by Sophie Hayes
I’d periodically check the old email address and find that Kas had sent me links to songs, and messages saying, ‘I’m sorry. I love you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t live my life without you. I need to have you by my side.’ As I read each one, I became more convinced than ever that he was crazy and that, somehow, I needed to make him believe I’d vanished off the face of the earth.
I told Erion what was happening and he said, ‘Tell Robin. You must tell Robin.’ But, for some reason – perhaps because I thought I could handle it myself – I didn’t. And then, one day, I got a letter in the post from Kas that said simply, ‘I love you. I’m going to come.’
As I stood in the kitchen of my flat, reading the words over and over again and trying to breathe, I was shaking. I felt the same sense of panic and confusion I used to feel when he was shouting and threatening me. It was almost exactly a year since I’d left Italy, and it was only as I stood in my kitchen with his letter in my hand that I realised how stupid I’d been not to move to another flat. I think I’d felt that, because Kas was in prison, I had plenty of time. But now every muscle in my body was tense and I knew I was in real danger.
So, this time, I did tell Robin, and again he tried to reassure me. ‘He is not going to come here,’ he told me. ‘The warrant for his arrest for the shooting incident still stands, so he is not going to risk going to prison again here. Really Sophie, it’s okay. He isn’t going to come.’
But, just to be on the safe side, I moved to another flat, and when I checked my old email account a few days later, I found a message from Kas that said, ‘I’ve just been to your apartment. Why are you not there, little mouse? Where are you? I’m here and I need you. I talked to the taxi drivers outside and they said they hadn’t seen you for a while and the concierge of your building doesn’t know where you’ve gone. But I won’t stop looking until I find you.’
I was sobbing as I read it and I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing behind me in the living room of my flat, smiling the small, humourless smile that was so often the first indication I had that I was in trouble. For a while, I just sat there, hunched over the computer keyboard, crying and looking around me from time to time like some crazy woman who can see things no one else can see. Then I picked up my mobile phone and called Robin.
‘He isn’t here, Sophie,’ Robin said, as soon as I’d calmed down enough to listen to him. ‘He’s probably just looked up your old flat on Google Earth – that’s how he knows there’s a taxi rank outside it. But he won’t come; he’d have to be crazy to take the risk.’
‘He will,’ I whispered, ‘because he is crazy. He thinks he’s invincible, so he has no fear. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can feel him. I know he’s here and I know he’ll find me. What does he have to be afraid of? If he’s caught in this country, he’ll be deported. So what? Why would he care about that?’
‘He won’t come,’ Robin said again. ‘You’re safe. Try not to worry.’
I did try to take Robin’s advice, because I was tired of being afraid of my own shadow. And then, a few days later, I was walking through the city centre on my way to catch a bus home after work when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I knew immediately it was Kas. Despite the logic of what everyone had been telling me about how foolhardy and dangerous it would be for him to return to England, I knew he didn’t play by other people’s rules. He believed he was too clever and too important to have to abide by normal laws and regulations, and I’d always known he’d come back for me.
I stopped walking and, for a split-second, stood completely still in the middle of the pavement, aware of nothing except the weight of Kas’s hand on my shoulder. The blood was pounding in my ears, making the sounds of the city seem suddenly muffled and distant. The idea flashed through my mind that, instead of turning round to look at Kas, I could start to scream and then, as everyone who was rushing past on their way home from work stopped to stare, Kas might simply disappear into the crowd.
But I knew that even if I did make a scene and draw attention to myself, and even if the people around us didn’t ignore me and pretend nothing was happening, Kas would find me again – on another street and on another day. So, with fear flooding through my body, I slowly turned my head and looked into the cold eyes that had haunted my nightmares for so long.
‘Sophie, why are you not talking to me?’ The regret in his voice was mocking. ‘All these years we’ve known each other. Why are you afraid of me? What’s wrong with you, woman? Why are you looking at me as though I’m a terrorist?’
People were surging around us, laughing and talking to each other or speaking earnestly into mobile phones as they hurried home from work. No one noticed a small, pale, frightened young woman or the man who was holding her elbow and speaking quietly into her ear.
I wanted to shake Kas’s hand off my arm and scream in his face, ‘Leave me alone! It’s over. I’m not afraid of you anymore.’ But that wasn’t true and, in any case, all I could think about was not letting him find out where I worked or lived. Quite apart from being afraid that he might manage to wheedle or bully his way back into my life, I dreaded the thought that he might tell people about me – about what I’d done in Italy – and then everyone would hate and despise me. I knew I had to pretend to him that everything was normal because, although he knew I’d had contact with the police, if he ever suspected I’d talked to them about him, he’d kill me.
I’d always known he’d find me one day, but I’d pushed the thought to the back of my mind because I was unwilling – or perhaps unable – to deal with it. So I’d never tried to prepare myself for this moment and I was in shock. My heartbeat was echoing loudly in my head and my whole body was shaking. For a moment, I thought my knees were going to give way and I’d fall at Kas’s feet on the crowded pavement. But he put his hand under my elbow to support me, digging his fingers into my arm and smiling a cold, menacing smile as he asked, ‘What’s wrong with you, woman? Why are so scared of me? What do you think I’m going to do to you? I just want to go for a coffee and talk.’
‘And I just want to go home,’ I shouted – but only silently, in my head.
He put the palm of his hand on my cheek, pushing my face in the direction he wanted me to go, and then he walked beside me to a coffee shop where he bought two coffees and led the way to a table on the pavement outside. As I fumbled in my handbag for my cigarettes and tried to light one, I could feel Kas watching me and I could sense his growing irritation and impatience. I kept swallowing, trying to stop the tears that were filling my eyes from spilling over on to my cheeks, and suddenly Kas reached across the table and snatched the lighter from my shaking hands. I flinched instinctively, expecting him to hit me, but he just looked at me for a moment and then lit my cigarette before asking me again, ‘What’s the matter with you, woman?’
It was a question he didn’t expect me to answer, but if I had, I’d have told him I felt sick and frightened and as though I’d never been away from him. As soon as I saw him, I’d become Jenna again – scared and unable to speak, or even think clearly, while I waited for him to tell me what to do.
He held out his hand, palm upwards, and said, ‘Give me your phone.’
‘I … I haven’t got a phone,’ I told him, cringing inwardly at how unlikely that sounded.
‘Why are you lying to me?’ Kas snapped. ‘Why would you be so stupid as to tell me a lie? Give me your bag.’
We were sitting at a table outside a café in the centre of Leeds in broad daylight, surrounded by normal people going about their daily lives, and I was too afraid not to do what Kas told me to do. I handed him my handbag and he pulled out my phone.
‘I don’t understand you,’ he said. ‘Why would you not give it to me when I asked? Who do you think you are now – some sort of undercover policewoman?’ He looked at me steadily across the table as he said the last word and then asked, ‘Why has your behaviour changed?’
And that was
when I realised I had to pull myself together and act normally, so that he didn’t think I had anything to hide. Incredible as it seems, I don’t think the thought had ever really crossed his mind that I might have told anyone about what he’d done to me. Although I didn’t consciously realise it at the time, he had a self-assurance and an arrogance bordering on the psychotic; I think he believed whatever he wanted to believe – including, perhaps, that I loved him and wouldn’t intentionally do anything to harm him. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care what I did – or had done – because he was convinced that he was too clever to be caught.
He typed his number into my phone, rang it, drank a mouthful of his coffee and then leaned back in his chair and said, with a smugly self-satisfied smile, ‘So now I have your number.’
‘Why are you here?’ I asked him. ‘What do you want?’
‘You sound as though you’re not happy to see me,’ he said, his face set in an expression of mock hurt. ‘Are you not happy that I am here? I thought you loved me, woman.’
I don’t even know who you are, I thought. And I don’t think anyone – perhaps not even your own mother – could really love you.
‘You can’t know how much I’ve missed you,’ Kas said, flipping from scornful to serious. ‘Ah, my little mouse, all I want is for you to be back with me. I don’t want you to do anything.’
Be smart, the voice in my head told me. Don’t let him beat you. Take what he’s taught you about how to stay safe on the streets and use it now. And I realised that, this time, he was in my country and although I didn’t think I could actually stand up to him, perhaps I did have a chance of outsmarting him.
‘I need to go,’ I told him, trying to sound as normal as possible.
‘Okay, I’ll call you.’ He stood up as I pushed back my chair and, putting his hands firmly on my shoulders, kissed me on both cheeks.
I walked home via a long, circuitous route, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds like some terrified hunted animal. But, to my relief, I didn’t see him and I began to think that perhaps I could stand up to him; perhaps, when he phoned me, I would be able to say, ‘I don’t want you here; you need to go,’ and then he’d know that it was all over between us and he’d leave me alone. It was a fantasy I don’t think I ever really believed, because I knew that people like Kas never give up. In his eyes, I belonged to him, and he wasn’t going to let me simply walk away.
That night, Erion wasn’t planning to come to my flat after he finished work, so, when I finally got home, I locked and bolted the front door and then sat on the floor in the living room with my back against the sofa, smoking cigarettes and trying to focus my mind and think.
Stay calm, I kept telling myself. Just stay calm and it will all be fine. But what was I actually going to do? I’d already decided not to tell anyone that Kas had come – it was almost as though I thought that if I didn’t say anything about it, it wasn’t real. I was still very afraid of him, and I was certain no one else knew what he was capable of doing if someone tried to confront him or stand in his way. Most of all, I was afraid that if anyone else did become involved, Kas would carry out the threat he’d made so many times in the past and harm my family. So, ridiculous as it sounds now, by the next day I’d almost managed to convince myself I could handle the situation on my own. Kas didn’t know where I lived, and as long as he didn’t find out, I was – relatively – safe. And then, a few minutes after I arrived home from work that evening, I received a text message saying, ‘I’m outside your flat.’
I threw my phone onto the sofa and began to run from room to room in a frenzied panic, trying to hide anything that related to Erion, the police or STOP THE TRAFFIK. There was a loose floorboard in the bedroom that squeaked every time I trod on it and had irritated me ever since I’d moved in, but I was glad of it now. By tugging at one end, I managed to lift it up just enough to be able to push things underneath it. And then I heard the sound of my phone ringing.
‘Don’t you dare disrespect me in this way,’ Kas shouted as soon as I answered it. ‘I know you’re in there. Why are you trying to pretend you’re not? Let me in now or I will get in some other way and break every bone in your body.’
As I walked slowly across the living-room floor to press the buzzer that would release the catch on the door to the street, the voice in my head was screaming, No! Don’t do it! Don’t open the door! But I didn’t know what else to do, and a few seconds later, Kas was standing in front of me asking, ‘Why did you take so long to answer the door? You’re acting as though you have something to hide. Are you trying to hide something from me, woman? Is there something I should be paranoid about, some reason why I should be watching my back? Why? Why would you do this to me?’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I promise.’
He shrugged and said, ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me. I just want to talk to you, to make sure you’re okay. I’ll come again tomorrow.’
No! Go away! I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life, I screamed in my head. But I knew that Kas was once again in control.
At work the next day I kept making silly mistakes. It matters to me that I do my job well, and the fact that I couldn’t concentrate on anything made me even more anxious and miserable. All I could think about was Kas coming again that evening.
Even after I’d been back in England for a year, I still wasn’t in a good place mentally and I didn’t have many friends in Leeds. It’s difficult to make new friends if you’re dreading the moment when they ask what you were doing before you started your current job and you either have to lie to them or tell them, ‘Oh, I was working on the streets in Italy.’ And you don’t really expect other people to like you when you hate everything about yourself.
There were days when I’d get up, do my make-up and my hair, get dressed and look in the mirror and think, No. Then I’d take off my make-up, wash my hair again and change my clothes – sometimes repeating the same wretched, frustrating process again and again until finally deciding not to go out at all.
I became obsessed with the way I looked, and convinced that people were looking at me thinking, What a mess! It still happens now, although not as often or as intensely. But at that time there were many days when I couldn’t leave the flat because I couldn’t find myself. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognise the girl who was looking back at me, and sometimes I’d just stand there thinking, Who am I?
Inevitably, Erion and I were drifting apart, and although we were still ‘together’, he didn’t stay at my flat as often as he used to. He’d ask me, ‘Why do you always listen to such sad music? It’s difficult to be with someone who’s always so unhappy.’ And I knew that he was right, because it can’t be easy to live with someone who hates herself as much I did and who’s paranoid about everything. The slightest noise or sudden movement would make me jump, and Erion would look sad as he told me, ‘I feel as though you think I’m going to hit you. It hurts me because you know I would never do that.’
I was confused and unsure about every aspect of my life and perhaps that’s at least partly why I made the foolish decision to try to stand up to Kas on my own. I don’t know how he’d managed to follow me home without my seeing him. Maybe he’d got someone else to do it, and maybe what he’d told me so often was true and he did have people everywhere, watching to make sure I did what he told me to do.
That evening, when I pressed the buzzer to open the outside door and he walked up the stairs to my flat, I didn’t pretend I was glad to see him. And he must have noticed the fear and resentment in my face because he asked me, ‘Why are you acting this way? What have I ever done to you to make you afraid of me?’
I almost laughed. I wanted to shout at him, ‘Are you insane? Have you lost your mind so completely that you don’t know what you’ve done to me?’ But I said nothing, and he told me I was ‘ridiculous’ and that my behaviour was ‘pathetic’, and then he said, ‘No one knows I’m here. Do you have any ide
a how easy it would be for me to take a pillow and press it down on your face until there is no breath left in your body? No one would ever know what had happened. So remember that, and think very carefully before you disrespect me.’
He came again the next night, this time to tell me a crazy story, which I knew was almost totally untrue.
‘I need something from you,’ he said, and my heart started to beat so fast I couldn’t breathe. ‘I need you to go back to work. I’ve found a place in Liverpool. It’s a house, so you won’t have to be out on the streets.’ He said it as though he was offering me some kindness or favour, and I began to feel as though I was trapped in a surreal nightmare. ‘It’ll be easy this time. You’ll be in a house and you speak the language, so it’s easy money. Remember, little mouse, you’re a goldmine. You’ll be brilliant.’
‘I can’t,’ I blurted out at last. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Come on,’ Kas cajoled. ‘You’ll be fine. You can still do your day job. I’m not asking you to give it up. You can work Friday and Saturday nights – just two nights a week.’
Then his mood changed from coaxing to angry and he shouted, ‘Why are you making such a big deal out of this? All I’m asking you to do is open your legs and have sex for two nights a week. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not asking you to kill someone. I’m not even asking you to break the law. What’s wrong with you, woman?’
For the first time for as long as I could remember, I felt a sense of determination and resolve. It wasn’t anything very substantial, but it was just enough to enable me to dare to look him in the eye and say, ‘I won’t do it.’ And then, suddenly, I didn’t care what he did to me, because I knew I would rather he killed me than that he forced me back into a life of fear, loneliness and shame.