Dead Inside

by Noelle Holten

  ‘Without sounding awful, Lucy, they’re his kids. You can tell that social worker, Claire. She’ll help you.’

  ‘What if I get in trouble? I lied, Sarah. Over and over again. I don’t think I can risk it. What if they tell work? I could face a disciplinary or worse. God, I sound so fucking selfish!’

  ‘Lucy, what would you tell someone you were working with? You’d tell them they’re putting themselves, and the kids, in danger. You would tell them they need to protect the children. Speak to Claire. Please, promise me?’

  ‘OK. OK. I will.’

  But Lucy had no intention of keeping that promise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Patrick waited for about twenty minutes after Lucy left for work, before he got dressed and texted Shell, or ‘Steve’ as he had her number stored under on his phone. Lucy never checked his phone, but it would be just his luck that Shell would call, and Lucy would see the screen. Shell confirmed she’d be free that afternoon and looked forward to seeing him.

  When he woke Siobhan, he laughed at the sleepy, confused face she pulled. ‘Hey, princess! Up and at ’em – we need to get you fed and dressed and off to school!’

  ‘Where’s Lucy? She usually takes me.’

  Patrick paused and took a deep breath before he answered. Why should his kids look to Lucy before him? ‘Well, today is your lucky day as Daddy is going to take you! And guess what?’

  Siobhan rubbed her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Dunno, what?’

  ‘You can have whatever you want for breakfast. I won’t tell if you won’t?’ Patrick tickled his daughter and drank in her laughter.

  ‘Stop, Daddy! I’m going to wet the bed!’

  Patrick laughed as he left Siobhan to get dressed. The school run went without a hitch and Patrick ignored any looks from the mums at the gate. He didn’t want to cause a scene but he would love to wipe the smug smiles off their faces.

  Patrick stopped in the corner shop and bought a newspaper on his way to the café. He didn’t want to have to go back home after dropping Siobhan off, so he wasted the time reading the paper, pretending to look for work in case Lucy harassed him later. He circled a few adverts, making it appear genuine. A quick bet at the bookies had Patrick pleased with himself a few hours later. With the extra twenty pounds he had won in his pocket, he jumped in his car and made the journey to Shell’s maisonette in record time. Knocking on the door, Patrick licked his lips in the hopes that today might be the day that she finally gave in to him.

  Patrick and Shell had been talking to each other regularly, meeting up when possible and he wanted to move things forward. He had done everything he was supposed to do and was confident that she would crack soon. Shell answered with a big smile on her face and he eagerly walked inside. Promising. It was the first time he’d been to her home, and that in itself was a good sign. He followed her through the hallway and into her living room. He was expecting something loud and garish given her personality, but was pleasantly surprised to see the wood flooring, cream walls, and two leather couches. The room had a homelike feel to it. Something he always felt was missing with Lucy. There was a small fireplace, with a flat-screen TV mounted above it in the centre of the room.

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Thanks, hun. I bet you were expecting something loud and tacky, right?’ she laughed.

  Patrick could feel his face flush. ‘Well, yeah – if I’m honest.’ He took a seat and patted the spot next to him.

  ‘Do you want a drink? Is it too early for alcohol? I have lager, cider, or wine. What’s your poison, darling?’

  ‘A girl after my own heart. I’m driving so can’t have too many, but a lager please, love. Then park that beautiful backside down next to me.’

  Shell giggled as she made her way to the kitchen to get the drinks. Patrick smiled. Any rumours she’d heard would soon be forgotten. If he treated her right for a bit, she’d soon be wrapped around his finger.

  Patrick had made himself comfortable when Shell returned and handed him his lager.

  ‘So, what have you been up to, love?’ Shell turned to Patrick, giving him her full attention.

  Patrick relayed his day in short succession. Less talk meant more time for action as far as he was concerned. As soon as she sat down beside him and rested her hand on his knee with a delicate smile, he knew she was his for the taking. Patrick opened up to Shell, feeding her the lines he knew she wanted to hear. They spent hours talking, kissing, and eventually, one thing led to another.

  Patrick woke with a start. ‘Babe, what time is it?’ He rubbed her back as she leaned over to look at the clock on her mobile phone.

  ‘Two, in the morning, why?’

  ‘Shit! I have to go! Lucy is going to kill me!’

  ‘What do you care? I thought you said you were going to leave her? Or have you been messing me about? Maybe you should tell her. I can come with you tomorrow, if you want?’

  ‘No fucking way.’ Patrick snapped. He realized too late how sharp his response was.

  Sitting up, Shell let loose. ‘You what? What are you shouting at me for? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’

  Patrick hesitated then smiled carefully, looking her in the eyes. ‘Uh, sorry, babe. I’m still half asleep. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’

  He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. ‘I do plan on leaving her. I will leave her. I just need to get the timing right and make sure the kids are sorted. Soon, I promise.’

  Looking at his watch, he knew he had to make a move. He sat at the edge of the bed with his back to Shell and got dressed.

  ‘I hope you’re not fucking me about, Patrick. Trust me: you don’t want to do that.’

  ‘Babe, I’m not. I’ve really fallen for you.’ Patrick had to hide the smirk forming on his face.

  Shell reached over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. ‘OK. I trust you.’ That was Shell’s first mistake.

  ‘I’ll ring you later. After Lucy goes to work, OK?’

  ‘OK, love.’ Giving him a kiss, she waved as she watched him leave.

  Never in a million years did she think she’d fall for someone again. When she asked around, no one had any evidence that Patrick hurt women. All hearsay. His wife was a probation officer, she would never put up with that. After being messed about so many times, Shell had virtually given up on men. Instead, she enjoyed taking what she wanted, when she wanted, and then cast them aside, the way they used to cast her aside. She was in control. She pulled the blanket tight around her and sighed. Things would definitely be different this time around.

  Believing that was Shell’s second mistake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lucy couldn’t sleep. Patrick hadn’t come home yet, and the house seemed eerily quiet even with Siobhan asleep in the other room. Lucy threw the blankets off her and headed to the bathroom for a glass of water. On her way back, she noticed the box room door slightly ajar. It had always been her escape. She pushed the door open and turned the dimmer to low. A soft glow encompassed the room. A faint scent of Patrick wafted in the air, so Lucy turned on the air freshener.

  The walls were plain, but Lucy had put up a few shelves to hold the books and little trinkets she’d collected throughout her lifetime. Deep maroon curtains added a cosy feel and the cream carpet was so plush that Lucy would often take off her shoes and run her bare feet through it. There were a few pictures in this room, one of Siobhan, laughing and enjoying herself on a beach holiday that the three of them had taken before they were married. Some pictures of Lucy and Patrick from happier times. Those days seemed few and far between. Lucy sighed.

  Although Rory often used the small room when he visited, Lucy had made sure it stayed as a small haven for when she needed time alone. Patrick didn’t understand the day-to-day stresses that Lucy had to contend with as a probation officer.

  She settled into her favourite chair – an old rocking chair she’d seen at a boot sale and refurbished – and wrapped the wool
len blanket around her legs. Putting her headphones on, she pressed play on the CD player and listened to The Killers, allowing her favourite songs to take her away from misery. She knew it was risky, because she might not hear Patrick when he finally got home, but she really needed to relax.

  The cushion behind her jutted uncomfortably into her back. Lucy knew exactly what it was and gently stroked the bump. Inside the cushion was a bag of various pills that Patrick either no longer took or that she’d stolen and stashed away. They were like a security blanket to her. When things became too much she’d visualize swallowing the pills. One by one, washing them down with vodka and going to sleep – forever. There had been times when her suicidal thoughts pulled at her, tempting her to end it all. She had come very close once, but a faint ‘tap tap tap’ on the door and Siobhan’s big blue eyes staring at her had shaken her out of that fantasy fast. As if Siobhan had known. Lucy would never leave her.

  Lucy had wanted to speak to her GP, but she couldn’t face disclosing her feelings and the reasons behind her low moods.

  She hugged her knees close and rocked gently back and forth. The music soothed her only temporarily. Closing her eyes, Lucy continued to rock until sleep took over.

  In her dreams, Lucy was strong, confident, and fierce: the way she used to be before she married Patrick. Lucy used to pride herself on being a good judge of character. She assessed people daily and rarely got it wrong. What really astounded her was the fact that her specialism was domestic abuse. She knew what to look for: manipulative, controlling behaviour with a need for complete power and control over someone. Even when these things cropped up briefly in Rory’s behaviour, Lucy made the very excuses that other victims of domestic abuse made.

  Dark thoughts sometimes took over. They made her feel good. A particular recurring dream gave her an overwhelming sense of euphoria.

  In the dream she was standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables. The knife gripped tightly in her hand was big and extremely sharp. Patrick came through the back door that led directly into the kitchen. Angry, as usual, about something Lucy had no control over. It could be his failure to keep a job, or some knob cut him off on his way home – it could be anything. He was shouting in her face, the spit flying, showering her cheeks. He put his forehead against hers. Hard. Unyielding. Making sure she knew who was in control. Patrick reminded her that in his mind she was scum. A slag. Unwanted. She gripped the knife tighter. Patrick took no notice, he never did, unless he was getting something out of it.

  Her knuckles were pure white from holding the knife so tight. The rage inside her building. Inside her head she was screaming, everything she wanted to say aloud, while Patrick screamed in her face. And then, as if it had a life of its own, her arm began to rise in slow motion, like a film. Patrick remained oblivious, too busy shouting obscenities in her face. One deep plunge in his shoulder first. Him stumbling backwards, away from her. Stunned.

  Lucy gathered all her rage, held the knife out in front of her and ran towards him, plunging the blade deep into his chest and holding it there. Looking straight into his eyes as the shock hit him. Watching the anger turn to fear in his eyes. Pulling the knife out and stabbing him again, and again. Screaming. You fucking prick. I hope you die. Everyone would be better off without you! Patrick dropped to the ground and lay there, on the kitchen floor, in a pool of blood. Blood everywhere. His face confused as his life drained from his eyes. Lucy just stared. Dripping knife still in her hands. And then she laughed. A manic laugh that scared even her. And why? Why the crazy laughter? Because even though she was now free of Patrick, Lucy knew he’d still won – still ruined her life. She would end up spending the rest of her life in prison for killing him. This is the point when she woke up crying because, even in death, he still controlled her.

  She heard the front door slam downstairs, bringing her once again back to reality.

  A whispered shout called out to her. ‘Lucy! Lucy! Are you home?’

  Lucy looked at her watch. It was three-thirty in the morning. She’d slept longer than she’d wanted. She stayed silent and turned off the CD player. A mobile phone ring. It was faint; she breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t hers. Maybe Patrick wouldn’t know she was awake. She needed to get back into their bedroom while he was on the phone. She only made out parts of the conversation.

  ‘OK … will try but … Lucy doing … speak soon, babe.’

  That woke her up. She opened the door slowly, careful to avoid the creaking floorboard that she’d discovered after a previous attempt to avoid Patrick.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer?’

  ‘Shit, Patrick! You frightened the life out of me. I couldn’t sleep. I was on the rocking chair in the small room … where I obviously did fall asleep.’ She laughed nervously, hoping she sounded convincing.

  ‘Ah. Sleeping, were you?’

  Patrick sounded like he was accusing her rather than asking a straight question. She hated when he did that. Always made her feel guilty, even when there was no reason to be. An image from her dream flashed before her eyes: him dead in a pool of blood on the floor. She swallowed.

  ‘Yes, I just told you that.’

  Patrick slowly walked up the stairs towards her.

  Oh God! He knows I’m lying. She cowered on the landing.

  ‘What’s the matter, love? Guilty conscience? I only want to use the toilet.’

  Lucy’s shoulders slumped in relief.

  ‘Sorry, I must still be half asleep.’

  She let Patrick pass and, as he closed the door, he squinted his eyes and pointed his finger at her.

  ‘I hope you’re not keeping anything from me, Lucy. You know I hate liars.’

  Lucy shook her head.

  ‘What would I be keeping from you?’ She turned and headed back to their bedroom.

  That’s rich. Me a liar? Look in the mirror, Patrick – who the fuck were you calling, babe?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Shell had been up since six that morning working at one of the smaller jobs she had on her books because one of her employees had called in sick. She had a handful of casual workers in her company, but the problem was they felt no remorse when they let her down. Her mind wandered and the curiosity she had about Patrick’s wife niggled at her. She wondered why he had no choice but to stay with Lucy.

  She began to form a plan. Vicki was still on probation and was always pestering her for a lift. Perhaps she’d offer to take her to her next appointment. That way, there was the off-chance that she might catch a glimpse of Lucy.

  After dropping her car off at home, Shell changed quickly, and walked towards the local pub. Even though it was only 11.00 a.m., she knew it was dole day for Vicki, and that the money would be spent as soon as it hit her bank account.

  Vicki was alone at a table in the corner when Shell walked into the pub. She already looked well out of it, so Shell would need to move quickly, before Vicki reached the point of no return. Shell approached the table, removed her coat and hung it on the back of the chair. Vicki glanced up, bleary-eyed.

  ‘Hey, Vicki. Long time, no see. Can I get you a drink?’

  Vicki looked at Shell warily. Then a big smile of recognition erupted on her face.

  ‘Well, fuck me! Shell Baker, how the hell are you? I’ll have a large pint of cider if you’re buying?’

  Shell smiled to herself. This might be easier than I thought. Although they were still good friends, Shell and Vicki had had their ups and downs over the years, due to Vicki’s drinking and choice in men. Shell had become tired of bailing Vicki out of one bad situation or another She had hoped that once Vicki hit rock bottom, she would start sorting herself out. So far, that hadn’t happened.

  Shell smiled sadly at Vicki, made her way up to the bar and ordered a large Coke for herself, wanting to keep her wits about her. She asked the barman, Kevin, to hold a £20 note behind the bar for Vicki. When Shell returned to the table and sat down, she began quizzing Vicki about her recent release from pri
son, working her way slowly to the question that had been burning in her mind ever since she arrived: ‘So who’s your probation officer?’

  ‘Ah, fuck, now you’re asking.’ The words were slurred, and Vicki began digging around in the pockets of the oversized coat she was wearing. She pulled out a piece of paper and threw it towards Shell.

  ‘It’s on there.’

  Shell picked it up. Damn! ‘Sarah Hardy’ was written on the appointment slip.

  ‘Do you always see this Sarah lady? What’s she like?’

  ‘OK. Bit bossy, but guess she has to be. Sometimes I see another one. Lucy, I think her name is or it could be Lacy. I’ve also seen a bloke – but can’t remember his name.’

  ‘Well,’ Shell smiled, ‘if you ever need a lift or want someone with you, for support, or anything – let me know, OK? I’d hate to see anyone take advantage of ya.’

  Another big, crooked smile lit up Vicki’s face. ‘You’re a fucking star, Shell – I’m on my way there in a bit. It’s only down the road, but I could do with the company.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The following day, Shell paced up and down the kitchen anxiously, thinking about the text she had received from Patrick:

  We have to talk.

  She wondered if he’d found out that she’d ‘met’ his wife. He’d made it quite clear that he wanted Shell to stay away. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d just sat in the room with Vicki at her appointment. Lucy had come across as a bit bossy, but Shell had managed to keep her mouth shut; she hadn’t wanted Lucy to remember her and tell Patrick about her when she got home.

  Shell took out the mop and sloshed in some hot water, scrubbing her floor with vigour – cleaning was a slight obsession. Satisfied with the job she had done, she looked around and noticed some dust on the TV above the fireplace. She wiped the sweat from her brow and moved swiftly across the room, duster in hand.