From her vantage point behind her desk, Nadine watched the door close behind Samantha, as the latter left the office. She returned her attention to the papers on her table and exhaled, relieved that the desk had been an ample shield for her shaking legs. The documents made for truly distressing reading. But that was only to be expected. Nadine picked up the mug of hot chocolate that Samantha had brought her and stood up. As she stood by a window overlooking the streets below, wondered for the umpteenth time, what it must have felt like.
The name Kiranjit Ahluwalia was not strange to Nadine; or to anyone in England, who was familiar with the legal definition of ‘provocation’, for that matter. Nadine clearly remembered the day she had first come across the case of R v Ahluwalia. In their very first Criminal Law class where they had been required to consider a particularly stomach-turning case involving hardcore sadomasochism, Nadine’s class had been advised not to take anything personally if they wanted to pass the class without having a nervous breakdown. But barely some weeks later, when the issue of provocation came up on the syllabus, Nadine was just one of the first-year students, who thought they would be lucky to get through the course without throwing up. Regardless of the advice they had all received, it was just not possible to view it as purely academic.
Kiranjit Ahluwalia was an Indian woman whose response to systematic and consistent domestic violence meted out to her over a 10-year period, was to burn her abusive husband, Deepak to death when he was asleep. This was 1989 and she was charged with murder. One of the effects this had on Nadine at the time, was that she began to consider the merits of a career in criminal defence. Ahluwalia was bewildered, spoke little English and lacked adequate representation. The prosecution, on the other hand, argued that Ahluwalia was motivated by jealousy due to her husband’s numerous affairs. The court must have thought the prosecution’s case was more credible, because she was found guilty of murder and subsequently sentenced to life imprisonment on 7th December 1989. Then, her case came to the notice of a South-Asian group called the Southall Black Sisters. Founded by Pragna Patel and operating on an ultra-tight budget, the Southall Black Sisters sought media attention, organised rallies and public support to facilitate Ahluwalia’s freedom. They also ensured that she got a chance to tell her story, which had gone largely unheard in her original trial.
In 1979, Kiranjit arrived Britain from Punjab, following an arranged marriage to a man she had met only once, Deepak Ahluwalia. Almost immediately, Deepak began to abuse her. Her attempts to seek help from her family were rebuffed as family honour was at stake. Domestic violence was a taboo subject amongst Asians in Britain and she had no-one to confide in. Whether or not Deepak suffered from an undiagnosed mental illness is unclear, but he did subject her to various acts of cruelty and brutality. He beat her, raped her and deprived her of food. She did run away a number of times, but he always found her. The marriage produced two children, who were witnesses to the domestic abuse. Things came to a head, one evening, when he attacked her and tried to burn her face with a hot iron. Later that night, she got a petrol and caustic soda mixture from their garage and poured it over the bed, before setting his feet on fire. She explained that she just wanted him to feel some of the pain he insisted on inflicting on her and scar him like he had done her. She also said that burning his feet was her way of trying to make sure that he couldn’t pursue her anymore, should she run away again. But Deepak suffered severe burns all over his body and died in hospital 10 days later, due to complications arising from the burns and subsequent sepsis. Kiranjit was arrested for and charged with murder. Her barrister failed to emphasize the level of violence she had endured, and Ahluwalia was not made aware that she could plead guilty to manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. She had also been suffering from severe depression.
The judge in the initial trial wondered why she did not just leave the house if she claimed to be in danger. She had instead chosen to attack a sleeping man who did not pose any immediate danger to her. He did not accept that she had been provoked because of the time that had elapsed between his last attack and her retaliation. The irony of her being imprisoned was that she found a degree of freedom she had not known before – for the first time, she was free from beatings and abuse.
The campaign by the Southall Black Sisters eventually gained momentum, garnering public attention and attracting prominent supporters. In September 1992, her murder conviction was reduced to one for manslaughter, but she was released because she had already served time – three years and four months. This formed the basis for the creation of new legal history – a redefinition of ‘provocation’ in cases involving battered women in the United Kingdom. Shortly afterwards, Ahluwalia published a book, Circle of Life documenting her experiences. When a film, Provoked loosely based on her story was released in 2007, there were mixed reactions. Some criticised the choice of Aishwarya Rai – a beautiful actress of Indian extraction – to play Kiranjit Ahluwalia, with some even going as far as to suggest that the selection of certain cast members was meant to glamorize the film and guarantee publicity. Nadine wondered if it was part of the … job description for harbingers of the less than complimentary critiques to be so obtuse. Aishwarya could not help being glamorous – how else was a L’Oreal brand ambassador and a former Miss World supposed to look? And her looks had no bearing on her acting ability. But then, that was probably what hating on others did for you – robbed you of the ability to think rationally. It might help you sleep better at night calling yourself a critic – and there was nothing wrong with constructive criticism – but when your 'job' appeared to consist mainly of coming up with new ways to insult people on a personal level, that had to take its toll. At the very least, as a denigrator, you ended up coming across as a sad creature whose favourite past time of popping foolishness pills, was getting out of control. Nadine did not think there was anything glamorous about the film. She had seen it twice and her opinion remained the same. The first time was with members of her criminal law class at university; the second time was at the offices of Refuge, a London-based domestic violence charity, a few days ago. Each time, she had found it harrowing, to say the very least. And even now, as she stood by her office window with a mug of lukewarm tea, Nadine did not feel any better about it.
When Samantha McCall, one of the paralegals at Eldridge & Grey said she was taking part in a 10km run to raise money for Refuge, the partners of the firm got to know about it. One of them, Rosa Troy, was especially pleased. Along with one other partner and a member of the Human Resources team, she had interviewed Samantha and although the latter seemed to possess the right qualifications and experience for the position, the drive was just not there. It wasn’t just the passion for the job that was missing; it was a zest for anything, including life, that was noticeably absent. She was dressed appropriately but her eyes appeared to lack life, and she failed to make eye contact with the panel of interviewers. The interview had not started well, either. Although she arrived early, she seemed unable to settle down. Rosa thought it was the usual nervous disposition that accompanied some people who had not worked for a considerable period of time, but Samantha continued to look down and didn’t introduce herself. She actually appeared to have forgotten her name. This was usually the point at which an interviewee would be dismissed, at least in the minds of the interviewers – if someone was incapable of introducing themselves, whether out of insolence or forgetfulness, how well could it possibly bode for a company that decided to hire them? As the interview continued, things got progressively worse. Simple questions were met with a virtually mute reaction. When Nicholas Grey – the other partner in the room – asked her if she would rather have the interview re-scheduled, Samantha stood up with a downcast look on her face. Her trembling, which had exacerbated, was noticeable as she walked towards the door. The surprised panel traded glances, and then saw her fall before she actually reached the door. That was their cue to call an ambulance. It turned out that Samantha had suffered a panic attack, brought on by the interview. Despite extensive preparation on her part, she did not believe that she was good enough, or that the interviewers would like her – because her boyfriend told her so.
Samantha had met Graham at university, six years ago and they had been together for the last three. According to her, he had been caring and attentive for the first six months. As soon as they graduated from university, they moved in together. Then, her father died quite suddenly and she took time off work. But she began to comfort-eat. At first, her poison of choice was deep crust pepperoni pizza. This had been her father’s favourite and nobody else understood but it helped her feel closer to him. And now, it was the only thing she seemed able to consume without feeling like she would throw up. After a while, she decided to vary her diet – the problem was that she appeared to have acquired an immense taste for chips, kebabs, crisps, chocolate, fried chicken, cakes, cheese products, scones, muffins, doughnuts and McDonalds. Everything else tasted bland to her, so she just didn’t bother. As her weight inevitably ballooned and her confidence plummeted, her boyfriend changed. He started making disparaging comments about her physical appearance. He told her that she was not the only one who had ever lost a parent, so it was in her best interests to sort herself out. Now a financial analyst who worked in the City, Graham said he was just being truthful – he called it being cruel to be kind, and reminded her that honesty had always been the bedrock of their relationship. He told her he was ashamed to be seen with her, as she had become ugly and she was no longer the girl he knew at university. Samantha agreed with him – she was no longer the girl she had been at university. Back then, she was beautiful, vivacious, full of life, and felt able and ready to take on anything. She had been optimistic for her future; what university student on the cusp of graduation, didn’t? And she had a boyfriend who loved her. Life was good and the world would be her oyster.
Now, she was … just a shell. She was no longer in control of anything, much less herself and her life. She was isolated from her friends and the remaining members of her family – because right after her father died, Graham had convinced her that he was all she needed, to get through her grief. He had said she didn’t need any meddling from them. She had believed him, when he said he would take care of her. She had believed him, because she had trusted him. Besides, she had not been in the mood to talk to anyone. She didn’t think she would be a very good hostess if anyone was concerned enough to visit, as she was too morose to care. Phone calls and SMS messages from concerned friends, went unanswered. Soon, the phone stopped ringing. She believed her friends and family stopped ringing because she never picked up the phone. Graham said it was OK because she didn’t need them. She was his responsibility and he would take care of her. She believed him. She didn’t realise that her friends and family stopped ringing, because Graham had intercepted the calls; he told them that she didn’t want to talk to them, because she was too consumed with grief. When they didn’t believe him, he was rude to them and accused them of trying to come between him and Samantha. When his illogical ranting didn’t put them off, he blocked all incoming calls on her mobile phone, and changed the landline number. She was unaware of the former, but when she asked about the latter, he assured her that it was for her own protection.
Now, he couldn’t stand the sight of her; sometimes, she was almost convinced that he hated her. It seemed as if she could never do anything right, and the mere sight of her irritated him. Even her beautiful hair, which he had loved to run his fingers through, when they were at university, just seemed to bring him nothing but irritation. When she cut it off because she thought – she didn’t know why, but she did – that things would change, he laughed at her and said she looked even more hideous, than ever.
Then, she found out he was sleeping with a colleague of his, only because the woman called the house and left a voicemail message on their answering machine. When Samantha confronted Graham, he denied, it at first. He told her that she was imagining things and questioned her mental health. But when she made him listen to the recording, his mood changed. He slapped her across the face and while she was still reeling, he asked her what she expected of him. She was so unattractive that he was doing her a favour by having sex with her once a week – she was lucky to be getting any, because she turned him off so much. She just lay there and did nothing like the frigid cow that she was, while he did all the work. And work, it was. He could barely find anything underneath all the folds of flesh – it was no wonder that he failed to climax. She did not expect him to be satisfied with that, surely? He was entitled to seek satisfaction elsewhere. He had found it with Anna; a feisty, sexy, twenty-something year old who was more suited to lingerie modelling than a career in City finance. If Samantha was wondering why he was still with her, despite her uselessness in every area of life, it was because he pitied her – the look on his face as he said it, was strange. It was a mixture of malice and glee. Had she looked at herself in the mirror, lately? He pitied her because he remembered what she had been like at university and he kept hoping she would at least pretend to return to that, even if she was a lost cause. He fed her, kept a roof over her head and fucked her out of pity – she was to be under no illusions. He even gave her pocket money, which she used to order more junk food. This was after he bought her all the sugary treats she could never seem to get enough of. But being the kind and generous soul that he was, he never complained. If however, she didn’t like the deal he had offered, she was free to leave. Although where exactly she would go to, he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care because he didn’t think she could even find any alternatives – her mind was so dull that it might as well have been non-existent, she never used it. The only things she used were her hands – to convey food from a plate to her mouth, and to operate the remote control to change television channels to watch shows that were as useless as she was. Which he paid for, by the way.
He then ordered her to take off her clothes and forcefully took her to a standing mirror where he made her look at her reflection, so that she could see for herself what she was asking him to put up with. Samantha saw what he saw and agreed with him. How could she not? She was an inept, repulsive, obtuse, size 22 ingrate. An all-round failure. She didn’t deserve gracious, kind-hearted, generous Graham. Later that night, when he entered her from behind – he said she was to lie face down, because he could not bear to look at her revolting face – she cried silent tears of shame, which changed to gratitude, when she felt him orgasm. She was not concerned about her own sexual needs; she did not deserve to have them met. She did not even deserve to have sexual needs – Graham was all that mattered. He had told her what she needed to know and that was good for their relationship. It was a step forward in the right direction and his ability to climax with her for the first time in months, was proof of that. So, things would definitely change.
She was right – things changed, but not in the way she was expecting. Graham began staying out later, sometimes not coming home until early hours of the morning. With his job in the City being demanding and requiring long hours – early mornings and late nights – Samantha found herself worrying about his whereabouts for hours on end. Their sex life had also not improved as she had anticipated – now, he didn’t even touch her. He had taken to making her undress before he masturbated on her and went to sleep. She told herself that his behaviour was nothing to be alarmed about – all men, including young men, went through phases when they didn’t or couldn’t actually have sex. Graham was no exception. True, his masturbatory emissions were on her, rather than in – but even that, she was grateful for. If he was still there, was willing to be around her, it meant that he wasn’t doing anything with anyone else. Not even Anna.
This sounded logical to Samantha and she ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind that tried to tell her otherwise. He was a good man whom she was grateful to have and would do anything to keep. Yes, there were moments when he felt low and lashed out but he had never hit her again, despite her making him mad. It was hard work keeping up with her, so could she blame him? He was just too tired to do anything else. Including work, it seemed.
He came home earlier than usual one day and when she asked him what the matter was, he threw his briefcase at her. It caught her in the face and she was too stunned to react to the fact that blood had started trickling from the place just above her right eyebrow. Assuming he was tired and frustrated from work, Samantha picked the briefcase and put it on the table. That was when she noticed the cartons – the contents of his desk at work. He told her that because he had not been going into the office regularly or on time, he had been fired. And it was her fault. Samantha did not understand many things – how was it her fault, if he stayed out late one night and was unable to get to work early the following day? And on the days when he made the effort, she assumed he was going to the office – it turned out he wasn’t, so where would he go?
But before she could find her voice, Graham lunged at her. Then, she noticed something else – he was twitching and his eyes were glazed. Under the influence of a substance or more that Samantha was unsure of, Graham beat her severely. He told her he hated her and would kill her, and she didn’t doubt it was her last day on earth. It was probably her decision to pretend to pass out that saved her life – Graham would have choked her to death, otherwise. He left her lying on the kitchen floor and went out. Terrified, she called an ambulance.
When he came to the hospital to see her, he looked so remorseful and heartbroken. He also seemed concerned that she had told them what really happened – he could swear that the looks he was receiving from the doctors and nurses, were judgemental looks. But he needn’t have worried – although it did not take a genius to work out what had happened, Samantha stuck to the story she told the paramedics who came, before she passed out. She was trying to cook for her boyfriend and she fell and banged her head thrice. She had a slight concussion, so she didn’t remember where she fell from. She insisted she had had an accident because she was a clumsy creature, her boyfriend hadn’t even been home at the time – did the paramedics not meet her at home alone? Her boyfriend worked so hard and did everything for her – all she wanted to do was show him her appreciation, and she couldn’t even get that right. She had gotten herself into this embarrassing situation, and he had been compelled to leave work to visit her and take her home. And home, they went. Graham was attentive and caring. As he was now unemployed, he waited and doted on her. She truly thought she had seen a live miracle – it was like old times at university. He kissed her and cuddled her, told her he couldn’t live without her and was so sorry for all he had done to hurt her. He promised that things would be different from now on. And she wanted to believe him. So, she did. She had no reason to doubt him. So what if he had been less-than-perfect before? That was in the past.
A week later, he said he needed to meet up with some of his friends from his previous office. She was sad to see him go, but he had been taking care of her and he deserved a break. Two hours later, he returned and for an inexplicable reason, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand. No, he wasn’t drunk or high. He was even smiling, but there was nothing genial about his disposition. He told her that he had found a way for them to make money. It was about time she earned her keep. He had been supporting them for so long and now he was out of work. Nobody was hiring financial analysts because of the recession and it was time for her to pull her finger out. The thought had come to him as he had been out with his friends, and he wondered why he had not thought of it before. Yes, it was unorthodox but it paid well. She wondered what he was talking about, but she did not have long to find out.
His brilliant idea was for him to have sex with her … in front of a camera. Obviously, only her face would show on the screen. She was the star of the show, after all. It wasn’t even really work – he would be the one actually doing the work. She just had to lie there and grunt. She didn’t even have to actually climax, not that that would be a problem – she had her last orgasm when she was a size 12. Apparently, there were many people willing to pay to watch others get freaky. He didn’t understand it but bigger women getting freaky on camera, had a cult-like following. And the freakier, the better. No, it wasn’t seedy or dirty. The voyeurs were a small group of respectable people. It wasn’t as if the tapes would be uploaded on the internet – there was no reason to be afraid. Everyone had sex; she would just be getting paid for doing it. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do – she had a choice in the matter. However, if she didn’t do it, they wouldn’t be able to pay their rent. He couldn’t stand the thought of them on the streets and he would be tempted to find solace at the bottom of a bottle, or a heroin sachet. They both knew what happened when she drove him to drink or do drugs. Samantha shook her head and he looked like he wanted to hit her. Then to her surprise, he backed off and apologised. He left the house and didn’t return until much later that night. And he was high. Instead of being violent as she expected, he begged her to let him have sex with her. She lay there while Graham, in a marijuana-induced haze, got inventive. She could have sworn that he had also taken performance enhancers. And the next morning, when she saw him taking a roll of used film from a hidden camera, she knew why.
She was shocked that he would do that to her, when he had promised her that he would drop the idea. He told her nobody else would see it – it was for their … his personal enjoyment. That night, he sent her to the corner-shop to buy him some cases of beer. When she got back, Graham was in the living room with some of his friends. They did not even notice her entrance – she was used to it, nobody ever noticed her. It was when she looked carefully that she saw why they were so engrossed in what they were watching – they were watching the tape. And they began laughing, raucously. She started to shout, but Graham told her to be quiet. She had not refused to have sex with him. There was no proof that she hadn’t known the camera was there, so it would do her no good to say otherwise. She was a disgusting lay – which was why he had needed Viagra with her, at his age. If she didn’t want to make another trip to A&E, she needed to keep her mouth shut. Then, one of his friends asked for a live performance and Graham was only too happy to oblige. She wasn’t as willing, but she knew it didn’t matter. Graham suggested that his friends also take turns with her, but they declined. Whether it was because they were lucid enough to realise that they could be charged with rape, or they couldn’t bring themselves to touch her, she wasn’t sure. But it made no difference – she felt violated all the same.
After his friends left, Graham set upon her. He said she embarrassed him in the presence of his friends, tried to emasculate him. He said he had tried to help her, but she was beyond help. He had reached the end of his rope with her and he wanted her out of his house.
A neighbour saw her crying outside and dialled 999. Graham had thrown her out, with nothing but the clothes on her back. She was too shell-shocked to actually speak, much less press charges. Press charges for what? Samantha was not ready to admit to any of the physical abuse, and the thought that the tape would be made public, prevented her from saying anything about that. As Graham had said, it was his word against hers. And she was a mess, who would believe her? Although she looked to be in an extremely sorry state, no report meant no investigation. No investigation meant no action against the perpetrator or perpetrators who had definitely committed a crime against her. They knew a crime had been committed, because despite the limited information she had given, Samantha was traumatised in a way that could only have been caused by human interference. She did appear to need medical treatment – they weren’t sure what for – but they couldn’t send an adult to hospital, without her permission. She was not drunk, on drugs or otherwise mentally incompetent.
The police called Refuge and they very kindly sent a counsellor to collect her from the police station. Refuge found her a place to stay, counselled her and helped re-unite her with her family. They also helped her see that none of the abuse was her fault. Then she began the slow and painful process of rebuilding her life. In time, she contacted Rosa and asked to be given another chance at Eldridge & Grey. Rosa said there were no paralegal vacancies at the moment, but they had part-time administrative assistant positions opening soon. They were not making any promises, but it had been known for a person who started out as an administrative assistant at a law firm to progress to paralegal. Would she consider that?
Samantha worked hard, not just on the job but also on herself. Although she refused to do as her horrified family preferred and have him arrested, she took out a restraining order against Graham. The last thing she heard was that he was stabbed by his new girlfriend, whom he had started abusing. Whether he survived or not, Samantha did not know or care. She worked hard and began to work towards becoming a paralegal. The counsellor at Refuge referred her to a psychologist who helped her through her issues with food. She went on a diet and began exercising. Then, she started running. She did a 3km run to raise money for Refuge. And she was thrilled when her dress size fluctuated between 12 and 14. This year, she was doing the 10km run. She had her life back, but she knew she wasn’t invincible. Some days, she would feel low about what Graham had done to her, and how she had let it happen. But as time passed, those days became fewer and further between. But that was 2 years ago and although she wasn’t yet where she wanted to be, she was in pretty good shape.
Nadine did not consider herself a feminist; if anything, following her Freshers’ Fair, she consciously avoided the members of the Feminist Society throughout her university career. But she couldn’t help but be impressed at how relentless the Southall Black Sisters had been. She wondered what it must have felt like for Kiranjit Ahluwalia to have those women she had not known from Adam, fighting her corner. That was sisterhood.
Samantha’s proposed 10km run to raise money for Refuge, had a ripple effect. It was the ball that set in motion a chain of events that she could not have been aware of. Mrs Troy’s memo about Ms McCall’s involvement with the Refuge also gave the obligatory information about the lovely work that the organisation continued to do. Staff of the firm were also encouraged to be pro-active in seeking out opportunities to give back to the community and develop themselves outside the office. It was the practice of Eldridge & Grey to assist staff, however it could. With the government’s gloomy predictions about what the recession would do to the country and legal aid consequently being cut, it wouldn’t hurt to be seen as pro bono-friendly; it helped foster their ties with their community, and staff personal development was also important. Shortly afterwards, Nadine got an email from Mrs Troy asking if she was interested in doing any pro bono work with the Refuge – after all, she had done a lot of work with the Rape Crisis Centre during her undergraduate days at Bristol University. The firm also had it on record that she loved this kind of work … or volunteering opportunity. She said so at her interview. When Eldridge & Grey checked, the Rape Crisis Centre had nothing but good things to say about Miss Nwaturuegwu. So, although it was by no means compulsory, it would be greatly appreciated, if she would consider giving of herself to Refuge. Any activities she carried out in that regard, could even contribute towards her Personal Development Portfolio, which Eldridge & Grey encouraged all staff to have. If she was interested, she could get more information from Ms McCall. As Nadine made out a cheque to Refuge – when someone informed you that they were trying to raise money for any cause, they didn’t normally do so because they wanted you to comment on how nice and altruistic they were – she thought this might be a sign.
Her first evening at Refuge went just as she had anticipated it would – horribly. She could not have asked for anything else. Making hot chocolate and keeping a fresh supply of biscuits for these women, as some told their stories at the meeting, would be unsettling for anyone. When Elena – a member of staff – saw her visibly upset and shaken, she asked her if she was alright. Nadine nodded; surely, that was the expected response. This thing that some people did in England where they asked “Is everything alright? Are you OK?” when they saw someone act or look a certain way, just made her want to scream sometimes. In Nigeria, they would just ask you outright, “What is the matter?” if they saw your countenance wasn’t what they assumed it should be. If someone looks distressed, of course something is the matter. Even a child in the midst of a full-blown tantrum does so because in their minds at least, something is wrong. So, what was the deal with adults? They didn’t just happen to switch personalities because they thought that acting like a cry-baby at 2pm in the afternoon – or whenever it is that you found them – was something they should do everyday. No, they are not OK.
But Nadine had said she was fine. Elena had no reason to believe otherwise. She probably thought Nadine’s shaking was due to vicarious trauma – the condition that caused a responder, mainly police and other professionals, to experience trauma symptoms similar to those suffered by a victim, after hearing about the abuse the victim has experienced. How was Elena to know that there was nothing empathetic about Nadine’s reaction? She wasn’t to know that these women’s stories resonated with her for truly personal reasons. That when a perfectly physically healthy Amy recounted how her boyfriend liked to tell her that she was ‘dumpy and fat’, she understood because she had been there? Actually, she was there – that was where she lived. Or that Louisa’s fear, as she told how her husband’s violence escalated when she got pregnant and did not abate after the birth of their baby, was something Nadine imagined each time her husband raped her? Or Kerry weeping, as she remembered how her ex-boyfriend made it a point of duty to isolate her from her friends and family, made Nadine remember her own reality. Tony had actually ordered her to stop talking to a particular chorister in their church. He claimed the woman, whom he barely knew by the way, was a bad influence … because she was single. And she would convince Nadine, who was gullible and easily influenced, to be disrespectful to him and to have affairs with all the men in the church. Even that when they all said how the abusers made excuses for their behaviour and had convinced them that the abuse was their victims’ fault, Nadine wondered how it was possible for any other human being to know exactly how she was feeling? That when some of the women said as far as they were concerned, the violence came out of the blues, Nadine finally knew she wasn’t going crazy?
Elena wasn’t to know that the shame she felt was so personal and so acute. Nadine was an educated woman. Most of these women came from council estates and some even spoke in broken English – whether it was the aftermath of the abuse they had suffered, or the fact that their own educational system had failed them, Nadine found it difficult to say. But she knew the assumption that domestic violence only happened to and with poor people, was wrong. It was a myth. The truth was that domestic violence knew no class; she was living proof of that. She wasn’t a woman on benefits. She was a well-educated, professional woman. She was married to a professional man, not an obvious lout who spent all his time at the local pub – as far as she knew, Tony didn’t drink. She wasn’t the product of a home torn apart by violence, crime or infidelity – she had been raised in a loving home, where people said they loved you and meant it. Her parents’ marriage was happy and it worked. From a young age, she had been primed to succeed in all that she did. So the shame she felt at finding herself in this situation she did not create, yet made her feel too paralysed to ask for help – there were no words to describe it.
That shame was all-consuming when Tony urinated on her. She returned from the Refuge meeting a bit later than she had anticipated. He was already in a mood and she tried not to antagonise him further. But he went berserk when he searched her bags and saw the Refuge letter-headed papers. He asked her who she thought she was and why she thought she could get away from him. When she said she had only gone to volunteer and showed him a print-out of the email Mrs Troy sent her, he hadn’t believed her. He slapped her, pushed her to the ground and kicked her. When she grabbed his leg instead of just shielding herself from the blows, as he was accustomed to, he was even more irate. He said that she now thought she could fight back, so he would show her. He raped her, and when he stood up, she thought that was all he had in mind. Until he urinated on her and called her a ‘filthy, disgusting, foolish creature’.
This new act of degradation made Nadine feel even more broken. She knew this had to be how Kiranjit Ahluwalia felt. But the erstwhile insignificant, little woman had gone on to gain her freedom and make legal history. No, she hadn’t done it alone and she had the power of sisterhood behind her, there for her and working for her. Nadine wondered how liberated and vindicated she must have felt. To say she hated Tony was an understatement. She wanted to hurt him, not out of revenge – she had no compulsion for vengeance. All she wanted was freedom.
When her husband sat down to breakfast alone the following morning, she wondered what would happen if she poured his morning tea over him. Or if she mixed anti-freeze with his cereal. Or rat poison in his dinner, that evening. She would watch him squirm and hurt. He would die a painful death. She would probably go to jail, but he would never hurt her again. She wasn’t sure that even then, she would be able to bring herself to admit the incident or the extent of the abuse, so if she was ever caught, they might think she did it for financial reasons. That the treatment she would receive would be very harsh, was almost guaranteed. But if she was a man … it was almost unbelievable, the discrepancies in the treatments given to men and women, even in this century. Even in this country that was supposed to be civilised. Ahluwalia wasn’t the only one. In 1990, Sara Thornton was jailed for life for the murder of her violent, alcoholic husband – she stabbed him once and called an ambulance, when he threatened to kill her and her daughter in their sleep. This was a man who had actually beaten her black and blue, in the presence of a neighbour, on one occasion – this led to a hospital admission, as he beat her unconscious. Then, there was 17year-old Emma Humphreys, in 1985 who served a 10-year sentence for killing her violent boyfriend and pimp, Trevor Armitage. In 1991, Joseph McGrail was told by a judge that “this woman would have tried the patience of a saint”, given a 2-year suspended sentence and walked free. McGrail killed his alcoholic wife who swore at him, by kicking her repeatedly in the stomach while she was drunk. Then there was Les Humes who stabbed his wife 12 times in 15 minutes in the presence of their children, after she confessed to an affair with her karate instructor. Although their teenage daughter told the court how she had tried to retrieve the knife as he repeatedly stabbed his wife, he got a 7-year sentence in 1992 because the Crown Prosecution Service downgraded the murder charge to manslaughter. Nadine was no Eve Ensler or Andrea Dworkin. She did not consider herself to be in the league of Marie Stopes, either. But she did wonder what it would feel like to be free.