His stomach growled with hunger as he got up from the chair and paced the room, wondering where Anne was. He couldn’t remember what time she’d left in the morning and exactly where she’d said she was going, but he mused, she’d turn up sooner or later – she always did. He ran downstairs fired up with exhilaration and jumped down the last two steps. His marks and comments of encouragement from his tutor were consistently good and he found himself constantly in a happy mood, especially when he was writing. Life couldn’t get any better at the moment, he decided, grabbing a packet of biscuits from the cupboard and a bottle of flavoured water from the fridge.
As he made his way back upstairs he thought about the previous years, before he’d settled in Newcastle and met Anne. Then his moods hadn’t seemed so happy and he’d often had to shake off bouts of feeling low and depressed, usually with the help of a beautiful woman, he grinned, but now, thanks to his new career, he had a definite sense of purpose in life.
Tom settled back in his chair and opened the last big assignment of the module. His heart sank as he re-read the request to write a diary or autobiography of his childhood. Oh no, he cried, scanning the notes. All the other assignments had an alternative to choose from, but this didn’t; he’d have to do it, or fail the course. Tom was filled with dread at the thought of delving back into horrible memories that he’d much rather forget, and he rubbed the side of his jaw with indecision. He was desperate to get another good mark to finish the module, but this was the last thing in the world he wanted to write about. Maybe I could make up a delightful, happy childhood, he thought, but sighed heavily, what good would that do? It won’t be my own voice and, as the saying goes, if you haven’t lived it then you can’t write it.
He took a deep breath trying to reason with himself. Had it actually been that bad? He stared at the blank screen and answered his own question – no, it hadn’t. He found the few scribbled happy memories he’d stored in his folder, but knew this content wasn’t nearly enough, as he’d need to delve deeper and write the piece properly. In an effort to feel more positive, he decided that nothing horrible had actually happened to him, not compared to other children’s sad stories. It was simply the thought of what might have been that still tormented him.
Tom folded his arms across his chest and frowned. So what’s the alternative, he thought. If I don’t write this after all the hard work I’ve put into the other assignments, I’ll have failed the whole course. Or I can take the easy way out, which is what I’ve been doing for years - forget I ever started to write and slink back to another miserable job in a factory.
It was the thought of not writing again that pulled him up sharp; what would he do with his time? Tom had always been very conscious of time mainly, he decided, because he’d worked on hourly rates in factories and had clocked in and out at machines. But writing was the first thing he’d ever done where he lost all sense of time, whether it was day or night. Sometimes it was only a grumbling stomach that made him realise he’d missed lunch, and been engrossed with his characters or story for five or six hours at a time.
Tom knew he’d miss writing dreadfully, and couldn’t bear the thought of not having the exhilaration and sense of achievement following a good piece of text. He pulled his shoulders back and set his jaw with determination – I’ve got to man-up and face this head-on, he thought, no matter what it takes.
He began with the heading, “Tom Shepherd’s Autobiography”, and allowed his mind, for the first time in years, to go back to his first memory of junior school. So far, he’d only ever written in what is known as third person, where the writer tells the story from the omniscient point of view using the he-she format, but for this autobiography, Tom decided to write in first person, which uses the "I" point of view, hoping it would prove easier. And it did.
Memories poured from him as he typed quickly, losing himself back at his home in Brighton with his mum and sisters. As he wrote he wasn’t sure how much actual information he needed to include, or which would prove to be irrelevant, but he decided to get as much written as possible, and then he’d edit out the unnecessary bits later.
At the sound of the office door opening slowly Tom looked up to see Anne hovering in the doorway. He took a deep breath and sighed with relief, mainly because his mind was transported back into the here and now. And, although he knew he’d have to go back to his memories, he also knew that she was home and his safety net would be waiting for him when he returned. But I can’t cope with her at the moment, he decided, not now that I’ve started to write; she’ll have to wait until I’m finished.
‘Anne,’ he said. ‘I’m so pleased you’re home. I know this isn’t very nice of me, but I just need tonight to finish this. I’ve got to write my autobiography and it’s not easy.’
She stared at him for a long time and he ran a hand through his hair. ‘I hope you can understand.’
He watched her nod and close the door quietly behind her. After a few moments, he walked to the door, turned the key and settled himself in front of the screen once more. After a long swig at the bottle of water, he was just about to start typing again when a text tinkled on to his mobile. He glanced down and read the message from Ellie.
‘Tom, ring me asap – it’s urgent. Ellie.’
He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t cope with her at the moment either. Ignoring the text, he began to type again.
Hours later, when he reached the point at which his eight year old life had changed, his hands began to shake as he wrote the details of that horrible night. He stopped for a second and looked at his hand trembling over the mouse and his white knuckles gripping it for dear life. He started to sweat and pulled the cashmere sweater over his head, throwing it to the floor. All his fears and torment returned and he leant back in the chair with his heart pounding in fear. The leather on the chair stuck to his sweaty back and he wanted to run away from it all. As the fear engulfed him he wanted to stop writing and run down the street as far away from the computer as he could. But still he wrote.
The terror he’d pushed to the furthest corners of his mind for years now crowded into his senses. He trembled with his shoulders hunched in front of the screen as it all poured out of him, remembering the sights, smells and sounds of that night. His sister’s scream filled his head and he burst into tears, feeling the heartache all over again. But still he wrote.
Big hot tears coursed down his face and dropped on to the side of the keyboard. He wiped them away with the back of his hand in annoyance, not wanting anything to stop him from typing. He made spelling mistakes and cursed, using the back space button over and over again, until his sentences were clear and he came to the end of that night. Finally he laid his head on the side of the computer terminal and panted with relief – it was done.
Tom wasn’t sure what time of day or night it was when he lifted his head again. He wasn’t altogether sure if he’d dozed off, but all he knew was that he felt exhausted and drained of all emotion. Shivering, he picked up his sweater from the floor and pulled it over his head. The clock read seven, but was that seven in the morning or seven at night? It was dark outside, which didn’t give him any clues, and his mouth was so dry his lips were stuck together. He finished the water from the bottle and munched through more biscuits.
Now the rest, he thought, beginning to type once more. The autobiography had to be about his childhood and Tom decided to recap up until he was sixteen. Starting with when he’d left school and his first job, he wrote through a torrent of memories again. He heard Anne tap on the door and try the handle, then whisper that she was leaving a tray of food outside the door. He smiled, but didn’t want to stop and eat.
Amanda’s baby blue eyes had come into his mind and he needed to write about her and what happened. The overwhelming emotion he now felt was of guilt at what he’d done, and he swallowed deeply while shifting around in the chair. Tom knew now, as he wrote the details of their relationship, that his behaviour had been shameful. But in my defence, he r
aged, it was her brothers who forced me to do it.
Tom sat forward with his head in his hands and sighed heavily. He remembered a quote he’d once read which stated, “There comes a time in your life when you have to face up to your own responsibilities.” Grimacing, Tom knew his time had come.
In the past, when he pushed the terrifying memories out of his mind, Tom had been under the illusion that they stemmed from his sixteenth birthday, but now, as he sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk, he realised they hadn’t. Fear had clouded his judgement into such a state that it was only now, with a clear head, that he could recognise it wasn’t the subject of the fear, but more the memory of the fear that scared him. The menacing memories had started when he was eight, but it was the thought of those feelings in his head which had tormented him throughout his time with Amanda, and ever since.
The relief at understanding this was enormous. He let out a huge breath and began to rock backwards and forwards in the chair. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and cringed, remembering the way he’d behaved towards the women that had floated in and out of his life. He’d often comforted himself with the fact that, although his actions hadn’t been honourable, his intentions had never been bad, and that had made it all okay. But now he knew it didn’t.
Another tinkle on his mobile brought him up quickly; it was a second text from Ellie and he read the message:
‘I know you are married because Anne came to see me in the bookstall. You are a lying, cheating bastard that I never want to see again. I figure I’ve had a lucky escape. Ellie.’
Tom’s stomach sank and he actually felt bile rise into the back of his throat. Oh my God, he sighed heavily, what have I done?
Chapter Fifteen
After her encounter with Ellie, Anne had gone to Exhibition Park and sat on the bench where she’d met Tom. With her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she tried to come to terms with what she’d learned, and how she’d behaved towards Ellie. How did I lose control of myself like that? I’ve never done so before, she thought, but there again, it was under extreme provocation.
Her usual calm, placid nature had snapped when she’d seen Ellie wearing exactly the same locket that Tom had given her on Christmas morning. How could any man, let alone her husband, do that? Had he no sensitivity whatsoever? She watched the children play on the swings and swallowed hard, trying to stem the tears that threatened to engulf her. But, the hardest fact that she tried to digest was how Tom had actually told someone that she was dead. She sobbed loudly at that stage – why, or how, could he do that? It was like something from a sick, macabre film, she raged, except it wasn’t make-believe; it was actually happening to her.
She wiped her face and took deep breaths, grateful there was no one near her in the park, and then sipped the hot coffee in an effort to pull herself together. An inner voice questioned the truth of what Ellie had told her. Anne pondered the possibility that Ellie could be very quick-witted, and had made up the death in a car accident scenario. But no, Anne decided, she’d seen the genuine look of shock and horror in the girl’s eyes. Plus, the one impression she’d left the bookstall with was that Ellie, to use another of her father’s sayings, was an innocent who’d been led to the slaughter by a devious older man. Her husband, Anne now had to conclude, was nothing more than a skilled and artful liar. Lost in thought for hours, it wasn’t until her hands trembled with cold and her fingers turned white that she made her way home.
Now, Anne sat downstairs in the lounge in front of the TV, not watching anything in particular because her mind was overtaken with Tom. He’d been upstairs in the office for a total of thirty hours now and she was worried. She’d waited for him to crawl into bed next to her last night, but he hadn’t and she lay awake until the early hours, listening to the keys tapping on his computer. She left him tea and toast on a tray this morning, but he hadn’t even opened the door, and every time she went upstairs all she could hear was him typing. What in God’s name was he doing, she wondered, and how much was there to write about from his childhood?
Anne knew she should hate him with a passion for what he’d done and his betrayal, but she wavered; what if he was ill? Was he having some sort of breakdown and needed psychiatric help? Anne wrung her hands together in her lap, not knowing what to do. Maybe she should go upstairs and try to talk to him, or, she sighed, was it better to leave him alone? Visions of a life with Tom in and out of psychiatric units and sedated to a zombie-like state flew through her mind and she swallowed hard with trepidation. Would she be able to care for someone like that? But then her wedding vows came into her mind, ‘for better or worse, through sickness or in health’, and Anne lifted her chin.
She remembered a conversation with her father a few months before he died, and how he’d found out that her mother had an affair when Anne was a little girl. I’ve probably blocked that out of my mind, Anne thought, sighing, obviously because the thought of Mam being capable of cheating on Dad was unbearable. But now she remembered his words distinctly, and how he had put up with it because he didn’t want his daughter growing up with divorced parents.
Anne felt tears prick the back of her eyes, knowing how her father must have felt – she could hear his voice now saying: ‘it’s time to step up, Anne’.
*
After Tom had apologised profusely in a text to Ellie, he headed through to the bathroom. He could hear the six o’clock news signature tune on TV and knew he had to go downstairs to Anne. He stood in front of the sink, looked in the small mirror and gasped in shock at his appearance. His white face was covered in stubble, his eyes deadpan and red rimmed, and he hadn’t showered for two days; he looked and smelt like a vagrant, but for once in his life he didn’t care.
Knowing Anne was now fully aware of Ellie, and that she was obviously staying silent about the affair, made him love her all the more. Since he read Ellie’s text he knew there was a strong chance that he’d find himself out on the street with his bags tonight, as Anne would want to end their marriage. If this had happened two days ago he would have taken it in his stride, decided he’d got what he deserved and moved on. But now, after what he’d learned about himself, and had, as the saying goes, faced his demons, he knew he’d been through some kind of awakening, and was anxious about what lay ahead.
The trouble with being so engrossed in oneself, he decided, was that he hadn’t been able to see what was staring him in the face. But now, descending the stairs slowly, he realised exactly how much he really did love Anne, and couldn’t bear the thought of his life without her.
Gingerly, he put his head around the lounge door and gave her a lop-sided smile. ‘Can I come in?’
Anne gasped at the sight of him. Her hand flew to her throat in shock; he looked dreadful. Even last year when he had tonsillitis and an infected throat he hadn’t looked as rough as he did now. As he hovered in the doorway, she could tell he knew that she’d found out about Ellie. She could see the wariness in his eyes as he approached and sat down next to her on the settee.
‘I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘I know you’ve been waiting for some type of explanation, but it was something I just had to work through myself. I’m exhausted, but I’ve finally got everything out of my head and can talk about it now.’
Anne was confused, she drew her eyebrows together. ‘Work through what?’
He tried to take hold of her hand, but she snatched it away and folded her arms defensively across her chest.
Tom sighed and sat further back into the settee. He looked at her, patiently waiting for him to speak; to give her some kind of explanation. Her long hair was clean and shining, her gentle hazel eyes wide open as she stared at him and her gorgeous cuddly body looked so inviting it nearly choked him. She’ll make a lovely mother, he thought suddenly, and decided that he could actually see what his child would look like through her eyes.
Slumping back into the settee, he put his hands over his face in shame. One of the biggest insights out of everything h
e’d written down was how totally and utterly selfish he’d always been. All he’d ever done was use women to get what he wanted out of life, and in his mind he’d camouflaged this by telling himself it was because he loved them all, but now he knew differently; he was nothing short of a pathetic excuse for a real man.
‘Tom?’ Anne asked, feeling waves of trepidation creep up her spine. Why was he covering his face? Were there more awful things to come? She swallowed hard and felt her heart begin to pound.
Tom removed his hands from his face and sighed, running a hand through his lank hair. ‘I know you’ve found out about Ellie,’ he said. ‘And, all I can say is how truly and utterly sorry I am that I’ve hurt you; if I could take it all back I’d do so in a flash.’
Now that he was trying to man-up and take responsibility for his actions, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late for him. Facing his past now made him worry about what the future held, with all its uncertainties, and he sighed. There was one thing, however, that he did know for sure, and that was how much he truly wanted to change. He wanted to live the rest of his life as a decent, honourable man. But, he figured, no matter how desperate he was to put things right with Anne, it would all depend upon how much Ellie had told her and indeed, how much she hated him.
Anne’s mouth was dry. There it was out in the open between them now; the secret that she’d carried around inside for over a week. She knew there was no going back now as the words couldn’t be erased, not even if she wanted them to be. She put her head on one side. ‘Yes, I do know and I’m still reeling from it all,’ she said. ‘How could you, Tom?’
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