The Safest Place (26 page)

The kitchen door opened, and Max came in. Automatically I stood up, and went to busy myself at the sink. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying.

‘Jane?’ he said.

I found a cup to wash up, and turned on the tap.

‘You OK?’

My eyes were heavy with tears. I felt so incredibly tired.

He walked towards me, and laid his hand on my shoulder. And God forgive me but he was big and he was warm and he was solid, and I was just so desperate for comfort, any comfort. I turned into
his arms and he held me against his chest, so close that I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my ear.

‘Ssh,’ he said, as I cried into his T-shirt. Clumsily, he stroked his hand up and down my back. ‘Ssh, now. It’ll be all right.’

A moment’s peace, that was all; a moment’s understanding. A little human warmth. I wished to God it was my own son comforting me, but he was ensconced in the den, glued to the TV,
oblivious to me, entirely blind to my feelings.

Later, when I had washed my face and recovered myself, I stuck a couple of bags of popcorn into the microwave, and loaded up a tray: popcorn, cookies, lemonade for Ella, beer
for the boys and wine for me. I carried the tray through the living room to the den. I could hear the shatter and scream of some hideous action adventure; they had the volume up far too loud as
usual. I hooked the door handle down with one hand, careful not to upset the tray, and kicked open the door.

‘Hi,’ I said over the roar of gunfire, ‘refreshments.’

Sam ignored me; he was lying on the floor, sprawled across cushions. Ella, who was on the floor next to him in her pyjamas now, ready for bed, jumped up to grab the popcorn and sent the tray
wobbling in my hands.

‘Woah!’ said Max. ‘Careful.’ He got up from the sofa where he had been stretched out full length, legs hanging over the arm, and helped me set down the tray on the
floor.

‘Thanks, Jane,’ he said, taking a beer.

‘Ssh,’ Sam said. ‘Be quiet.’

I sat on the sofa next to Max. He moved over to make room for me and I sat on my side with my legs curled up, leaning on the arm of the sofa, one hand holding my glass. My feet were bare and
cold; I tucked them under Max’s legs to warm them. I watched the film seeing none of it. I wanted just the comfort of being near to those that I loved: my children. Max, too, seemed much like
another son to me. It is quite a strange thing for your son’s friend to see you cry. The way he had responded struck me as very tender, very sweet. I drank my wine, and I sank into my
tiredness, curled up on that sofa.

‘Look!’ Ella squealed, sitting up and pointing at the TV. ‘That girl looks like Lydia, doesn’t she?’ She turned to Max for verification, sticking out her arm,
pointing her finger.

‘Shut up, Ella,’ Sam said and kicked her.

‘Ow!’ yelled Ella. ‘But she does, doesn’t she, Max? She’s got hair just like Lydia.’

Beside me Max laughed, that gentle ho-ho-ho.

Sam was furious. Again he kicked Ella and again she squealed, and then she upset the popcorn, all over the floor.

‘Mum,’ Sam whined. ‘Tell her to go away. Why is she even in here? Send her to bed!’

‘You’re missing the film,’ I said. ‘And look, there’s popcorn everywhere.’

‘Well
do
something,’ Sam said to me.

‘Just ignore her, Sam,’ I said.

And Ella, who was nearly in tears now, said, ‘I was only saying. And she does look like Lydia.’

Beside me, Max said, ‘She does a bit.’

And Sam swore under his breath, and moved as far away from Ella as he could get in that somewhat restricted space.

‘Does your sister drive you nuts?’ I said to Max.

He smiled at me lazily. ‘Sometimes,’ he said.

We watched two films, back to back. It was an awfully long time to be sitting there. I dozed, resting my head on the arm of the sofa. Then finally Ella decided to go off up to bed, and I
stretched, rousing myself.

‘Night, sweetie,’ I said.

‘I’m going to bed, too,’ Sam said, clearly still offended by that earlier little incident, and off he went too, leaving just Max and me.

‘You’ll be all right down here?’ I said to Max. ‘You know how to get the bed out, don’t you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, totally at home.

‘Right, then.’

‘I might just watch a bit more TV,’ he said.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Turn out the lights when you’ve finished, would you? Sleep well.’

‘You too,’ he said.

Ella took forever to clean her teeth. Sam was outside on the landing. I could hear him banging on the bathroom door.

‘Hurry up,’ he yelled.

But Ella would not hurry. It seemed an age until they were both done, and finally in bed. I sat on my bed, waiting for the bathroom to be free. My bedroom curtains were open, as I liked them
that way. There was no need to draw them for privacy here; there was no one to look in, no one to see. I had privacy in abundance whether I wanted it or not. And the blackness of the sky never
failed to astound me on moonless nights such as this. In London the sky was always burning from underneath, suffused with an orange glow from all those buildings and streetlights. I had never
really known dark until I moved out here. I listened to my children going to bed. I listened to the silence descend.

When the house had been quiet for quite some time I undressed, put my bathrobe on over my nightshirt and went to the bathroom myself. There I cleaned my teeth, and splashed water on my face. It
was a sad expression that met me in the mirror; those shadowed eyes, that pale face. These days I avoided looking at my reflection for any longer than I had to, because therein lay the reminder of
what I used to be, and more poignantly, of what I had lost. Quickly, I rubbed moisturiser into the dry skin on my cheeks, concentrating on tasks to be done.

There was still a light on downstairs when I came out of the bathroom and went back to my room, but I thought nothing of it. Yet I am struggling now, writing this. I am trying to reconcile my
actions then with how I feel now. I am looking back, tracing the very ordinariness and tiredness of my movements that night. My head ached. I drew the curtains against my bedroom window lest the
morning light should wake me; I wanted to sleep in. And I turned my bedside light on and then the main light off, and hung my dressing gown on the hook on the back of the door. I walked back around
to my side of the bed – oh, yes, I still slept on my side – and was about to get in when there was a tap at my door. At first I thought I’d misheard but that tap came again. Had
it been Sam or Ella they’d have come straight in, so I knew it was Max. And sure I was a little startled but I assumed he must have a problem folding out the sofa bed or something; some minor
concern from downstairs.

‘Just a minute,’ I said, quietly, so as not to wake anyone else. I was midway to the door to get my dressing gown when in he came, right in to my room. I was wearing just an old
thigh-length T-shirt, but still, he’d seen me dressed much like that before, when we were camping, for instance; I did not think it odd. Not straight away. He closed the door behind him, and
even then I did not really think anything of it. I just waited for him to tell me what he wanted. He was smiling, and I felt no need for alarm.

He walked towards me in slow, careful steps. I was aware then, of the size of him, of how of very much bigger than me he was. Much, much bigger than my Sam, in both height and in width.

‘What is it, Max?’ I said.

He stood right in front of me, filling the room. My heart started beating a little harder then and I folded my arms across my chest, covering myself.

‘You OK now Jane?’ he said.

‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘I’m fine now. Thanks.’

And still I waited for him to tell me why he was there. He put his hands on my arms, one each side. Suddenly I felt very uncomfortable about that closed door, and my children on the other side
of it. Yet how silly; this was only Max.

‘You sure you’re OK?’ he said.

‘I’m fine,’ I said again. And then it struck me: ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘You were upset earlier,’ he said.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I’m all right now, thanks.’

I expected him to let me go and for that to be that. How sweet, I would say to myself when he’d gone back downstairs. How kind of him to worry about me.

But he didn’t let me go. He was staring at me intently; much too intently. Uneasy now, I laughed and tried to pull away. But his hands were strong. I was not sure if it was a caress or
restraint with which he held me, but to think the latter seemed absurd; this was
Max
. He pulled me closer to him and I resisted, taut within his grip; his chest buffeted against mine.

‘I think David’s mad to let you go,’ he said. ‘I think he’s a fucking idiot.’

And all I could think of was Sam and Ella sleeping in their beds, and of how awful it would be should they hear this.

‘Max,’ I whispered, ‘let me go,’ but he slammed me to him, sticking his mouth on mine. Revulsion heaved inside me. His mouth was wet, suffocating. I tried to push him
away but he caught me harder – I could barely breathe, but when I did I could smell him, the close-up boy-smell of his body. He groaned into my mouth and I twisted against him, still thinking
we could recover this; still thinking we could laugh it off as if it had never happened and be done.

He pushed me onto the bed. With nothing to grab onto – and I wasn’t going to grab onto
him
– I fell straight backwards. I could have screamed then, I should have
screamed, but who would have heard me? Sam? Ella? The scream stayed in my throat, silenced. He came down on top of me, forcing one leg between mine, his hands all over my chest. I was pinned there,
trapped. His eyes were blank, fogged out; he can’t have even known what he was doing. He had one hand on my chest holding me down and the other hand ripping open his jeans. I froze like a
rabbit and he
rammed
himself into me; it was done in seconds. The shock of it left me reeling; I could not believe it had happened at all.

Moments later he moved himself away from me, resting on one elbow. He actually smiled down at me, and drew one finger around the side of my face, pushing back my hair. And then he pulled down my
night shirt, zipped up his jeans, crept out of my room, and was gone.

I lay there for a very long time.

I lay on my back as he’d left me, squashed into the mattress, my legs dangling over the end of the bed. To move was to acknowledge what had happened, and I could not do that. I could not
move. My heart was banging against my ribs. I counted the beats, trying to slow them. Counted, to try to stop me thinking about anything else, to stop me acknowledging what had happened.

Then I heard a door open just along the landing. Ella’s door; I knew by the creak, and my heartbeat raced up again, thundering in my ears. I heard the squeak of the floorboards and the
click of the bathroom light; I turned my head and saw the momentary glow of light through the gap under my door before she closed the bathroom door behind her. She would see the glow of my light
through that same gap, if she looked. She might have seen it already; she might come in, saying, ‘Mummy, why are you still up?’

I forced myself to move. My body felt flattened, all my joints stiffened up. My chest hurt where he had leant on me, holding me down. Quickly, I sat up and the blood roared in my head. I stuck
out an arm to turn off my lamp, and I knocked it right off the bedside table and had to scramble for it on the floor. I hoped to God Ella did not hear. Then I lay down on my bed, pulling the duvet
over me, as if I was asleep. I lay still as a corpse in the dark, my heartbeat pounding, listening to Ella flushing the toilet, then running the taps. I heard the bathroom door open, and again the
click of the light. I dared not breathe. Go back to bed, I willed in my head. Please, go back to bed. She was out there, hesitating; I could sense it. Then I heard her feet on the floorboards, the
creaking of her own bedroom door.

I had not heard Max, creeping up the stairs. I did not hear the boards creak under his weight. But then I had not been listening out for him; I had been lost in my own thoughts, thinking I was
safe, thinking we all were. I had actually felt reassured by his presence downstairs – another man in the house and all that. Sam might have heard him, though, or Ella. They could very well
have heard him making his way up the stairs; they might even have heard us talking. The thought chilled me; it absolutely appalled me. Never mind what he had done to me, but that he had done it in
my house with my children there; with 11-year-old Ella lying in her bed just across the landing – it was unthinkable, incomprehensible, barbaric. I lay there, rigid with fury, staring at the
dark. I could feel his . . .
stuff
. . . running out of me so foul, so entirely repulsive and disgusting. I could smell him still, in my room, on my face. His saliva had dried on the skin
around my mouth, powdery and tight.

I waited till the house was silent again, truly silent. I listened so hard I could almost hear my children sleeping behind their closed doors. There was the odd creaking of the beams and the
wind outside, nothing more. And then I ripped off my nightshirt, put on my dressing gown, and went to the bathroom to wash myself. I squatted in the bath and scrubbed at myself, using the hand
shower, scrubbed and scrubbed till my skin was raw, till I hurt. But I could not feel clean. The pipes hissed and clanked and I crouched low in the bath; I turned the taps down to try to lessen the
noise but it was no good, I could not wash under just a trickle. I was crying too, a sort of groaning in the back of my throat; I didn’t realize till someone knocked on the door and then I
froze.

It was Ella, come back again.

‘Mum?’ she said through the door.

I turned off the taps. I squatted there, my heart pounding.

‘What do you want?’ I hissed.

‘The toilet,’ she said sleepily.

‘But you’ve just been,’ I snapped.

‘No I haven’t,’ she said, injured. ‘That was hours ago.’