I lunged forward to make a dive past him, but he grabbed hold of me and pulled me into him so I was locked in his arms.
‘But maybe it’s my lucky day.’ He whispered into my cheek. I could smell body odour and a strong stench of alcohol on his breath. His stubble was scratching against my skin. He was whispering something in my ear, words that made my body itch. I tried to hustle my way out of his vice-like grip, but he only seemed to tighten his arms around me further. He began to drag me out of the room, backwards and out onto the landing. I kicked out with both legs and lashed out with my hand towards his face. He kicked a door to his right with his foot so it opened and he continued to drag me into a tatty bathroom. He pushed the door shut with his foot and flicked my leg with his so I was floored. He stood over me, his eyes cascaded down my body, greedily taking me in.
I closed my eyes tightly, as though I could will myself away somewhere else. The idea of the ‘5-4-3-2-1’ technique flew through my head, but there was too much stimuli coming at me at once.
I could smell and feel a damp bath towel, the sound of the whirring extractor fan, and strangely I began to consider its lack of functionality as my nostrils were overpowered by the stench of mould. I could feel every beat of my heart pound heavy through my chest and it only increased in speed as I heard the sound of a belt buckle hurriedly being removed. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and planned my attack. I had a matter of seconds, so I lifted my leg and thrust it forward.
I felt it make contact with him, and I heard him stumble backwards against the door. I opened my eyes to see him righting himself to a half-stand, a crazed and angry look in his eye, but I was already pulling myself up ready to fight him. Only the next moment, I heard a loud crash, and the door burst open, sending him flying towards me. He fell to his knees, his face inches from mine, just as two armed police burst through, grabbed him and dragged him out of the door. I heard his shouts and protests from where I lay as he was hauled down the stairs. Then the doorway was full again, this time with a man I recognised. There was nowhere for me to run to any more.
‘Hello, Meghan.’
I sat and leant against the bath and let out a loud sigh.
‘Hello, Detective,’ I said.
45
Now
The room felt too small as he came further in wearing bulky, black body armour. His clothes rustled as he knelt down to my level. His walkie-talkie on his chest crackled and a woman’s voice came through it. He twiddled a knob until her voice became almost silent.
‘I have been trying to get through to you for a long time. Why have you been running from me?’ He touched my arm. ‘Are you okay? Did he hurt you?’
I looked at his black baseball cap, the one he always wore during any sort of raid.
‘Lee, don’t,’ I said.
‘Meghan, you’re still my wife.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand why you’re here. I don’t understand any of this.’ I gestured to the room.
Lee let out a sigh and moved himself into a seating position.
Another policeman appeared in the door wearing black body armour and a cap. ‘Sarge, we’re taking the girl in.’
Lee nodded and as the policeman stepped back, I saw the girl being helped past towards the stairs, her matted hair falling across her sickly pale skin. Under her arm she carried a ragdoll cat. Mrs Clean, lucybest65? Who was she? I still didn’t know.
Lee turned to me. I looked at his day-old stubble, knowing he could never stay clean-shaven for too long. It had probably been a long shift for him already, and I doubted he had slept in the last twenty-four hours. I remembered all the nights sleeping alone, the meals for one, never knowing when he could be home from work. I looked at the lines etched on his face; the ones that only I could read because they held the narrative to our lives. Years of laughter and joy, but also so much sadness that mirrored my own.
I thought back over the last sixteen years. He had always been in control in some way or another. It had started with the age. He was eight years older than me. I had watched my father walk out on me at fifteen and five years later Lee walked into my life, a confident man, heading towards his thirties and rapidly making his way up in the police force. By the time he had made superintendent, he had already paid off our mortgage with some help from his parents, and I was pregnant with our first son, Jack.
But there had come a day when I could no longer look at him and see the eyes of Toby, the child we had both lost, looking back at me. And that was when I had begun to run.
I made it to Norfolk, where I lived with nuns for a year. It was only meant to be a short stay, a week or so, to right my mind, help me heal. But when the week came to an end, I felt I didn’t want to leave. There was work for me in the garden, weeding and planting, which paid for my lodgings. I worked and sat and slept. That was all. No TV, no phones, no internet. No distractions. I didn’t deserve anything else. I had been used to spending most of my time in a room six feet
