Who Are You? (20 page)

‘It’s a shame about little Ben. I was hoping to be able to take him up to the park. Let’s hope they’re both feeling a bit better. But Alex, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, darling.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. This house, the job … You are happy here, aren’t you? Everything is OK between you and Juliet? I know it’s none of my business, but you know how mothers worry, and of course I do feel a bit responsible having helped out financially, but do you think you would have been happier in the country? I suppose the good thing is that it’s a very sound investment. Even if you stay here for two to three years you’re bound to make money. And then you could move out and buy something very nice. Be healthy for Ben wouldn’t it, to be in the country when he’s a bit older?’

‘Perhaps.’ Alex does not want to have this conversation. He’s got enough on his mind without having to discuss their life plan for the next five years.

‘I know that Juliet’s set her heart on St Paul’s, and that he’s down for Colet Court if he’s clever enough. I worry you know, about this hot-housing sort of stuff. Choosing schools for children before you know what they’re going to be like. That’s precisely the mistake your father and I made with you. Not that I had much say in it.’

‘Perhaps it’s not so much the school, but the people in it. Anyway, Mum, I’ve got things to be getting on with. So if you don’t mind I’ll just disappear for an hour or so. Feel free to iron, won’t you?’

Before he goes into his study, Alex picks up Juliet’s laptop and charger and takes it upstairs. She’s dressed and her hair looks tidy, but she hasn’t put any make-up on so the bruises are obvious. She’s lying on the bed beside Ben. Ben is curled up under the cover, looking pale. ‘Daddy,’ he says. ‘Got a tummy ache. Mummy says it’s your fault for letting me have all that Coca-Cola and crisps yesterday. Naughty Daddy.’

‘How’s it feeling now, big man?’ Alex sits down on the bed next to Ben and strokes his hair. ‘You’ll learn that in life everything good comes with a consequence, doesn’t it, Mummy?’ he says to Juliet.

‘If you say so,’ she says coldly.

‘I’ve brought you your laptop,’ Alex says.

She looks surprised. That’s because it’s a way of contacting the outside world, of letting people know what he’s done to her. She would have expected him to deprive her of it if he was going to keep her prisoner. But Alex has a way of playing his game – good cop, bad cop. That way it’s much more unsettling to the victim because they never know what they’re going to get, which means they can’t predict and plan. Basic stuff.

‘I think we need to get Ben to a doctor, Alex.’

‘It’s a bank holiday. The surgery’ll be shut.’

‘Well then I should take him to casualty.’

‘No. He’ll be fine. Now put some make-up on, you look awful. Mum’s making some soup for lunch. You can come down for it.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Well, if it’s an order, Alex,’ she says, weakly.

‘Juliet …’ Alex says softly. ‘I don’t give orders, silly girl. I just suggest what’s best for you. You know that.’ He watches her, reading her, wanting affirmation that she will do as he says.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘That’s the ticket.’

There was a time when he used to experience shame and disgust at himself, a deep self-loathing at what he was capable of doing to her. Maybe that was when he still had feelings. Feelings, Alex had learned, only led to weakness; let feelings get in the way and you were finished. They had to be squashed, obliterated, so that he could function effectively. They were an unnecessary encumbrance which only served to get in the way of getting the job done. What feelings could you afford to have if you were blowing up a Taliban stronghold and you couldn’t know for sure whether they would be using a human shield of women and children? What feelings could you afford to have when you saw the aftermath of what you’d just done? The shredded lifeless mess of bits that were once people. No. Feelings were an indulgence and once you rid yourself of them you could finally be in control – not only of yourself, but of those around you. What use was guilt? You couldn’t go back and change the things that you’d done, so why carry regret and shame? You were doing your job, following orders, using your training, acting like a true professional. Feelings … fucking waste of time. Not that he didn’t feel love. That was different. He did love Juliet. He wouldn’t treat her the way that he did if he didn’t love her. Because then he wouldn’t care and there would be no point in trying to get her to change, to behave in the way that he wished. He just wanted her to understand him. Not to wind him up, or challenge him. And if she thought she stood the smallest chance of duping him, or beating him, she was a very foolish and reckless woman.

*    *    *    *    *

Juliet is surprised that Alex has brought her laptop upstairs, but she’s desperate to get online because she needs advice urgently. Apart from Ben’s comforting little half snuffles and half snores, the house is silent.

I am almost too ashamed to tell you what happened to me. It just makes me want to throw up. I feel so violated … so powerless … so traumatized … My husband tried to strangle me. I thought I was going to die. He tied me up and gagged me. He left me in the bedroom for hours and when he came back he raped me … anally. I feel lucky to be alive. I don’t know how to get away. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I don’t know what to do. Please help, anyone!
Posted by Sparrowhawk on 27-Dec-13 11.40 GMT

Please, you must run away. Get out of there. Call the police. Dial 999 now. Or else just grab your son and get out. You can get your stuff later – with a police escort. Your life is in danger. Just get out.
Posted by StopitNow 27-Dec-13 11:55 GMT

I can’t … He’s watching me. He says he’ll kill me if I leave. And he’ll kill me if I get the police involved. I’ll have to be clever. Somehow go when he’s feeling off guard. I don’t have any money of my own, and he’ll make out I’m sick. That my son’s at risk with me. I know what he’s like. He’s got friends in the right places. Dangerous friends. Oh God help me, I’m so bloody scared. I thought I could handle him. That maybe we could work it out. But after what’s happened I don’t think I can ever face him … you know … as a wife again. What was so terrifying was the fact that he didn’t see me as even human. I need somewhere to run to and I don’t know where.
Posted by Sparrowhawk on 27-Dec-13 12:04 GMT

You really must do as StopitNow says. Just call the forum helpline. They can tell you where to go. They’ll help you. It might seem impossible and terrifying, but it’s not. Think about yourself, and your little boy – before it’s too late.
Posted by Pink Petal on 27-Dec-13 12:09 GMT

Be careful … If he’s as dangerous as you think he is, will he follow you? Don’t do anything rash. Just be careful you know exactly what to do and where to go so that he can’t follow you. You should make a plan, and start collecting all your important documents together in case you need them.
Posted by Lil’ Miss Happy on 27-Dec-13 12:20 GMT

Thank you for the support. Don’t know what I’d do without you all. I just feel too vulnerable walking out with nothing. I think if I could plan a bit … maybe lull him into a false sense of security … then it might be safer to make a planned getaway. I need money. I need to find somewhere safe to stay. Maybe that’s the time to get the police involved, when I actually walk out. I’m terrified that they might turn up and just give him a caution and then what would I do?
Posted by Sparrowhawk on 27-Dec-13 12:29 GMT

Listen my lovely … Do you have bruises? If he did all of that to you, there must be medical evidence. You need to be seen by a police surgeon as soon as possible so that it can all be recorded against him. Call the police and just don’t hang around. Do it while you’ve still got chance … while you are still alive. I don’t mean to be harsh, but you won’t be any good to your son if you’re dead, will you? I’m not being dramatic. Just look at the DV death rates.
Hugs and praying for you
Posted by StopitNow on 27-Dec-13 12:38 GMT

I completely understand that you feel reticent about going to the police. I went to them and they made me feel like shit. It’s not a nice feeling – just being a kind of forensic object. And if he won’t let you out of the house it sounds as if it might be impossible for you, anyway. If you like you could let me have your email address and and I’ll do what I can to help. Just let the moderator know that you’d be happy to let me have it. I might be able to help you find somewhere safe for you and your little boy to stay. I just really want to help you if I can.
Posted by Lil’ Miss Happy 27-Dec-13 12:49 GMT

I don’t agree with you, Lil’ Miss Happy. Ring the police. Or get the moderator to do it for you. That’s the only way you’ll be safe. They’ll arrest him and protect you.
Posted by StopitNow on 27-Dec-13 13:03

OK then … I’ll tell you. My husband stripped me naked, took me out to his car, and then bent me over the bonnet before shoving a beer bottle up my p***y, just to show me he’s the bloody boss. And other times he invited his mates round and watched while two of them raped me in turn. Men are animals. And the policemen didn’t believe me. Do you know what they wrote on their reports? That I was a fantasist. They only started to believe me after he posted photographs on websites of me naked and spreadeagled on the living room floor. He also made me do phone sex to earn him some extra money. He’d listen in while the johns jerked off. The only way I could get through it was to tranquillize my brains out. Life wasn’t worth living. I prayed to die it was so bad. I couldn’t see any way out of it and the only way I did get out of it was to run away without letting anyone – and I mean anyone – know where I was going. He’d have had me sectioned – would have convinced everyone that I was mad. It was only after I’d gone, and I got a proper solicitor involved, that the police finally confiscated his computer and found all the sick images – not just of me, but of every other kind of filth you could imagine.
Posted by Lil’ Miss Happy on 27-Dec-13 13.26

Oh My God … You are amazing Lil’ Miss Happy that you got away – and that you’re strong enough to speak out. That you’ve still got fight inside you. These men are bastards. Animals. I can’t believe how evil they can be. Now I understand why you don’t have any faith in the police. To say you were unlucky sounds like the understatement of the century. I pray you are safe and OK now, and that you are happy as your ‘name’ suggests.
Love and hugs.
Posted by Sparrowhawk on 27-Dec-13 13:46

Juliet snaps the lid shut on her laptop, feeling nauseous. These stories are too much to take in, too much to stomach. How on earth do these women ever survive emotionally – even if the physical scars heal? Could Alex’s violence really escalate to that level? But hell, what’s she on about, what level of violence does it take to actually kill someone? A blow to the head in the right place could be
just one blow
. She knows she has no choice now. It’s just a question of when, how and where. She will think over the offer from Lil’ Miss Happy about the accommodation she might know about. It’s risky, giving an email address out – but given what that woman went through, she’s hardly likely to shit on a fellow victim of DV.

Ben wakes up with the sound of the lid closing. His cheeks are flushed. Juliet feels his forehead. It’s hot and dry. His eyes have that feverish, glassy look. ‘How’s your tummy, darling?’

‘It really hurts, Mummy.’

‘Do you want to go to the loo again?’

‘No.’

He’s floppy and lethargic. ‘Have a drink of water, darling.’ Ben shakes his head and whimpers quietly. He’s shivering, so she pulls the duvet cover up around his chin. She’s given him some Calpol so hopefully that should get his temperature down. But if it doesn’t, somehow she’ll have to make Alex realize he needs to be seen by a doctor. Reluctantly she decides to leave Ben and go downstairs to see what’s going on between Geraldine and Alex. She wants Geraldine to see what Alex has done to her, even though she knows she will be devastated. Geraldine has to realise what her son’s really like. She’s already dressed in jeans and a warm sweater. She leaves the bedroom door slightly ajar and walks gingerly down the first flight of stairs. There’s an overwhelming smell of curry drifting upwards. She pauses on the landing at the head of the flight of stairs to the ground floor and listens. She can’t hear any voices. She pads on quietly down the stairs and sees that Alex’s study door is half open. He isn’t behind his desk. Then she turns towards the kitchen door which is closed. She doesn’t hear anyone until her hand is already on the knob, twisting. It’s a sort of half- grunt from Alex. She pushes the door open and both her husband and her mother-in-law look up. Geraldine has the newspaper folded on the crossword section, while Alex is reading what looks like a manual of some sort.

‘Juliet …’ Geraldine’s eyes widen, and whatever she was about to say is choked off.

‘Geraldine.’ Juliet says.

‘Oh my goodness. I …’ Geraldine seems to be struggling with her words. Juliet turns to Alex. He is scowling at her. That’s because she’s ignored his instruction to cover up her bruises. Her left cheek is a livid red colour with blue edges, while her right cheek is a cool ivory. She has pulled her hair back into a pony tail, so that the gash on her head is clearly visible. Geraldine doesn’t know where to look. ‘Would you like some soup, dear?’

‘Please.’ Juliet walks to the fridge, takes out a stoppered bottle of white wine from the door, and gets a couple of glasses from the cupboard. ‘Join me?’ she says to Geraldine.

‘I don’t mind … if you are … How’s Ben?’

‘His tummy’s still bad. Actually, I’m really worried about him. He’s got a temperature. I’d really like him to see a doctor, but Alex is in charge.’ Juliet lets her fingers slip to her throat. She’s wearing a V-necked sweater and so the marks on her neck are clearly visible. She watches Geraldine’s eyes follow her fingers and then widen as she sees the evidence of her son’s violence. She hands an overfull glass of wine to Geraldine and then raises her own glass.