And she’d meekly say, ‘Yes, of course, darling,’ even though it wasn’t his company. Even though she had been running it before he came along. Because she didn’t know any of that stuff, he’d insist. She was stupid. But now, to add insult to injury, Dad was trying to organise a party. Steve would think it was a great idea and Ralphie would go along with anything. But Calum wouldn’t like it. There were loads of things Calum wouldn’t like and Savannah was very careful to avoid them all.
He couldn’t continue the normal week of silent treatment with the rehearsal dinner on Friday night and the wedding on Saturday, could he? But then he could, she realised. Her husband could do anything he wanted to because who was going to stop him? Not her. She was too terrified, too cowed. She was failing her daughter and she hated herself for it.
Eden knew where the women’s shelter was because she’d helped them fund raise and she had done a lot of work packing Christmas hampers for them. The exact location of the shelter had to be kept secret, or else the women and children who sheltered there were at risk from furious partners and husbands turning up, screaming, shouting, doing anything to get their person back. Or to scream rage and say they were going to break them. There were two women who ran the centre and Eden was in awe of both of them. Her mother-in-law had put her in touch with them. Agnes had been on the board of the shelter for years. And now, Eden wanted to come in and help in a more formal way. There were always times when she walked in, and she felt both the joy and happiness of the place – and yet an undercurrent of fear in some of the women. So many of them kept their eyes down.
‘They’re the newer people,’ Barbara told her. Barbara ran the centre.
‘When women and children come in here, they’re traumatised. It’s like being in a war zone for them. They’ve endured years of fear. Because, for a woman to leave her home, it takes enormous courage and yet once they’ve managed to escape, there’s not this big gasp of joy and freedom: there’s more terror. Because they have done the very thing their partner told them he’d punish them for.’
This was a place where Eden listened rather than spoke. She knew the difference.
‘What about the funding?’ said Eden, that was one of the reasons she was there. She needed to make sure there was more funding for the shelter, despite the increasing rise in the number of women who were seeking emergency accommodation because of domestic abuse. Government and council funding was not always forthcoming.
Violence against women was increasing and yet nobody was making it a priority. Every world news bulletin had more and more women being hurt, violated, killed – and what was being done? Talking – that was what was being done.
‘Funding is always going to be a problem,’ Barbara told her simply. ‘The problem is that when other people don’t understand what’s happening, they can’t imagine it and they can’t put their hand in their pocket for it. I’ve heard people ask why the women who get beaten haven’t the backbone to leave. As if it’s that simple.
‘As if torture – and that’s what it is – leaves a person with the ability to up and walk away. They think someone can walk away when they’ve been beaten up so badly, that they can’t walk. That they can up and leave when they’re terrified, cowed, living in absolute fear. Ordinary people can’t imagine life like that. So they imagine it happens to only a very few people, only a very few poor, sad people. But this,’ she gestured around her office, ‘this knows no bounds. No bounds of society or people. The nice man you might see in church one day, he could have his wife locked up at home, go home after church and beat her or scream at her for hours, because he feels like it.’
Barbara sat down behind her desk with its overflowing loads of paper.
‘I’m simplifying it, but that’s at the bottom of this: power, control, rage and the ability to hide it all. Plus, we’re seeing an increase in the number of emotional abuse cases, because people are finally coming forward with that. And coercive control – financial coercive control, that’s a big area.’
‘OK,’ said Eden.
She sat down in front of Barbara’s desk. There was a manila folder on top of one of the piles and Barbara hesitated for a moment before opening it and showing some pictures to Eden. First up was a picture of a pretty-looking woman with blond hair, although her roots were dark. Her prettiness, however, was marred by the absolute defeated look in her eyes.
‘She came in two nights ago with her little girl. The little girl is a baby and since she had the little girl, the husband gets irritated because he’s not the centre of attention. He’s treating her like she’s a piece of dirt. He wasn’t actually physically hurting her until about six months ago and then it started with Chinese burns, pinches. Then it moved on to a few slaps, just a few slaps,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s amazing how often I’ve heard that in court: ‘It was just a few slaps, Your Honour’.
She showed some pictures of the woman’s body to Eden.
‘It goes against all the regulations but I’m showing you this so you understand what we’re up against.’
One side of the woman’s rib cage was a murky bruised green-and-yellow mass. It was hard to imagine the pain of it and how difficult it would be to get up off the floor after a beating like that. To pick up her baby, to keep her safe in the midst of such anger and violence.
‘She didn’t go to hospital for that and she didn’t ring us when he started picking on her, when he started belittling her. She didn’t phone us when he began to control the money, when he told her that she was stupid, that she was imagining things, that she was always whining, that she was too sensitive, that she wasn’t to go out without his permission. She thought it would get better and then, if she tried harder, it would be OK. She rang one day because she was worried he’d start on her daughter when she was older. This woman couldn’t protect herself but she did the thing she feared most for her child. So that’s what we’re up against. But this is what we deal with every day.’
‘There are just no words to say the right thing here,’ said Eden. ‘Except that I want to help.’
‘Your mother-in-law, Agnes, has been amazing to us. Not Diarmuid,’ said Barbara, with a wry smile. ‘I don’t think Diarmuid is aware of what domestic abuse, emotional abuse, is. Agnes has been our saviour. But the Freedom Party never really did anything but pay lip service to our work.’
‘That’s changing,’ said Eden. ‘There are so many changes to be made. Women need to be at the forefront of this party.’
For a moment her head flickered back to the blackmail letters. Damn whoever had sent them. She was not going to let that stop her, she wouldn’t. These women needed help and she was going to give it to them.
14
Friday
Clary’s nightmare woke Savannah. She slept lightly; anything could wake her up. But the sound of Clary in distress seemed to have a special frequency in her head and she sat bolt upright in the bed. Calum was sprawled beside her, taking up a lot of the bed. Savannah generally slept on the edge, close to her phone, her reading glasses and anything she needed. She slipped quickly out of bed and pulled a fleece top on over her silky dressing gown. She ran barefoot into Clary’s room. The little night light plugged into the wall shaped like a ladybird was glowing beautifully. In the bed, Clary lay turning, twisting, muttering something. Her skin gleamed with sweat. Savannah raced to the bed, touched her daughter’s forehead and felt the heat.
‘Mum, Mum, I can’t stop it, I can’t stop it.’
It was a night terror, not just simple waking up and making noise, but one of the terrible night terrors. Savannah knew exactly what to do.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ she said. It made no difference when she tried to hug Clary when she was like this. Only one thing worked. Savannah ran into the bathroom, grabbed a face flannel, ran it under the cool tap and came back in with it. Somehow, gently waking Clary into a slightly less frantic sleep took her out of this pain. It was the only answer.
‘Now, Clary love, you’re OK.’
