23

Elise

The day my husband hits me puts my plans back, but that he can beat me when Niamh is in the house makes me even more determined to get her away from him. Just leave, my heart tells me. Get out, while you can, before he does it again—or worse. But there’s another part of me, which has been subdued too long, that’s growing louder all the time. Andrew deserves to pay.

When DS May came to the hospital, I almost told her everything about my life—my husband’s abuse, my son’s death, my fears for Niamh. There’s something in the way she speaks to me that tells me she understands. But having experienced the force of Andrew’s anger, I can’t take the risk of his beating me again. Andrew needs to be seen for what he is. Until then, I have to let him believe he’s won.

I’m not sure how many people believe I’ve fallen. A psychologist comes to the ward, under the impression I have a drinking problem. I wonder if that was prompted by Andrew, too—another seed of my intended destruction sown, while my husband waits to reap his rewards.

When Andrew comes to the hospital, my body physically recoils at the sight of him, bile rising in my throat, so that it’s all I can do to stop myself from throwing up.

“Say anything to the police, and I’ll do worse,” he whispers after DS May leaves us together. “You’ll never walk again, Elise. Your legs...” He casts his eyes down my body. “Do you know what it would take to damage ligaments, snap bones? How easy it would be to make it look like an accident?” But he doesn’t have to tell me. I already know what he’s capable of.

Standing at the foot of my bed, he tells me. “I’ve contacted the rental agency.”

I feel my eyes widen with shock.

“I told them you’d had a change of heart. Oh, and I said you felt bad about letting them down and not to worry about refunding your money.” He even fakes a chuckle. “I explained that I was your doctor as well as your husband, and that you’d had a repeat of a psychotic episode. To be honest, I think they were relieved I’d told them. They think I’ve saved them a whole load of problems.”

At his smug smile, I see what I haven’t seen before. In Andrew’s warped, twisted mind, he believes his own lies.

Left alone, I lie on my side, gazing out of the window over the rooftops, broken here and there by branches of trees wearing the pale green of spring. Before long, the first swallows will arrive, their dainty shapes carving graceful arcs across the sky. But right now, it’s hard to find any beauty in my life. At this moment, I’d give everything I have, trade our big country house for a two-bedroom semi on a housing estate, if I could get away from him.

If it was just Andrew and me, I’d kill him. If I had to spend the rest of my life inside, so be it. It couldn’t be any worse than living with him. But I can’t even do that. Niamh needs at least one parent who cares about her well-being. It isn’t my life I’m thinking about—not anymore. It’s hers.