Sleeping in a car is not a comfortable experience for a man of my size. But I had no other option. If I didn’t leave my home of my own volition, I would have left in handcuffs and spent another night in a cell. A second criminal charge against me would not go down well with my employers.
There was no way I was going to knock on Jim’s door or my mother’s. That would have meant either facing up to the truth of my marriage or telling them more lies. Neither option sat well with me. I simply couldn’t handle the shame of admitting my situation to the two people in the world who knew me best. Correction: who thought they knew me best. The Andy Boyd they knew would not have sunk so low. No, I would have to rough it for a while until I could think of a way out.
With a ski jacket as my quilt, I half-sat, half-lay in the backseat of my car, in a car park near the beach. I had forgotten that this was a favourite place for local lovers to park and have a quick shag. Being a week night, it was fairly quiet, but those cars parked alongside me were skewers in the gut of my loneliness. Each sweep of headlights as another car drove in or out, each high-pitched giggle, each note from a squeaky suspension, reminded me of how unlucky I’d been in love. It seemed as if the whole world was happy apart from me. I could have moved and parked elsewhere, but I couldn’t think of another spot that I would not have been moved on from.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard: 10:05 p.m. It was still quite early. Not yet closing time over at Bridges’ Bar. I stepped out of the car and locked the door before realizing what I was doing. Five minutes later I was leaning against the bar, with a pint of lager in my hand.
I was onto my third or fourth pint within the hour when a man nudged past me. Just a little too heavily. It was clearly with a purpose. I turned to face whoever it was. It was Ken Hunter, Sheila’s husband.
He pushed his face into mine. ‘You shagging my wife?’ he hissed.
The wall behind us was three paces away. It took me a second to push him up against it. My hand at his throat. My teeth millimetres from his nose.
‘Ho, mate you cannae do that in here,’ someone shouted.
‘If you wankers are going to fight, take it outside,’ another voice shouted. Good suggestion, I thought and pulled at Ken’s jacket collar until we were out the door.
The next few moments were lost in a fury of punches and it only registered what I was doing when three men pulled me away.
One man said, ‘He’s had enough, mate.’ I tried to fight against the hands that were holding me, but they were too strong. ‘He’s had enough.’ The same voice. Quieter this time.
My vision cleared enough for me to see Ken curled in a ball under the window of the bar.
‘Prick put his wife in the hospital,’ I said.
‘Well, if you carry on, he’ll be in the bed beside her,’ one of the men said.
Now that the danger of more harm was over, Ken pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the wall. Chest heaving, he managed a smile. Wiped blood from his mouth with a sleeve. The expression on his face surprised me. He looked like someone who had just done something immensely satisfying. Mingled there was the fresh thought that he had a new enemy. He couldn’t have looked any happier if someone handed him the keys to a new car.
He blew me a kiss. ‘This isn’t over,’ he said.
‘Great. Any time you need your arse kicked, just give me a shout,’ I replied. I wasn’t spooked by his attitude. I knew I could take him anytime.
Back in the car, feeling my knuckles ache, I accepted that sleep was not happening. I sat up, pulling the jacket tight around me, and I considered the night’s events. I discounted Ken Hunter and concentrated on Anna. Could I have expected any other solution? Could I have done better? The police were adamant that I was the one to go. If I’d been in their position I wasn’t sure that I would have decided any differently. They did allow me to say goodnight to the boys before I left. When I entered their room the sight of them nearly undid me. I sagged to my knees, stifling a sob. How could I leave them in this house? I needed them with me.
The light shone in from the hall and it lit upon their two angelic faces, pressed together. Pat was in Ryan’s bed and was holding his little brother to his chest. He must have climbed in beside Ryan to offer some consolation. Judging by his posture, Pat would have been sitting up when he fell asleep, possibly determined to make sure that his father was all right before falling asleep. Sleep, however, had other ideas, and had caused him to slump, his head coming forward so that his cheek rested against his brother’s head.
Thoughts raced through my mind. I could take them both with me. My mother would take them in. I could slip Ryan into my big sports bag, but Pat would not be so easy to hide. Perhaps I could wake him up and tell him to sneak out later, when Anna was in bed. Get a grip, Boyd, I told myself. It was painful, but I had to admit that it was in the boys’ best interests to have as little disruption in their lives as possible at this point. But was I abdicating my responsibility by leaving them here? Never. I would fight with my last breath to make sure that my boys were safe.
‘Mr Boyd.’ A voice came from the stairwell, forcing me from my reverie. ‘I think you’d better go now.’
Feeling like I’d left part of my soul in that room, I walked out.
Constable Orr was at the bottom of the stairs. She read my expression. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered with an eloquent shrug.
Although I could understand her view and I appreciated the sentiment, I was in no mood to be polite. I managed a small nod of thanks and walked past. With my car keys in one hand and a suitcase in another, I walked out of my home. Anna’s stare burned into my back, but I didn’t acknowledge her presence. I wanted to scream at her; I wanted her to see how much pain I was in; I wanted her to count the tears that were sliding down my cheeks. But she would only have fed on them.
The Carnegie Library was but a book’s throw across the River Ayr from the bank. As I read the newspapers the next day my thoughts made the journey over the water several times. With inky fingers I rubbed my unshaven jaw. I couldn’t even go over there to find out what was happening. For one thing I was a mess and for another I wasn’t exactly their pet project. The thought occurred to me that I could run over, hang around outside and watch who came and went. I might learn something that way.
I walked up The Sandgate, keeping to the opposite side of the street from the bank. The doorway of a bookshop might prove a good vantage point. It was at a bus stop, so people wouldn’t question why if I hung about for a long time. Propped against a wall, I waited.
My feet were sore, my back ached and my stomach thundered. I needed a seat, a wash and a feed, but I couldn’t move. I had to wait and see if I could judge what was going on.
Two hours later and nothing of consequence had happened. Just a steady flow of the usual customers. It was just as well I was out of sight, for they might have thought I’d lost my mind.
Eventually, the sounds and sensation coming from my midriff won the war. I would have to find something to eat. There was the baker’s shop back down the hill or the sandwich shop across the road, two doors down from the bank. I decided to risk the latter. It was closer and I would miss less if I went there.
Just as I was about to enter the shop I heard a familiar voice.
‘Andy? Andy?’ It was Sheila. Shit. I didn’t want her to see me in this state. It was too late, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear her, she would only follow me into the shop. I turned round.
‘Hi, Sheila. How are you?’
‘Fine, Andy. More to the point, how are you?’ She looked me up and down, her eyebrows tight with alarm at my appearance.
Noticing that we were causing a bit of a jam in the doorway, we stepped to the side.
‘Andy, I am so sorry about what happened.’ For a moment I thought she was talking about Anna and me. She continued speaking. ‘That bastard Campbell, I can’t believe he treated you like that. You’re worth ten of him. How dare he?’
Sheila’s indignant words worked on me like a talisman. I straightened my back.
‘Does everyone know?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she answered. ‘Mr Tact and Diplomacy made sure of that. I swear, that man should be shot.’
‘What’s the general consensus among the staff?’ Any occurrence of wrongdoing in any of the branches I’d worked in had always caused a queasy atmosphere. Trust in your colleagues was paramount where a good deal of money was concerned and any theft would create an atmosphere of disquiet and ill-feeling. Particularly if the person involved was management.
‘No one can believe you were involved. Everyone thinks that you were somehow taken in by Malcolm.’
‘Malcolm. Where the hell is he?’
Sheila shrugged. ‘No one knows. His mother said he was away down to London to see some friends.’
‘What does Regional Office think?’ Their opinion was the crucial one; my future at the bank would hinge on it.
‘I’m not so sure. They reckon that about five thousand has gone missing. They know you and Malcolm were involved…’ She let the implicit consequence of that hang in the air.
‘I’ve done nothing. Believe me, Sheila. Nothing.’ My stomach let out a rumble that not even a passing bus could mask.
‘Hungry?’ Sheila asked with a smile.
I nodded. She looked me over again. Her eyes taking in my unshaven chin, my creased clothes and no doubt the shadows under my eyes.
‘Try not to take it so hard.’ Sheila reached out and held my forearm. I winced as she inadvertently pressed on a bruise. Pulling my arm back, I looked away. Trying, but failing, to hide my discomfort.
‘There’s more isn’t there? Andy, what’s going on? You’re a … mess. You look as if you’ve slept in the back of a van.’
I said nothing, I just stood staring at the ground, wondering what I should say. Wondering what sort of lie I could come up with.
‘There are two things men tend to get in bother with. Booze and women. I can’t smell any booze, so it must be…’ She paused. ‘You had to find the truth out eventually.’
‘Find out? Find out what?’ What a strange thing for her to say.
Her hand flew to her mouth, ‘Oh shit, you haven’t … something else has happened.’
‘Sheila, you’d better tell me what’s going on.’ My voice sounded harsh, even to me.
‘You shouldn’t find out this way.’
‘Sheila?’ I stepped closer.
‘Right, but don’t shoot the messenger. There’s a rumour going round the branch that Anna’s been seeing someone else…’ Sheila was staring at her shoes.
‘No … no … nonsense.’
‘Everyone thinks that’s why you haven’t been yourself recently.’
‘Crap, absolute crap. When would she have the fucking time? Who started this shit?’
‘Toni Rodgers is friendly with one of your neighbours and she said she saw a man coming out of your house late one night and it wasn’t you.’
‘No. Don’t believe it. Toni Rodgers is a gossiping wee cow. I know Anna’s guilty of lots of things but sleeping with another guy? She wouldn’t do that. Especially with the boys in the house. And where was I? Watching I presume.’
‘It would have been around the time we were in Campbeltown.’
‘Sheila, how could you listen to this crap? You don’t believe it do you?’
‘Andy, I’m just repeating what I heard. I saw you looking a mess, put two and two together and thought it was all true. I’m really sorry. You’ve got enough on your plate without this. C’mon, I said I was sorry.’ She held my arm, her face pointed up at mine.
‘No, I don’t believe it. Anna wouldn’t do that.’
‘Okay, okay. But something is definitely not right between you.’
I opened my mouth to speak.
‘No,’ Sheila said. ‘You don’t need to explain anything. Unless you really want to. But you’re coming home with me to get some food, a good wash, a long sleep.’
‘What about your work?’ I took a step back from her. She didn’t need this. Me.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll just put some food on a plate for you. Don’t be expecting cordon bleu, and then I’ll go back to work. Leave you to shower and sleep.’ From her tone, she would brook no argument, so I gave in. Besides, everything she offered sounded extremely welcome.
Steam billowed from the plate of soup Sheila placed before me. Sandwiches too many in number tumbled off another plate. Sheila watched me eat, a smile of pleasure on her face.
‘What?’ I asked self-consciously.
‘Nothing … I’ve just never seen anyone attack a plate of soup and sandwiches with such relish.’
‘Starving…’ I mumbled through a mouthful of bread and ham. Realising that I was probably looking a little odd, I slowed down.
‘Anyway,’ Sheila stood up, ‘I’d better be going back to work. There’s a clean towel in the bathroom. You can have one of my disposable razors; no foam I’m afraid. I’ve put the dog in the kitchen so he doesn’t pester you. Help yourself to the couch.’
Her kindness moved me. Nearly choking on another mouthful, all I managed to say was ‘Thanks.’
I was awakened by the sound of Sheila’s key in the door. It felt as if my head had just rested on the cushion for a moment. The light on the VCR read 17.20. I’d been asleep for hours.
‘Hey sleepy.’ Sheila entered the room. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. Things got a bit hectic this afternoon.’ Barking sounded from the kitchen.
‘Better go and get him first,’ said Sheila with a smile. She returned with the dog winding itself around her legs. He noticed me and came over for a sniff.
‘Was anything said about me today?’ I patted his soft fur.
‘No, nothing. Roy knows we’re friends. He wouldn’t tell me anything unless it was to your detriment. So things can’t be too bad.’ She smiled, hoping to pass on some reassurance. ‘Hungry?’
‘No I’m fine thanks.’ I couldn’t quite relax now that Sheila was home. This was her refuge from the world; she didn’t need me cluttering it up.
‘Oh.’ She looked genuinely disappointed. ‘That’s a shame cos I’ve brought home a Chinese for us.’ I noticed a white plastic bag in her right hand.
‘Well, if you’ve gone to the bother…’
Our meal was peppered with the occasional sentence. For the most part we ate in silence. Sheila would offer titbits from the office and I listened, with only the odd grunt to signify that I was taking part in the conversation.
After one long silence, Sheila asked, ‘How are the boys?’
‘Fine.’ I’d been trying not to think about them. Pat would have realised by now that something was not quite right, unless Anna had come up with a reason for my absence. Ryan would mercifully be none the wiser. Normally, it was on my return that Ryan would notice that I’d been gone, judging by his ebullient welcome.
‘Sorry.’ Sheila realised that she’d said the wrong thing.
‘It’s okay,’ I rushed to reassure her. ‘I’m just … It’s … I miss them.’
‘Don’t worry about them, Andy. You’ve got enough on your plate. They won’t know anything about what’s going on. They’ll be fine.’
‘I know. A Disney video, some toys, some junk food … who needs a father, eh?’ I closed my eyes, fighting back the emotion. ‘I can’t let them down, Sheila … I can’t.’ I could feel a tear slide down my cheek.
‘Andy,’ she said softly. I swallowed. Her kindness was not what I needed right now. I stood up.
‘Please, Sheila. I’ll be fine.’
I felt warm, dry skin envelop my hand. Sheila was holding it with both of hers. Her eyes shone with empathy. I slumped onto the table. My head in my hands, years of sorrow, fear and shame flowed onto the heels of my palms. My shoulders shook. Now that I’d started I didn’t think I could stop. Resting my head on the table top, I crossed my arms across my stomach and rocked. The pain threatened to engulf me. Instead of fighting it, I went into it. I gave myself up to the hurt, accepted my part in the whole sorry mess and realised for the first time that I was not wholly to blame. And then I wept for Anna. For the love we had. For the stranger she had become.
The love that still flickered deep in my heart.
As I rocked and wept a part of me looked on, disjointed from the experience. He felt that this was happening to a stranger. He felt Anna’s hand on my shoulder and ordered me to stop. To calm down. I ignored him. As sure as rain washes silt from the land, I knew that I needed this release. I knew that I wouldn’t move on without it. Time then, to put aside years of conditioning, to cast them off like a cloak of concrete and admit my failings. Because I wouldn’t get my life back unless I did.
None of this, though, made it any easier to meet Sheila’s gaze.
I rubbed at a cheek with the back of my hand. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t know what got into me there.’
Sheila raised her eyebrows slowly. ‘I think you do and it doesn’t make you any less of a man for admitting it.’
I smiled weakly. ‘I can’t remember the last time I did this.’
Sheila handed me a hankie. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak yet.
‘Take your time.’ Sheila squeezed my shoulder.
I looked at the meal, managed a laugh. ‘Sorry about the food, looks a bit waterlogged.’
‘Forget about the food, I wasn’t really hungry anyway.’ She pushed the tinfoil containers to the other side of the table and turned to face me. Her silence urged me to speak.
I told her everything.
Every beating, every slur, every act of humiliation.
As I talked I questioned why I had put up with Anna’s behaviour. Hearing the words out loud made her actions more repugnant and I wondered at my own sanity and how I had not realised before now the damage Anna was causing.
‘My wife beats me.’ I looked at Sheila. ‘Do you understand the importance of me saying that?’
Sheila nodded. ‘Who more than me could understand that, Andy?’
‘I … I can’t believe I put up with it. What kind of man puts up with that?’
‘One who’s aware of his own strength. One who doesn’t want to stoop to that level. Don’t blame yourself, Andy. Anna is manipulative, scheming and very clever. Lots of people would have been taken in by her.’
‘But I convinced myself it was my fault. My fault.’ I punched my chest for emphasis. ‘Anna only beat me because I fucked up, she only beat me when I deserved it…’ I looked at Sheila, she was nodding.
‘You?’
‘Yes, it was just the same for me. He … I can’t even bring myself to say his name. He made me feel it was all my fault. He was very clever. Just like Anna.’
‘What makes people behave like that?’
‘It’s power, Andy. Look at any form of abuse and it’s one person asserting their power over another.’
‘But what makes people do that shit?’ And in my imagination I heard my question echo through the mind of every bruised soul in the country.
‘Who knows? Perhaps they were victims once themselves; perhaps they are just plain evil.’ Silence. We each absorbed what the other said.
‘How did you get out?’ I asked.
‘First, I saw sense. Realised that unless I got out one of us would die.’ This last sentence reverberated around my skull. How close had I come to that? How close could I still come? ‘Then I called a women’s refuge, called the police, got him chucked out, went on the Prozac and got on with my life.’
In just a few words, quietly spoken, Sheila had described a series of actions that must have taken immense courage. If I wanted out, I would have to find the same strength.
‘But I can’t walk away. What about my boys? The mum always gets the kids, doesn’t she? I leave Anna and I say goodbye to them forever. The bitch knows how much they mean to me. She’ll do everything in her power to keep them from me. And what about the house? That’s my home. Why should I leave that? I’ve been there for years. First with Pat and then with … What am I going to do?’
‘Andy, you can’t let yourself get bogged down. You were doing so well a moment ago. Breathe slowly.’ I breathed slowly. ‘Right, I’m a firm believer in action. Action replaces worry. You have to concentrate on the solution, not the problem. Concentrate on a solution. What can you do to make things better?’
I could see where Sheila was going with this. Hope sent an extra pulse through my veins.
‘What did you do? The police: been there, no help. Phone a refuge. They might not have a place for a man, but maybe they could tell me where to go. Then I could see a lawyer, see what they’ve got to say.’ I stood up and walked around the table. Sheila was right, action was the key. ‘Where’s your phone?’
‘Up there on the wall.’ She pointed to a space above the fridge.
‘Where’s the number of this refuge?’ I asked. Sheila pulled a small book decorated with flowers, from a drawer. She flicked through some pages and showed me a number.
‘Em,’ I began nervously, ‘I wondered if you could help me.’
‘Yes,’ a female voice answered.
‘Well, I’m staying with a friend at the moment and I need to know where I can go for help.’
‘Yes?’ Suspicion heightened the woman’s tone.
‘You see…’ Swallowing, I forced myself to admit my source of shame to a stranger, ‘My wife has been beating me…’
‘Fuck off you sick bastard.’ The woman raged in my ear. ‘Do you think you’re funny? We have women here with real problems. Go on, piss off and don’t bother us again or I’ll report you to the police.’
Dazed I hung up.
Sheila grimaced, she’d heard every word. ‘I should have realised.’
‘Realised what?
‘You’re a man. She sees abused women every single day of her life. You’re the root cause of every catastrophe that woman has ever experienced or heard. No wonder she gave you abuse.’
‘But all I want is help.’
My newfound energy had been consumed by the woman’s anger. Crushed, I limped over to the chair and sat down.
‘Don’t fall at the first obstacle, Andy. What else can we do?’
‘Don’t know. The police don’t want to know. The refuge doesn’t want to know…’
‘You can try a lawyer in the morning.’
‘Yes, I’ll probably need one for work anyway.’
‘And what about work?’
‘What about it?’
‘What solution can you come up with there?’ Sheila spoke more forcefully now.
‘Don’t know.’
‘Come on, Andy. Don’t let the bastards beat you. Who’s the root of the problem?’
‘Malcolm.’
‘And?’
‘That’s because no one has made any real effort to find him. Do you know where he lives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I suggest you get round there in the morning and wring the wee shit’s neck until you get a confession.’