Escape From Evil (34 page)

‘Of course,’ the solicitor suggested, ‘if you can get your husband to come across the border, then I can have bailiffs with you in minutes. You’ll get your son and Mr Tobin will be told he can’t come within a mile of you both.’

‘So that’s what I have to do then,’ I said and I left her office with renewed strength – a mother’s strength. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I would make it work. If I failed, there was a very real chance Daniel could die.

The clock was ticking and I still had to get to Bathgate. That’s when other members of my private army stepped in. ‘You’ll need to fly,’ Grandpa said, ‘so I’ve bought you a ticket from Gatwick to Edinburgh. I can come with you, if you want,’ he added. ‘It’s not too late.’

‘Thank you, but I have to go alone. If he smells a rat, that’s it.’

I phoned Peter to tell him my flight plans. I begged him not to do anything rash, but he sounded almost offended at the idea. There was me at my wit’s end with worry and he was acting like I was the one wanting to see him. Not for the first time, I seriously questioned his sanity. There was no emotion in his voice at all, no recognition of the hell he was putting me through.

Well,
I thought,
that could work to my advantage.

I caught the train to Gatwick and boarded an aeroplane for the first time in my life. I was already a mess and everything about the flight seemed to make things worse. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I didn’t know you were allowed to take your seatbelt off and I spent the entire journey gasping for a drink because I was too shy to ask the stewardess whether the contents of her trolley were free or not. I couldn’t afford to buy anything. It was such an ordeal, in fact, that it took my mind off the reason why I was flying in the first place. By the time I saw Peter’s van, I was calmer than I’d been for a long while. But then I spotted my son in Peter’s arms and my emotions exploded.

‘Daniel!’

I dropped my holdall and ran as fast as my four-inch heels would carry me towards the van. I didn’t say a word to Peter, didn’t even look at him. As soon as I was within reaching distance, Daniel flung himself from his dad’s arms and into mine.

‘Mummy!’

‘Oh, my precious boy, Mummy’s back,’ I said, desperately fighting back the tears. Then, remembering why I was there, I added, ‘And this time I’m not going anywhere.’

Peter hadn’t said a word. Eventually I looked at him and smiled. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’

I truly meant it. Daniel was obviously in fine spirits.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Peter said. ‘Of course I’m going to look after him.’ He paused. ‘That’s my job. Just like I’m going to look after you.’

Conversation during the drive back to Bathgate was stilted. While I just wanted to hug Daniel, Peter rabbited on about all sorts of rubbish, like he’d just picked me up from the shops. I replied when I could, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too relieved.

I assumed I was on top of my emotions, but the second we pulled up outside the house in Robertson Avenue, I thought I was going to be sick. I’d spent the unhappiest time of my life in that building. It only held bad memories. What the hell was I thinking going back in there? Suddenly the solicitor’s plan seemed like the most stupid idea in the world.

Each step up the path brought a fresh memory, each more grotesque than the last. And they all took place in that house. I began to sweat as the task ahead of me rose into my mind. It had taken me months to escape this prison the last time. What made my solicitor think I could pull this off?

Images of what Peter might do to restrain me flooded my mind. Would he board the windows, lock me in one room or tie me to a chair? He had to have something up his sleeve, I knew it. But I had to put that out of my mind now. Peter needed to be convinced that everything was fine, even if my legs felt like lead as I approached the front door.

Entering the place felt so wrong, but once I’d overcome that hurdle I could begin to concentrate on why I was there. I didn’t dare rush anything or Peter would get suspicious, so I began by telling him off for kidnapping my son. It would have been unnatural if I hadn’t. But then I apologized for running off in the first place. I told him I understood how much he’d been hurt and that’s why he’d taken Daniel. No, I didn’t believe he would hurt him, of course not.

I basically came out with any old nonsense I thought he wanted to hear. And he swallowed it. He truly believed I was negotiating to come back to him.

Of course, words are one thing. If I really loved him like a wife should, then I would share his bed. That night he subjected me to every sexual act he could think of and I went along with them all. I don’t know if Peter suspected my motives or simply got a kick out of his power over me, but he seemed to take pleasure in doing things he knew I would hate. He didn’t hurt me this time – perhaps he was saving that – but he came up with something worse. As he pushed me onto my knees and prepared himself to penetrate me from behind, I heard a voice. Daniel had entered the room.

‘Stop it, Peter,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Not now.’

But he laughed and kept pushing. That’s when I knew that he’d seen Daniel come into the room long before I had. He wanted my son to see me on all fours. That’s the only reason we were doing this.

I just closed my eyes and tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. I’d witnessed my own mother subjected to harsher treatment in the same position. However much it hurt, I couldn’t afford to show Daniel. He had to believe I was okay. So did Peter. Whatever the provocation, I was not going to rock the boat. If it was a test, I was determined to pass.

On day two I began to seriously work on him. It was no good going in there claiming he was a saint. I had to be semi-truthful, so I said, ‘Look, this is why I ran away. I found the relationship very difficult because I was so far away from home. I felt lonely and that made me act the way I did.’

On and on I went, blaming being isolated for the way I’d treated him. Having my phone calls monitored and my friendships ended like that had hurt me and I’d responded badly, I said. He lapped up every word – especially when I tried to take the blame.

‘I shouldn’t have taken your son,’ I admitted. ‘That was wrong.’

‘You’ve no idea how much that hurt me, Cathy,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have done it.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you.’

‘Yes, you should. You can always speak to me, Cathy, you know that.’

What a load of bull. The weird thing is, I honestly couldn’t tell if he believed it or not.

For ages we went on, toing and froing. Finally I sensed he’d been softened enough. It was now or never. Time for the killer punch.

‘It’s this place’s fault,’ I said. ‘Everything would have been all right if we’d stayed down south. I would have been the perfect wife, I know it.’

It was a dangerous game to play. I couldn’t just say, ‘Let’s drive down to Portsmouth and everything will be rosy.’ He’d get suspicious at that. But I planted the seed – just as he had done to me so many times.

When we returned to the subject later, I told Peter how happy I was in Portsmouth and how it was a shame we hadn’t moved there after Brighton when we’d had the chance of an exchange flat in the area. ‘We’d have been happy, I know it.’

Then the miracle happened. Peter said, ‘Do you think you’d be happy if we gave it a go in Portsmouth now?’

I really had to hold my excitement back. Could it even be a trick? I wouldn’t have put it past him.

‘Are you serious? I can’t think of anywhere better for us to be a family.’

He grunted, but that night in bed we started planning our new life together like a pair of excited newlyweds. I’d never seen him so enthusiastic about anything. We’d need a bigger place than Middlesex Road, of course, but it was fine to start with. And he wouldn’t mind looking after Daniel if I wanted to work. From my side, I promised to keep myself attractive for him and be a better wife. It was sickening really, but it worked. The following morning we loaded his white van and, for the second time in my life, I said goodbye to Bathgate.

As we drove down the M8, Daniel asleep in my arms, I realized I couldn’t relax. Was it really happening? Was Peter actually driving us to Portsmouth?

Or is it a trap?

I pictured it all being an elaborate hoax. He’d tricked me into packing up his house and now he was going to dump our bodies and flee the country. Even as we crossed the border into England, I couldn’t shake the idea that he was up to something. I was such a terrible liar – I still am. It was inconceivable that the great manipulator hadn’t seen through my little act. But the closer we got to Portsmouth, the more I let myself believe he’d fallen for it. I allowed myself a brief flash of pride and a smile at the deception.

I must have learnt something during my life with him.

That smile soon vanished the moment we pulled into Middlesex Road and I realized the hardest part was still to come. Now I had to make the call to the solicitor so she could set the legal wheels in motion. A few days ago it had all sounded so simple. I’d light the flare and the cavalry would come charging in. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t see it working any better than when Granny had tried to shift those men from Telscombe Cliffs. Was this solicitor telling me Peter would just be removed from my flat and that would be the end of it? It was all very well these people saying they could do this and stop people doing that, but individuals like Peter live outside the realms of legality. Their brains work differently. They see laws as things for other people. What they want, they get. Life is all about going from A to B – it doesn’t matter how you get there.

I was close to giving up the whole idea. This was the man who’d nearly taken my head off when I’d undercooked his pork chops. He’d killed our son’s guinea pigs just for nibbling a bit of wallpaper.

What the hell is he going to do to me when he discovers I’ve been conning him?

The closer the moment got, the more I was leaning towards not going through with the plan. It was all very well my solicitor throwing him out of the flat tonight. But what about tomorrow night? Where will my protection be then? Or the night after? Or the night after that?

I’d virtually decided to cancel the whole thing, but one look at Peter making himself comfortable in my flat while I lugged a box up the stairs knocked the sense back into me. My future life flashed before me and I did not like what I saw.

‘Will you keep an eye on Daniel?’ I said. ‘I’m just popping out for milk for the tea.’

That was the first test for both of us. For me, I was entrusting my son to the man who had kidnapped him not even a week earlier. For Peter, he was being asked to babysit – something he’d always refused to do. And he had to allow me out of his sight, something else that he hated doing when we were together. He weighed up his answer for a second and then said, ‘No problem. Don’t be long.’

Even though I had memorized the solicitor’s number, my trembling hands meant I had to try it half a dozen times before I got it right. When I heard her voice, I could have cried. She, as ever, was calmness personified.

‘Go back to the flat and act like everything is normal. The bailiffs will be there before your kettle has even boiled.’

The realization of what I’d just done hit me like a thunderbolt the second I hung up. In a few minutes Peter was going to discover that I’d tricked him. He was going to learn that it had all been a lie. I didn’t love him, I’d reported him to the police and I’d won sole custody of our child.

How on earth is he going to react?

The solicitor was right about the tea not being ready in time. I was shaking so much, I couldn’t even do that right. Peter, fortunately, was sprawled out on a sofa after the long drive down. I was so terrified of what was about to happen that I couldn’t look at him. When the knock on the door came, I nearly dropped the mugs.

‘Who the fuck’s that?’ Peter called out, but he didn’t budge. It was my flat, I could get the door.

I opened it and the daylight vanished. The whole doorway was filled by the largest pair of men I’d ever seen.

One of them growled, ‘Peter Tobin?’

I said, ‘Yes,’ and pointed at the sofa without looking.

I’d played this scene over and over in my mind and usually it ended with Peter grabbing Daniel while the bailiffs backed off. The reality couldn’t have been more different. Even as the bailiffs read out their legal order explaining that Peter had no rights to his son and was not allowed within a mile of the pair of us, he didn’t move. He didn’t resist as they bent down to encourage him up.

I’d expected anger and fury and fists and even weapons. At the very, very least, I’d expected to be called every name under the sun.

But he did none of that. There was no menace in his face, just shock. Utter disbelief that his mousey little wife had dared to do this to him. Total non-comprehension that he had just been beaten at his own game by the woman he had unwittingly trained.

SEVENTEEN

You should never threaten a woman’s child.

If that thought wasn’t going through Peter’s mind as he was thrown out of my flat by the thick arms of the law, then it should have been. He needed to know that there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Daniel. I’d proved that in Bathgate every time I’d turned the other cheek when he’d taken women – they must have been prostitutes, I realized – to our bed, smacked me across the room or put me down in front of strangers. I wasn’t scared of him. I’d only subjugated myself to stop him hurting Daniel. And now I’d gone a stage further.