Into the Darkest Corner (24 page)
Lee had Saturday free, and we went to Morecambe again. I hadn’t wanted to go, but it was better than staying in the house. My face still felt tender, my cheek bruised when I pressed my fingers against it, but nobody else would ever have known. He’d managed to hit me hard enough to make my teeth rattle without actually leaving a single mark.
It was warm, the sun bright in a cloudless blue sky. It was busy and it took a long time to find a parking space. In the end we walked back toward the town along the esplanade. He held my hand as we walked. I still felt nervous around him.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. It was the first time he’d mentioned it.
“About what?” I asked.
“You know.”
“I want you to say it.” Maybe it was too challenging. But I felt safer here, walking along with other people, families, kids on bikes, than I did in my own home.
“I’m sorry about the argument.”
“Lee, you hit me.”
He looked genuinely astonished. “I did not.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “You are kidding? You hit me across the face.”
“I thought you fell over,” he said. “Either way, I’m sorry.”
It was probably the best I was going to get. We walked on for a bit. I was warm enough to take my sweater off. The tide was out and the sea was so far away I could hardly see it beyond the expanse of sand.
“Lee, I’m sorry too,” I said.
He pulled my hand up to his mouth so he could kiss it. “You know I love you,” he said.
Despite everything, the look in his eyes and his hesitant half smile almost had me fooled again.
“It’s no good,” I said. “I can’t do this. You make me afraid, Lee. I don’t want to be with you anymore. This isn’t doing either of us any good, is it?”
I saw a cloud cross his face, not anger—not that, maybe disappointment? I thought he was going to let go of my hand, but instead he held it tighter.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t do this. You regretted it last time.”
“I did. But things have happened since then.”
“What things?”
“You hitting me, for one. And you talking to Claire about me, and Sylvia. She thinks I’m going mad, Lee. It’s not fair. She’s my best friend and you’ve turned her against me.”
“What?” He gave a short laugh. “Is that what she told you?”
I felt tears pricking my eyes. I didn’t want to cry, not here. I sat down on one of the benches. He sat next to me, taking hold of my hand again.
“Did she tell you how come I had her phone number? She gave it to me that night in the Spread Eagle. She came up to me at the bar and asked me to buy her a drink, while you were off fuck knows where. I bought her a drink and she put her hand on my arse and gave it a squeeze, then she slipped a piece of paper in my jacket pocket and told me to call her if I got bored.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, “you do believe me, because you know what she’s like.”
I rubbed my cheek angrily with the back of my hand.
“Come here,” he said softly, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”
He held me gently with both his arms around me, my head nestled in his shoulder. His fingers ran through my hair, combing it away from my face. “You don’t need to be scared, Catherine. You shouldn’t be scared. It’s this crazy job. I’m no good at showing how I feel, I get stressed and angry and I forget who I’m talking to. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
I pulled back from him so I could look in his eyes. “What if I’d called the police, Lee? What if I told them what you’d done?”
“Most likely, they might send someone by to take a statement, then it would get filed and nothing else would happen.”
“Really?”
“Either that, or there’d be a prolonged internal investigation and I’d lose my job and my pension.” He stroked a finger across my cheek, wiping away the last tear. “I’ve got something for you,” he said. “I want you to have it, no matter what.”
It was a ring, inside a black velvet box. A platinum ring with a big diamond, glittering brilliantly in the sunshine. I didn’t want to touch it, but he pressed it into my hand. “I know it’s a rocky start for us,” he said, “but it will get better, I promise. In a few months I’ll look for a transfer, something a bit less stressful, something that means I can be at home more. Just please say you’ll think about it. Catherine? Will you at least think about it?”
I thought about it. I thought about what I would have to do to stop him hitting me again; about being home on time, about telling him if I went anywhere without him, about wearing what he told me to wear and doing exactly what he told me to do. “All right,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”
He kissed me then, in the bright sunshine, and I let him.
I’d always thought that women who stayed in bad relationships must be foolish. After all, there had to be a moment, a realization that things had taken a wrong turn and you were suddenly afraid to be with your partner—and surely that was the moment to leave. Walk away and don’t look back, I always thought. Why would you stay? And I’d seen women on television, interviewed in magazines, saying things like, “It isn’t that simple,” and I’d always thought yes, it
is
that simple—just leave, just walk away from it.
In addition to that moment of realization, a moment that had already passed for me, there was a new realization that walking away wasn’t a simple option after all. I’d tried it and made the mistake of inviting him back. Being still in love with him, the gentle, vulnerable part of him that was still inside somewhere, was only part of it: it was also the dreadful fear of what he might do if I did anything to provoke him.
It wasn’t about walking away anymore. It was about running.
It was about escape.
It was sunny and almost warm, so we got the Tube down to the river and walked along the South Bank until we were too tired to walk anymore. We sat on a bench outside Tate Modern and drank hot tea out of disposable cups. It felt like the first day of spring.
“When I came to see you at the hospital on Thursday, I thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Lee?” he asked.
“No. Someone else. Sylvia.”
Stuart leaned forward on the bench, his head turned to me. “Who’s Sylvia?”
I’d been thinking about this ever since Thursday: telling him. Thinking of how I could explain it.
“She was my best friend before all this happened. She moved to London because she got this amazing new job.”
“You lost touch with her?”
I nodded. “Well, it was more than that, really. She didn’t believe me. When things started to go wrong with Lee, I tried to tell her about it. I needed her to help. I don’t know why she didn’t. In the end I didn’t contact her again.”
He waited for me to continue, putting his cup down onto the ground under the seat, the steam coming off what was left of his tea, curling up in beautiful patterns.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, you know.”
“What I said?”
“About . . . the kiss.”
“Ah,” he said. “I wondered if you’d even been listening, to be honest.”
“It took me a bit by surprise, that’s all. I thought you weren’t interested in me.”
He gave a short laugh. “I must be better at hiding my feelings than I thought.”
There was a pause while I tried to work out what to say next.
“Look,” he said, “don’t worry about it. I know it’s a difficult time for you at the moment. I don’t want this to stop us being friends.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I need to tell you about it. I need you to understand what happened to me. You can’t decide how you feel until you know.”
“What—right now?”
I nodded. “It’s better out here,” I said. “I won’t fall apart out here, with all these people walking past.”
“All right,” he said.
“It’s bad.”
“Yes.”
I took a deep breath. “It was a bad relationship. It got worse and worse. In the end he nearly killed me.”
There was a long pause. He looked at me, looked at his hands. Eventually, he said, “Someone found you?”
“Wendy. She lived next door. I must have given her such a shock.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorry you went through that.”
“I was pregnant when he attacked me. I didn’t even know it until they told me afterward in the hospital that I’d lost the baby. I don’t know if I can have children now. They said it was unlikely.”
He looked away.
“I had to tell you that,” I said.
Stuart nodded. I realized he had tears in his eyes. I put my hand across his back. “Oh, God, please don’t be upset. I didn’t want you to be upset.”
He put his arms around me, pulling me into a crushing hug, and we stayed like that for several moments.
“Do you know what the worst thing was?” I said at last, into his shoulder. “It wasn’t sitting in there, in that room, waiting for him to come back and kill me. It wasn’t being hit, it wasn’t the pain, it wasn’t even being raped. It was that afterward nobody, not even my best friend, believed me.”
I sat back then, looked out at the river, a barge going slowly past, downstream. “I need you to believe me, Stuart. I need that more than I’ve ever needed anything in my whole life.”
“Of course I believe you,” he said. “I’ll always believe you.”
Stuart wiped away the tears with his finger and moved to kiss me. I put my fingers to his lips. “Wait,” I said. “Think about what I’ve told you. I need to know you can deal with it.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
We got up and started walking back toward Waterloo Bridge. “Why didn’t she believe you?” he asked. “She doesn’t sound like much of a best friend.”
“It’s the way he was. He could charm anyone. He was nothing but charming with all of my friends. They just thought I was being ungrateful, that he couldn’t possibly be all the things I said he was. Then he started talking to them when I wasn’t there, telling them things about me that weren’t true. He was talking to Sylvia, my other friends were talking to her too, about things that he’d told them. Before I knew what was happening, they were all busy discussing how I’d gone completely mad.”
In front of us a little boy, running to catch his older brother, fell over onto his knees. His mum picked him up and rubbed him down before he had a chance to start crying.
“And you saw her? Sylvia?”
“She was on that bus, heading south. On the top deck.”
“Did she see you?”
“She was staring at me. It was so strange.”
“Does it worry you?”
“What? Seeing Sylvia? I don’t think so. It just gave me a shock, seeing her. I never thought I’d see her again, and then suddenly there she was. I mean, I knew she was in London somewhere. But even so . . .”
We were nearly back at the Tube.
“Let’s go home,” he said. He pulled me into a hug.
I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more.
I left my desk at exactly noon, turning off the computer screen and grabbing my coat from behind the door. The town center was busy, but then Fridays often were; full of shoppers, pensioners, mothers, toddlers, students, and people who really should be at work but, for some inexplicable reason, weren’t. The sun was shining, and that always brought more people into the town center. I could smell summer on the breeze, although it was still chilly. Maybe the weekend would be good.
I hate crowds. I would much rather stroll through the town center without seeing another single living person; but today I had to meet Sam.
At the Bolero Café, Sam was waiting for me, sitting at a table by the window.
“Let’s sit at the back? Can we? I’m always cold by the window.”
Sam raised her eyebrows but moved her bags, and her coat, and followed me to the back of the café.
I hadn’t been in here since it changed hands. It used to be the Green Kitchen, a vegetarian-vegan place selling locally sourced organic produce, with a small café at the back. It had managed to hold out for a while, but when the students departed for the long summer break it didn’t have enough custom. It had reopened as the Bolero just after Christmas, and with the Pensioner Specials (tea and a teacake for a pound) it was faring much better.
“Happy birthday,” I said at last, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks,” Sam replied. She was looking beautiful in a red cashmere sweater, a present from the new boyfriend. Well—he wasn’t that new. She’d met him on Christmas Eve in the Cheshire. But it still felt new to me. I’d only seen her once since Christmas.
“More to the point, how are you?”
“More to the point? What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. I really didn’t want to start on this so soon into our meeting.
“I’ve not seen you for ages and ages,” she said. “I was just wondering.”
The waitress turned up just then, which was a useful distraction. I ordered a large tea and a slice of whole wheat toast. Sam ordered a latte and a cheese plowman’s.
“How’s things going with Simon?” I asked.
That took care of the next half hour, right up to halfway through Sam’s lunch. She was still full of the new man, the future, maybe getting married when he was next on home leave—it was all there.
“So what about you?” she said at last, swigging down the last of her coffee. “How are things with Lee?”
“Oh, good,” I said. “Fine.”
“So he hasn’t proposed or anything dramatic like that, then?”
“Well—yes. Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
I cast a glance at the window, just checking.
“He’s always proposing. Every blinking week.”
“What—and you’re not going for it? Haven’t you said yes?” Sam couldn’t get her head around that one, I could tell.
“I don’t see the point. We’re fine as we are, we get along, you know, the odd tiff here and there like everyone else; why change it?”
“Why change it? You could be having a wedding, for heaven’s sake! A dress, a honeymoon, presents! A great big blowout with all your friends there!”
I shrugged. “I’m not saying never, I’m just saying we’ve got more important things on right now. I’m really busy at work. I don’t want to be worrying about organizing a wedding when there’s so much going on.”
“Well,” Sam said, patting my hand, “he obviously loves you to pieces, doesn’t he?”
I stirred my tea slowly, watching the patterns swirl and twist on the surface of the liquid. “Yes,” I said.
“Why so sad, then?” she asked.
I wasn’t doing a very good job, here, I thought. I was supposed to be bright and cheerful and full of the happy birthday wishes, but I wasn’t managing to fool her.
“I miss Sylv,” I said, which was entirely true, despite our last dreadful conversation.
“She’s only down in London, you know. Hardly a million miles away.”
“We’ve both been really busy.”
“I heard about the fight you had.”
“Did you?”
She nodded. “Claire told me. She thinks you’ve gone all weird since you met Lee.”
“I know.”
“So what’s going on?”
I shrugged, contemplating telling her my side of the story and wondering whether it would actually do me any good at all. “I’m not sure myself.”
I didn’t trust her, not fully. She was the only one still in any sort of contact, and even that was sporadic. Who was to say she hadn’t been talking to Lee herself? Maybe as soon as we’d finished here, she would phone him and report back what I’d said, how I looked, what I ate. In the kitchen someone dropped a plate—the sound made me jump. When I looked back at Sam, her expression was difficult to read.
“Claire’s right. You’ve changed.”
I shook my head, knocked back the last of the tea. “No. Just stressed with work. Tired out. You know how it is,” I said.
She leaned across and patted my hand again. “I’m here if you ever need to chat. You know that, don’t you?”
I managed a bright smile for her. “Of course. But I’m fine—really. I just need a bit of a break, I think. So what was last night like? Was the Cheshire busy? Did you go clubbing?”
“Yeah. Town was packed, no idea why.”
“It’s the end of term today. Last night for all the students to get wrecked before they all go home and get their laundry done.”
Sam laughed. “Wasn’t only students, though—loads of people. Saw Emily and Julia—she was asking after you. Roger who used to work with Emily was out too. Remember him? He was after you, once, wasn’t he?”
I gave a wry grin. “’Fraid so. He was a bit of a nightmare in the end—always phoning me up at work.”
“And Katie. She asked where you were, too.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds like it was a good night out. Shame I missed it.”
“You’ve not been out for ages and ages.”
“I know. Look,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “why don’t we go to Manchester next weekend? Have a look for some new shoes, do lunch?”
“I can’t next weekend, I’m looking at houses,” she said. “I’ll give you a call, though, okay? We can do that soon. It sounds like a great idea. Just don’t let me spend too much money.”
I paid the bill for our lunch, although Sam tried to intervene. A birthday treat, I insisted. She was the only contact I had left with my old friends. Even if I wasn’t sure about her, she was all I had left.
Outside in the cold air, she hugged me so tight it hurt, all over. She put her arms around my back and patted and rubbed, as though she was trying to force some warmth inside.
“Christ, you’re getting thin,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “Fabulous, isn’t it?”
She looked at me a little sternly. “You’re sure you’re all right? You promise me? Because I think something’s not quite right.”
“Sam, everything’s fine.”
I couldn’t promise. If she asked me to promise again, I was going to break down. I was going to totally lose it. There was only so much lying I could do, and promises were important to me, I didn’t take them lightly.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She hugged me again, just in the wrong place. I was trying hard not to wince, but it hurt. My whole body hurt.
“You know where I am if you need me, all right?” she said.
I nodded, and then she headed off back up the hill toward the college where she worked. I wondered if she’d guessed what it was. She knew something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t have a name for it yet.
I had names for it, but not ones I could repeat.
I looked around the Market Square for a moment, just in case I could see him, but there was no sign. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Sometimes he was, sometimes he wasn’t. I was no good at telling the difference anymore. I just felt as though I was being watched the whole time, every minute of every day. Sometimes that just made it easier, safer. Less likely for me to make a mistake.
I counted my steps back up to the office: four hundred and twenty-four. That was one good thing, at least.