Surviving Him (6 page)

After that, Ian decided that he had had enough of Edinburgh, so he packed us off back to Argyll. I was six months pregnant with a healthy bump, and the bruises were healing and the swelling in my face was nearly gone. I was thankful just for that.

It wasn’t until we were settling in Argyll that I realised his plan. Ian made sure he cut me off from my family and all of my friends, just to make sure I had no one to turn to when I needed them.

I was isolated, battered and bruised, and trying so desperately to think of a way out of what felt like a prison. I was desperate and anxious; I was ready to rip my hair out of my head.

Ian decided that he wanted some money, and he wanted me to get it for him. So the next day, he took me down to the local Social Services; someone had told him that they would give us money for a cooker.

He came into the reception area, but made me go to the social worker’s office by myself, which, to me, was a total shock. I guess he didn't want to ask for the money himself.

Once I was seated in front of the social worker, I couldn't hold back. I had to tell someone what Ian was doing to me. The man was startled initially, but I could see quickly that he understood what I was telling him. I blurted it out, all of it. I told him what was going on, what Ian was up to by bringing me there that day. I pleaded with the man on the other side of the desk to please help me. I had to get away.

As soon as I had unloaded my breathless purge of the agony I was suffering, the social worker jumped up and quickly locked his office door. Ian was right outside the room. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he wondered what was taking so long and discovered the locked door. I knew my face was filled with terror and desperation, as the social worker immediately got on the phone and called the police to report the situation and gave them Ian’s name and description.

Ian was well known to the social work department, and to the police. They made sure that I could get away safely. When the police arrived I stood frozen to the spot. I stood behind the locked door praying he didn’t kick the door open to get to me, and I heard him shout my name over and over again.

“Dana! Dana! You have to tell these fuckers I’ve not done anything to you. Get out here now and tell them.”

I felt the tears rolling down my face. I could hear the movement on the other side of the door like he was struggling, fighting the police to get to me or get away from them. I started to shake with overwhelming fear; fear of getting away, fear of them not taking him far enough away from me, fear of the unknown.

The social worker put me on the bus to Glasgow where I could then catch a bus from there to Manchester, to my dear mum. I was so humiliated to have others know what had happened to me, and utterly fractured by what he had done to me.

I thought I loved him. Even after everything, I was going to miss him because he was all I knew. All I could think about was not being able to cope on my own without the baby’s dad. All my hopes of having a normal family and raising this baby with two loving parents were
washed away. I didn’t know what I was going to do or how I would cope on my own, a single mum with nothing. It was such a hard thing to have to think about.

Worst of all, I kept hearing Ian’s voice in my head.

“Useless fucking bitch. You can’t do nothing right, can you?”

I believed I couldn't manage without him, that I needed him. Those words were constantly going round and round in my head, nothing to stop them, no reason not to believe them. I didn’t know any different.

Social Services in Argyll took charge of my situation and helped with arrangements for my return to Manchester. They explained the whole story to my mum, told her that she should keep me away from Ian and Ian’s family. “They are all trouble with a capital T,” Mum would frequently remind me.

There was only the word of the police in Scotland that I would be safe and more secure if I stayed where I was.

Within just a few short days of me being back under my mum’s roof, Ian called. He would tell my mum how much he loved me, how much he wanted us to be a family. It was almost surreal to hear these loving messages from him, relayed through my mum. It was everything I wanted to hear from the man I married, the father of my unborn child
...
It almost erased the hurt I had suffered at his hands and with his words. He said he would change, that he would never be the monster he had been. He said that he would never touch me again, that he would get the help he needed to control his anger.

“I promise, I will go for anger management, doll. We can start a new life together, me, you and our baby. Maybe we could have more kids up in Edinburgh. We could even get married, doll. Give me a chance to make it right. You can trust me, doll. I’ll do better. I will never lift my hands to you ever again. I made a mistake, but I promise you can trust me, doll.”

Those words, ‘you can trust me,’ some can say it so effortlessly, so reassuringly, that I all but forgot that last horrific day. And, of course, I thought that I loved him, so I should trust him, right? Loving him meant that I should give him another chance.

When the time came to explain, I told my mum about my decision to give things another try. She was so upset, heartbroken. She gave me this beautiful gold chain with a gold cross on it for my birthday, and said she had had it blessed by a priest and prayed over it that it would give protection to me and my baby girl. She cried, said she would do anything to keep me safe even if it was a long shot.

She thought I shouldn’t have had to spend my twenty-first birthday on my own, wondering where I was going to end up. Tears fell down her face, and she told me that if I ever needed anything at all she would be there for me no matter what.

“You know where I am. Call me anytime my darling girl, day or night, if you need me.”

I felt like I was saying goodbye to her for the last time, it felt like I would never see her again.

I was so emotional on the way back up to Edinburgh, feeling scared and conflicted with my feelings. Do I stop and turn back? Go home back to my mum? Or do I take a chance? He sounded so sincere when he promised me he was going to change. Was I really going through with this?

I cried; the tears flowed down my cheeks as I stared out of the train window. Heartache, feeling torn causing the tears to stain my face. I was six-and-a-half months pregnant. I was tired beyond tired and so confused. I felt so alone.

I was back at Ian’s mum’s house in no time at all. Everyone commented on how much my bump was showing. There was no animosity towards me for trying to have him arrested, and running for the hills. I think deep down they knew what he was like but turned a blind eye to all that he had done.

Things were good, for a couple of weeks at least. I started getting things organised for my baby’s arrival. Ian’s mum’s extended family were really friendly; they helped me out as much as they could, I was so grateful. Of course, they didn’t know the ins and outs of what was going on; they knew he was a wrongun, a bad boy always in trouble in some way or another. They didn’t see the bruises I wore. I learned to hide and cover them up so well, and his mother didn’t speak to them about the truth. It wasn’t long before I was being pushed against the wall with Ian’s hands around my neck once more
. He ripped the chain that my mum had bought for me from my neck, which
hurt me more than getting beaten
.

I tried to fight him off of me for the baby’s sake, but he was so strong. He would snarl at me. “You’ve been shagging about while you’ve been in Manchester, haven't you? You bitch
. You dirty fucking whore.”

He roared, spitting in my face like a wild dog about to pounce on its prey.

“No,
don’t be stupid.”

I spit back in his angry face, which was answered with his fist right into my jaw. I felt my head hit the wall behind me. Standing up for myself I shouted at him to stop, but that only brought on more punches; even after I was down to the floor, he kept up his string of punches and kicks over and over.

“Please, just let him kill me and get it over with already!” I screamed
to the heavens from inside my broken, aching head.

I would try and cover up my stomach in an attempt to protect the baby, but he kept on and on.

“Don't you fucking lie to me, you fucking lying bitch!”

It didn't matter what I said he kept persisting. He wouldn’t even let me up for the toilet.

“Piss yourself,
bitch.”

I did in the end.

The water from the shower sprays down my back, bringing me back from my daydream. I could stay there all night, but my girls need to get washed and changed for dinner soon. It is getting near six pm; we are staying here overnight and heading back home to Manchester tomorrow morning.

“Mum.” Kayleigh knocks on the bathroom door bringing me back from my horrible past I wish I could erase from my mind.

“Shit.”

I grab a towel off the rail, and I drip water all over the bathroom floor. I get my ass back into the room to get ready.

“What have you two been up to?”

“Reading a really great book called gangster granny.”

Kayleigh didn’t even look up from her kindle.

“It’s so funny, Mum, you should read it. Mrs Wallace from our old school told me about it; the title says it all. I’m only a quarter of the way in but I love it already.”

“Sounds excellent. What are you doing Amy? Come and give me a cuddle.”

Amy jumps up and wraps her little arms around me.

“I’m just colouring in my colouring in book. Look.”

Amy holds up her princess book showing me a brightly coloured Cinderella.

“Oh, Amy. That’s a beautiful picture.”

They are both still so excited about being in Edinburgh, but have been winding down.

“Come on girls. Get in the shower and we will make our way downstairs for dinner.”

“Wow, this is amazing! They have put on a good spread.”

And more birthday cake for the girls.

“It’s brilliant. I can’t wait to try some of that cake. It looks like chocolate cake, and I’ll have plenty of room left in my belly.”

I settle in my seat after the most impressive dinner, a glass of white wine and a massive piece of birthday cake. I wrestle with my conscience; It’s only right that I share it, but my greedy taste buds are telling me that sharing is overrated.

I sink back into my chair; I flick through my phone, checking my Facebook page and uploaded some of the photos I had taken of the girls in their gorgeous outfits. I also check out what my friends have been up to. Taking a sip of my wine I scan the room. It isn’t busy, just a few people that must be guests here. They sit quietly at the other end of the room, on a large brown leather sofa. There is low lighting with lots of wooden tables filling the space; artwork hangs on the soft cream walls; the paintings are of famous landmarks in Edinburgh castle. Arthur's Seat is the main peak of the group of hills in Scotland, that forms most of Holyrood Park. It is a beautiful painting of the castle at night, all lit up, and of Holyrood palace. It is a striking old building, like a castle, but it is indeed a palace with its grand entrance. The pillars surround the door, its old brickwork much like Edinburgh castle. I have never been there but would love to one day.