25
Elise
No one knows what someone else’s marriage is like. Just as there are 256 shades of the color gray, there are as many permutations of the expectations we all have, of our ideas about what’s right. But at the same time, most of us know what’s wrong.
The thought reminds me of the headline in the magazine on one of my last flights. Only ten percent of people are good. Out of the ninety percent that aren’t, I imagine most of them are ignorant rather than bad. But that’s not the same as the percentage who know something’s wrong and calculatedly do it anyway—like Andrew. And unless I do something to protect Niamh, it’s the category where I belong, too.
Either I maintain a status quo where my daughter sees her mother verbally abused and periodically beaten by her father, or I leave. Most women would think me weak for staying this long. For them, the decision would be easy. They wouldn’t understand that in so many ways, it’s easier to stay, but they haven’t lived for years with someone who’s controlled their every move, crushed their self-esteem, made them believe they’re worthless. It’s why I love my job. Away from here, behind my uniform and mask of makeup, no one knows who I am.
While Niamh is at school, I start doing what I meant to do before Andrew’s attack on me. I begin with my clothes, packing what I need, then carrying the cases downstairs, before going to Niamh’s room. The bracelet I brought back from Morocco lies on her dressing table, as yet unworn, in front of a photo. Picking it up, I study it. It’s an old photo, from two or three years ago, of herself, Hollie, and Dylan.
I don’t even know if Niamh is grieving; whether she still misses her brother. I was too lost in my own pain to help her deal with hers; I didn’t support her after he died. Maybe in spite of his behavior, she really does love her father; because like me, this is all she knows.
But when I start to pack some of her things, I suddenly work out why she refused to leave with me; why she told Andrew I’d rented the cottage. With blinding shock, I realize Andrew’s got to her. She’s heard him say it so many times that she believes his lies. Niamh thinks I was the one who killed Dylan.
* * *
After I receive a phone call telling me the address of a cottage where Niamh and I are booked in to stay for a while, the rest of the day seems interminable. Knowing we’re leaving, I have no interest in anything here. In the end, I wander outside, but even the appearance of more roses, the hint of color on the wisteria that grows up the house, are meaningless to me. As I wait on tenterhooks for Niamh to come home, I’m terrified also that any minute, Andrew will turn up here.
Several times, I try to call DS May, needing to hear a reassuring voice, but it goes to voicemail. Finally, I hear the school bus slow down, then pull away, and relief washes over me as Niamh’s slender figure walks up the drive. By the time she reaches the door, I have a lump in my throat at the prospect of what I have to tell her. None of this was what I wanted for her.
As she walks in, I swallow. “Hi.”
Her eyes briefly flicker to me as she continues toward the stairs.
“Niamh? I need to talk to you.” My hands are shaking as I take one of hers and lead her over to the table, feeling sick, even though I haven’t been able to eat. Pulling out a chair for her to sit on, I perch on another. “We can’t stay here, Niamh. The police have found us somewhere to stay for a while. It may only be for a few days. But your father and I can’t be together. The police have kept him in. What he’s done to me—to both of us, is a criminal offense.”
“If he’s being kept there, why do we have to leave here?” Her face is suddenly pinched.
“The police say we have to. We’ll come back, I promise you. But I don’t know how long the police will keep your father there. Until I’ve talked to a lawyer, we have to go somewhere else, where we’ll be safe.” I pause for a moment. “I’ve packed some of your things. Why don’t you check that I have everything?”