She lay in bed and held her breath so she could listen better. Michael lay next to her, his breathing ragged and slow. She wondered about the dosage she’d put in his food. Really, she had no idea. She’d been stealing pills from Rowan’s handbag in the staffroom at work, storing them up. She’d experimented with half a pill in his food for the last couple of nights, then crushed up three in tonight’s casserole, putting in too much garlic to cover it. He berated her about the food, but that was nothing new.
She stared at the swirling pattern on the ceiling, strands intertwined like the arms of some creature. His breathing slowed even more and she felt the baby kick in her belly. Ava was eight months gone, and the baby was letting her know she couldn’t wait much longer. It was one thing for Ava to be controlled and dominated by this monster, another to bring a new-born daughter into this home. That’s why she had to do this now.
Michael turned towards her, face slack in sleep. She flinched. How had it come to this, the sight of him making her cower? She was ashamed of who she’d become, coerced and bullied. No more.
She smelled stale garlic on his breath and stomach acid rose up her throat. If she puked now, he would surely wake up. He was normally such a light sleeper, aware of movement in the room even when he was dreaming. Some primal state of alertness, watching for anything that could threaten his world order.
She lifted her side of the covers, pulse beating in her neck. She listened to his breath as the baby pressed against her kidneys and bladder. There would be time to pee when this was over.
She moved her legs, feet onto the floor, rolled her body in a smooth motion until she was standing. Michael was snoring, hands above his head like he was fighting off birds. She stepped to the door, waited, opened it, heard it creak and froze.
Michael snuffled and wrinkled his nose like he was disagreeing with something. He muttered under his breath and fire flowed from her heart through her body. She imagined herself a marble statue, here in the bedroom doorway for hundreds of years, ignored by everyone. She heard a car in the distance, faint rumble of the boiler downstairs. He snuffled again, moved his arm to the empty side of the bed. His hand moved across the bare covers and she was sure it was all over. She began to think of excuses, needing to pee or she had to take another antacid.
He scratched his nose then shifted his weight and went back to snoring.
She watched him for a long time then crept out of the room and downstairs, feet on the outer edges of the steps because some creaked in the middle. She reached the bottom and walked across the hall to the cupboard full of raincoats and boots. She shifted a pile of old jumpers she’d placed there weeks ago, lifted out a small suitcase full of all the things she would need. Change of clothes, money she’d been siphoning from the shopping, toiletries, the passport she’d taken from the locked drawer without him knowing. She could sort everything else once she was free.
She wore loose pyjama trousers and an old St Andrews Uni sweatshirt of Michael’s, warmer than she would usually wear in bed this time of year, but she would be outside soon. Her feet were bare. She had trainers in the suitcase, there would be time to put them on once she was out.
She went to his jacket hanging near the door and rifled through the pockets. Keys for his New Town office, ID, wallet. She’d read about human-trafficking cases where women were locked in cages or basements, brought there as sex slaves. She wasn’t in that situation but she was still imprisoned by him, by his fucking gaslighting, demeaning her, always making her more reliant on him.
Everyone at the school thought she lived a happy life. Her mum thought she was in love with a wonderful husband. Everything looked good from outside this expensive Longniddry house. How could she be in a prison with a handsome, rich husband and a baby on the way? But that’s what had changed, the realisation that it wasn’t just her anymore. She’d become used to her situation, excused it and normalised it. But a daughter made everything different and she needed to get out.
She found the car key and took the cash from his wallet. She lifted her case and went to the front door. The alarm was on, he always set it before bed. He changed the combination regularly but she’d found the note on his phone with the most recent number. She just hoped it was up to date. She punched in the numbers, cringing at each beep, holding her breath. Waited a moment, expecting the loud wail. But silence. She glanced upstairs, waited for him to shout out or appear.
Nothing.
She opened the door and walked across the driveway to the Mercedes. She unlocked it and cringed again at the blip of the lock, the flashing lights. She placed the case in the passenger seat then took off the handbrake. She didn’t want to start it here with the engine noise, so she heaved at the car, door open, hand on the steering wheel. Eventually the car wheels nudged forward. She leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, felt the baby squirm, did a little pee into her pyjama trousers but kept pushing. She turned the wheel to angle the car through the driveway and climbed in, closing the door as quietly as she could. The car had some momentum on the road and she waited until it was another thirty yards down the street then put her foot on the clutch and pressed ignition. It kicked into life, a ping warning her she didn’t have her seatbelt on.
She pulled it on and drove away, expecting something to happen – Michael to run down the street, the police to turn up, lights flashing. She drove past the big stucco houses, everyone safe and warm inside. She looked in the mirror. The street was dark and she laughed, feeling the release, then the baby kicked.
She turned left then left again, looping round to Links Road. She didn’t want to take the A1, if he woke and found her gone, it was the first place the police would look for the car. She drove along the coast, Firth of Forth to her right. She saw clear skies, stars bulleting the blackness, the full moon. She thought about the distance to that rock, how far she might need to run to really escape.
She reached the Port Seton caravans, beach alongside, moonlight shimmering across the water. She glanced in the mirror again, nervous, still waiting for him to somehow appear.
A bright light appeared in the sky, blazing an eerie blue-green, streaking overhead in front of her. There was a hiss and a roar, a trail of sparks behind. It seemed to be descending, heading for the sea to the east. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The sound penetrated her skin, the car shuddered and rocked, then she smelled something sweet and salty at the same time, tasted it in the back of her throat. The road in front of her rose up and spun round and she felt dizzy, unable to get her bearings. Bile rose in her throat then she puked down her sweatshirt. She pissed herself as the car drifted and she couldn’t control it, didn’t know which way was up. The car mounted the pavement and went over the grass verge to the rocky beach where it thumped into the sand and she passed out.