Lottie put her laptop into the largest of the three bags and stood at the door to watch for the taxi. The kids were both perched on the sofa with coats, gloves and scarves, looking a little bewildered. As the taxi appeared, Lottie checked around to make sure no one was watching the house, then she carried the children and the bags into the taxi and they drove off.
She should have walked out the first time Craig hit her, but with a second baby on the way she’d been uncertain what she would do and how she could support them. And she feared that it had been her fault. Craig worked hard. Had she sometimes made things tough for him? Being alone in the house all day with a child made her long for company. Had she asked too much of him when he came back home?
Things seemed to have become easier with her baby inside her. No doubt Craig was worried about harming the unborn child, so lashed out less with his fists and more with his tongue. Often he would try to make amends, holding out his arms and enveloping her in a hug. She flinched as he stepped towards her, never sure he wasn’t going to grab her by the throat.
‘I’m sorry, Lottie. Darling, I’m sorry. It’s not my fault. I can’t help it. I’m tired and sometimes it just happens.’ For a while she believed him.
She’d been home from the hospital for seven weeks when he hit her again. He hit her because the new baby was wailing and she couldn’t stop it. He walked out and stayed away for two days, stayed at his mother’s, most likely. And that was his mistake. The empty house showed her how things could be, how she could be alone with the children. She knew it was her job to look after them, to nurture them and to give them every conceivable chance, and she couldn’t do that if she lived in fear.
It took her a year to organise, talking to people, making phone calls, getting help and plucking up the courage. And now she’d done it. Here was the rest of her life. And she was going to play it by her rules.