Tom looked down and picked at the skin around his thumb nail. ‘It was despicable of me, I know. I can’t express how very, very sorry I am.’
She swallowed a lump in the back of her throat and stared at him. ‘But, why? Why did you tell those lies and say that I was dead? And h…how could you give Ellie the scarf I bought you for Christmas?’
The look of pain in her eyes tore at his gut and he cursed; she knew everything. How could I have done this to her, he thought as a solitary tear ran from the corner of his eye and down his cheek. ‘I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ he muttered.
Anne watched his broad shoulders slump and saw the tear disappear into the stubble on his cheek. Her insides crumbled. ‘Do you want to tell me about her?’
Tom’s mouth and throat were bone-dry and he knew that, as bad as it sounded, he was too emotionally wrung out to talk for any length of time. ‘I don’t know if I can talk, but maybe the best way to explain is if you read this,’ he said and pulled out a couple of folded pages from his pocket. His hands were trembling as he handed them to her, and laid his head back against the settee. ‘But read it aloud, Anne. I need to hear it for myself.’
TOM SHEPHERD AUTOBIOGRAPHY
My first recollection was in junior school. I always played with the girls because that’s what I was used to at home - clean sweet smells, soft skin, warm flesh, gentle hugs and kisses. I didn’t understand or like the boys and hated the rough noisy fighting in the playground, the sweaty, dirty smell of games, especially football and grubby shorts. In fact, I hated the smell of any type of masculine sweat.
I’d realised as a boy that everyone thought I was nice to look at, and at school I was always the centre of attention. My wayward black hair and blue eyes seemed to act like a magnet to the girls in class. The boys, however, didn't seem to think the same and I’d been picked on a couple f times, but as my first two class teachers were women, and of course the head was a mistress, it was never my fault – I could do no wrong. By the time I was twelve I’d figured out that the easiest way to get what I wanted was to be pleasant and smile, in effect, when I look back – I’d learnt the basic art of flattery. If I told my sisters or mother that their hair was pretty or they looked lovely in a particular outfit, I always got the last piece of pie or bag of sweets; it was simple but true.
According to my mum, I’d been born to a different man from my three sisters, but my father had run off when I was six weeks old. My mum always blamed me for this, often screaming at me that he’d been the love of her life until I was born and spoilt it for her. My mum’s two sisters lived close by and when they were short of money they’d come to our house at weekends with bottles of wine to keep my mum company, hence there were always a lot of boyfriends in the house.
One night a thuggish brute called Steve opened my oldest sister Jenny’s bedroom door while I was sleeping behind her. He staggered towards us, then pulled the quilt back and begun to lift up Jenny’s nighty. Steve gasped in shock when he saw me gaping up at him and I was terrified. He clamped a hand over my mouth and forced my face into the pillow while with his other hand he yanked my pyjama bottoms down. Wake up, Jenny, I’d pleaded in my mind as I tried to wriggle free from his rough hand on my face. Oh please wake up, Jenny.
My eyes were squeezed tight shut then I heard the scream from Jenny that filled the room. She sounded like a wounded dog and I snapped my eyes open to see Jenny bite Steve’s hairy arm. Steve jumped back from the bed and ran from the room. My mother and two aunties were shouting and running around the living room after Steve as he grabbed his clothes under his arm. My mother picked up a roll of wallpaper that was standing in the corner of the room and began to thrash Steve’s legs with it as he hopped from one foot to another, trying to put his shoes on. Now, when I think of that scene, if it hadn’t been so sick and horrible, it would look like a comedy sketch.
Aged eight, I hadn’t known why Steve had pulled down my pyjama bottoms, but by the time I left secondary school and had learned about child abuse and paedophiles, I knew how grotesque Steve’s intentions had been. And how he had probably intended to rape Jenn, too.
I’ll never forget the stench of whiskey on his breath, which even now makes me feel physically sick. I cried that night because I thought I was too much of a coward to defend my sister, and felt as though I’d let everyone down. My aunty used to call me the little man of the house, but I wasn’t. I felt totally useless.
Anne laid the pages flat on her knees. She turned to Tom with eyes full of tears. ‘But you were only a child, Tom,’ she exclaimed and caught him into her arms. Tom nuzzled his face into her neck and began to sob as she rocked him backwards and forwards. Tears dripped off the end of Anne’s nose as she murmured gentle soothing sounds into his hair.
Abruptly, Tom pulled away and wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand. ‘Read on,’ he choked. ‘You have to know it all.’
Anne blew her nose and swallowed hard. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud once more.
I began work as an apprentice at a local printing firm in Brighton and around the same time began dating – I realised how easy it was. Older women appreciated me for my mature, experienced love making techniques and the younger girls seemed to hero-worship me. They told me I looked like Tom Cruise because I’d bought a leather flying jacket from a charity shop, and in my bedroom I used to practise my swagger as though I was in the film, “Top Gun”. Cockily, I decided that I’d found my true vocation in life and was determined to make love to as many girls and women as possible.
Amanda, however, was a little different. She looked like an angel, with white blonde hair, a cute upturned nose and the biggest baby blue eyes I’d ever seen; she also made me laugh. We dated a few times and at the cinema I nearly got my hand up her jumper to fondle her breasts, but she pulled away, teasing me and stating quite firmly that I wasn’t having everything all at once. I remember howling with laughter and for the first time I felt I’d met my match. I knew she liked me and as I wasn't the type of guy to give up at the first hurdle. I pursued her with a vengeance. The first time we made love I buried my face in her breasts and told her I thought she was the best thing since sliced bread.
However, and I was never quite sure how she'd got this impression, she seemed to think we would be getting engaged, and created an awful row one night when I told her I didn't want to settle down yet. She stormed off in a huff and I was quite taken aback, mainly because I didn’t know how to handle her. I was even more upset three days later on my sixteenth birthday when she was waiting outside work and told me that she could be pregnant.
‘But you can't be!’ I shouted and then realised people could hear, so I lowered my voice. ‘How? I mean, how could you let this happen?’
Amanda’s angelic face suddenly lost its cuteness. Her mouth curled and with flaring nostrils, she snarled, ‘How could I let it happen? I suppose you had nothing to do with it?’
I stared down at my feet and kicked at a piece of gravel. ‘I meant, isn’t it your job to see to that contraception stuff?’
‘Christ, you’re unbelievable!’ Amanda cried, and spat on to the pavement, ‘I don't suppose you even gave it a minutes thought, but you were quick enough to get between my legs.’
I knew she was right and couldn’t look her in the eye. I was totally shocked at the difference from the amiable, cute Amanda, to this coarse-mouthed tyrant, and told Jenny that the thought of getting a girl pregnant had never entered my head. Jenny put her arms round me and told me not to worry, and how she'd go and talk to Amanda the next day. For one split second I would have given anything to cuddle into her back and feel safe again. The news from Jenny wasn’t good and she told me I had to face up to it and do the right thing because Amanda definitely was pregnant.
My mum cried and raved that it was all her fault. The twins now in their teens, told me I was a total embarrassment, and Jenny threw her arms up in disbelief at my naivety, which she told me bordered on pla
in stupidity. I walked around in misery for weeks. I’d been knocked off my golden-boy pedestal, which I thought was grossly unfair and no fault of my own, and I wasn't sure how, if ever, I was going to get back up there again.
Amanda’s two brothers were thugs of the lowest calibre. With shaven heads, tattoos, and a smell of body odour so rank it made me choke. They cornered me one night and I had a panic attack. All the memories of Steve rose up in my mind and I was terrified. They threatened to cut my pretty face if I didn’t marry their little sister, and I fled.
In a way I’ve been running ever since.
Tom sat on the edge of the settee with his hands between his knees, that were squeezed together tightly. Now that he’d heard his account in spoken words he could actually see the reasons why he’d ended up the way he was. But, he thought, it’s nobody’s fault but my own; I’ve got to take responsibility for all the mistakes I’ve made.
‘I suppose,’ he muttered, ‘my behaviour was a pattern formed at an early age. But, it makes me feel selfish, conceited, and a downright liar. It’s not a nice feeling, Anne.’
Anne nodded. Her mind whirled with all the information she’d read about Tom and his childhood. She’d often wondered why he never talked about his family, and now she knew the reason. She looked at his bloodshot eyes and the exhaustion etched on his face as he tried to stifle a yawn. He didn’t look like her husband, in fact, there was very little resemblance to the man she’d married. He looked like a little boy who was floundering and lost. Anne decided to take charge of the situation.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I know both of us are very tired and we’ve lots to talk about, but you know I’m useless when I’ve had no sleep. So let’s go to bed and in the morning, when we’ve had breakfast, we’ll start to talk properly and decide what to do.’
Tom wanted to cry with relief. He thanked her dutifully and mounted the stairs behind her, turning off lights as he went. As soon as she pulled the quilt cover back he pulled off his jogger bottoms and rolled into the warm safe haven of their bed, and he knew no more until ten o’clock the next morning.
Anne woke and gazed around the bedroom as all the memories of the day before crashed into her mind. She was on the edge of the bed, and out of habit she wanted to roll behind him and spoon into his back. There were two things that stopped her doing this, mainly because she wasn’t sure who this strange man was sleeping next to her, and also because he hadn’t been in the shower.
She slid out of bed and heard him stir. ‘I’m going down to make breakfast,’ she said.
Tom opened his eyes groggily and instantly felt refreshed after sleeping so soundly. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so exhausted as he had during the last two days. Tom knew there wasn’t much he could do to thank Anne for not throwing him out last night, but decided the least he could do was make her breakfast. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, throwing the quilt aside.
‘No, Tom,’ she said, pulling on her dressing gown and wrinkling her nose, ‘I’ll start it off, but you really ought to get in that shower.’
He grinned and headed for the bathroom. Within the hour they moved around the kitchen together - she grilled bacon and sausage while he sliced tomatoes and mushrooms and dropped bread into the toaster. Tom ate as though it was his last meal and Anne made more toast for him. He watched her closely, trying to gauge her mood, wishing with all his heart that he could read her mind.
When Anne was dressed in a velour track suit they sat together in the lounge. Strong winter sun streamed through the window on to her cheek, and she held her face up towards it, enjoying the warm glow. Although she knew there was much to talk about, Anne had made one definite decision. In the past their lives had always been planned around what Tom thought, or what he wanted to do, but going forward she wanted to play a more active part in their plans and decisions. She pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath and asked, ‘Do you want to start?’
Tom nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said warily. ‘I know so far I’ve been a lousy husband, Anne. But I desperately want to change. I promise you that from this day forward I’ll never look at another woman,’ he continued, rubbing his wet palms down the side of his jeans. ‘I think over the years it just became an awful habit – like smoking. I’ve realised now that sleeping with women was a pattern formed early in my teens and it’s something that has shaped my life.’
Anne listened and gave him a weak smile. ‘Well, if that’s the case you should be able to kick this habit and, please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you need some professional help from a counsellor.’
‘Maybe,’ Tom pondered. He hadn’t thought of that, but nodded in agreement. ‘Now I’ve written it all down and feel like I can actually talk about it, that might help.’
Anne stood up. She had to get rid of the emotion that had built up inside her before she could go any further. She began to pace backwards and forwards across the room. She told him how she’d followed him to the market and saw him with Ellie, and then returned to confront her. She snorted, ‘I knew if I asked you about Ellie you’d simply deny it all, so I figured it was best to find out for myself. The crazy thing was that I was going to ask her to leave you alone.’
Tom began to fidget anxiously, and he sighed heavily. He mumbled, ‘I bet you’re the one who wants to leave me alone now.’ He sat forward on the settee and put his head in his hands, looking down at the carpet.
Anne ignored him and continued pacing and explained how, seething with rage, she’d torn the locket from her neck and ground her heel into it. ‘I’ve never in my life lost control like that and it shook me up, I can tell you,’ she said. ‘Even now, I can’t understand why you would do that. Why did you buy us the same gold lockets?’
Tom felt physically sick; he couldn’t look at her and kept his head bowed. How could he tell her? He remembered buying them that day in the jewellers and cringed with shame at his thoughtlessness of thinking about them at the same time. ‘I can’t tell you, because even though at the time I thought it was a reasonable thing to do, now it sounds so ridiculous and pathetic.’
Anne stood in front of him and put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you’re going to have to, Tom. Because from now on there can’t be any more lies; you can either tell me the truth, or we aren’t going to get anywhere.’
He shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. ‘There was an offer at the jewellers, where if you bought one locket you got a second one half price,’ he said. ‘At the time I thought I was being clever and saving myself a little money.’
‘What?’ she cried, staring down at his bowed head.
Slowly, Tom lifted his head and looked up at her, his eyes were swimming with tears. ‘It was absolute stupidity and I’m so very sorry, but I never dreamt in a million years that you’d ever find out,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I must have been out of my mind.’
Tom wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper and tried hard not to break down in tears again, as feelings of self-loathing overpowered him. He groaned quietly.
Anne perched on the end of the settee and a silence settled between them.
She was so used to adoring this fantastic man sitting next to her that now she’d discovered he wasn’t a superhero, it felt strange. She said, ‘You know, Tom, out of all this, the hardest thing is that I’m so disappointed in you. From the very first day we met I’ve thought of you as my hero; like one of the three musketeers. But now I know that everything my mother said about you is true, well…,’ she paused and bit the inside of her cheek, then looked down at her slippers.
Instantly, Tom croaked, ‘Which one?’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘You know, which musketeer was I?’
Anyone else would think he was being flippant, but Anne knew his love of actors was deep-rooted. She tutted and shook her head, but couldn’t help the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement. ‘It was d’Artagnan, of course,’ she said, then warned, ‘but don’t you dare change the subject!’
‘Sorry,’ he muttered miserably. ‘I couldn’t help it. I do it without thinking sometimes.’
Knowing his comment had sounded crass; Tom cursed himself as he watched the pained expression darken Anne’s eyes again. He could hear the tick of the old fireside clock as they sat in silence and he sighed heavily. How could he make her understand that all the other women in the past, and even Ellie, meant absolutely nothing to him?
‘I know it’s hard for you to understand, Anne, but the other women, well, I just thought of them as a bit of fun. Which I know now is a horrible thing to say, but they were at the time. You are the only woman that I have ever truly loved,’ he said. ‘If you want to know about the others, I’ll tell you – if it’ll help.’
Anne swung to face him. She put a hand up in front of his face. ‘No, I don’t want to hear about them,’ she said and began to rub her forearms. Anne knew her confidence wasn’t strong enough to cope with the other women, especially if they were as beautiful as young Ellie. She looked down and played with the zip end of her jacket. ‘M…maybe if I’d been thin and pretty you might not have wanted to go with them?’
Tom was enraged that she was turning his transgression around and blaming herself. ‘NO,’ he shouted, punching the side of the settee. ‘This has nothing to do with you. Whatever you look like wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference. Supposing you looked like Cheryl Cole, I’d still have been looking at other women; it’s all I’ve ever done. In my big headed conceit I’ve always reckoned one woman wasn’t enough for me.’
He swallowed hard. I’ve got to make her understand that she is in a totally different league to all the others, Tom thought, and lifted her chin with a finger so she had to look at his face. ‘In my eyes,’ he said, ‘you are as beautiful as any of them – even more than Cheryl Cole. You’re my wife, Anne; you are the one that is head and shoulders above any of them. When I think of you, it is always with a smile on my face. Your goodness and big, kind heart outshines them. You’re the one − the one woman that I love and the one I want to be with. Nobody else − just you.’
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