Monday 16th December 2019
Chrissy
Ethan had been in a terrible mood since Chrissy had questioned him about the gold ring on his computer screen two weeks before. He hated to be challenged. Wanted to act like the spotless one in their marriage, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. It amazed Chrissy how he could exist in two opposite states at the same time: behaving like a monster while seeming genuinely convinced he wasn’t one.
And now, he was furious that she had made salad for dinner. She’d made it because he’d announced over the weekend that they needed to start eating more healthily, all three of them, said Chrissy had to stop making stodgy pastas and so much red meat – was she trying to give them heart disease? But apparently, in the ever-changing rule book she was expected to understand, it was just as important that he ate a hot meal on a Monday, after a difficult day at work. He moved the salad around on his plate with the sharp tip of his knife, and she could feel the build of his temper, the charge in the air. His school had had the dreaded Ofsted call that morning. Three teachers were off with stress already. And Chrissy had served a fucking salad.
Leo was at the table too, glancing between his parents. Chrissy’s heart squeezed as he tucked into his dinner with forced gusto, telling her it was ‘nice, Mum, really, really nice’.
Ethan stopped eating entirely, shaking his head in disgust.
‘Why don’t you go have a pizza with Robbie?’ Chrissy said to Leo, as cheerfully as she could muster.
He looked worried. ‘This is fine, Mum.’
‘Oh, this can just be a starter! Go on, go hang out.’ She tried to flash him a reassuring smile. Go, she willed, as she always did when she sensed Ethan was about to erupt. Please just go and be with your friends.
Leo didn’t move. He frowned down at his plate, then back up at her, clearly confused about what she really wanted him to do. She nodded encouragingly, pleadingly, and he shrugged and stood up, picking up his plate.
‘I’ll clear up,’ Chrissy said. ‘See you later, love.’
He put the plate back down. With one last look at her, he went. He didn’t look at Ethan and Ethan didn’t look at him.
Chrissy breathed out as she heard the flat door close behind him. Ethan had never turned on Leo but it was always, always her fear. Dread replaced relief as the silence settled. Her mind started buzzing with all the things she could do to rescue the situation. Apologise? Grovel? Cook him something else? She ran on adrenaline, these days, trying to anticipate his reactions, dodge and deflect his moods. She caught herself shaking with it even when he wasn’t around.
You have to get out of this marriage. The thought grew bigger every day. Things were only getting worse, only going in one direction. But it felt so hard. So huge. He would come after her, use everything at his disposal, all the power and respect he did nothing to deserve. And everything was in his name. The pub, all of it. Even if she managed to get away, she’d have nothing. He would squash her like a fly and then he’d suck her back in and have even more reason to punish her.
‘So, he gets pizza, does he? Golden Boy?’
Chrissy closed her eyes. It was the thing that astonished her most, sometimes – that Ethan was even jealous of his own son. Had been since the moment he was born. Occasionally, she wondered if he suspected Leo wasn’t his, but other times, she thought, no, it’s not that, he just can’t stand that I love him more.
Ethan picked up the salad bowl and upturned it over her head. Pieces of lettuce and tomato fell all over her clothes, catching in her curls, homemade dressing dripping into her eyes and down her neck. He banged his fist on the top of the bowl, then walked off and left her sitting there, wearing it like a dunce’s cap.
After she had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Chrissy went to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. She smelled of the dinner nobody had finished. Strands of her hair were stuck together with oil and the crown of her head was throbbing. Leaning on the edge of the basin, she dissolved into heaving, humiliated tears, trying not to make any noise. When she was calm enough, she took off her messed-up jeans and fleece and put a dressing gown over her T-shirt.
Emerging from the bathroom, she looked towards the flat door. She could walk out, run to Alice’s, never come back. But what about Leo? This was his home, too. He had his A levels; so much going on. She had to hold on just for a while.
She became aware of Ethan murmuring in the living room, and turned that way with a frown. Was he on the phone? Who was he talking to? It seemed like he was ordering food – something about chicken, lobster? – but when she edged into the room he was sitting motionless in his green armchair, his mobile out of sight. His hands were splayed on each arm, legs crossed at the ankles. Chrissy approached him warily. ‘Shall I make us something else?’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, we haven’t got much in but I could pop out and—’
‘You’re clearly not going out, are you?’ He gestured at her dressing gown. ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’
Rage bubbled up, faster than she could stop it. ‘I’m only wearing this because you chucked salad all over me!’
There it was. Her big mistake. She made one at least once a week, these days. Her tongue was sore from biting it so often, yet still not often enough. He stood up and his hand flew out, hitting her across the face with one smooth whip-crack.
She stumbled onto the sofa. Her cheek flamed and her anger blazed even hotter. How dare he? How fucking dare he? So often she froze, but sometimes she went into fight mode, and both had the same outcome, she had come to realise, but she still never knew which she would go to in the moment. She howled as he leapt on top of her. Another slap across her face. Hands around her neck and nothing but terror now, struggling for her life, not her pride, kicking and pushing, but he was so much stronger. His left hand ripped open her dressing gown and the cord came out, flickering snake-like to the floor. Chrissy was panting. Was she screaming out loud or just inside her head?
And then she saw him. Leo, coming into the room. The horror in his eyes. His mouth moving but she couldn’t hear his words; she was close to fainting, Ethan’s hands still at her throat. Then suddenly there was blissful release, Ethan’s weight lifting off her, air rushing into her lungs. His face floated as if he was levitating. But he was spluttering, turning purple. As she came back to herself, she understood. The dressing gown cord was around Ethan’s throat and Leo was behind him, pulling, pulling, pulling.
‘Leo!’ she said. ‘No!’
Pulling, still pulling. Ethan went slack and rolled sideways, crashing to the floor. Leo froze, staring at him. Chrissy’s ears rang with a high-pitched tone.
‘Oh my God,’ Leo said, flinging away the dressing gown cord as though it had bitten him. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
He fell to his knees next to Ethan. Chrissy came to life and jumped up from the sofa. For a moment the whole room rotated and she thought she was going to be sick.
‘Oh my God.’ He was crouching over Ethan, trying to shake the life back into him. ‘Oh my God.’
Chrissy grabbed him and pulled him away. He crumpled against her and she held his head and rocked him as he howled. She glanced at Ethan and bile rose into her mouth. He was grey. He was gone. Just like that, he was gone.
She propped Leo up and looked into his eyes. ‘You need to go, Leo. I’ll handle this. Just go.’
‘No, Mum—’
‘Please. I love you so much. Please go.’
‘Where?’ He looked at Ethan and another strangled sob escaped. ‘How can I—?’
‘Go somewhere where there are other people. The rec or the chip shop or somewhere like that. Act normal. Be safe—’
‘I can’t. I can’t.’
‘You can.’ She held his face in her hands. ‘Leo, please, it needs to be now.’
‘But …’
‘It will be okay.’
He was still weeping as he got to his feet and she ushered him to the stairs, wiping his cheeks with her sleeve. ‘I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.’
‘I love you,’ he choked out, and then he ran.
She looked out of the front window and saw him hurrying across the square, pulling up his hood and disappearing into it. Her shoulders started shaking, her body convulsing with shock, but she breathed through it, cupping her hands around an invisible paper bag.
Then she stumbled through to the bedroom and grabbed her phone. ‘Call Alice’ was the first icon in her shortcuts screen. Alice had programmed it in herself: just one tap if you ever need me. Chrissy tapped it. Alice picked up on the second ring.