until something terrible happened. I decided to phone the authorities as soon as I got to the office.

  I went with Bryce to the hospital first, and then drove on to work. All the way there, I kicked myself for believing that the list Stuart had offered me at the start of this split was going to magically free me from him. Of course he would never let me go so easily! I felt like a fool.

  In the three months since I had told Hannah to accept his terms, Stuart had barely communicated with me. I had wondered what the hold-up was, given we were allegedly both in agreement to divorce – and now, this!

  When I finally managed to get into the office that morning, however, I was horrified to see that Stuart was already there. He followed me into my private office so that Hannah couldn’t overhear us. I could feel the threat in every sinew of his body.

  ‘So, have you been to the police?’ he said quietly.

  ‘No.’ I’ve been too busy taking my partner to the hospital to get him stitched up, I thought angrily, but I didn’t let my feelings show; I sensed that would not be wise.

  ‘That’s sensible,’ he said thoughtfully. He was totally calm now, the opposite of the madman who had broken into Bryce’s home and attacked him earlier that morning. In a way, it was even more chilling.

  ‘Because you wouldn’t win,’ he went on. ‘I’m a sick man, don’t you know?’ He gave me a crafty smile. ‘I’ve been on antidepressants since you left and I tried to kill myself so if I crack, I mean, if I suddenly go insane and, say, kill you both, well, you should have seen it coming because of what you did. I think a court will be able to see that it was temporary insanity because of what you did.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  I just nodded but, inside, I had turned cold with dread. He was actually threatening to kill us both. And not in the heat of a temper tantrum – this was cool and calculating and with absolute knowledge of what he was doing. As he always was, he was in control.

  Hands shaking, I spoke politely to him, a politeness crafted through so many years of learning how not to set him off. I told him that Bryce and I had discussed it and agreed not to go to the police for the sake of Callum.

  ‘Very sensible,’ he said again. He turned to leave but at the last minute swung to face me again, his eyes hard. ‘Don’t even think about changing your mind.’

  Finally, he left.

  That’s when I called Bryce – and told him we had no choice now: we had to contact the authorities.

  From that moment, everything changed. The police came to the house and took forensic samples for analysis, they interviewed all of us and Stuart was arrested and charged with breaking and entering and assault. He pleaded not guilty, of course, which meant the case would go to trial.

  What happened next was a real eye-opener. For the first time since I’d left him, Stuart and I were now in open dispute and, to my horror, I found that people I had assumed were my friends or at the very least neutral lined up on his side. One was Mike Turner, our family lawyer – the attorney who had come to help me in the police station when I was only fifteen and Stuart was to be charged with having sex with me underage. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he told me he was now going to act for Stuart in the criminal case, but in truth it was a real blow because I had thought we had become good friends over the years and I’d hoped he wouldn’t take sides. But this was a criminal matter, Mike said, and that was his area. He couldn’t turn Stuart away after all the years of history they shared, he said.

  I’d committed the ultimate sin by grassing Stuart to the police and now Mike would use his talents to keep his client out of prison, which meant we were up against a formidable opponent.

  Then, one night, my mother called. She had always disapproved of my leaving Stuart, believing that a marriage was for life – even if you happened to be married to a violent psychopath – and now she pleaded his case.

  ‘Is it really necessary to take this to court?’ she asked sweetly, as if I was the aggressor and he the innocent victim.

  ‘He could plead guilty,’ I said. ‘And save us all a load of hassle.’

  ‘I mean, the poor man hasn’t been himself since you left and I should know, he’s round here every single day . . .’

  ‘Really?’ I was shocked. Why would Stuart be going to visit my mother every day?

  ‘Yes! The man is lonely. I mean, he’s very helpful to me, bringing in the shopping, driving me round to my appointments and mending things round the flat. But I can see it’s very distressing for him – all of this – and he knows he shouldn’t have come to see you and confront Bryce in that way but, my dear, he was just trying to save his marriage!’

  ‘Mum!’ I exploded. I couldn’t bear the way they had twisted the story until it no longer bore any relation to reality. ‘He bit a fucking hole in Bryce’s face. That’s not trying to save a marriage. That’s assault!’

  ‘So you want him locked up? You want Callum’s father in prison?’

  ‘I want justice!’ I seethed. ‘Callum is his own man now, he’s not a child. And I don’t want him to think any man can get away with something like this . . .’

  ‘I’m just asking you to think about it a bit more,’ she went on smoothly. He’s obviously put her up to this, I fumed. Oh, now he’s sunk really low, trying to get at me through my mother!

  I didn’t want to talk about it anymore so I changed the subject. For a little while we caught up on family news and then, just as we were about to finish up, she added blithely: ‘Oh, by the way, John’s been through a rough patch recently and needs a bit of support so he’s coming to stay with me for a while. Just so you know.’

  The way she said it, it was all so smug, like it was a fait accompli. I couldn’t stand it any longer. That man in my property?

>   ‘How long are you planning on having him, Mum?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, just until he can get on his feet again . . .’

  What? An open-ended invitation? No way.

  Quietly, I said: ‘That’s not happening, Mum.’

  ‘Why should it bother you? After all, you don’t even live in the city right now.’

  ‘That man is a fucking paedophile and he made my life hell. If he’s coming up to Glasgow, he can stay somewhere else. Not in my property.’

  ‘Well, that’s not acceptable to me,’ Mum answered primly. ‘If this is my flat then I should be able to have anyone round that I want.’

  ‘You can have anyone you want to stay, anyone in the whole world, apart from him! Not him!’

  There was a brief silence and then, in a low voice, she said: ‘If you can’t let me have my own children in my own home then perhaps I should leave.’

  This was Mum’s forte: a touch of emotional blackmail to make me feel guilty so I insisted she stayed. But not this time. I was tired of her games. She was always on everybody else’s side but mine.

  ‘That’s a fucking great idea!’ I exclaimed. ‘I think you should go. I want you out within the month.’

  Then, before she had a chance to reply, I put down the phone. I was livid with rage. Nobody could hurt me like that woman! Mum had lived rent-free for twelve years and now she wanted my paedophile brother to stay? Forget it. First Stuart; then John. Why did she insist on putting these men’s needs before mine? I just didn’t understand it. It didn’t take long – within the month Mum had found a new apartment to rent and had moved out.

  As it turned out, Mum’s pleas on Stuart’s behalf were all for nothing. In April 2009 my husband was found guilty of breaking and entering and common assault. His weasel words were no match for the forensic evidence and four honest testimonies.

  But it was a hollow victory. To my astonishment, he brought a huge retinue to court, including Mike, his cousin Adam (they were clearly back on good terms), my mother and Aunt Jenny. Of all the people who lined up to support him and give evidence as character witnesses, it was my mother’s betrayal that hurt the worst. How can she support him against me? I wondered. Even if she didn’t want to be on my side, she didn’t have to take his!

  I saw her with my own eyes, walking into court with him, sitting on his benches, offering sympathetic smiles and the occasional shoulder squeeze. She didn’t even look at me. That cut me very deeply.

  In May, the court returned for sentencing. Stuart’s defence team submitted a psychological report from their expert witness, who claimed that Stuart had suffered a depressive episode that had pushed him over the edge. Then, during the pleas of mitigation, his loyal troops marched through the witness box, parroting the same old sob story over and over again: how I had left him a broken man; how he’d been a pillar of the community, a property developer who had put a huge amount into the city, but was now unwell. They all said the attack was completely out of character. A normally peaceful man, he had never done anything like this before in his life, they all swore.

  If only they knew what went on behind closed doors, I thought in disgust, thinking of the times he’d punched me and hurt me, all the violent threats he had made against me, day after day. But it was a successful ploy – he got off with community service.

  During the court case, I found out that Stuart’s cousin Adam was now advising him on the divorce case. This meant my ex had gone cap in hand back to the cousin who had callously betrayed him. And of course Adam, being the complete arsehole that he is, convinced Stuart that he was giving away too much to me, even though the proposed split was fair – and even gave Stuart more than I got.

  The letters from his lawyers became increasingly aggressive and uncompromising. Now he was divorcing me on the grounds of adultery – and he wanted half of everything. So he wanted a list of all my matrimonial assets, including all the dresses, shoes and jewellery I’d ever bought. He wanted them valued. He wanted back the ring he had given me on my sixteenth birthday. He wanted half of everything we had bought as a couple and the value of any presents he had bought me over the years. (I actually laughed when I read that one. Being the stingy git that he was, he’d bought me nothing!)

  The original split he had offered was no longer on the table. And it was worse than simply wanting half of everything. Now he said he wanted to keep all of Mayfair Holdings, claiming it was never in the matrimonial pot – despite the fact that it was in my name and it was the very company I’d been working so hard to build up over the past few years. He wanted 60 per cent of Silverbridge too. Plus he wanted to split our two houses and the art collection as well.

  It was a proposal that would leave me with around 10 per cent of what we owned jointly as a couple; 10 per cent of what I had given blood, sweat and tears to build up over the years. So this was now a real war – and I needed a damn good lawyer to fight my divorce case.

  But that was easier said than done. My first lawyer, whom Bryce had kindly found for me, was very nice but charged me thousands of pounds just for getting to grips with the whole Panamanian affair. In the end, I got fed up of her exorbitant fees just for playing ‘catch up’ and moved onto another firm which specialized in complex financial cases.

  For the next month, I kept my head down, just trying to keep the business afloat while Stuart’s lawyer’s letters attacked me from every angle. I was still going to work every day, while Stuart continued to sit on his arse at home, as he had always done. But he wasn’t entirely lazy; another plan was afoot. I learned from Callum that my art collection at home was gradually disappearing from the house.

  Thankfully, my son and I were now back on speaking terms again; about the only bright spot at that time. He could see how much happier I was without his father and though he didn’t want to take sides in the divorce, he supported my bid for freedom. I appreciated just what a mature and wonderful young man he had become. Our relationship was now rock solid and over the following months he met Bryce a few times too. He confided in me that he liked Bryce and was sorry he had been so rude about him at first.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘I knew you were just angry. Look, hopefully all this will be over soon. But whatever happens, you’re still my son and I love you, no matter what.’

  I always tried to look on the bright side. After all, how much worse could things get?

  I was about to find out.

  Early one the morning I drove to the office after a training session at the gym. Hannah had just taken her annual leave, so I was now running the office on my own for the next two weeks – and that meant trying to stay on top of 130 properties. No small task! And now that I was holding the fort, I was at the front desk instead of my own office, which was always a nuisance. At least Stuart had stopped coming to the office after the court case, so I wasn’t worried about seeing him anymore.

  At 8.30 a.m., I unlocked the door, slung my copy of the Scotsman onto my desk, pulled open the shutters and opened the window. Next I plonked myself down in my seat and turned around to the wall behind me, to check the chart that listed all our properties.

  But only a blank wall faced me. The chart! Where’s the chart? It was gone. Confused, I thought it must have fallen off the wall and dropped behind the cabinet. How annoying! I’m going to have to try and move all the furniture later to rescue it. It was far too important to leave there, as it held all the details for the current tenants in our properties and kept track of when the rents were due.

  My eyes now slid across the back wall. With alarm, I noticed that the filing cabinets were gone too. The cabinets that held all our important documents – contracts, invoices, tenancy agreements, sales slips, everything. They were gone. What the hell is going on around here?

  With a creeping sense of horror, I now ran round the desk to look for the key safe. The key safe, which held every single key for all our properties in Mayfair Holdings, was kept underneath Hannah’s side of the desk. I felt the breath rush
out of me. Gone!

  Oh no, oh no, oh no . . . What’s happened? In desperation, I returned to my desk and switched on my computer. I saw the email straight away.

  Dear Dawn,

  I’m so so sorry for what has happened. I didn’t want to take sides but I had to put my own family first. I hope you can understand and forgive me. You have Bryce now, and I know he can look after you and that he will make you very happy. You deserve to be.

  Love, Hannah x

  I collapsed in tears. I couldn’t believe it. She had betrayed me! The one person I considered closer than family, who I had relied upon and trusted with my life, had gone over to Stuart’s side – and she had taken Mayfair Holdings with her. She had to put her own family first, she wrote, which meant she thought Stuart could keep her in a job. Why? Why didn’t she have faith in me? I’d never let her down before; I was always the money-maker. I couldn’t believe that she too had bought into the idea of Stuart as the puppet-master, the one who held all the power. I called Bryce in such a state, he couldn’t even hear me through the sobbing.

  ‘Just calm down,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m on my way.’

  It didn’t take him long and when he arrived he found me curled up on the floor.

  ‘They’ve taken everything,’ I said as he walked in.

  ‘What? They can’t do that!’ he said.

  ‘Look at her computer! Go on – look at it!’ I had discovered the template of the letter Hannah had written to all the tenants, which was still up on her desktop. It instructed them to send all future rents to a new office address for Mayfair Holdings.

  ‘But you still have Silverbridge . . .’ Bryce started.

  ‘Silverbridge is tiny. Peanuts!’ I said. ‘It doesn’t bring in any money. Over the years we did all the deals through Mayfair because it had the biggest assets. Silverbridge only holds a handful of properties and we don’t collect rents on them.’

  I read Hannah’s email again in a state of bewilderment. Why has she done this? I knew she had been very distressed by the fallout from the divorce, but I never dreamed for a minute that she would betray me.