She nods and passes the money into his outstretched hand. He’s a big man with a paunch beneath which his trousers struggle to stay up, a brown belt tightened under the weight. His striped shirt is similarly challenged, its buttons straining over a white cotton vest beneath. His shop is quintessentially British; disordered and dusty, but with treasures to be found if you look hard enough.
Lisa’s been here a few times before for office supplies, finding printer ink cartridges and copy paper alongside children’s crayons and garish pencil cases. There’s a notice board in the window with postcards pinned randomly to the cork, advertising items for sale and local services. As she unties Riley at the front of the shop, she casts an eye over the cards: Cleaner available, £7 per hour. Large brown leather sofa for sale. Electrician – no job too small. Rooms to let. Au pair available. Babysitter wanted. The stuff of ordinary people living ordinary lives. Before, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Now she takes pleasure in the simple needs of the village around her, the absence of drama. She’s had enough drama to last her a lifetime.
*
She buys some flowers for Jessica on the way back and works at her desk for the rest of the day, trying not to think about later. It will be her first evening out since Ali’s death. She knows it shouldn’t be a big deal – it’s just a drink in a village pub, nothing to worry about – but still she feels the tension in her shoulders.
“Stop it,” she says to her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You can do this. You can.”
She pulls on clean jeans and a warm jumper, arranging a scarf carefully around her neck. She’s become expert at hiding the scar now, the scarves masquerading as a fashion statement. She feels naked without one, vulnerable to both the cold and the scrutiny.
The face in the mirror looks gravely back at her. Rummaging in the bathroom cupboard she finds a tube of mascara and some lipstick and applies them carefully, feeling out of practice. She doesn’t want to look good or be noticed. That’s the last thing on her mind. She’s doing this for Jessica. No, she’s doing it to prove she can, to break the bad spell that’s destroyed her life and made her fearful, risk-averse and antisocial.
Turning away she finds Riley at her feet, looking quizzical. She’s been thinking out loud, talking to her reflection, absorbed in her thoughts. “I know, I know. Must get out more. Ha.”
As soon as they get downstairs the doorbell rings, making her start and prompting a volley of barks. It’s Jessica with Bobby. They go through to the kitchen and Lisa hands over the flowers and the card.
“I know you said no presents, but it is your birthday.”
“Lovely, thank you. Look at the card! Is it Bobby’s sister?”
“Best of a pretty bad lot, actually, so you were lucky, it was nearly a cute kitten.”
“That bad, huh?”
They head out with the dogs into the dark evening.
The pub is about ten minutes’ walk, which they take fast to keep warm. It’s quiet on the roads in the village and the only lights in the street where they’re heading are those of the Hare and Hounds, a small white building set back from the road, with a few cars parked at the front. Lisa’s mouth is dry and her heart starts to beat a little too fast as they approach the front door. She hangs back to let Jessica go first.
The smell of woodsmoke greets them as the door opens into a small room, where a roaring fire dominates, dwarfing the bar. There’s a handful of tables with wooden benches and chairs around them. To Lisa’s relief, nobody else is there, except a young girl who appears from a door behind the bar and welcomes them with a smile.
“What will you have, ladies?”
“White wine for me, please. Lisa?”
“Um, the same, please.”
“How about you share a bottle?” the girl says. “It’s better value if you’re going to have more than one.”
“Great idea.” Jessica glances at Lisa. “I’m quite capable of drinking the rest if you’re not up for it. It is my birthday, and it’s early yet!” She laughs, nudging Lisa gently.
The bottle comes in an ice bucket with two glasses and a bowl of peanuts, which they carry to the table by the fireplace. Lisa settles Riley by her feet and sits with her back to the wall, her eye on the door. Her chosen position once more.
Gradually the room fills up. A young couple arrives and sits in the other corner with glasses of beer, their legs touching, talking quietly. Two elderly men come in, greet the barmaid like regulars and lean on the bar. Soon there’s a buzz of conversation in the room.
“Let’s order food,” Jessica says, indicating the blackboard. “Before they get busy.”
She goes to order, leaving Lisa warming herself at the fire, which has settled into a warm glow. A black Labrador pads into the room from behind the bar and heads for the hearth, greeting the dogs with a sniff before collapsing in a heap on the warm stone floor.
“Don’t mind Harvey,” someone says from the huddle at the bar and a man detaches himself from the group and approaches the table. Lisa stiffens and looks around for Jessica, who’s nowhere to be seen. To her relief, the man stops to stroke the dog, giving Lisa a quick smile as he straightens up to rejoin the group.
Jessica reappears, swiftly followed by the food, which is brought by the young barmaid on a tray.
“Any progress on the job front?” Lisa says, as they start to eat.
“No, not really, though I did have a look at the schools in the area. There are a couple of really good ones – I could see myself there. I’ve got to tackle Mike first, though, before I do anything about it.”
“If it was local and you worked part-time, surely he couldn’t object?”
“You would think so. But I think it’s a matter of principle for him. He’s quite old-fashioned in his views. Some women would love it – having money, and plenty of time to spend it. But it’s not enough for me. I need more of a challenge. I can’t spend my days at coffee mornings or going shopping or doing exercise classes. It’s just not me. I’d be bored rigid. I am bored rigid. And anyway, I really like teaching.” Jessica sighs, picking at her food.
“Talk to Mike.”
“Yes, I should.” Jessica looks worried, a frown darkening her face. “Needs some thought… and diplomacy.”
They refill their glasses and Lisa begins to relax. Jessica is easy to be with and seems to respect Lisa’s privacy; she doesn’t pry, even though sometimes Lisa is evasive in her answers, for which she feels guilty and ungracious. And sometimes, despite a certain brittle edge to her voice when she talks about her husband, there’s a twinkle in Jessica’s eye and a turn of phrase that indicates a dry sense of humour. Lisa finds herself telling her about the incident at the train station.
“Oh Lord, that old grump,” Jessica says. “He’s horrible to everyone. How he gets a job dealing with the public, I don’t know. A bloke got really upset with his petty rules the other day and there was a bit of a fight – Marilyn at the shop told me. She’s a great source of information. It was all quite exciting for a place like this!”
At around ten o’clock, they’re ready to leave.
“I enjoyed that,” Jessica says, standing and putting on her coat. “Thanks for coming out, Lisa. I know it’s not really your thing.”
“No, I enjoyed it too, really. I should get out more.” She means it, though she’s aware of the irony. She’d like to explain to Jessica why it’s not her thing, but can’t bring herself to. Not only would she have to feel strong enough to describe what happened, she’d have to be prepared to deal with the reaction, the questions, the sympathy. She’s not ready for the sympathy.
When they get back to Lisa’s house, Jessica heads on home with Bobby. Lisa goes straight to bed. The wine has made her sleepy, so once she’s locked up, she settles in, relieved to have made it through the evening but glad to be back. She drifts off, her arm slung around Riley’s sleeping form beside her. Just another small step.
*
The doorbell rings. Riley j
umps off the bed with a loud bark. She’s rigid with fear, trembling and sweating, all her senses jangling, her instincts telling her to stay put. But it rings again, urgently, and Riley, still barking, scratches at the bedroom door frantically. She turns on the bedside light and grabs her watch to check the time – still only 11.30, but too late for someone to call and anyway she knows nobody who would ring the bell at this time of the night. She tries to think logically. It can’t be her mum, because she’d telephone first, and anyway what would she be doing coming here? Could it be kids messing around? Or a drunk, maybe, who’s worked out she lives alone? Her mind works fast, trying to decide what to do, but then she thinks about John next door and steels herself to go down and see who’s at the door, in case he’s ill or in trouble and needs help.
Clutching her dressing gown around her, she unlocks the bedroom door. Riley squeezes past her and hurtles down the stairs, barking furiously, his tail wagging with excitement. Well, they know I’m in now, she thinks, hoping Riley’s barking is enough to put off any malevolent stranger. She creeps down the stairs and sidles along the wall towards the front door, out of the line of sight of anyone peering through the glazed panels. Riley’s gone quiet now, whining and sniffing at the bottom of the door.
“Who is it?” Her voice resonates strangely, her throat tight with fear.
“It’s me, Jessica.” With relief she collects the front door keys, unbolts and unlocks the door. As she opens the door, Bobby shoulders through and the dogs dash to the kitchen, almost bowling her over on the way. When she looks up at Jessica, she’s shocked. The normally composed face is swollen and bleeding, one eye is so puffy it’s almost closed and there’s blood around her mouth.
“Oh my God, Jessica. Come in, quickly…”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. I had to get away…” Jessica is half-sobbing and can hardly speak through a thick top lip. She’s holding a blood-soaked wad of tissues to her mouth.
“Come on, into the kitchen.”
She follows Jessica in, guides her to a chair and runs upstairs to get a facecloth and cream for the cuts. When she gets back, Jessica has her face in her hands and is crying softly. Without speaking, Lisa hands her some tissues. She gathers a bowl of warm water and sits next to Jessica, lifting her face to bathe the injured areas with gentle fingers. The mouth looks bad, though the cut isn’t deep, and her eye is swelling rapidly.
“Shit, that hurts,” Jessica says, through swollen lips, flinching with the pain. Lisa boils the kettle and makes two big mugs of tea, adding extra sugar to Jessica’s in case she’s in shock. She goes into the sitting room, opens the stove and puts another log onto the dying embers, blowing gently until the glowing remains start to burn again.
They go through to the sitting room where she wraps a blanket round Jessica’s shoulders. She sits on the floor beside her, her back against the sofa, facing the warmth of the fire. They sit silently for a few minutes while the flames take hold. The dogs settle down nearby.
“Are you okay?” Lisa says.
Jessica nods, though her head is down and the mug in her hands is shaking.
“What happened?”
“Mike. He came back early, to surprise me on my birthday. I was still out with you…” Her face puckers again and it takes a moment to compose herself before continuing. “He went mad, started accusing me of all sorts of things, pushing me, slapping me, and then he punched me, in the stomach, hard, and it hurt so much… I was really scared. Terrified. I only managed to get away because the front door wasn’t locked. I just ran out and Bobby followed me. I’m so sorry, Lisa.”
“Don’t be, I’m glad you came here.” They sit quietly, looking at the burning logs, the warmth surrounding them.
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t go back tonight, I just can’t. Could I sleep on your sofa? Would you mind? I’m so sorry…”
“Of course you can stay. I’ve got a spare room. It’s pretty cold though. I’ll put the heating on so it warms up a bit.” She squeezes Jessica’s arm gently.
She goes upstairs to flick the switch on the heating and on her way back, diverts to the kitchen and makes more tea, this time in a pot. When she goes back into the living room, Jessica is peering at her face in a little wooden-framed mirror by the window.
“Oh my God,” she says. “That’s hideous. He’s really done it this time. How long is this going to take?”
They sit down again. “Shouldn’t you tell the police?” Lisa asks.
Jessica looks stricken. “The police? But… he’s my husband. It was my fault. I should have told him what I was doing.” She stares at her hands.
“But he’s really hurt you. How could it be your fault? He could’ve killed you…” Her own horrors stare her in the face.
The doorbell rings. They both look towards the sound. It rings again, as the women look back at each other in shock, while the dogs leap up with a cacophony of barking. Then everything seems to slow down, the noise is muffled and there’s an ominous silence. Lisa’s rooted to the spot, time suspended; the past is playing its cruel game again. Ali’s there at the window, the street lights shining behind her, the bookcase, the steaming mugs of coffee on the table. It’s a technicolour horror movie in razor-sharp definition. His hand in her hair, the sting of the knife at her throat, the smell of whisky.
She doubles up, hyperventilating, heart racing, knees buckling. She falls to a crouch on the floor, with Jessica kneeling beside her, hand on her back, calling her name and trying to pull her out of her state. The bell rings, insistent, the noise from the dogs is ear-splitting, but she can’t move, curled into a ball, as the scene unfolds in front of her, relentless.
*
She opens her eyes and she’s alone on the sofa. Riley is curled up beside her and the blanket covers her knees. Bobby’s there on the floor, awake but calm, and she can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. She struggles into a sitting position, feeling slightly nauseous. “Jessica?” she calls out cautiously.
“Yes, it’s me. Just trying to find you some brandy or something.”
“There isn’t any. Who was at the door?”
“It was Mike. I didn’t open it. He started yelling at me and I said I was calling the police. He stopped after that. I think he’s gone now.”
“How did he know you were here?”
“He knows where you live, he asked me where I’d been, at Christmas. I don’t know many other people.” Jessica sits down beside Lisa. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. It must have been a panic attack, I’m sorry. Do you think we’re safe? Has he gone home?”
“I don’t think he’d break the door down, if that’s what you mean.”
Jessica goes back to the hallway without turning on the light and double-checks the front door. Lisa goes upstairs and peers out into the dark but she can’t see anything. There are no street lights here and the clouds obstruct any light from the moon. It all seems quiet. She closes the curtains, fetches some bedding from the cupboard on the landing and piles it on to the spare bed. Jessica appears in the doorway.
“Lisa, would it be okay to have Bobby up here with me?” Jessica sounds shaky.
“Of course, it’s no problem. I’ll get him some water. Do you need anything else? Painkillers?”
“Yes, though I doubt I’ll sleep anyway. Thanks, Lisa. We’re quite the pair aren’t we?”
Silently they make up the bed.
Downstairs she checks the doors and the windows, turns out all the lights, gets some water and some tablets. When she gets to her room, Riley is already curled up on her bed.
*
The house is completely quiet. She lies still, thinking for a long time about the events of the previous night. Mike’s attack on Jessica has brought violence and drama back into her life, despite her efforts to insulate herself from the world around her.
Throwing the cover off the bed, she gathers her dressing-gown around her, puts on her slippers and t
iptoes downstairs to let Riley out and boil the kettle. It’s still early, so she replenishes the logs on the fire, settles on the sofa in the living room and picks up the newspaper, untouched until now. Snippets about local schools, charity events and planning applications fill the pages; village life carrying on. She hopes the day will come when she’s looking for excitement, rather than ordinariness.
She should be working today but with all that’s happened she decides to take the day as it comes and help Jessica. Work can wait.
It’s another hour before she hears movement upstairs and slow footsteps on the stairs. Bobby wanders through to the kitchen and Jessica appears at the door wrapped in a blanket, a bare shoulder and a bra strap showing. She’s barely recognisable. Her face is black and purple, with dark-red stains where the skin’s broken. Her mouth is bruised and puffy and her left eye swollen so much it’s closed. “Hi. I look hideous, I know,” she says, with a lopsided smile.
“Yes, you do, I’m afraid. How are you feeling?”
She hobbles over to the sofa and sits down gingerly. “Terrible. I feel really beaten up.”
“Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, I think. If I can get it past my lips. I look like I’ve had the worst cosmetic surgery ever.”
“Do you think you should go to the doctor? It might be worth getting checked over – particularly your stomach.” Lisa’s thinking she may need evidence, but decides to leave that for later, when Jessica has thought it through.
Jessica groans and lies down, the blanket wrapped around her. “God. I don’t know. I’ll see how I feel later. And it depends what I decide to do. Are you busy today?”
“No, I’m here all day. No need to rush, or decide anything until you feel better. You can stay as long as you like.” She hasn’t thought about that, but is glad she said it.
“Thank you. Sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry. Really.” She goes off to make the tea and when she comes back Jessica is sitting up.
Lisa sits down next to her. “Does he… has he done this before?”
Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller. Page 7