Our Chance (31 page)

“Guilt? Sympathy?” I asked, turning around.

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Maybe.”

“It’s neither of those.” Guilt was one. A small part of it. I was looking after her because I wanted to. I continued making two cappuccinos, glad to have a few minutes to myself. It pissed me off that she could think I was doing this for any other reason than because I cared and wanted to help.

I went back in after composing myself and put her drink on the coffee table. “Thanks,” she said.

Her head was still a bit of a mystery to me. I understood her reasons now but that didn’t mean I had fuck all clue about anything else.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” I asked, sitting on the sofa at the opposite end. There were so many times when she looked like she was going to open up only to turn her head away and build another layer of bricks around herself.

“I think so,” she replied, curling her legs up under her. “But you need to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t pull the sympathy face.”

Raising my hand, I replied. “Deal. Tell me when things started to get bad at home.”

She looked so young as she opened her mouth, closed it again, sighed and then launched into the whole thing. “They’ve always argued, for as far back as I can remember I recall lots of shouting. I used to curl up beside the sofa when they screamed at each other. They would get right up into each other’s faces.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and I had to stop myself reaching out and wiping it away. I didn’t want to touch her in case it ended her share session.

“I was four when their fights turned physical. I remember it so clearly. It was the summer holidays, I was off pre-school and Dad had lost his job so we were all home. It’d gotten progressively worse and it was only a couple weeks in.”

She licked her lips and curled her legs up to her chest. “It was raining so we were inside. I was playing on the floor with my Barbie’s, trying to fix one of their legs that’d broken off. Mum and Dad started arguing over Dad’s lack of employment. He accused her of being unsupportive because he was trying and she told him he was lazy. I got up from the middle of the room where I was playing and ran to my hiding place, wedging myself between the wall and the side of the sofa. I was wearing a pink Barbie nightdress with a sparkly, frilly neckline. It was long so I pulled it over my legs and down to my feet. I felt safe when all of me was in it.” Laughing with no humour, she added, “How stupid is that?”

“It’s not.”

“They were in my direct sight but they didn’t see me. I remember holding onto my Barbie so tight her tiny fingers were imprinted on the palm of my hand. I was so scared when Mum threw the first punch.”

It came as a surprise that her mum was the first one to cross that line, when it was him that’d taken it way too far.

“I’m sorry, Nell.”

Ignoring me she continued. “At first I was stunned and so was Dad. I was taught not to hit, they’d never spanked me so it was completely out of the blue. She didn’t apologise; instead she told him he wasn’t a real man because he couldn’t support his family. It didn’t take him long to start up and he started saying ‘go on, do it again, batter me, you bitch’. I had no idea what ‘batter’ meant at the time but it was terrifying.”

She shuffled on the sofa and frowned. “I was shaking and crying. They screamed some more, calling each other names and threatening divorce. I knew what divorce was by that point; they’d mentioned it so many times. I felt really cold and really alone. I wanted Nan to walk through the door and take me away but no one came. Mum hit him again and called him gutless. That was when he shoved her onto the sofa and stormed out.”

Jesus, what the fuck had that done to her?

“Almost every argument after that resulted in physical abuse of varying degrees. I’ve watched them hit, kick and punch each other. I’ve seen my dad pull my mum’s hair and my mum throw things at my dad. Not once did they ever stop when I screamed, cried and pleaded with them to. I got used to it and could read the signs before they struck first. When they both vibrated
with rage I’d run to my hiding place and cover my ears. It never occurred to me to close my eyes or leave the room. I don’t know why, but I guess I was scared that if I didn’t look, one of them would disappear forever and I wouldn’t know where. As I got older I had to push the sofa out a little so I could still fit. It’s still in the same position I moved it to when I was thirteen, and I think I can still fit in it.”

I moved off my chair, feeling the pull this woman had on me. She was hurting and I needed to be there, to make it better, but I didn’t have the first idea how.

“Did they ever…hurt you?”

Looking over at me now beside her, she shook her head. “No. Never me.”

Thank God.

“They may as well have, though. Watching it hurt no less than what they were doing to each other. I hated growing up in fear. I knew one day they’d go too far. When they broke up last year and stayed apart for five months, the longest they’d gone, I thought they’d finally broken the cycle. But then they went back to each other and well… you know how well that ended.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

Her pretty green eyes were full of sadness. “No one should. I tried talking to Mum the next day because I didn’t understand why they’d hurt each other. God I was so innocent I said ‘Mummy, why did you hit Daddy when it’s naughty?’ How stupid. It wasn’t a parent punishing a child with a tap to the butt, it was domestic violence.”

“You were
four
, Nell, you weren’t to know.”

“I felt angry after that. They wouldn’t talk to me about it and I didn’t understand. I was terrified of my parents and neither of them took the time to try to make me feel better about it. There was no apology, just a feeble ‘it’ll never happen again, honey’ which was a complete lie. I stopped believing anything they said shortly after that, they never kept their promises.”

What could I possibly say to that to make it better? My heart bled for a small child cowering in the corner, afraid of the two people that were supposed to protect her.

She gulped and I could tell she was struggling to keep it together. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. My head is fried and there’s so much to sort out. I don’t even know how to start to accept that she’s gone and I won’t see her again. I should be crying right now but I’m not. Why am I not? And what do you think will happen to my dad?”

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. You’ve had a huge shock, Nell, so don’t you dare start judging yourself for how you’re coping, you’re doing amazing. I’m not sure about your dad but if you want I can try to speak with the officers dealing with his case?”

“Okay… Thank you. He’s going to prison, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know all the details but I think it’s safe to assume he will spend some time in prison, yes.”

Her eyes welled up again. “Yeah. He should. I think he should. Or I think I think he should. Does that make sense?”

I nodded and replied, “It does.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed she meant it. It sounded like their fights were pretty even, neither was more in the wrong than the other, he’d pushed her and she fell down the stairs. They were as bad as each other, no question, and the fact that her mum died in a mutual fight might meant her dad had a chance at getting off or at least getting a lesser sentence. But the justice system was flawed and inconsistent so really anything could happen.

“Things got better when I was old enough to go out alone,” she said, drawing me back into her childhood. “I spent almost all of my time at Chloe’s. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t for her. I was barely hanging in there for years.”

“Did you want to tell her what was going on?”

“I nearly did.”

“What stopped you?”

“I was scared of what she would think, what everyone else would think when they knew. I was scared that my parents would get into trouble and scared that people would think there was something wrong with me because of them. And I was scared that they’d take me away. They were crap parents but they were still my parents. I didn’t want to go into care and be moved from foster home to foster home. So I stuck it out, kept it a secret, and counted down the days until I left for Uni.”

Everything made sense, the way she was, the way she turned arctic when the word relationship was uttered. Reaching over I took her hand and her shoulders lost some of the tension. I loved that one simple touch from me could do that for her. “Nell, what’s your biggest fear?”

“After one of my parents murdering the other, you mean? That would be turning into them. All I know is how to argue and fight. I have no idea what it takes to make a relationship work and that terrifies me. I won’t become them.”

“I know you won’t. For starters you know what it’s like, so you’d never want someone else, your own children, to go through the same thing.”

“But that’s not a guarantee. How many people repeat the same mistakes of previous generations? My dad’s parents were abusive to each other and my parents repeated that. I bet they said they wouldn’t too. They probably spoke about it and said they’d never do anything to hurt each other. Fast forward seven years… I’m petrified that I’ll fall into the same pattern.”

“You won’t.” Her jaw twitched and eyes narrowed. “I won’t let you.”

“Damon…”

“Nell…”

She dropped her eyes. “You know…”

“Yeah, I know the score, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Promise.” Her eyes widened, pleading with me.

The promise she wanted wasn’t just getting over her mum’s death. It was so much more. I knew why she didn’t want anything real, and I knew that I’d smash down every brick in the protective wall she’d built around herself. She was beginning to allow me to. We were going to be together soon – whether she fucking liked it or not.

Nell

I woke up at five in the morning feeling like my skin was alive and crawling with millions of bugs. It itched in the worst possible way.

My worst nightmare, the thing that kept me up at night, had been made real. Mum was dead and Dad was responsible. It was always going to happen.

I got out of bed quietly so I wouldn’t wake Damon and went into the bathroom. He’d convinced me to stay the night again, not that it took much convincing, and I now regretted it.

This was how it was going to end and I’d told them a thousand times. Each and every time they’d told me I was overreacting and things weren’t that bad. Well, the only times they’d actually dignified me with a reply and not just ignored me that is. Fuck sake! I scratched my upper arm and paced beside the bath.

Damon’s bathroom was large and I could usually avoid the long mirror when I was feeling a bit crap about myself but today I wanted to look. I felt different and needed to know if that was visible.

I stopped to take in my reflection. It was a mistake. I winced. Somehow every single one of my features looked duller. There was no colour to my cheeks whatsoever. I couldn’t stand what I saw. I wanted to leave, to get out of town, of England and just be somewhere I could hide and pretend nothing had happened. And I wanted the itching to stop.

Chloe and Damon wouldn’t let me be alone past a few days to collect myself but Chloe was home with Logan and Damon was still asleep. If I was getting the hell out of here – and that was the plan – then I needed to leave
now
.

I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to be around anyone, especially someone that cared and felt sympathetic. Sympathy was useless. It didn’t bring back my mum, it didn’t change the fact that my dad was the one that took her life, and it sure as hell didn’t diminish the guilt that piled higher every second that I didn’t do more to make them stay apart.

My body was buzzing in the worst possible way. I had to leave. My mind was cracking and I had to be alone.

They were each their own person, but I could’ve done more. When they broke up I could’ve taken Mum away somewhere for a while until she gained proper perspective. As aware as I was that it wasn’t my fault it didn’t stop the what-ifs.

I gathered my clothes from on top of the washing basket and put them on, leaving Damon’s t-shirt and joggers inside the basket. Usually I’d go home in them, wash them and bring them back next time but I wasn’t sure if or when a next time would be.

Slipping my shoes on, I managed to get my bag and get out of there before he woke up. Now all I had to do was get home before he woke up. We’d come in Damon’s car so I had to walk, which was fine because I had to do something, keep busy. It wasn’t far so I pushed myself faster and faster until I was power walking home.

The closer I got to my house the lighter I felt. Being around people left me struggling for breath and the thought of having to have actual conversations with Damon – or anyone – made me feeling like I was being suffocated.

I was a people person, loved being social and having a good time, never had I wanted to be alone since I was little and alone was all I felt, but now I didn’t even want to look at another human.

Making it home quickly, I locked and bolted my front door and closed every blind in my small flat. When Damon and Chloe came around, because they would, at least they wouldn’t be able to see me and I would be able to ignore them.