I looked at the two of them waiting for my reply and toyed with lying for a moment. I even ran through some of the stories I’d told in the past: ‘moved up here for work and split up with my partner’, or even ‘he left me for another woman and I had to move into a hostel.’ Then I wonderedwhyI lied. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was here because I’d chosen an evil man as my daughter’s father; why shouldIfeel guilty? It wasn’t as though Isobel could tell anyone what I said here, and I didn’t think Ross was the type to yell my business from the rooftops or use it against me.
I had the sudden warm feeling that I could, and should, trust them both. ‘I’m running away,’ I said, and heard Ross’s breath give a little hiss. ‘Tilly’s dad, my ex-partner, changed as soon as she was born and he turned into an incredibly cruel man. I knew he wouldn’t just let me leave, so I took her and ran. I had some help from a charity, who found me a place in the hostel. That’s all really.’
Isobel was looking at me steadily. Her eyes were dark in this muted light, it made her look monochrome, a picture on a badly tuned black and white TV set.
Does he know where you are?
‘I devoutly hope not,’ I said, allowing a little of the horror that kept me awake at night to seep into my words. ‘He’s an actor and he has a very rich father, which means he can keep up appearances like nobody you’ve ever met. It’s only in private he…’ I stopped. My shoulders twinged with tension, remembering that figure leaning so casually against the road sign. ‘No,’ I said, trying to firm up my words. ‘No, he doesn’t know where I am.’
‘How did he persuade you to be with him?’ Ross was looking at the floor now. I wondered why. Had my face become uncomfortable?
‘He was lovely at first, in fact, he was lovely right up until Tilly was born – well, I thought he was. I think he might have started to slip by then because my mum saw through him, she warned me that things might be different after the baby, but anyway. Just after Tilly was born, he disappeared. Told me he was going to park the car and I didn’t see him for forty-eight hours. And it kept happening, I never knew where he was or when he’d be home.’
I hadn’t talked about any of this to anyone other than the very patient people at the charity and it still didn’t make sense. Things had been fine until they weren’t, and tolerable until they just… weren’t.
Ross hissed again.
‘And when he was home he was watching me, following me, criticising everything I did… It was like he’d become someone else.’
No, itstilldidn’t make sense. It had sounded stupid and thin when I’d found myself in that nondescript office with the noncommittal name on the door and spoken to a motherly woman who’d handed me tissues and played with Tilly and some bricks. Stupid. Other people had it far worse, why was I making such a fuss?
‘And then he must have got round Mum because when I tried to tell her… when I tried to explain how it was, she didn’t get it. She told me David wouldn’t hurt me. She said he would never take Tilly away from me, but she didn’tseehim. She didn’tknow…’
I stopped talking. It all sounded ridiculously melodramatic: the husband’s big change of nature, the cruelty, the obsessional behaviour. As though I’d been reading those forums online full of people living stunted cramped lives trying to appease their partner. None of it sounded like real life at all.
Will he come looking for you?
Another thought of that dark man waiting in the village. Those messages that occasionally pinged onto my phone. But no, that was me flashing another glance at the paranoia David had accused me of. I shook my head. ‘I doubt it. He’s probably moved on to the next deluded girl who can’t believe her luck. I’d guess he’s removed all traces of us from his life and started again. He messages me every now and again. But I never reply,’ I added hastily.
‘So why do you behave as though you’re always looking over your shoulder?’ Ross asked the stained boards of the floor. He glanced up at Isobel’s writing and then back down again.
‘I don’t. Or maybe I do,’ I corrected myself, ‘but it’s learned behaviour. David used to track me, he put some kind of tracer in my car so he could always see where I’d been, and he hired people to follow me and it sort of sinks into your psyche when you think you’re being watched all the time.’
You poor girl.
‘Oi, if we’re not allowed to call you elderly, you aren’t allowed to call me a girl,’ I said, irritated.
I apologise.
It was strange how quickly you got used to this kind of conversation, I thought, as Isobel made tea and rattled around in the mouse-proof tin for more biscuits. One participant talking to their toes, one writing everything down, and me. It had been a long time since I had been the normal one in any conversation.
Isobel scribbled and held the paper towards Ross.
And what about you? How are you involved in all this drama?
‘Er. TV programme? Make or break my career?’ He was chewing his nail again. I suppressed the urge yet again to push his hand away from his mouth.
Obviously.
And the word even looked tetchy.
But you don’t need to do anything in person. Why are you here?
The emphasis had nearly torn the paper again.
‘I came to offer you somewhere else to live.’ He straightened up, fished the folded sketches of the container cottage out of his pocket and flattened them on the table. ‘I’m building this over the other side of the wood. Small, sustainable living and you can keep the birds.’
Isobel looked from Ross to me and then down at the drawing.
