by Jo Jakeman
I took a cup of tea into the garden. It was a golden evening with far-reaching wisps of cloud. I settled into the tree swing and swayed gently. Perhaps I should have been worried about what tomorrow would bring, but it felt like a fresh start for all of us. Whatever happened to Phillip now, it would be up to the court to decide. We were finally standing against him and he would never have the same kind of power over us again. The three of us had survived the worst he had to throw at us and we’d found that there were others who’d suffered more than us, because of Phillip’s nature. Women who had suffered worse abuse, and it was as important to get justice for them as it was for us.
Ruby was finally able to move on from Phillip. She could stop feeling responsible for him and let herself love another person, and not only her dogs. Naomi was on the cusp of a new life. If Phillip delivered what he’d promised, she would meet her mother for the first time. And she knew now that, though it might be twenty years later than she would have liked, her mum wanted to be with her.
Naomi came out into the garden, dragging a case behind her and with her jacket slung over her arm.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
‘I’m off,’ she said.
I placed my cup on the ground and got up.
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing.’ She smiled at me. ‘You’ve been dead good to me, and you didn’t need to be. If anyone deserves answers, it’s you. I’m not going to be the one to let him go. If my mum is trying to find me, then she’s out there somewhere and there’ll be a record of her. She’s not going to be in hiding, is she? Never underestimate the power of social media for tracking people down. Of course Phil could have been talking bollocks all along, in which case me letting him go wouldn’t have changed anything anyway.’
‘But … you’re leaving? You don’t have to go,’ I said.
‘I do. I’m not going to give you the chance to change my mind. Besides, we’re only guessing that he’s going to go straight to the tribunal in the morning. He might go back home, and I want to get there first and fetch my things. I want to get photos of the broken table and the blood on the carpet too, to show the police fella tomorrow. What was his name? Chris, was it?’
I nodded.
‘But where will you go?’ I asked, with my hand on her arm to stop her from leaving.
She shrugged. ‘Anywhere I like. I’ve got his credit card, so for tonight, at least, it’ll be a fancy hotel. I’ll check in from time to time, so I know when it’s safe to come back. Now come ’ere and give me a hug.’
I held her tightly. Naomi dropped her bags and returned the hug. I didn’t want to let her go, but my tears wouldn’t make her stay.
‘Get out of here,’ I said with a smile.
‘You’ll call me, yeah? If there’s a problem tonight or any night?’
I nodded. She leaned towards me again and gave me another squeeze. I watched as she disappeared through the gate, and I stood and listened as she started her car and drove off.
And then I was alone with him.
I walked inside. The house was quiet without Ruby and Naomi in it. I opened the front door and looked out. I don’t know what I was hoping to see. But, whatever it was, it wasn’t there. It struck me that I was without a car. I didn’t know what Phillip had done with it. I would have to rethink how I was going to get to the police station tomorrow.
I locked the door and walked from room to room. The house was a mess. Empty cups. Discarded socks. A book face-down with its spine bent. The ghosts of a normal life.
I wiped the table, I loaded the dishwasher, I even put on a load of laundry and, when I’d run out of anything else to do, I sat at the table and allowed myself to remember.
The morning after the accident played in my head as if I were viewing it through the fog. It loomed without a specific size or face. It was an undisclosed mass that blocked out the sun and stopped me forging onwards.
The accident had nearly killed me. My pelvis had been crushed, my right leg broken, and two ribs had pierced my lung. Lucky to be alive, they had said, but I didn’t agree. When I awoke inside the pristine white walls, the first thing I knew was not where I was or what had happened, but that my baby was gone and the pain was more than the morphine could ever touch.
A thin tube ran from my hand to a drip that was tip-tapping above my head. Another tube ran beneath the covers into a bottle to collect urine. A pale-blue gown was over my front, but wasn’t tied at my back and I didn’t care. The foot of the bed was at an angle to match that of the head, and I looked away as they injected something into the tube affixed to the back of my hand, apparently to help keep blood clots at bay. Like I cared.
Phillip hadn’t left my side for forty-eight hours. We clung to each other under the umbrella of the ‘there-theres’ and the ‘one days’.
I had lain in that field for five hours. A late-night reveller on his way home, stopping to pee in the hedge, had spotted my shoe hanging on a low branch. When he looked closer, he saw the other shoe still attached to my foot. Thinking he had found a dead body, he called for help. The nurses said I owed him my life, but I couldn’t find it within myself to be thankful.
He visited me in the hospital, a bunch of supermarket flowers in the crook of his arm. They made quite a fuss of him. Phillip shook his hand and the doctors slapped him on the back.
‘Right place at the right time,’ he said, but I couldn’t look at him.
He left. They all did eventually. Shift change, lunchtimes, their lives going on around me as I lay immobile. Silently suffering. Time ticking by, taking me further away from her. They say time’s a great healer. They lie.
THIRTY-NINE
7 days before the funeral
The night had passed into the hour before morning, where secrets unfolded and lies were covered up. Birds were beginning their songs of freedom and joy at the sight of the lightening skies. I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. It was strange how calm I felt.
I refilled my coffee cup, made Phillip one too and then went down into the cellar to wake him. Like a fearful child, he’d slept with the light on.
I stood over him. Most people looked angelic when they slept, fluttering eyelashes on smooth cheeks giving an air of serenity and purity – but not Phillip. His face was chiselled from granite, with a lifetime of disapproval etched between his brows. It wouldn’t have been out of place between the gargoyles and stone sprites that adorned the squat church where we wed. It had been months since I’d studied that face. Strong nose. Full lips. Square chin. To those who didn’t know, he looked like a saviour; my knight in shining armour. But I’d seen his eyes when the mask slipped and I knew the Devil lived in his soul.
I watched him wake slowly. He jolted when he saw me and forced his eyes wide. He sat up, yawned and took the mug from me.
‘No milk?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t been shopping.’
I placed the folded-up clothes, with mobile phone in the trouser leg, on the back of the sofa.
‘You want to know, then?’ he asked with a gradual smile. ‘I knew you would.’
I took a deep breath and considered him. His skin was sallow; a few days out of the sun was all it took for him to lose that outdoor healthy look that was part of his charm. His teeth were yellowing, and I could see every line on his face. I’d mistakenly thought his tired face and thinning frame had been because of cancer, but it had been the stress of being suspended. I should have known.
He sat on the edge of the bed and I stood out of his reach.
He bent down to the handcuffs and looked at me. ‘Come on then. I’m going to need the key.’
‘Not yet.’
‘I can’t tell you the whole story until you let me go, Imogen. We had a deal.’
‘Later.’
‘Imogen?’ His voice was dripping with menace now. A warning.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m letting you go, but not yet.’
I had no more pain in my nose, and my rib
s had stopped aching. I felt strong, invincible. I felt more myself than I had ever felt. I had stopped wondering what other people thought of me and now cared only what I thought of me. As long as I could look myself in the mirror and say honestly that I had done my best for me and my son, then I was happy. The door to my future was wide open and I couldn’t wait to pass through it and close the door to my past.
I balanced one foot on the bottom step and looked over my shoulder at Phillip. I tried to fix him in my mind. He was flesh and bone like anyone else, but his heart was empty. I felt absolutely nothing for him. Not even pity. He was solely responsible for the position he was in and he would get what he deserved.
FORTY
7 days before the funeral
I walked out of the front door under the early dawn skies and ambled along the road, past the blackened windows and stationary cars. For most people, the day hadn’t yet started. For me, it was still the tail end of yesterday.
A lone cat stalked me for half a mile, before jumping over a wall and disappearing down an alleyway. I missed its company as I walked the last few yards on my own. The street lights clicked off suddenly, announcing the arrival of morning. I hadn’t noticed them until they weren’t there.
I turned sideways, to slip through the gap in the hedge, but my clothes caught on the bushes, which had thrown out long, grasping branches as rain had turned to sun, had turned to rain, over the past week. I slipped my bag off my shoulder. It was heavy with essentials – clothes, passport, book, phone.
I settled onto Iris’s bench as the early-morning traffic began pulsating behind me every ten seconds or so. Workers eager to be the first at their desks. The keenest, the hardest-working, the ones replete with self-importance, impressing no one but themselves.
I took my phone from my bag and dialled Phillip’s number.
It rang and rang, and I began to panic, thinking I’d left it on silent or that I’d placed it where he couldn’t reach, but then the ringing stopped.
‘Imogen,’ he said.
I breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in and spoke.
‘Surprised?’ I asked.
‘Not really, you’ve always been weak. Should have known you’d be hiding from me.’
I was tempted to leave him locked, remind him who had the power, but it was even more appealing to set him free to face the disciplinary panel, so that I could clear away the evidence that he’d ever been there. Tomorrow it would be all over the papers – Chris had seen to that. Today it would be all over social media – Naomi had promised that.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I asked.
‘Are you going to set me free?’
‘I’m going to tell you the combination lock. Once that’s open, you’ll be able leave the cellar. The key to the cuffs is on the shelf in the hallway.’
‘I’m not telling you anything until you give me that code.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,’ I said. ‘It’s eight-five-one-three.’
I heard him grunt with the exertion of bending over and fiddling with the lock. ‘So it is. Got to tell you, I’m surprised. I’ve been trying all kinds of combinations of birthdays and anniversaries, but I would never have expected you to use the number thirteen.’
‘You don’t know me as well as you think you do,’ I said.
‘Really? Then how did I know that you would be the one who’d give in? I knew you couldn’t resist.’
I could hear him walking up the stairs. There was less of an echo to his words, now that he was at the top.
I tried to envisage my life without Phillip, but couldn’t grasp the shape of it. There was no blueprint for freedom; it was formless, endless and it alarmed as much as it excited. Soon, everyone would know what Phillip was capable of, and his reputation would be just where it should be.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said into the phone. ‘And the keys are just where you said they’d be. You’re desperate for this information, aren’t you? No more playing games. Now where should I start?’
‘I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Phillip.’
It would have been easy enough to sit and listen, to let him tell me something between a truth and a lie, but I realised it would make no difference.
‘Nothing you say will bring her back to me. Nothing you can say can undo the past. I thought I wanted to know, but now it’s come to it, I don’t think I could bear it. It’s done. We’re done.’
‘We’re not done until I say we’re done. I thought you wanted to hear the truth?’ His voice was harsh in my ear.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘But I’ll never get it by listening to you.’
I hung up on Phillip and immediately scrolled through for Tristan’s number.
I felt lighter than I’d ever felt. Free. Tranquil.
I sent a text to Tristan, hoping to catch him before he set off for work. I told him my car was out of action, and he was right: my ex shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’d done. Was there any chance he could drive me to the police station later this morning? Get a coffee afterwards? His response came almost immediately.
I’d love to.
I switched off the phone, in case Phillip tried to call me back.
I wasn’t deluding myself. I knew that the chances of a healthy relationship coming from all of this were slimmer than remote, but it was nice – comforting – to think that somewhere out there was a person who liked me enough to want to spend time with me.
I thought of Naomi and Ruby – women I had despised this time last week. I should have known they were nothing like the picture I had painted of them. Should’ve known better than to believe anything Phillip had told me. I had grown fond of them. More than fond. Ruby had a big heart, even if her loyalties had been misplaced.
And Naomi. Vulnerable, damaged and yet stronger than the rest of us put together. I could see now that I had been jealous of her confidence and her easy life, not knowing that it was only a sugar-spun shell.
I closed my eyes and felt the day settle around me. The traffic was heavier now, the intermittent rush of cars had been replaced by a steady buzz. Birds shouted to each other from treetop to treetop. A swish overhead from the bowing of the branches. A rustle to my side of wind-ruffled leaves. Minutes passed easily and I revelled in the new-world smells that I’d barely noticed before. The air was tangy with the promise of more rain. I thought of the passport nestled in my bag. Once I’d finished at the police station, I was getting the next plane to Spain to see my son.
‘So, what now?’
‘Jesus!’ I jerked and knocked my phone to the ground. I scrabbled to my feet and turned to face him.
Phillip.
‘How did you …?’ I began. My arms were outstretched, warning him to keep his distance.
Phillip’s slow smile and raised eyebrow revealed his pleasure at having found me. His hands were behind his back. Solid stance like an army major. Superior.
‘You think I don’t know that this is where you come? You think this is your secret place? You have no secrets from me, Imogen.’
‘What do you want?’
My heart was beating out of my chest. I hadn’t expected him to come here. This was my place, somewhere I should have felt safe. He was between me and the gap in the hedge. I was trapped. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. He should have been heading home to shower and shave, to get ready to put his case at the hearing. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at me like he wanted to kill me.
I thought about shouting for help, but no one would hear over the sound of the traffic. My phone was out of reach, and Naomi and Ruby were long gone. No one knew where I was.
‘I want to talk,’ he said. ‘C’mon. Like old times.’
‘We don’t have anything to talk about. You really should leave.’
‘Should I?’ His eyes shone with malice. He jutted out his chin and looked past me, something on the horizon catching his eye and making him smile. He looked down at his toes and pushed
himself up onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels. I glanced where he was looking and almost missed the lightning movement of his hands as he whipped something out from behind his back. A knife.
‘You left before we could talk, Imogen.’
He gripped the kitchen knife in his hand, the tip slightly raised and splitting the reflection of the weak sun. I’d misjudged him. Revenge meant more to him than reputation.
I had just enough time to think, So that’s where the knife is, before he lunged at me.
I staggered backwards and Phillip laughed. I couldn’t out-run him, couldn’t beat him in a fight.
The traffic was insistent now; but they couldn’t see me, hear me or help me. I edged around the side of the bench, using it as a shield.
‘Phillip, remember last time you tried to get revenge on me? It didn’t turn out so good for you. Don’t make the same mistake again.’
‘Mistake? No, Imogen, it’s not me who makes mistakes, is it?’
I licked my lips, considering whether I could dash past him to the road, whether I’d be better off running across the field, but my darting eyes gave me away.
‘Don’t even think about running,’ he said. ‘You’ll never get away from me.’
There was something in the way he said never that made me think he was talking about more than today.
‘Phillip, please. What about the hearing? You said you needed to clear your name. This isn’t going to help.’
I was starting to panic. If he didn’t care about his job or his reputation, he had nothing to lose.
‘That was the plan, but then you hung up on me. Rude, Imogen, rude. You do disappoint me. But then, you always have. Come, sit down.’
He pointed at the bench with the knife. I did as he asked, buying time, slowly lowering myself onto the bench without taking my eyes from the blade. He sat heavily by my side and I recoiled from him. Phillip grabbed my right hand in his left and held tight when I tried to wrestle it from his grip. He pressed the tip of the blade into the fleshy inner part of my arm and smiled when I winced, but I wouldn’t cry out. When he took it away again, there was the fleeting imprint of a crimson bird in flight before my blood distorted the image.