Most people lived for the weekends, but not Lucy. Ed and Maria had plans on the Friday, so it was agreed that they would collect Siobhan early Saturday morning instead.
With another weekend of being alone with Patrick looming, Lucy feared how he’d behave. Guilt overwhelmed her when she selfishly wished Siobhan could miss out on a weekend with her grandparents and stay at home. The poor kid shouldn’t be used as a metaphorical shield. Patrick’s moods were unpredictable. This is what worried Lucy the most. What made Patrick dangerous? He had control over his behaviour and would only make snide remarks when Siobhan or Rory were in the house. His excuses for the violence were another manipulative technique to exert control over her.
Patrick was still asleep. He couldn’t even be bothered to drag his ass out of bed and say goodbye to his daughter. Rory was coming around later, and Lucy hoped she wouldn’t have to make more excuses for his father. She could see the look of disappointment in Rory’s eyes every time she had to explain where Patrick was, or why he wasn’t ready.
Being older than Siobhan, Rory had more of an understanding of Patrick’s moods and had learnt to tailor his own behaviour accordingly. That killed Lucy. She had no fear that Patrick would hurt his children, at least not while she was in the picture, but there had been times when angry outbursts and insults were aimed at Rory. When Rory would storm out of the house and weeks would pass before he came around again. When Lucy would be walking on eggshells, concerned that if Rory said anything to his mother, social services would be all over them again.
Why don’t I just leave?
Any time something had happened with his father, Lucy had felt some overwhelming responsibility to smooth things over. She’d message Rory on Facebook to find out if he was OK. Lucy shamefully admitted to herself that part of her genuine concern for his well-being was a selfish desire to make sure he wasn’t telling his mother anything. Like his father, Rory seemed to bottle things up inside and she at least wanted to give him the opportunity to get it out. She almost felt like she owed him that. Guilt lay heavy at Lucy’s door, for she had no one she could share all her feelings with, in case it exposed the reality of her situation.
There was a stirring upstairs followed by a loud groan. He’s up. Lucy grabbed the laundry basket and put the kettle on. Patrick did his usual stomp down the stairs, then sidled up behind her as she was bent over, loading the washing machine. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in to him.
‘Perfect position. Fancy a quickie?’
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Thank God. Lucy slipped out of Patrick’s grasp and made her way to the door. It was Rory. Lucy gave him a hug and offered him a cup of tea, gesturing him inside.
‘Only if you’re making one. I don’t want to put you out.’
Lucy adored his politeness. Very unlike his dad.
‘Of course, she is! You need to learn a woman’s place, son. Go on and have a seat.’ He turned towards Lucy with a sneer on his face. ‘I’ll have a coffee, and make sure it isn’t your usual strong shit.’
Lucy was pleased to stay out of their way in the kitchen, letting them catch up. Before long she heard the roar of race cars from the television and knew they would be immersed on the PlayStation for hours. Lucy poured the tea, losing herself as she stirred in the milk. Once she handed the boys their drinks, she returned to the kitchen to make a start on her weekend routine of cleaning, laundry, and anything else that Patrick had not done throughout the week. So pretty much everything.
Things were calm over the weekend despite the initial blip and they enjoyed Sunday evening watching films. It was times like this when Lucy remembered why she fell in love with Patrick. Seeing him enjoy himself, laughing and being kind to her. He even made her a drink before bed.
Maybe it will be OK after all.