Chapter 30
THIRTY
Three years earlier
‘Annie?’ The soft Scottish accent came down the phone line, and as I always did when I spoke to Ryan’s mother, I wondered at how easy it was to fall for a facade.
She seemed like the sweetest woman you could imagine.
The kindest mother figure you could dream up.
Her church group would be stunned to learn the truth.
The terrible things she had done to her only child during his most vulnerable years.
He’d sobbed to me in the wake of his violent outbursts in the early stages of our relationship, spilling his trauma like lava spewing from an active volcano, as I alternated between the roles of punchbag and therapist. It had been so long since he last broke down, bothered to make excuses for why he was the way he was, why his core was made up of pure rage, but I hadn’t forgotten the stories.
His father had been no better than his mother; wearing a suit to Sunday service, putting on the show everyone in their close-knit village expected to see, then coming home to take out his frustrations on his young son.
Ryan hadn’t shed a tear when his dad died three years into our relationship, had never been able to forgive him for the abuse, but when it came to Gloria, he couldn’t walk away.
Even now, nearing forty, he still craved his mother’s love.
Jumped at her call. Pretended not to remember why she didn’t deserve him, how she’d ruined him for the rest of the world, me most of all.
I had only once tried to ask for her help.
It had been a stupid mistake on my part, but since she was the only woman he really listened to, I’d thought she might be able to step in, stop the horror I was living on a daily basis.
Help me leave even. But it hadn’t gone well.
She’d been silent as I’d whispered the reason for my bruises, after a Christmas dinner I’d prepared single-handedly whilst never letting my smile falter.
Ryan and his grandma had been distracted playing cards, and I’d caught Gloria in the kitchen, making sure to bend low as I reached for an oven tray so that she couldn’t miss the purple bruise the size of a house brick across my hipbone.
When she had studiously turned away, I’d grabbed her wrist and breathlessly begged her to help.
She’d made some muttered comments – That won’t do… Not acceptable to treat you this way – and then the party had gone on as planned. For three days I’d waited, tense at the thought of what I’d done. Ryan’s reaction if he found out. I think I’d known instantly that I’d made a horrible mistake.
I’d been right. He’d dragged me from our bed in the middle of the third night, and the beating had been so intense I was sure he meant to kill me.
By the end, I wanted him to kill me, just to make it stop.
He’d been angrier than I’d ever seen him, before or after, and the trigger was that he didn’t want his mother to have any reason not to love him.
I’d bad-mouthed him to the only person whose opinion he cared about, and that , he told me, was unforgivable.
He’d not held back after those floodgates had opened.
I’d thought life was bad prior to that Christmas, but I quickly found it could get so much worse .
Now I held the phone with my left hand, cradling my heavy pregnant belly protectively as I shuddered at the memory. ‘Hi, Gloria,’ I said, keeping my tone light, friendly.
‘Is the man of the house there?’ she asked, her voice girlish, giggly.
I shook my head. ‘He’ll be back in a few hours.
He’s at a meeting today.’ I swallowed, looking over at the bars he’d installed on the windows.
The front door was alarmed and would alert him if by some miracle I figured out how to get past the intricate set of locks he’d fitted.
Aside from outgoing calls to Ryan and his mother, this phone only allowed incoming calls – and only from phone numbers he had pre-approved.
And I had to pretend this was all perfectly normal.
That I wasn’t a prisoner on the verge of giving birth.
I had my mobile phone, of course, the Christmas gift he’d surprised me with a few years back, having conveniently lost mine, but it hadn’t taken me long to realise that it was entirely for his benefit.
Not only was it used to track my every movement – well, when he bothered to let me out of the flat – but he would go through every number that was listed in my call log, interrogating me over them, calling them himself and telling them not to contact me again.
I was dreading the moment he discovered I’d had a call from my mother’s number three weeks ago.
It had been the first time we’d spoken in several years, Ryan making it clear that the punishment would far outweigh the benefit of trying to keep up a relationship with her.
I’d been shocked to see her name on the screen, a flash of hope igniting in my belly that perhaps I wasn’t entirely alone.
That harrowing call had been on my mind every moment of every day since; the screams, the roar of water.
I’d been terrified he would find out my parents had both drowned in that horrific accident, that he’d want to go after the fortune they’d left behind, but he was too wrapped up in himself to notice my grief, my trauma.
‘Oh well, no trouble,’ Gloria said, breaking into my thoughts, her voice conveying nothing but kindness, patience, honed by years of practice.
‘I just wanted to let you know that there’s a new company who’ve installed this superfast broadband in the village.
It seems a massive inconvenience, but everyone says it’s excellent. ’
‘Right…’ I said, not understanding why I needed to know that.
‘I’m getting the man round tomorrow to fit mine. Madge said he’s very good. So I’ve cancelled my internet, and that means my phone won’t work until he’s been.’
‘ Does it?’
She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Yes, dear, because it’s run off the internet. I’m expecting it to go off sometime in the next thirty minutes, and then I won’t have it back until tomorrow. I wanted to let Ryan know so he doesn’t worry if he can’t contact me. You know how he loves our nightly chats.’
I opened my mouth to explain that there was no need to cancel one service before getting the other.
That if she’d left it, the switch could have been instant and there would never have had to be a gap.
But then an idea – a terrible idea – hit me.
‘I understand. I’ll let him know,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
‘I’m sure he’ll be disappointed. He does love your calls. ’
I hung up, my eyes fixed on those ugly iron bars on the window, seeing past them to the chink of blue sky beyond.
The freedom I’d been denied for so long.
It wasn’t right. Wasn’t sustainable. The walls had seemed tighter, more suffocating with each inch my belly grew, as if my dormant instinct to fight back, do something, was waking up, roaring at the injustice.
I could feel myself spiralling into a black hole, and if I let myself slip too deep into the numb comfort of its embrace, continue to detach from reality, I might not be able to find my way back.
This was a gift, a chance… but could I really sink that low?
The baby nestled snugly within my womb gave a slow turn, almost as if encouraging me, agreeing with me.
I bit down on my lip, wincing at the split that had yet to begin healing, the burning ache in my shoulder from the sick game he’d forced me to play, the too hot shower he’d made me endure whilst critiquing my changing body, heedless of the impact on the baby – his baby – and as I swallowed, making up my mind, I found that I was trembling.
I sucked in a few deep breaths, reminding myself of the importance of keeping calm so I didn’t trigger labour. That would ruin everything…
Thirty-five minutes later, I pressed speed dial number two – Gloria’s number.
I was immensely grateful she’d never taken to her mobile.
She’d had one back when Ryan’s father was alive but got rid of it not long after he passed – said she wouldn’t buy another one for fear of a brain tumour, as she’d watched a documentary linking the two.
The wait was unbearable as I held the phone tight against my ear, the silence stretching on.
Then, at last, I heard the long, dead dial tone. The phone was off. It was really off!
I didn’t waste time. I knew Ryan well enough to predict exactly what his response would be to my story, and I needed to be prepared.
I packed a case for each of us, stashing my mobile phone right at the back of a cupboard, not daring to actually switch it off in case it triggered some alert on Ryan’s own phone.
Whispering a low apology under my breath, hoping what I had to do wouldn’t harm the baby, I rushed to the kitchen, pouring six heaped tablespoons of salt into a glass, then mixing the still warm kettle water into it, stirring it and watching it dissolve.
I held the glass tightly in both hands, watching the seconds tick by on the wall clock.
At ten past five exactly, I heard Ryan’s car pull up below, on the shared gravel car park.
I took a deep breath, pinched my nose and gulped down the salty concoction.
Then, eyes watering against the urge to throw it instantly back up, I washed the glass and put it away in the cupboard still wet.
I was standing by the front door, ready and waiting, before he even reached it.