Abandoned (17 page)

Chapter 37

T
hat night, feeling tired and apprehensive at putting all my trust in Brendan again, I booked into a bed and breakfast by a windmill in one of the small coastal villages of north Norfolk. It was February and out of season, and at the tourist office the following morning I rented a cottage for a week near Holkham at a cheap rate. Utterly drained, I did nothing for the first few days but lie on the bed for hours on end, staring out at the sky and the huge, ravenous seagulls that circled noisily above. At night I lay in the dark, listening to the wind battering the building. I began to feel calmer and safer than I had for months, and when I discovered the cottage was empty for another week I extended my stay, curling up on the overstuffed pumpkin-coloured sofa downstairs, staring into nothing and planning how to put my life back together.

After three weeks I was feeling stronger than I had in ages. The depression was beginning to lift. But when Brendan called to tell me the deal was being held up again, my world seemed to collapse, and I was reminded of all those times he’d let me down in the past. What Craig had said about him kept coming into my head. But he sounded as dejected as I did and I knew he felt bad about letting me down. He said he was even more certain that the deal would come through now, and told me to sit tight, that it couldn’t be more than another month or so. A month felt like an age away then. In the meantime, because he knew my money was about to run out, he arranged to help me out while I waited; he was able to send me some money every fortnight. It wasn’t much, but together with running up credit card debt it would see me through if I did wait.

Sitting alone in that cottage in Norfolk I couldn’t think straight. The last of the deposit the letting agents had refunded to my account was almost gone, and I wouldn’t be able to get another bank loan now I wasn’t working and without an address. Brendan wouldn’t tell me much about the deal but he was still saying the money would definitely come through.‘It could be any day,’ he said almost every time I phoned. In the end I simply didn’t have the energy not to believe him.

What followed were the most barren months of my life. I decided to leave Norfolk but carry on waiting for another few weeks, trusting what Brendan was telling me. Depression had taken hold again and I couldn’t think what else to do.

I had no energy for the simplest things, and ended up dragging myself from place to place around the country, waiting; living on credit in places I didn’t want to be in. I slept a lot; sometimes for whole days. My life had absolutely no focus or purpose. Everything was‘on hold’, even my emotions.

Week rolled into week and delay followed delay. Three months later I found myself still waiting: still travelling around the country, driving aimlessly up and down the motorways, staying in holiday homes, B & Bs and hotels everywhere from Carlisle to Cornwall, completely exhausted and lost. I felt if I could just reach out my arm and hold back time for a moment while I tried to make a decision, everything would be okay; but as it was I was disorientated and alienated, and overwhelmed by the smallest decisions. Sometimes, curled up in yet another bed at night, feeling like I’d never belong anywhere, Craig’s words would come into my head—‘those who don’t belong, belong to each other’—and I had to force myself not to think of going back to him. It would be utter madness, but this felt like madness too.

I’ve no idea what a doctor would have said about my condition. Was it a breakdown? Had my GP’s diagnosis of clinical depression turned into something worse? All I know is that Brendan’s promise that the deal was ‘about to come through’ dominated my mind, until hanging on to that belief was all that kept me going.

Eventually all the towns and villages began to look the same. I lost track of where I was. Late one evening at the end of a week staying in yet another rented place, driving to the garage for milk, I froze at the first main roundabout, unable to remember which exit to take. I had driven that way every day for almost a week, but suddenly every roundabout and the directions to every garage in every town and village I had visited merged in my head. For a few blank minutes, I had no idea which place I was in.

My life was falling apart and I was not taking responsibility for it. Every morning I woke exhausted, feeling like I hadn’t slept a wink. I never seemed to have enough energy to get me through the day. Depression was clouding everything. I was living on credit and had turned my back on any support system that might have been there for me, telling myself it was a temporary blip, not realising it was about to become a landslide.

One day I found myself in the queue at the tollgates into Wales. I panicked, unable to decide whether to go through. Cars had pulled up behind me and soon it was impossible to reverse. A rusty, white camper van stalled in front of me, and in those few seconds I made the decision not to go through: Wales was too far from any possible ways out of my situation, it seemed at that moment. When I reached the booth I told the man that I was lost and hadn’t intended going through.

‘Where are you headed?’ he asked.

My mind went blank. I wasn’t headed anywhere.

‘Glasgow,’ I said. It was the only place far enough away from there that came to mind.

‘Glasgow?’ He raised both eyebrows and took off his glasses.‘You’re a fair way from Glasgow here.’

He pushed his way noisily out of the booth and guided me importantly through the double row of orange cones and out onto a slip road that would take me around the back and then over the motorway bridge to join the traffic going north.

Instead, when I was sure my green Rover was out of sight, I looked for the route south and drove towards Bristol and then down to Brighton. I wasn’t sure why, except that Brighton was close to London, so maybe I was feeling my way slowly back there. Craig might still be there but London was the place where the jobs and the opportunities were most likely to be, and the only place that had ever felt like home to me.

I knew Brighton a bit too. Brendan often used to drive me down there for days out when I was a child, and years later I used to meet friends from work on the beach for picnics after the London to Brighton cycle ride. I also liked it because it was a place where people came and went, a place where I could be anonymous while I continued to ‘wait’—although I had almost forgotten what I was waiting for by that stage. I was just stuck in a week-by-week, dependent relationship with Brendan.

I liked the dilapidated grandeur of the big white Regency houses along the seafront too. It seemed to reflect my life and spirit, falling apart just like those buildings, or like the charred and ruined West Pier looking like a giant, half-crushed insect struggling to crawl out into the sea.

There were all types of people in Brighton too. It was a place full of both fortune and misfortune, a very tolerant, inclusive town. Because it was summer by then it would be teeming with visitors at the weekends too. I thought I could blend in there, go unnoticed for a while; maybe get my head clear, and find a job and another tenancy in order to put this time behind me. Or so I told myself.

Chapter 38

W
andering the streets, beachfront and narrow lanes of Brighton, jostling with crowds of happy tourists and purposeful shoppers, I felt like I had fallen off the edge of life and didn’t know where or how to jump back on. It was soon high season and even the cheapest places were too expensive, especially at weekends. But I had no choice but to use my last credit card to pay for rooms in the cheapest B & Bs I could find. I couldn’t see a choice. I had to put my head down somewhere at night, and had nowhere else to go.

One day the fortnightly money Brendan was sending didn’t arrive on time. I went to a telephone booth down on the seafront to leave a message but, amazingly, this time his phone was on. He said the money would be there the following day, but that the next payment would be the last he could send. He wasn’t going to be able to send anything after that. Something had gone wrong with all his plans. In a way I was relieved that he was finally admitting it, but I was exhausted, frightened and angry too—with him, but mostly with myself for having relied on him.

Standing in the phone box in Brighton, the sky darkening, and with absolutely no money left and nowhere to go, I wondered what would happen to me now.

’I’m sorry,’ he whispered into the phone and I knew his wife or one of his family had come into the room, ‘there’s no more I can do.’

He put the receiver down and I was left listening to the dial tone and staring incredulously out at an angry, metallic-grey sea smashing against the black, ruined West Pier. I looked blankly along the promenade at all the people hurrying home through the drizzle but my legs wouldn’t move. How had I allowed myself to get into such an impossible position?

Chapter 39

I
stayed in the phone box going through the job ads in the local paper. I’d been phoning all week but most of them had already gone, or I didn’t have the required experience. I rummaged in my bag for the section I’d ripped from a magazine months ago, and called the domestic employment agencies in the boxed ads again. Surely I could get some kind of live-in job. I had to.

’Remind us what kind of work you are after again,’ one of the women asked. I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice but admitted I might consider anything. ‘You’re not really qualified and our clients are very particular, and anyway it’s coming up to August. August is always a quiet month. Try again in September.’

’Okay,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Thank you, I will.’

’Hold one moment,’ one woman at an agency I hadn’t called before said.

I watched the coin meter ticking down on the phone and shook my bag, scraping about at the bottom for more coins. Sweat was pouring down my face and arms as she went off to check with her colleague about some recent details they’d had in. ‘Yes, it’s a governess position, for a Russian family, working between Moscow and London. A boy of seven. Would you consider that?’

Would I consider it? I’d leap at it. I imagined all I’d get at that stage would be cleaner or carer jobs. I remembered how adorable boys of seven were, cheeky, curious and sweet. ‘Yes,’ I said, shoving the last coins into the slot, trying to sound casual, ‘I’d definitely like some more details about it anyway.’ She asked for my address to send details and an application form to, and I told her what I’d been telling all the others for months—that I was on holiday—and asked her to email them. She sounded suspicious but said she would.

’How soon do they want somebody?’ I asked.

’As soon as possible, as far as I know.’

’Good.’

’Would that suit then?’

’Yes, it could do,’ I said, trying to sound less desperate than I was.

’How soon could you start then?’

And then I messed it up, showing my desperation by saying, ‘Straight away…I could be there by tomorrow really, if they needed me to.’

She said she’d email me details, but I never heard from her again.

I walked in a daze back to the B & B in Kemptown that I was booked into for another night. I couldn’t believe Brendan was just stopping the money like that. I’d dreaded that from the beginning—of riding out all those delays, and then it all stopping abruptly when my own money had been used up and I was totally dependent. He’d always assured me that it wouldn’t happen like that. But now it had, and I couldn’t face dealing with it. I was too tired and shaky, ready to crack.

I stood aside for the owner as she passed me on the stairs with an armful of folded pink towels, smiling back at her as if nothing had happened. All my life that had been one of the most important things: not to let anyone know there was anything wrong or that I needed anything at all. I didn’t know how to drop the charade now, even though I’d clearly needed help desperately for months.

I sprinkled drops of lemon essential oil onto my sponge and dropped it onto the shower tray, turning the shower to the hottest setting bearable. Sitting on the floor of the shower with my knees up and the scalding water pouring over me, I took long, deep breaths of the lemon steam to try to revive myself. Before seven o’clock, my skin red raw, I climbed under the covers. I lay staring up at the TV attached to a wall bracket in the corner of the room, without a thought or a plan in my head, as if nothing had happened. When my headache got worse I was frightened of turning off the sound and being forced to listen to my own thoughts. I rolled over and read Craig’s coffee-ringed copy of
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
, which I’d discovered the day before, jammed down into the side pocket of one of the suitcases in the boot. I couldn’t face thinking about what was going to happen next. There was no one to turn to. I knew I’d have no choice but to go to the authorities for help.

Eventually I lay there, trying to get to sleep, staring up at the wallpaper with its big, shiny, lilac flowers, worn and peeling in places. It was a single bed crammed between the wall and a large, old-fashioned wardrobe. I don’t remember much else about that bed or how I slept. If I’d known that it would be the last bed I would sleep in for nine months then I might have taken more notice.

Chapter 40

T
he first night of sleeping in the car was a mistake. I didn’t plan it. I still had the last of the fortnightly money left, and Brendan had said he would be sending it one more time, plus I hadn’t quite reached the limit on the last credit card. I probably had enough for a week or so in a B & B. But after I checked out of that last one I never went off to look for another. I was vaguely thinking of going back to London and throwing myself at the mercy of one of the employment agencies I’d been ringing, hoping that if they interviewed me in person they’d see how trustworthy and capable I was and find me some kind of live-in job. But by the evening I still hadn’t plucked up the courage to leave Brighton.

I’d been sitting in the car unable to stop crying and wanted to wait until the puffiness in my face and eyes had gone down before I went off to find another B & B. I bought some chips from the stall on the pier, soaked them in vinegar, parked on the seafront and sat in the car to eat them, as I had done most nights, staring out at the sea.

I tried to think it all out, to see what the options were. I racked my brain for places I could go. But there was nowhere. I’d lost touch with everyone while I was with Craig. I felt too proud to get back in touch after more than two years and tell anyone how bad things had got for me. I’d wait until I was on my feet again.

I looked at the petrol gauge, wondering how much it would cost to drive to London, and whether I really should go back there the following day—even though there was no one for me left there. Mummy had gone to live in Spain several years before, so I couldn’t go to see her. Even if she hadn’t left, after my last visit to see her, I knew there was no way I’d visit again while my uncle was there. He had noticed I was even more nervous around him than usual last time. I knew that somehow he’d figured out I’d got myself into an abusive, ‘controlling’ relationship. I hadn’t told anybody, but he laughed at me that day in a way that made my blood run cold and let me know that he knew. And I vowed never to go over to see them again until I’d got my life back together.

I kept hearing Craig’s voice in my head saying: ‘You’ll come back to me. There’ll be nowhere else for you to go…’

The beach was emptying, everyone around me preparing to go home. I pretended not to notice and didn’t allow myself to imagine the warm, safe homes they might be hurrying off to. I blew on the chips one by one and tried to focus on what other options there might be before the money ran out completely. Where I could go? I seemed to have burnt all my bridges. I tried to imagine turning up at the various front doors of friends and colleagues I’d once known; tried to imagine myself explaining to them what had happened, what had become of my life, how little self-esteem I’d had to allow myself to be treated like that by Craig; what a spectacular failure I’d been. I knew I’d be too ashamed to tell anyone. I’d have to get through this my own way.

Sitting there, the tiredness of all those months suddenly caught up with me. I felt totally wiped out and heavy, as if a weight of wet sand had just been poured into my body, and I didn’t feel able to drive off. I stayed sitting in the car after I’d finished my chips, staring out at the horizon, not wanting to walk into a B & B or hotel and be seen in that state. Night porters would have come on shift by then, watching out for anyone who booked into a single room but tried to sneak someone else up later. I’d been living like this for months now; I knew the suspicions, and couldn’t bear another night of feeling like I was doing something wrong.

It was a warm evening but all that release of emotion had left me cold and shaky so I pulled a couple of fleeces out of my holdall and put one on. I rolled up the other fleece, put it down onto the passenger seat, leaned over and laid my head down on it; just to rest for a while and to think. I longed for a hot bath. I told myself I would get a room later in one of the cheaper hotels at the Hove end of town, which I hadn’t been into before. In a small hotel I was more likely to get a room with a bath. It looked like I’d have to go to the authorities anyway so I might as well use the remaining credit on my card on that.

At close to 10.30 p.m. I locked the car doors, took the keys out of the ignition, loosened my boots, pulled up my legs and stretched myself out as much as I could across the front seats. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, with the handbrake digging into my stomach, but it was only for a rest, so it was bearable. From that low down I could see nothing but a midnight-blue sky, which looked like glitter from a tube had been shaken across it. I couldn’t see any people and it felt like no one could see in either, like I was almost invisible. I closed my eyes against a throbbing headache which had been rising up across the back of my head all evening, intending only to rest for half an hour or so. But I ended up falling into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

When I opened my eyes again there were clear blue skies and huge, screeching seagulls tilting slowly through it as a hot sun beat down through the windscreen. I was hot and sticky, my hair stuck to my forehead and the shirt under my fleece damp with sweat. For a moment I was disorientated, then shocked as I realised it was morning. I had spent a whole night in the car.