‘Please eat,’ Gregory says.
I find myself cutting a mouthful of meat because I don’t want to antagonise him. Not now. He also takes a forkful of food, then washes it down with wine.
‘When I got older, six, seven, I couldn’t lie in bed. I used to goad him. Trying to keep him away from my mother. It would work. He’d turn on me instead. He’d beat me, he’d say… fuck, all kinds of shit about my mother. Things I wouldn’t repeat. One night, he— He was standing over my mother when I came downstairs. He’d been screaming at her because he was out of drink or she’d gotten rid of it. He was holding a broken bottle and it was— It happened in slow motion. She was on the floor, curled up like a foetus. When he lifted his hand, I ran, screaming, and got in his way.’ He shakes his head. ‘There was so much blood. I think he shocked himself sober.’
My eyes are stinging. ‘The scar on your back.’
He nods and gulps down more wine. ‘It worked that night. So the next time, I did it again. Then again and again. He didn’t leave my mother alone but we shared the beating. She used to come to my room after he’d passed out and she’d cry, sob, saying thank you, over and over.’
‘God, Gregory, I?—’
He looks up to me. ‘Do you want me to stop? Do you want to go?’
‘No. I want to be here. With you.’ I take his hand and stare down at it until I’ve forced the building water from my eyes. I roll my fingertips across the burns on his wrist.
He interlaces his fingers in mine, watching our hands entwine. ‘He made me do it to myself. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me and watched me stub it out on my skin.’
I wince and grip him tightly.
‘It was me or my mother. She was on the floor. She could barely move. I thought he was going to kill her.’
I lift his hand and press my lips to his burns, trying to cover the memory. He pulls away from me and goes back to fiddling with the base of his wine glass.
‘That night was the beginning and the end. Something changed in me. I begged my mother to take us away. Her, Elsa, me.’
‘She wouldn’t go,’ I croak with closed eyes, fighting against the pressure behind my lids.
‘No. I spent years trying to make sense of it. I’m still not sure I understand it but I’ve made peace with it. There was a time I thought I’d never forgive her for keeping us there. I guess now I see I was blaming the wrong person.’
Roshan is back, clearing our half-eaten plates again. Gregory asks me before cancelling dessert and dismissing Roshan for the evening. When we’re alone, he pushes out his chair and moves to stand in the window. There are so many thoughts spiralling through my head, I can’t get a hold of anything, so I stay in my seat and watch his reflection in the glass panes.
‘When my mother refused to leave, I stopped going to her. I stopped making him turn on me. Christ, I just left him to beat her because I was so fucking irate. He could’ve killed her and I just sat in my room, hiding.’ His back expands with his breath. ‘My mother wasn’t enough for him then. She wasn’t enough satisfaction. That’s when things changed. Then he’d come looking for us, Elsa and me.’ He turns. ‘This is what you need to know about me, Scarlett. You know what I did when he came for me and my sister? I hid from him. Ifuckinghid!’
His barked words make me jump.
‘I stood behind doors, in wardrobes, under beds. He went to Elsa and he didn’t just fucking beat her, Scarlett; he?—’
His face is full of anguish as he drags both hands through his hair and holds them to the back of his head, his fingers interlaced, his knuckles white.
A silent tear streams down my face. ‘He abused her.’
He’s shaking his head, then nodding his head, all the while balling his hair in his fists. I’ve never seen him like this: losing control. ‘Over and fucking over. At first, she’d fight and scream, then she used to take it. Silently. But I could hear it. The bed, the sound of him.’
I can’t move. I’m rooted to my chair, tears pouring down my face.
‘It went on for months before I couldn’t sit back any more. I would go to her. Christ, I can still see it in my head every day. What he did to her. The look in his eyes. He wasn’t bothered about me any more. It was like he’d stepped up to a whole other level. I’d goad him, shout things and fight him. But he’d knock me down, lock me out of the room. I couldn’t help her and I’m the reason it fucking started.’
His hands move back over his face and he drops his head. Then his body jerks and he smacks a fist so hard into the wall that I’m surprised it doesn’t leave a hole. I move to him, despite my leaden legs, desperate to comfort him.
‘No.’ He turns and I see his red eyes, desperately fighting, unwilling to let go. ‘You need to hear it.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘She went away for a while. I don’t know where. I was just relieved that my mother had seen sense. The beatings got worse for us but I didn’t care. By then, I wanted them to be worse. I wanted to die. I prayed every night but not for him to stop. I prayed for him to go too far and end it, end everything.’
Tears drip from my chin.
‘She came back. Elsa. He made her come back. I don’t know how or why, I just remember coming home from school one day. I was ten. She was back, and it started again.’
I reach out to touch his arms but he backs away.
‘The next day.’ He pulls air through his teeth and rolls his tight jaw. ‘When I came home from school, the police were at the house. She slit her wrists. She killed herself and it was all my fault.’ His eyes close, masking his pain. ‘I let him beat my mother and rape my sister. Do you hear me? My sister killed herself when she was fourteen years old because I didn’t help her. I stood by and I might as well have killed her myself.’ He slams a flat palm against the window and holds it there. ‘I hurt people I love, Scarlett. And when I met you, it started all over again. I hurt you. I couldn’t protect you. You had to get out of London. You had to get away from me because I’m a monster, Scarlett.’
