The Family Across the Street by Nicole Trope

16

Katherine

Her twins are very different children and Katherine often thinks about who they’ll be when they grow up. George is quiet and thoughtful. He sticks to the rules and always has done. He walked after Sophie did, but he never had any of the bruises and bumps she ended up with. Sophie rushes at life, leaping first and thinking and looking later. It’s why she’s already getting into trouble at school while George would never dream of disobeying his teachers or breaking a rule.

‘Why would you have taken the dolls to school if you knew that they were not allowed?’ she asked her last night.

‘How come marbles are allowed but not my dollies? Marbles are boring,’ was her petulant reply.

Katherine didn’t quite know how to answer that. Sophie was right. Rules can be very arbitrary. But she needs to learn to take her time, to think things through, and this is what Katherine has been trying to teach her – to try and anticipate the consequences of her actions. She knows she is failing at this but it has never really mattered as much as it does today.

The blood is only seeping a little now and she thinks it could have been much worse. George has taken the blame for Sophie but her impulsive daughter could have really been hurt.

Think, think, think, she instructs herself. Is it possible that this is the worst he will do to them? Will he leave now or at least let them leave?

When the bell rings and Sophie leaps off the sofa to run to the door, she doesn’t even have time to open her mouth before he goes after her, spitting, ‘Don’t you dare move,’ at her as he leaves the room.

Katherine sits, her body hot and cold, with her arm around George. She hears Sophie shout, ‘Ow!’ and then there is silence. When he returns, he is holding her in one arm, his hand covering her mouth as she struggles and kicks. Because he doesn’t have enough of a hold on her, he drops her and then, in a fury at losing control, he shoves her down onto the floor where she bursts into noisy tears.

‘Stop!’ shrieks Katherine. But he is already right next to her, the gun in his hand touching her temple.

‘Shut up, shut up, all of you. You need to shut up. And you better not have said anything to him.’

Katherine looks at him, bewildered. ‘Who?’

‘The delivery guy from this morning. He really wants you to take that computer,’ he says. ‘Shut up, Sophie, or I swear to God…’

‘Please, Sophie… please, sweetheart,’ she begs her daughter, ‘just be quiet, okay? It’s okay, Mum’s here, Mum’s—’

‘Oh my God, you never shut up. Why do you never shut up?’ he asks as though the pain of hearing her speak is actually physical. He pulls at his hair and rubs his chin, frustration in the movement.

‘Sophie,’ says Katherine, the word a warning. She needs her to stop.

Sophie closes her mouth and Katherine can see her biting down on her lip to keep quiet. She climbs back onto the sofa, rubbing her arm where she landed on the carpet. Katherine pulls her children close to her, holding tight. Their bodies are damp with sweat as is her own. The air conditioner cannot blow away their terror.

‘Now listen to me,’ he begins, menace in every word, ‘if anyone tries anything stupid like that again, this is what’s going to happen.’ He picks up Sophie’s stuffed monkey that has fallen on the floor and shoves the gun into his waistband, and then they watch as he pulls at the stuffed toy, grunting with the effort of it until the head rips off nearly completely. It’s a display of power, a show for himself, an ugly demonstration of what he’s capable of.

I don’t know this person. Perhaps I have never known him.

‘Oh, my baby,’ wails Sophie and it is the utter despair in her young child’s voice that forces Katherine off the sofa, her body standing without any thought, just a need to show him that he cannot keep doing these things to them. And as she moves, she is aware that the gun is not in his hand but in the waistband of his pants and she has just this moment to try and get it from him if she is quick enough.

Make a noise. Make some noise.

She shouts as she moves, hoping to distract him enough so that she can go for the gun.

‘How could you? How could you? It’s her favourite toy. That’s awful, you’re awful. What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?’

As she gets to him, he looks up and she lunges – not for the toy as he first thinks but for the gun.

Her hand goes around his waist and he shouts, ‘Hey!’ and drops the monkey, then he grabs her arms and pushes her away.

She falls backwards and he looms over her. She starts to stand up and he grabs her hand.

‘Just what do you think you’re going to do here?’ he hisses and he bends her wrist backwards, forcing her to sink to her knees as he bends it further and further back. The pain shoots through her hand and arm and she cannot even voice it. He keeps bending it, pleasure on his face at the agony he is causing and then there is a pop sound, a crack, and he lets go. She drops onto the floor and lies there for a moment. Her body is a mass of tingling nerve endings, the pain forcing her breath from her lungs. There is a buzzing sound in her head; a hot flush of pain covers her body in sweat. But she needs to get up. She needs to get up and sit next to her children. She cannot believe they’ve had to see something like this, that they are witness to such a thing. But she knows she needs to get up because even though she has not succeeded in getting the gun, she still needs to find a way to save them. The scissors are still between the seat cushions, but if she tries to do anything and he stops her, what might he do with the scissors?

Get up, Katherine. Get up!

She moves awkwardly, cradling her wrist as she wriggles up onto her feet and then sits down next to George and Sophie. Both children have been stunned into silence. They are staring at him, their mouths open.

‘See what happens?’ he says casually and then he goes to stand by the window. ‘It’s hot in here. Why haven’t you got this air conditioner fixed?’

‘I should have, I know.’ Katherine takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself, to slow her beating heart.

He pushes open the window and hot air from outside rushes in so he closes it again.

‘Can I get Mum an ice pack?’ George asks quietly.

‘What?’ he says.

‘When I fell down and hurt my knee, Mum put an ice pack on it and it felt better. Can I get one from the kitchen for her?’ A carefully asked question, uncertainty in every word.

‘It’s okay, George,’ she says. The air in the room feels thicker, heavier and harder to breathe in and out. Pain in her wrist ricochets around her whole body as she trembles in an effort to stay upright when all she wants to do is lie down.

‘Can I?’ George repeats, determined to do this one thing. George is a thinker, a planner, and as she watches him, she understands that her son is the key to the children being saved. She cannot see how she can make it out of this alive but if she can figure something out and somehow communicate it to George, then that is all that matters.

‘Fine, whatever,’ he says, bored with anyone else’s pain.

George darts from the room and returns quickly with a soft ice pack that he drapes over her swelling wrist and hand with delicate care.

‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ she says and he nods.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he says.

‘It’s not your fault, baby,’ she replies as tears begin to course down his cheeks.

‘But it is,’ says George.

‘No, George,’ he says, his voice soft, almost kind, but his teeth are clenched, his top lip curled, ‘it’s not your fault. In fact, if it’s anyone’s fault at all, it’s hers. She’s the one to blame for everything that’s happened here today. Blame her, blame Mumma.’