Laura couldn’t understand why the other woman would want to be saddled with someone else’s child. But it was possible she couldn’t have any of her own, or that Greg had made her believe he and Barney were a package deal.
One thing Laura realized immediately was that she couldn’t just rush off somewhere now with Barney. She had very little money of her own, nowhere to take him to either. And she would need to find somewhere to live where Greg would never find them, for she knew he’d come after her just to spite her.
That meant she would have to play for time, keep on an even keel and even seem to be going along with whatever Greg came up with, while she made her own plans.
Greg came home that evening after she’d put Barney to bed. His face was stiff and cold, and Laura took some delight in behaving as if nothing had happened. He looked shocked to see the table in the dining room laid for dinner. She felt certain he’d expected her to launch into a shouting match, which would enable him to turn round and walk right out again.
‘I suppose you want a divorce,’ she said as she dished up the coq au vin. ‘I don’t like the idea, I thought we had married for life, but if that’s what you want just let’s make it as amicable as possible.’
As she expected, he tried to provoke her into a row, turning everything around to make out it was her fault, claiming she had always been ‘difficult’, that she wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a senior executive, or a mother. He brought up her refusal to live in the country, her drug-taking, and accused her of only marrying him for his money and position anyway.
She didn’t rise to his bait, just nodded as if she agreed with all his complaints. ‘So let’s cut to the chase,’ she said. ‘What are you intending to do?’
He said he didn’t know. She said that they should just carry on for the time being until he did.
The winter passed, spring arrived and Laura continued to try to hold her tongue as the pressure mounted between them. Greg came and went as he pleased. He gave no explanations as to what he was doing, or what he wanted, and there was no attempt at friendliness. When he spoke he was curt and dismissive; he threw his dirty clothes down on the floor, he’d demand a meal late at night, then push it away after one mouthful claiming it was disgusting.
Outside the house in nearby Kings Road Laura saw women of her own age shopping in the boutiques, flirting, laughing and having fun, while she at only twenty-seven had no one and nothing in her life other than Barney.
Jackie had sold the first house she had bought to do up and sell on, and made a vast profit, immediately ploughing it into other properties. She could talk of nothing but building and design, and how happy she was with Roger. Meggie and Ivy had put their place on the market too after hearing of Jackie’s success and they were preoccupied with finding another one. Laura didn’t feel able to tell them how bad things were for her, or how scared she was that Greg might eventually do something terrible to her. So when she saw them she pretended everything was fine.
Belle often popped round to see Laura. She had left her parents’ home in Muswell Hill and moved into a shared flat in the Fulham Road while she was attending a drama school. Her excitement and wonder at being in central London, the clubs, shops and her many boyfriends, made Laura feel as if she was being rubbed with sandpaper, and she wondered how much longer she could put up with Greg without cracking up.
But she couldn’t leave, not till she had more money, and it was becoming increasingly difficult managing to squeeze anything extra out of the housekeeping money Greg gave her each week. If she tried to economize by buying mince, he would demand steak; if she said Barney needed new shoes he would check his feet and say his current shoes still fitted. It was as if he knew what she was planning.
By the end of April he was hitting her. The first time it was just a slap when she forgot to collect his favourite shoes from the cobbler’s. He raged at her and said it was her job to take care of such things, and hit her.
That time he apologized the following day, and even cuddled her and promised it would never happen again. But it did; just a week later he punched her in the stomach, and she’d barely recovered from that when he laid into her one night for spilling some fat on the kitchen floor which he’d slipped on when he came home. He was like a man possessed, dragging her up by the hair as she lay in bed, and punching her stomach as though it was a medicine ball.
From then on it was a round of violence. She didn’t have to do or say anything to set him off, he would attack her for any reason, and always he yelled at her to get out of the house and never come back. But she wasn’t going to go without Barney because she knew that was what he hoped for.
Yet the more he hit her, the more verbal abuse he subjected her to, the more worthless she felt. She sometimes felt that Greg was right, that she was scum, and that maybe she had no right to Barney.
It was a Friday night in early June when she finally saw that he would kill her eventually if she didn’t get out.
He came home around eight stinking of drink, and asked where she’d moved his golf clubs to. The last time he played golf he’d left his bag in the kitchen, and Barney had pulled out one of the irons and smashed a vase with it. Laura had then put them for safety in the hall cupboard where they kept the coats. She was washing up and so she told Greg where he could find them. The next minute he’d got her by the hair, dragging her out of the kitchen.
‘You bloody well get them,’ he roared at her. ‘You lazy fucking whore.’
She knew he would hit her even if she kept quiet, and the injustice and cruelty of it made her snap. ‘You hit me again and I’ll go down to your factory and tell them that you’re a wife beater,’ she yelled back at him.
For a second she thought that had stopped him in his tracks for he opened the hall cupboard door and pulled out his golf club bag. But suddenly he whirled round on her, caught her by the shoulder, and with his other hand pulled out a club and hit her with it.
It landed on her shoulder and she managed to get away from him, running out to the kitchen. But he came after her and slashed at her legs, making her fall to the floor.
He had her at his mercy then and he hit her over and over again, yelling out obscenities that were so vile it was as though he was possessed by an evil spirit. She screamed, begged him to stop and think of Barney upstairs, but it made no difference.
The pain was incredible. Each stroke felt like a burn, and she tried to curl herself up to protect herself, but she thought the blows raining down on her back would kill her.
Then as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped, dropping the club on the floor beside her. ‘You’ve done this to me,’ he spat at her. ‘You’ve turned me into something evil, like you.’
He left then, rushing out of the house, not even stopping to pick up his golf bag. She heard his car start up and roar off down the road.
She was beyond tears, in shock with both the pain of the beating and the idea that he could hate her that much. But she knew that somehow she had to get out with Barney that night. Once he had gathered his wits he’d be back for his son.
There was no point in calling the police. They would call it ‘a domestic’, and say she must stay in the house with Barney and claim her rights through the courts. Greg had the money and the legal contacts. First he’d whip Barney away, then on Monday morning he’d be at his solicitor’s with some story about her endangering Barney. He’d make people believe him too, he was good at that, and she’d never get her baby back.
It took all her strength to pull herself up on the cupboard doors, and then one painful step after another until she reached the stairs.
Packing a couple of cases with her and Barney’s clothes was hard enough when every movement was like having a dagger going though her, but how she got them downstairs and out into her car, she really didn’t know. She filled another small bag with Barney’s toys, then went into Greg’s study to see if she could find any money.
The moment when she found a large brown envelop
e in the same place she’d found money back in February was the only time that night when she stopped hurting for a few brief seconds. She didn’t think it was the same wad of money, for it was in a different envelope, but a quick glance inside told her there was even more than in the first one.
With it safely in her handbag, she went back out on to the landing and stopped before the mirror to brace herself before lifting Barney out of his cot. Her face was thankfully unmarked, but when she pulled up her shirt she saw purple weals across her chest and stomach. She couldn’t manage to twist herself enough to check her back, and she guessed that was even worse.
Picking Barney up was the hardest thing of all. Every nerve ending in her back, arms and even her legs screamed for her to stop. He was heavy, and sound asleep a dead weight, but somehow she managed to get him into her arms and wrap his blanket around him.
It was a warm night, and still light though well after ten, so she half expected her neighbours to come out. After all, they must have heard her screaming earlier and seen her putting the cases into the space behind the Beetle’s back seat. But the only people in the road were down the far end by Kings Road.
Barney didn’t wake as she laid him down on the back seat. Wincing with pain, she eased herself into the driver’s seat, started the engine and drove off.
‘Gonnae stamp my book?’
Laura was startled out of her reverie by Frances from her own block, standing in front of the desk grinning at her.
‘Sexy daydream?’ Frances giggled.
‘A real hot one,’ Laura replied and smiled. Frances was a nice kid, only eighteen, a Goth and something of a hard case, but she was bright and often very funny.
‘I’ll let you get back to it then,’ Frances replied. ‘Any good?’ she asked, waving her copy of Cover Her Face by P.D. James.
‘Great,’ Laura said. ‘But you might find English village life a bit tame after Glasgow, even with Inspector Dalgliesh on the prowl.’
‘Is there any sex in it?’ Frances asked.
Laura half smiled. ‘Do you want there to be?’
‘There’s nae point reading it unless there’s some.’ Frances shrugged.
Later that same day, when she was back in her cell after supper, Laura put down her pen and notepad as she found herself thinking about Stuart. She wondered where he was and what he was doing, and smiled to herself thinking how smart he was to have found Meggie. She would love to know what they talked about – Stuart had a way of making women open up. When they were together she almost told him the whole truth about Greg many times, and now she didn’t know what possessed her to keep it to herself.
Was it her ego? Afraid she would look less shiny and whole? Or because she never wanted anyone to feel sorry for her?
She really didn’t know. She knew now that there was no shame in admitting hurt and fear or in showing another person you could be vulnerable. But at twenty-seven she had been something of a hothead.
That night when she left Chelsea, she drove all the way to Brixham in Devon. It was astounding that she got there, considering her injuries. She remembered that she cried on and off all the way.
‘Funny how people run to places they were once happy in,’ she murmured to herself.
She could have gone over to Meggie and Ivy’s, to Jackie too for that matter, any one of them would have comforted her, tucked her into a bed and taken care of Barney too. But it was that pride thing. She didn’t want them to see her that way.
It was just on dawn when she got to Brixham and she parked her car in the harbour and watched the sky gradually lightening. She was in such pain she could barely focus her eyes, and she was dreading Barney waking because she didn’t know how she was going to be able to look after him. In her rush to leave she’d forgotten his pushchair, and she doubted she’d be able to carry him.
But as the sun rose she took comfort in the symbolism of a new day. She might be badly hurt but she’d finally got away from Greg. She had to embark on a new life now, and she’d make sure it was a better one.
Later that day she found a studio flat to rent. Just one room and a bathroom but it was spacious, light and bright and close to the harbour. She stayed there right up till the end of June when the owner had a holiday booking, spending most days on the beach with Barney, or going for long walks. In the evenings when she’d put Barney to bed, she read and watched television. As each day passed her injuries hurt less, and as the bruises faded she realized she felt happier than she had for a very long time.
She sent cards to Jackie and her sisters, just saying that she’d left Greg and would be in touch when she was settled. She didn’t dare give Jackie the address as she was afraid Greg might winkle it out of her. She thought it best that Meggie and Ivy didn’t know it either; they might turn up to see her and she didn’t want to be questioned.
Barney became toilet-trained while she was there, and she taught him to eat with a spoon and fork and drink from a proper cup. Every day he learned more new words, and delighted in putting whole sentences together. They both became brown as berries, and Laura found herself revelling in the new closeness she had with him. Greg had never liked her playing noisy or messy games with Barney when he was home; in truth his own upbringing had been so formal and regimented that he expected Laura should be the same with Barney.
Laura set off for Cornwall when she had to give up the flat in Brixham. She would have liked to stay there, but she couldn’t find anywhere to live that was cheap. Although she had the money she’d taken from Greg – there had been £1,500 in the envelope – she had to be really careful with it until she could find somewhere permanent and get a job and a childminder.
It was in Looe that she met the bunch of Scottish hippies who told her about the commune in Castle Douglas. They were fun people, warm and feckless, camping out on the cliff top, drinking too much, smoking a great deal of dope, but they welcomed Barney and her and didn’t ask too many questions. She stayed with them in their tent, because like Brixham, flats or rooms in Looe cost too much in the summer season.
Fate stepped in and took a hand when her friends were arrested for allegedly driving away from a petrol station without paying. She went to the police station to see them when she heard, and they told her they hadn’t done it. It seemed the police were trumping up charges for any hippies coming down to Cornwall, their way of deterring them. Her friends told her she’d better move on before she was picked up too. Rob, the guy she liked best, suggested she went up to Castle Douglas.
So that was where she went. It didn’t make any sense, she knew no one in Scotland, but she couldn’t face going to live in a city again. All she had in her mind was the warmth and easygoing, unmaterialistic natures of those Scots, a kind of template of the kind of people she felt she might belong with.
And she found Stuart at the journey’s end.
9
Laura was running through a field of long grass. She could feel the sun biting into her arms and her hair bouncing on her shoulders. At first she was frightened, as if someone were chasing her, but then she suddenly realized she was running to a figure whose face she couldn’t see, and he had his arms outstretched as if to catch her.
She woke to find herself not in a sun-filled meadow, but in her cell, with the faint glow of the lights on the prison fence shining down on her. She closed her eyes and tried to get back into the dream, but it was gone.
Wide awake now and too hot, she threw off her blanket and turned her pillow over to the cool side. This was one of those moments that brought home to her exactly what losing her freedom meant. She couldn’t get up and make a cup of tea, or switch on the light and read a book. She couldn’t even walk out the door.
When she first got here she often had panic attacks at night when she felt she had a band around her heart, slowly squeezing till it would eventually stop pumping her blood. Sweat would pour off her and the walls seemed to close in.
But like most of the hideous things about prison, she’d eventually f
ound a way of dealing with it. She just had to lie still, relax first her feet, then her legs, and gradually, bit by bit, make a conscious effort to work her way right up her body, relaxing it until the whole of her felt like a soft sponge. Then she could let good thoughts come to her.
The lovely dream she’d woken from was a good place to start tonight, for she understood the symbolism in it. She hadn’t exactly been pursued by anyone as she drove up to Scotland all those years ago, but she had the weight of all the unhappiness with Greg still in her head, and the anxiety that she needed to make a real home again for Barney.
She had broken her journey from Cornwall in Bristol, staying the night in a bed and breakfast. The following morning she bought food for a picnic and spent the day with Barney in a park. In the early evening when he was growing tired, she’d tucked him up on the back seat of the car and started off for Scotland.
It was an arduous journey. Her Beetle wasn’t fast and the headlights were dim. As it got dark she became worried that she was losing her way, and she had to stop every now and then to check her map by the light of a torch. She had never been further north than Leeds before, and then only by train, and it was a strange and nerve-racking experience to be bombing along in the dark with no idea what lay to the right or left of her or how far she was from a town or village.
She did turn off the main road when she found herself almost nodding off. She supposed she must have slept for an hour or so, for when she began driving again, the first rays of light were coming into the sky. Her spirits rose as she saw the beauty of the Lake District unfolding before her, and the fresh, warm air coming in through the window was as intoxicating as a glass of champagne.
On the last lap of the journey from Dumfries, where they had their breakfast in a transport café, on to Castle Douglas, Barney was happily singing nursery rhymes and pointing out cows, sheep and geese on farms. Although the small stone cottages, the hills covered in firs and the moorlike wide open spaces with not a house for miles seemed very stark after the lushness of the south-west of England, Laura had an odd feeling of coming home.
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