I lie down for him and let him do what he needs to do. That’s how it’s always worked. It’s never been any other way. When it’s over he stands up and I am relieved when he tells me he is leaving, he is working on winning a contract and needs to schmooze some client or other. I zone out as he speaks; I don’t care where he is going. All I can think about is getting clean and sleeping until morning. First, I need a strong drink to burn away the taste of his saliva in my mouth.
I knew they would come and speak to me alone. I suppose they have to, it’s their job. I see them park the car outside just as R has left; I never know how long he will be gone for and so them being here makes me very nervous. I wish they had waited a little longer. I would like to have a shower and maybe a few more drinks before I have to pretend some more.
Maybe they know enough already, maybe they have figured out all the different ways in which R has hurt me. If I were them, I would assume the worst of R. It all depends on what you think is the worst a human being can be. They have no idea.
I doubt any one person knows the full extent of R’s malevolence; he is evil. I wasn’t brought up religious or anything and I know that word comes with religious connotations, but if there is a devil, then R is the human representation. I know he will be the end of me one day.
I open the door and the police officers both come in and follow me to the lounge, where I have left my drink on the coffee table. They sit down. I notice DS Imogen Grey glance at the sofa and realise they were probably watching from the roadside and could see inside the lounge. I doubt they can see me blush through my heavy make-up – what does it matter, anyway? Humiliation is not something that particularly bothers me anymore; if I do experience it, it’s fleeting.
It must seem strange, a woman in my situation, with a house that’s ninety per cent windows, but it’s all part of R’s game. He likes to make sure I am always switched on, always playing my part of doting wife. There are a few rooms in the house where there isn’t a view – those are usually the rooms he picks to teach me a lesson.
I see no point in lying to the officers about anything they already know. They saw me at my absolute worst and so it’s silly to pretend that everything is peachy. I can feel the concern coming from DS Miles and I know that he’s already too involved to let go. Maybe I need to be completely odious in order for him to walk away. I don’t want him to get hurt.
They ask me about Simon. I don’t remember the night that we ended up in the river but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell them. I remember what we arranged, but after I left the house that day everything is a blur. I have blacked out before and the doctor explained to me at the hospital that I had experienced head trauma and that it could affect my memory, maybe even permanently.
I can’t imagine R dumping us both in the river to be found; that seems far too clumsy for him. I just can’t remember. All I see when I try is that one image of Simon, begging for them to stop. I shake it off again. It’s my constant companion these last few days and part of me hopes I never regain the memory of the hours surrounding that moment.
The female officer, DS Imogen Grey, seems angry with me. I think there are several reasons for this. First, because she feels powerless to help me. She wonders why I am protecting R, but I am not protecting him, I am protecting her. Also, because my weakness reflects on her, on our gender, I know there are women out there who can’t imagine themselves in this situation – they are lucky. I didn’t go looking for this. This is the life that found me.
They ask me their questions and I bat away the ones I feel will help them in any way. I am purposely cold and obnoxious. I don’t want them to pity me; pity is the last thing I need. I don’t want their help.
I tell them what they already know about Simon and I don’t know anything about Leon Quick to explain why he killed himself. I have absolutely no doubt that R is involved in Leon’s death; there was a certain look of accomplishment on his face when he told me about the suicide. If any one person could have that much influence over another person’s life, it’s R. God only knows what R did to him.
The police have been to this house several times in the past, once quite recently, back when I still had the tiniest sliver of hope that I could maybe one day escape. I watched R talk the police constable around with ease – a few choice words and my call was explained away as a prank of sorts. We all laughed, and I watched on hopelessly as he left me to face yet another round with R.
I can fake any mood thanks to my years of experience playing the role of dutiful wife. Knowing that the police could no longer help me, I decided to contact Simon. I wish I had never made that call. Maybe he would still be alive. Maybe I would still have hope for some kind of future. That one phone call was the beginning of the end. There is only one way out of this and that’s in a wooden box.
I see both DS Grey and DS Miles’ frustration. Part of me wants to tell them it’s nothing they are doing wrong, they are saying all the right things to make me want to speak to them. I wish I could. I wish I believed that they could help me, but I have been here too many times before. They are too late. I have no faith in the system. The only thing I believe in is the fact that this is my life. There is no way out.