wasn’t good enough quality, the wine was a lousy year. The house was too warm or too cold. Then it got more personal. Apparently I needed a haircut or a pedicure or a whole new wardrobe. In bed, I was too demanding, too passive or too critical of his performance. Never mind walking on eggshells. I felt as if I was encased in them from head to toe. I felt anxious and apprehensive all the time I was with him. And of course, when someone you love constantly finds fault, it’s hard not to feel at fault.
Looking back at it now, I can see it was all about power and control. Pete could only see my friendship with Scarlett in terms of himself. Every evening I spent with her was, in his eyes, undermining our relationship. Why would I rather be with someone he despised when I could be sitting alone at home waiting for him to possibly show up? But at the time, I was bending over backwards to see his point of view. He worked hard and when he had free time, he wanted to spend it with me. That was an advance on a lot of the men I’d tried to have relationships with over the years. And he was still capable of moments of tenderness and humour, moments that transcended the unpleasantness and convinced me that yes, it was all my fault.
But once I’d established a work routine out at Scarlett’s, Pete’s aggression began to escalate. If I wasn’t around when he was free and wanted to be with me, he would send snotty texts. I’d told him he was welcome at the hacienda, but he sneered at the idea. ‘Why would I want to spend my nights in a witches’ coven?’ was one of his responses. ‘You witches did your voodoo on Joshu. I’m not giving you the chance to do it on me.’
All of that I could put up with. I actually felt sorry for him. There must be a reason why someone who could be so loving it was almost smothering could also be that harsh. And the only reason I could think of was damage. Which meant I forgave him, time and time again. In my head I scolded myself for being so lacking in compassion.
It’s what abused women – and children – do all the time. They find a mechanism to blame themselves, partly because they’re innately kind and partly because that’s what the abuser inculcates in them as the appropriate response. I blamed myself for Pete’s anger.
But when he started shouting at me every time I didn’t match up to his impossible standards, I came to my senses. I’m a lucky woman, you see. I was brought up in a house where the adults respected each other. And they brought me up to respect myself. And I knew that Pete had crossed a line. Whatever history he was working out here had taken him too far. I tried to explain this to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept on yelling. I belonged to him and I was going to have to learn how to behave. I was going to stop hanging around with those lesbian bitches. I was going to have to toe the line. Or else. It was scary. I really thought he was going to hit me. I’d never felt like that in my adult life.
I walked out. I walked out of my own house and got in my car and drove away. Of course I went to the hacienda. It was the easiest option. I’d already complained to Scarlett and Leanne about Pete’s unreasonable behaviour. If I’d gone to any of my other friends, I’d have had to explain the whole story, and I didn’t have the energy for that. One night, I thought. I’ll stay for one night and I’ll go back in the morning. I knew Pete was due in the studio the next day. Even if he stayed all night, he’d have to be gone by ten at the latest.
Scarlett was depressingly unsurprised to see me. ‘I could see this coming,’ she said. ‘He’s a bully, that one. Surly bastard, and all. I remember that time I dropped you off and he was waiting on the doorstep. Face like a slapped arse.’
‘Are you finishing with him?’ Leanne asked, putting the kettle on. We were trying to wean Scarlett – and ourselves – off the Prosecco and back on to the great Northern panacea of Yorkshire tea.
I could feel tears welling up. ‘I don’t want to. But I can’t put up with this.’
‘It’s like he wants you behind bars, waiting for him to come home and free you,’ Scarlett said.
‘Prisoner of love,’ Leanne intoned. ‘You could sell your story to a magazine.’
‘I don’t want to
‘Not like me, then,’ Scarlett said with a chuckle. ‘Fuck him, Steph. You’re worth a dozen of him. Just like you’re always telling me. You won’t find Mr Right with Mr Totally Fucking Wrong blocking the light.’
I wasn’t scared about going back the next morning. I thought Pete would have come to his senses and calmed down. But Scarlett was concerned. ‘You’ve led a sheltered life, you have,’ she said. ‘Where I grew up, toerags like Pete were ten a penny. Think they own you. Think you were put on the planet for their benefit. Tossers like him, they don’t let go easily. You’ve got to be prepared for it to get worse before it gets better.’
I wasn’t paying much attention. I thought I knew best. But when it came to men behaving badly, I had no idea.
24
The first shockwas that Pete was still there. His carwas parked outside my house and the bedroom curtains were still closed at half past ten. ‘That doesn’t look good,’ Scarlett said. ‘I thought you said he was supposed to be at work this morning?’
‘That’s what he said.’ But it looked as though he’d changed his mind. Or I’d changed it for him.
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
To be honest, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go in at all. Pete’s rage had unsettled me as well as frightened me. That he was still there indicated I’d been wrong about him getting over his tantrum. I didn’t want to confront that anger again. Ever. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life. In my head, I was finished with him. No amount of contrition could undo those moments of unchained fury and the promise of violence they held. ‘Let’s wait a bit,’ I said.
‘OK.’ Scarlett reclined the seat and closed her eyes. Since Jimmy’s birth, she’d developed the enviable habit of being able to catnap anywhere, at any time. I might be on tenterhooks. But Scarlett was asleep within a couple of minutes. I listened to the radio and her soft snores, trying to slow my own breathing to her rhythm.
It was almost eleven when the front door swung open and Pete emerged. Even from a distance, he looked wild-eyed and unshaven. As shocking as his appearance was the fact that he left the front door wide open behind him as he hustled down the path and into his car. The tyres screeched as he shot away, rousing Scarlett from her slumber.
‘Wassup,’ she grumbled. ‘Wassit?’
‘Bastard,’ I said, already halfway out of the car.
She caught me up on my doorstep. ‘He left the door open?’
‘Obviously hoping for some passing burglar,’ I said bitterly over my shoulder as I walked in. Then stopped short. The hallway looked like the burglary had already happened. And a pretty spiteful one at that. Pictures had been stripped from the walls and dropped to the floor. Broken glass and fragments of frames were trodden into the carpet. A couple of the prints themselves were torn where a foot had gone through them.
‘Oh, shit,’ Scarlett said from behind me. I was beyond speech.
I didn’t want to go any further for fear of what I would find. A heady brew of smells was enough of a clue to what lay ahead of me. But uncertainty was worse than anxiety. I walked into what had been my beautiful open-plan ground floor living space and staggered as my knees lost the power to hold me straight. Scarlett grabbed me, saving me from collapsing amid the ruins of my kitchen. Now I knew what Pete had been doing all night.
It looked as if he’d opened every cupboard and drawer and swept the contents to the floor. Broken crockery, jars and bottles lay in random heaps linked by piles and pools of flour, rice, jam, pasta, ketchup, olives, oil, melted ice cream and alcohol. In the living space beyond, books and CDs were strewn all over the floor, more broken pictures and frames scattered over them. I thought I was going to throw up.
‘I’m going to fucking kill him,’ Scarlett said. ‘I swear to God.’ She picked up an overturned chair and lowered me into it. ‘But first I’m going to call the cops.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. He’ll twist his way out of it.’
‘How can he? We saw him leave.’
‘I saw him leave. You were still asleep.’
‘So? He doesn’t know that. I’ll tell the five-oh I saw him walk away and leave the door open.’
‘He’ll only lie about when he left. He’s got mates that’ll lie for him. It’s what they do, men like him. They gang
