The Forever Home by Sue Watson
Chapter Seventeen
‘I wonder if you should look at making things a bit safer here – CCTV or something, what do you think?’ Ryan said later that day when I’d finally calmed down.
‘That’s not a bad idea. I might be able to check on rat deliveries, and all the other weird stuff that’s been going on,’ I said.
‘Yeah, and being on your own here, you should have some kind of protection; you could be opening the door to anyone.’
‘You’re right, and it won’t be long before the photographers start turning up on the drive, now Mark’s gone big on his new “love story”,’ I said, rolling my eyes.
‘Yeah, if you get CCTV, you’ll be able to see most of the drive from inside the house.’ He paused, seemed to hesitate, then added, ‘And you can also see if someone’s letting themselves in.’
I felt a now familiar prickle of fear. ‘You mean at night?’
He looked at me, and nodded, very slowly.
In my mind I saw the sand prints on the floor, the broken hinge on the back door, shards of blue from the shattered vase… and that face at the window.
‘Yes, things can’t go on like this, I should get CCTV installed,’ I said, thinking how I could catch whoever it was, and call the police with evidence next time and they’d know I wasn’t mad.
‘I know someone who could install a security camera. He’d do it cheap, mates’ rates?’
‘Oh, okay, thanks. That sounds great, I don’t have much money so…’ I said, making a point, and thinking if he was a gold digger surely he’d be off now.
‘Good, I’ll call him, ask him to pop over tomorrow if he’s free?’
‘Thanks. I’m so grateful. I don’t know what I’d have done the past few weeks if you hadn’t been around,’ I said. ‘And I should point out, my life isn’t usually such a bloody rollercoaster – and I don’t normally burst into tears, receive rats in the post or rant into people’s voicemails.’
‘I know, I know,’ he said with a smile. ‘But do you usually threaten people over the phone with baseball bats?’
‘Oh – that. Well, yes, that I do partake of, on a regular basis,’ I said, laughing. ‘I usually borrow Jake’s; he has a selection of them in his room.’
‘I’ll try not to annoy you then.’ He paused. ‘Seriously though, if you’re scared, and you feel like you need some company, I can always stay over?’
Ryan shared a house in the village with his brother; he was a mile away at most, but the idea of having him staying over appealed to me – on many levels. But I was determined to take things slow and keep it casual. I wasn’t diving head-first into a relationship; what Ryan and I had was good and I didn’t want to think about anything more serious right now.
‘Thanks, but I don’t want you to just feel sorry for an old lady who might need protection,’ I teased.
‘Well, that’s exactly why I offered,’ he said, and I hit him with a cushion, which turned into a bit of a tussle, and we ended up kissing. And, in fact, Ryan stayed over that night, which made me very happy – so happy I almost forgot about strange notes and dead rats and sand prints on the floor of the living room. And for a little while, I didn’t even think about my husband and his new girlfriend holding hands on the TV and regaling perfect strangers with every aspect of their lives – and mine!
The following morning, Ryan’s friend Simon turned up to give me an estimate for CCTV. It wasn’t exactly cheap, but I agreed to it. I felt I had little choice, I needed some security. Simon was delighted, and said he’d pop back within the hour to install everything.
‘I don’t understand why you don’t just get on the TV yourself, tell everyone what Mark Anderson’s really like?’ Ryan said, as we ate sandwiches for lunch; he knew I was still seething over the TV interview Mark and Erin had done the previous day. I hadn’t dared look in the tabloids that morning; I could just imagine the headlines.
‘I agreed I wouldn’t. If I keep my mouth shut, I’ll get my house back. I have to be quiet until everything’s signed. This is my home, and it’s worth everything to me, even more than my reputation, I guess.’
He shrugged, ‘It doesn’t matter what people think, as long as those you care about know the truth. But I’m telling you, Carly, you wouldn’t get me lying for an ex.’
I put down my half-eaten sandwich, and pushed away the plate.
‘It’s complicated, Ryan,’ I sighed, ‘you don’t understand.’
‘Oh, okay,’ he said, finishing his sandwich and getting up from the table, clearing away the plates. ‘Sorry, I thought I did understand,’ he said, wiping his hands on a tea towel and going back outside to work.
I’d been slightly dismissive, and obviously hurt him, he’d been so supportive and listened to me, but the truth was, he couldn’t possibly understand. On paper, he was right, it seemed like I just put up with so much, and received nothing in return, but a union of two people over almost three decades is far more nuanced.
It’s hard to explain; he’d hurt me a handful of times in our marriage, and once was enough, but what I didn’t tell Ryan was that when he hit me a second time, I left him. He’d slapped me across the face because I’d complained about him coming home very drunk, and very late on our wedding anniversary. He’d booked a table, I’d booked a babysitter, and I’d sat waiting, in my new dress all evening, but by the time he came home at 11 p.m., it was too late. I was upset and angry, and I told him how I felt, and his response was to tell me I was a nag and whack me across the face with the back of his hand. I should have known after the first time that this was a pattern with him. But he’d convinced me, and I’d convinced myself that it wouldn’t happen again. So when it did, I knew he wasn’t going to change and wasn’t prepared to live with the fear of what he might do when he’d had a drink. It was so random, he was fine for months and then suddenly, from nowhere, this monster appeared.
So, the next morning, nursing a stinging cheek and a broken heart from the hard slap he’d given me, I packed up the car, and moved to the next town. Jake was tiny, and Phoebe was a toddler, and we stayed in an out-of-season holiday let for a few days, until Mark came to find us.
‘Come home,’ he’d said, in his kind, honeyed voice, ‘this is silly, darling. You and I can work through this. You know I didn’t mean to. I’m just stressed, I’ve been working too hard and you’ve been so busy with the kids, I felt neglected.’ I hated him for saying that. My children would always come first; how could I put a grown man before a baby and a toddler? I remember he tried to hug me, to cajole me, offered all kinds of promises about not doing it again, about ‘being a better man’. But I was adamant. I wasn’t buying any of it, and made that very clear, and when he realised he wouldn’t be able to get round me with kindness, he turned on me. He started by threatening to take the children off me, which I almost laughed at.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’m their mother. I’ll get custody – especially when I tell them you slapped me.’
He was, of course, horrified at the prospect of this getting out. ‘I can do far worse,’ he said darkly.
‘Mark, it doesn’t have to be like this. Me and the children can move back into the house, we’ll get an amicable divorce, and live our own lives. I can’t stay married to someone who hurts me. I won’t live in the same house as you.’
He’d just stood in silence, glaring at me, and I thought for a moment, I might just be able to negotiate this.
‘Look, if you let me stay in the house, I won’t tell anyone you hit me.’
‘You can say what you like, no one will believe you,’ he said.
He was probably right. I had no proof. He hadn’t left a mark on me; it was my word against his.
‘I’ll get custody and stop you seeing them,’ he said, emotion in his voice.
‘You wouldn’t get custody, and you can’t stop me seeing my own children.’
‘But, Carly, I can.’ I’ll never forget the look on his face, triumphant.
I didn’t understand, and looked at him, confused.
‘You’ll never be allowed to see them because I’ll tell the police all about how you killed your own mother.’
It was as if he’d raised a gun to my chest and shot me. I remember crumbling, falling to the floor. I was well and truly lost. Because what he’d said was true.