‘Your mum is still watching you from the chair in your room when his car pulls into the driveway. From the way the tyres squeal, you both know it’s one of his worse days. You open one eye to check that your mum is still in the room with you, then pretend to be asleep. You both listen as your father bounces from the door to the wall and throws his keys onto the side table in the hall. Your mum leaves your room and pulls your door closed. She’s trying to shield you from him but you know what he’ll do to her and you know that it’ll be bad; you’ve seen it before.’
Lara pauses and I listen as she swallows down another sip of Scotch in the quiet of the room. I want to tell her to stop. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to do this but I need to know what happens to the boy.
‘He yells up the stairs for your mum and you listen to her steps as she goes to him in the hope he’ll stay downstairs and leave you alone. The next thing you hear is him shouting at her. “Get me a drink, slut.”
‘“Fucking bitch.” He pushes her against the living-room wall and the banging and screaming starts. That’s when you leave your room. Trembling, you creep down the stairs in your wet pyjamas. Through the banister, you see him slap her as she slumps on the floor. You start to cry but he won’t hear you over the yelling. You shout, “Stop!” You beg him to leave your mum alone but that only makes him angrier. Terrified, you walk to the door of the lounge and he laughs at you, he calls you “puff boy” and “pissy pants”. Then he snarls, “Stop what?” and grabs your mother by the hair, dragging her across the lounge floor.
‘He pulls her onto her knees by the coffee table then smiles at you before he starts banging, banging, banging her head on the corner of the table. Blood streams from her head and her eyes start to roll back. “Me!” you shout. “Do it to me instead!” When he doesn’t listen, you run to where he’s standing and with full force, you punch yourself in the face to show him what he could do to you instead.’
I glance back at Lara and watch her shaking hand raise her glass to her lips. I quickly turn away, I can’t watch as she relives this. Gregory tried to protect her. He saw all this and he was willing to hurt himself to protect his mother. That little boy. I hold a hand to my chest to stop my heart from shattering.
‘You have his attention. He lets your mum’s body fall to the floor. She tries to reach out her hand towards you but she’s too frail. She tries and tries but she can’t. Your father beats his fist in his palm and you take a step backwards. He does it again and you stumble to the ground. He puts his foot on your head, pinning you to the floor, and starts to fumble in his pockets. You stare into your mum’s eyes as she lies desperate on the floor and she’s begging you not to do any more. Tears fill your eyes and your cheeks burn with anger. “She’s a whore,” he snarls. “She’s a whore and you’re stupid. My stupid fucking boy!” He pulls out a cigarette from his inside pocket and sticks it between his lips. In your anger, you struggle, kicking your legs. You manage to knock him off balance and he staggers back against the wall but he’s irate now. You get to your knees and try to crawl to your mum but he kicks you, striking you in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs. Then he kicks you again in the head and you’re on the floor. You can’t breathe. He picks up the cigarette he dropped and pulls out his lighter. You curl into a foetal position as he stomps on your head again. He lights the cigarette and laughs, a fierce, deep, cackling laugh, as he takes two puffs. Then he puts his hand around your throat and pulls you to your knees. You think he’ll stump his cigarette on you but instead, he hands you the cigarette. “Do it,” he says. You shake your head slowly from side to side as tears stream down your face but he tightens his grip on your throat. “Do it!” he snarls. You take the cigarette in your hand. “Do it or I’ll kill the bitch,” he screams. You look at your mum, who’s trying with all her strength to get to her feet but she can’t. “I’ll kill her,” he screams. You take the cigarette and stub it once, twice, three times on your own arm. You don’t scream; you look him in the eye each time as the cigarette singes your skin. He laughs when he releases his grip on your throat like it was a game. Then he staggers out of the room and you’re left, five years old, burned, soiled and broken, to look after your beaten and bleeding mother.’ Lara sniffs and wipes her face with one hand, finishing her Scotch with the other.
‘Gregory hates his father, hates him, and I do too.’
I want to say I hate Pearson and I hate Gregory too but no words leave my mouth. I stare at the cement between the bricks on the fireplace.
‘He can’t stand the thought that you’re hurting because of him.’
I continue to stare at the cement until it starts to infiltrate me, crushing my ribcage, the weight excruciating against my heart.
‘You probably think he deserves to hurt and I don’t blame you but I do want you to know that the last thing he would ever want to do is cause you pain. He’s my little boy, Scarlett. My brave, five-year-old, little boy and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.’
‘A life for a life,’ I whisper.
I hear Lara place her glass on the bar table and leave the room. Within seconds, Sandy closes the front door behind Lara and Jackson.
‘Are you okay?’ Sandy asks in her soft, comforting way.
I wipe silent tears from my cheeks then move to the sofa, not knowing or understanding how I should answer that question. Sandy takes the almost-empty whisky glass from my hand and places it on the bar table without offering me more. She comes to sit beside me so that her hip is touching mine. ‘Jackson told me everything.’
Pulling my knees into my chest, I wonder whether Jackson has always known about Gregory’s past and whether he’s betrayed Gregory’s confidence in telling Sandy the truth but I’m grateful that she finally knows what I’ve done.
I ask the question I’ve been trying to answer for myself. ‘Do you hate me?’
‘Hate you? Of course not! This is not your fault.’
I shake my head.
‘It’s nobody’s fault but one very sick man.’
‘Sandy, I knew what Gregory was doing. I knew the whole thing and I still helped them do it.’
She places one hand on my knee. ‘You weren’t to know anything like this would happen, Scarlett. You did what you did for the right reasons.’
Whether it’s her words or the comfort of her hand on my knee, my eyes fill again.
Silence hovers in the room: a manifestation of a thousand unspoken words. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes quarter to then on the hour and ticks perfectly in between.
Sandy eventually pierces the air. ‘I can understand why Gregory would want to hurt that vile man. Which child wouldn’t want revenge against a man who tried to kill someone so dear to them, someone who’s the centre of their entire world?’
I turn to see her arms folded across her chest. Her expression steely. It’s a look I don’t ever remember seeing on Sandy.
‘Doctor Heath should never have been caught up in all of this but… but I will say this once and once only: there were times in that hospital that I wanted to end it for him.’
One violent sob escapes me and I admit, ‘Me too.’
Sandy kisses me on the cheek and wraps an arm around me, pulling me into her chest. ‘Scarlett, I’m angry, incredibly angry, but I’ve only ever seen you smile with one other man the way you smile when you’re around Gregory.’
