True Things About Me

I’m on the outside





I WANDERED THROUGH the streets in my neighbourhood. All these pretty gardens, window boxes, trellises. It was amazing how people worked so hard to make their little patches of mud nice. I wondered why they did that. We were all perched on the earth’s crust so lightly. Anything could blow us away. The perfumed flowers spilling over garden walls seemed so pitiful to me. The carefully staked ornamental trees made me want to cry, they were so pathetic. We are all skeletons, I thought. Dragging our clicking bones around, clacking about, waiting to collapse and be carted to the rubbish heap. All we can do is grin, grin, grin. Through the lighted windows I passed families gathered together, but they couldn’t see me, drifting like a wraith up and down the darkening streets.

My mobile had died. I walked until I found a phone box that wasn’t smashed up and pissed in. I left a message for Alison saying I was sorry for everything. That I needed her. I asked her if she would meet me soon, so I could explain. Lastly I told her I missed her, and I loved her a lot. Standing in the phone box I felt like someone who’s been given one last phone call before they disappear into the underworld. Then I went back to the house.

The TV was still chuntering away, and he was asleep on the sofa, so I climbed the stairs and got ready for bed. Before I turned off the bedside light I plugged my phone into the charger, and hid it under the valance. I fell asleep immediately. I woke up to the sound of someone moving about in the room. It was still night time. He was standing at the foot of the bed holding my mobile. You’ve got a message, he said, and threw the phone towards me. From that interfering cow, Alison. I thought you’d given her the push. I sat up and grabbed my phone. She’s not welcome in this house, he said, walking out of the room. But she’s my best friend, I called after him, sounding like a primary school kid in the playground. Then I whispered under the covers, This is my house, she can come if I want her to.

In the morning I left him in bed. Before I tiptoed out of the room I watched him sleeping. His face was perfectly serene, and he didn’t make the slightest sound as he slept. The scar on his chest was silvery now. It could almost have been the place where someone had extracted his heart, and roughly sewn him back together. Then he sighed, and turned over onto his stomach. He’d come to bed with his shorts on and they rucked up as he turned, exposing one buttock. It looked like some exotic, furry fruit but I had no desire to bite it. I quickly sneaked around getting ready, and went out without even having a glass of water. As I walked away from the house I felt light-headed and alert.

Alison and I had brunch at our fave café in town. We talked about her kids, their teachers and Tom. She told me I wasn’t missing anything in work. We ate scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, and sipped orange juice. Alison said it was her treat. She told me they were decorating the kitchen. I watched her lovely face as she spoke, and concentrated on how she formed and projected every word. I felt that if I listened hard and long enough I could piece together some sort of raft that would float me back to the quiet world of decorating and the school run, and even, eventually, stumble on my old self. The food was delicious; I could feel it doing me good. We agreed to keep in touch. She didn’t ask me questions, or give me an opinion about my life. I didn’t tell her anything. We kissed each other goodbye.

When I got back and opened the front door I could tell there were people around. The TV volume was high, and something was going on in the lounge. I pushed the door open. The room seemed to be full of children. The boy from the café was sprawled on the sofa, and wedged beside him were two toddlers, one asleep, the other sucking from a bottle of baby milk. They looked about two and three. A pair of girls, six and eight maybe, lay on their tummies on the rug watching TV. The room smelled of grubby clothes and unwashed hair. Not one of them took the slightest notice of me. I shut the door and stood in the hallway. For a moment I even thought I’d come into the wrong house.

He was in the kitchen, frying bacon. What’s going on? I asked. Making bacon sandwiches, he said, slinging a tea towel over his shoulder. Want one? I sank down on a chair. In my back garden I could see some beaten-up kids’ toys and a bike. I felt all my strength slipping out from my extremities. Who are these children? I managed to mouth. What are they doing in my house? He turned, and leaned back on the cooker, grinning. They’re mine, he said, folding his arms. What’s the big deal? It’s only for a couple of hours. But I didn’t know you had a family, I said. He pulled me up, and hugged me. Well, you do now, he said. I’ll reward you later for being a good girl. Then he kissed me firmly on the mouth.





I have a houseful





I DIDN’T HAVE anywhere to go. I was in my own place, and I didn’t know what to do. There was no point in going out into the empty streets. But it felt wrong to be at home. My house was infested with strangers. He was bashing around in the kitchen, his children filled the lounge. I stood in the hallway, and waited. Every so often a child would come out, and go upstairs to the bathroom. Each one ignored me. I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Sure enough there I was, standing in the hall. I watched as my face formed itself into the face of a woman crying, but no tears came out of my eyes. My down-turned mouth looked ridiculous.

There was a shout from the kitchen, and all the children ran out of the lounge cheering and pushing each other. Grub’s up, I heard him say. I hovered in the kitchen doorway. The kids sat around silently, eating their bacon and bread with deep intent. What can I give them to drink? he asked. I pointed to the fruit juice. Not sure they’ll like that, he said. I left them, and went into the lounge. The toddlers were both tumbled on the sofa, asleep. I sat on the edge of a chair, and inspected them. Both blond, with pale, luxuriant lashes. Maybe a boy and a girl, I thought.

I talked myself down as I listened to the sleeping babies breathe. I told myself this was OK. I mean, what could be nicer? My lover introduces me to his children. Why so tragic? Why so disturbed? I decided to behave as if this was all normal, nice even. That’s what this was. Something I could laugh about with work friends at the water cooler-type stuff. Another part of me was unimpressed. She pointed out some things like, firstly, what friends? Secondly, which water cooler? To be strictly accurate we didn’t have one in our office. And also, excuse me, but, lover? Who he? She didn’t know what he felt for me, but it certainly wasn’t lurve. I knew all this was true. I touched one of the babies on its warm leg. I told myself the children weren’t to blame. But I blamed them anyway. I actually called them little bastards, to myself. How sad was that?

As I climbed the stairs I heard someone in my bedroom. I felt reluctant to find out who it was, but someone behaving naturally would dash in and find out, so I did. The whispery twelve-year-old was looking through my things. What do you think you’re doing? I asked. He was holding something silky, a camisole I think, rubbing it between his hands. Nothing, he said, in his weird little voice. Give that to me, I said. Now. He scrunched it up in his hand, and shoved it in his pocket. What you going to do about it? he said. Tell my dad? and walked slowly past me down the stairs.

I closed the drawers and straightened things out, then lay down under the covers. Though I was rigid and cold I fell asleep quickly. When I woke I got up immediately, and combed my hair. In the bathroom the floor was wet and the loo roll used up. I cleaned up and went downstairs again. He was talking to a woman in the kitchen. I almost didn’t care who she was. They were both smoking, and drinking coffee at the table. When she saw me she coughed. I knew it was the woman I’d seen before.


He unfolded himself from the table. Here she is, he said, holding out his hand to me. Sit down. I thought maybe they’d been talking about me, and she was angry, but she seemed completely calm. He started massaging her shoulders, staring at me. He was waiting for something to happen. She tried to shrug him off. I was surprised he didn’t react. Instead he went on squeezing her shoulders; I could see it was hurting her. Any questions? he asked me, smiling smugly. He told her I was the mother of all questioners. Never stops, he said, laughing. Why? Where? How? over and over and over. Well, here’s my question, she said. Why don’t you get lost? He stretched. You two’ve probably got a lot to talk about, he said. She didn’t answer. She just waited for him to leave. He looked from her to me and back several times. Finally he left.

What a wanker, she said. He was hoping for a scene. You know, two women fighting over him. Sort of thing he loves. She lit a cigarette. OK, what do you want to know? She rested back against the chair. Ask me anything. She was unbelievably thin and white. Like someone who’d spent her lifetime in an underground cavern.

As she took deep drags from her cigarette I asked her if she was his wife. God, no, she laughed quietly and chestily. No one in their right mind would marry that nasty piece of work. So do you live with him then? I felt I had to ask, even though I was indifferent. Are these your children? She leaned across the table and put her hand on mine. She seemed nice, unthreatening; entirely colourless. Even her eyes were pale, like solidified water. Look, she said, yes, I live with him, on and off. Or should I say, he lives with me sometimes, as in, when the mood takes him. Obviously not at the moment of course. And yes, some of these children are his. What I want to know is, how somebody like you got mixed up with him?

I couldn’t answer her. The events of the past months were like tears in a pool of water. He sort of swept me up, I suppose, I said. Do you know what I mean? God yes, she said. He is a bloody champion sweeper. But you know that already, don’t you? Look, she said, sitting up straight, I know he’s gorgeous to look at. Not bad on the shagging front either. So what? He’s still an absolute shit. She stubbed out her fag. It’s none of my business, but I will tell you this: you’re not the first. I’ve lost count. Then the kids started trooping in. Right, you lot, bugger off outside, she shouted. Wait in the front garden.

She got up as if her joints were stiff, and put her hand on my shoulder. No offence, she said, but my advice to you is, get rid of him ASAP. She shook me gently with her fragile hand. Or he’ll suck you dry. She gestured with her thumb towards her concave chest. Just look at me, for God’s sake. We gazed at each other. Have you still got a job? I nodded. Not for long though, if you don’t do something soon. Am I right? I nodded again.

Thank you, I said as she was leaving. I wanted her to stay with me. She reappeared in the doorway, holding a sleeping child like a sack of washing under each arm. Good luck, she said. You’ll need it. He can be such a charmer when he wants something. She gestured around. And this is all very comfortable for him, I can see. She gave me a little smile. I know, I don’t practise what I preach. And let me guess, you’ve fallen out with your friends? Make it up with them. You’ll need all the friends you can get.

The house was quiet and I sat down to absorb it. Then I started to clear up. There was a lot to do, but I did it, dragging myself around. It felt important to get the house neat and sorted, so I didn’t stop till it was done. I threw open the back door and the windows, but the smell of smoke and bacon lingered. Also the smell of stale clothes and grubby kids permeated the lounge so I lit a perfumed candle in there. Then whisked up a chicken curry with all the trimmings, opened a bottle of wine and started drinking.

When he came back he plonked himself on the sofa, turned the TV on and opened the first of a six pack of lager he’d bought. I served him the food on a tray. I was weaving about but he didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t very interested in eating, but he drank several cans of lager. He messed the cooling curry with his fork and continued to smoke, watching the TV. I stood over him with my wine glass in my hand. Why didn’t you tell me you were involved with someone? I said, gesturing so that wine spilled on the coffee table. Bloody oops, I said. And how many more kids have you got? How many more women? He went on drinking, his face dark red. Answer me, I sobbed, kicking his foot with mine.

He shouted for me to move away from the telly, so I stood in front of it. He said he was only going to tell me one more time. The TV remote was in his lap so I snatched it, and started flicking through the channels. I wanted something to happen, and this seemed like a good beginning. He looked funny, trying to catch me as I danced around, but I didn’t laugh. I could hear myself crying. He lost his balance and fell back into the chair. As I watched him breathing heavily I became afraid. He was sweating, his hands bunched into fists. Suddenly I couldn’t remember what we were fighting about. I felt as if someone had emptied me out, like the contents of an untidy bag.





I get blue





HE LEAPED UP, and knocked the candle over. Hot wax splashed across the coffee table. I’m so sorry, I said, putting it back on its holder. I’m drunk, I don’t know what I’m doing. He was breathing heavily. You’d better get out of my way, he said, pushing past me. Seriously, you’re very lucky I haven’t given you a good smack. He went to the kitchen, and dropped his uneaten curry into the washing-up water. I followed him. Curry sauce was splattered all over the dishes in the sink, bleeding into the water. Pieces of chicken bobbed around. For Christ’s sake, he said, squeezing my shoulder hard, stop following me. What are you, my f*cking pet?

I tried to put my arms round him. I didn’t like him being angry with me. Get out of my f*cking way before I do something you’ll regret, he shouted. What’s wrong with your curry? I said. Shall I make you something else? A bowl of soup? A sandwich? I wanted to be quiet, but I couldn’t. Some other girl was staggering through the house, apologising, trying to embrace him. He put his face close to mine again. It was a thing he liked doing, getting in people’s faces. Piss off, can’t you? he said slowly, punctuating each word with a violent jab to my chest. Each jab drove me back until I was against the wall. Then he stomped upstairs.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, and looked at my untouched plate. I thought perhaps I should eat the naan bread, but I didn’t pick it up. My shoulder was aching. I felt the shape of his hand there. Coronation Street had just started. I could smell the extinguished candle. I listened hard for any sound from upstairs. The spots where he’d poked me were like deep, burning holes. I heard him flush the toilet, and walk to the bedroom. Then what sounded like drawers opening and closing. The wardrobe door creaked. Then thudding. I felt the strain of listening centre itself in the base of my neck.

The time was 7.43 p.m. when he opened the front door and slammed it behind him. I ran up to the bedroom. My clothes were slung over the bed and drooping out of drawers. He’d been looking for money. And then he’d left. No one else was with me. I knew that. No other imaginary girl was here, sobbing in another room. I lay on the bed, and gathered up the shirt he had thrown down. I sniffed the underarms. The bedroom was cold. I made a comfortable place in the pillow, and tried to shut my eyes. Each time they closed, something would yank them open again. Finally, though, I fell asleep.


When I woke the street lights were shining in. The room was striped and gloomy. I lay shivering, and remembered my dream. I had been in a cave strewn with straw. I was lying in the arms of a fully-grown lioness. She was purring, her face close to mine. Her breath smelled of old meat. I looked at her sleeping eyelids, her eyelashes. Her breaths were deep and long-drawn. We were warm and relaxed lying there together. Her back leg was over me, the paw resting behind my bent knees. I had my arms round her furry neck. Then slowly I realised the danger I was in. I slipped my arms free, and lifted her back leg off. I tried to inch out from underneath her. She reared up, and bared her teeth; her yellow eyes at once wide open. We looked at each other. Then I woke. I recalled staring out from behind the lioness’s eyes into my own face. I sat up. The house was silent. I remembered I was on my own.

In the bathroom I sat on the loo seat, and rested my head on the sink. The tap dripped. In the bath there was a spider, and some blond pubic hairs. I reached down and picked them up. The spider raced for the plughole. I don’t want you, I said. I opened the bathroom window, and let the hairs fly out into the night. The room filled with rain-laden air. I could hear cars swishing past. I wondered where he could be. Who he was with.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and pulled down the neck of my jumper. A dark love bite showed on my neck. And, further down, the shape of his hand. I turned on the shower, and took my clothes off. Four fat, blue bruises like pansies bloomed, two near my collarbone, two on my right breast. My skin sprang into goose bumps. I turned the water to hot, and let the flow drum onto my shoulders. It was easy to cry in the downpour, but I didn’t. My back burned, but still I stood. Then I washed myself clean. I stepped out into the cold air, and put his towelling robe on. I took a box from the cabinet, and opened it. I sat on the toilet, and read the instructions. Then I peed on the stick. Urine gushed warmly onto my fingers. There it was. I watched as a perfect, bright, summer-blue line formed.





I go head over heels





THEN I WAS alone. I was alone for maybe three days, or four. About four, I think. During that time I sat at the bottom of the stairs, and dozed. I wasn’t really alone, in a way. I had the tiny comma inside me that was a baby, though I didn’t feel able to think about it much. Now and then I got up, and drifted round the house. In the kitchen the curry in the sink congealed. I nibbled on the hardened naan bread I’d left by the side of the sofa. I didn’t turn the TV off. I pretended this was an everyday sort of house.

I dragged down the duvet from my bed, and made a sleeping area at the foot of the stairs. I needed to stay by the front door. I had chocolate in my bag, and I rationed it out. I drank plenty of water. At eight thirty every morning the postman came. Each time I thought it was him, coming back to me. I had one letter, from the office. It said they were regretfully terminating my employment. I decided I’d think about that later.

I showered when I saw the sky getting light, and washed my hair. I let it dry naturally. My curls came back, and I didn’t stop them. I put on perfume. I changed my nightgown. Then there was an evening when he turned up and brought some friends with him. He ignored me sitting at the bottom of the stairs. They all walked into the lounge. One of the women went to the kitchen. I could hear her clearing up. They put on music. It sounded like a party.

I thought I should show myself so I went into the lounge. The two women were dancing close together, feeling each other. They were drinking from bottles, swigging lazily. One was laughing, and pushing her leg up into the crotch of the other. He was lying on the sofa, smoking something that created a thick smell, watching the women with his eyes half closed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His feet were bare. I wondered if I was dreaming perhaps. No one seemed to notice me. I sat in a chair, and wrapped the duvet around me. With his free hand he rubbed his groin slowly.

Even inside the duvet I was cold. I felt I should go to bed. He got up, and they were all dancing together. The women were naked from the waist up. He was squeezing the blond woman’s breasts, making the other woman suck her nipples. I got up, and dragged the duvet round me. I stood in the doorway. He pulled off the blond woman’s skirt, she seemed drunk, floppy. Underneath she was naked. He bent her over the back of the easy chair. He and the other woman started stroking her buttocks. He eased her legs far apart.

They started running their fingers up and down the flesh between her buttocks where it was darker, like a bruise. They slapped her in turn, each time harder. She drooped over the chair back, and lay with her head in the seat cushion, her arms hanging forward. I heard her groan. I watched from the doorway. It looked as if she was asleep. He was holding an empty beer bottle. He gave it to the dark woman. She worked the bottle into the sleeping woman’s anus with both her hands, wiggling it slightly from side to side. She held it against herself, as if it were a penis. He was laughing. I saw the shining bottle inch into her. It stretched her as it went in. She didn’t seem to notice. I heard a tinkling sound. The sleeping woman was urinating down the back of my chair. They left her there with the bottle gaping out of her.

Up in the bedroom the music sounded like a heartbeat, strangely comforting. I lay down on the bed. I couldn’t stop shivering. My jaw was rigid, my teeth vibrated against each other. Then I felt myself drifting away, each pulse of the music pushing me further into a dark, safe place.

I woke up the instant the light was snapped on. Both the women were there. They seemed drunk and happy. He threw back the covers, and pulled me down the bed by my ankles. I screamed as I fell onto the floor. He shouted something I couldn’t understand into my face. I held onto his leg. I asked him to let me stay. He kicked me off. I crawled to the landing. He followed me. The woman was calling him, laughing throatily. I kneeled at his feet. Please let me stay, I said. I kissed his foot. Now you’ve made me really mad, he said quietly. This is your own entire f*cking fault. Then he kicked me with all his strength. I was like a sack of old shoes falling down the stairs. I thought about my tiny baby. I pictured her minuscule arm buds flapping, her rudimentary lips sounding, ouch, ouch, ouch. I hoped she was cushioned safely, deep inside.





I bleed publicly





ALISON SAID I ought to eat. She went up to the counter, and ordered poached eggs. We were at a window booth. I took off my wet coat, and rubbed my damp shoulders. My face itched as it dried. Outside the rain fell in a Monday morning way, straight and never-ending. I watched the street. Nothing was happening. In the café they were playing pan pipe versions of songs from The Sound of Music. Alison came back to the table. You’ve got to laugh, she said. I mean, pan pipes. She sat, and undid her mac. Well, don’t hate me, I said, but I actually quite like the sound of pan-pipes. We sang along to ‘How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?’ Appropriate, I said. Alison didn’t smile. Now this one I really love, I said, ‘Edelweiss’. I’m shocked, she said. I never had you down as an ‘Edelweiss’ person.

There was a pause while she took her coat half off. Alison, you don’t know me at all, I said. Come to think of it, I don’t know myself any more. I’m pregnant, I said, and I spelled it out: P–R–E–G–G–E–R–S. Then, because she looked so blank, I said, With sprog, knocked up? You know, bunny in the oveny? I tried to hum ‘I Whistle a Happy Tune’. I could see Alison didn’t recognise it.


OK, she said. That’s it. I’m going to tell your parents. They should know what’s what. I got up to go. If you do that I will never speak to you again, I said. I will never forgive you. Promise me you won’t. But why? she asked. Why not let them care for you? They love you. I told her I knew they did. It’s complicated, I said. All this shit is something I need to sort out myself for once. Or I’ll never grow up. Say you understand? Well, yes, I can see that, she said slowly, and looked at me seriously. Say it, I said. Yes, I promise, she said. But only for the time being. And I’m getting you a doctor’s appointment. That’s not open to negotiation. I sat back down. I got into this, I told her, I know I can get out of it. Kindly, she said nothing.

A waitress brought my eggs. I stabbed each trembling egg yolk, and watched as the yellows poured out. Funny, isn’t it? I asked her. We always seem to eat eggs when we meet. She didn’t answer. She hadn’t said anything for a while. You should eat something, she finally said. Go on, please try to eat a few mouthfuls. Her eyes were blurry with tears. She asked if I needed money as she watched me put a bendy piece of egg white on my fork. Before it reached my mouth it slithered off. Saved, I said. More coffee then? she suggested, and got up. I’ll ask them to make it with milk. She looked at my shaking hands, and bit her lip. Won’t be long, she said, and went back to the counter.

I watched her bustling up to the counter. She felt to me like someone I’d known in another dimension. Someone I had loved. When she came back with two mugs of coffee she said it was time I told her what was happening. She busied herself sugaring my drink and stirring it. Drink up first. I opened my mouth. I really wanted to spill the whole story, but somehow I didn’t have enough words. On one level it was all so pitifully predictable. If I laid it all out in front of Alison she would, with her clear blue eyes, evaporate it, sort it so easily that I’d never forgive her. Maybe I wanted to see it as a bit tragic and hugely unique, even though I knew really it wasn’t. Eventually I said, thanks for the offer of moolah, anyway. Money is not the problem.

I told her I had a headache. She found some tablets in her bag. Are these OK for you to have now? she asked, holding the pack away from me. For God’s sake, I said, just hand the stupid things over. After being kicked down the stairs two little tablets are not going to matter. I could probably take the whole box. I’m invincible. Don’t talk like that, she said. My brain was heavy. I felt my forehead was going to fall out. I rested my head in my hands. My God, Alison said, and leaned across to feel my head. Is that what he’s done? Her hand was cool. In the same instant that she touched my skin startlingly bright blood gushed from my nose, and plopped like flat coins onto my plate of messed-up eggs.





I can’t stop myself





IT GAVE ME time to think, that quiet week being alone in my house. I asked myself why I should care about being alone. It was what I wanted, after all. Perhaps he’d left for good. I made a few plans. Very simple ones. Then he came back, and I had to rethink them. I found it difficult; it was as if the section of my brain that knew about good moves for me was talking at cross purposes with the section of my heart that knew about him. Somehow I got things straight.

He behaved as if nothing had happened. Mostly he slept and watched TV. I phoned Alison. Have you got company? Alison asked. I told her I wanted to see her. We agreed to meet soon. Just before she rang off I told her I had a plan. Are you leaving him? she asked. Well, one of us is leaving, put it that way, I said. She asked me what that meant. Wait and see, I said.

I sat down beside him on the settee. He put his arm round my shoulders and began to kiss me. I opened my mouth without thinking. Stand up, he said. Take off your blouse. As I undid the buttons I asked if I should turn off the TV. No, he said, I’m waiting for the football. He told me to take off my trousers. As I undid the zip I felt myself splitting. Part of me drifted up, and hovered over the TV. The other part centred down between my legs. I felt myself beginning to warmly liquefy there.

I moved near him, and pressed my belly towards his mouth. Kiss me, I said. Say you love me. It felt very important that he tell me. Say I love you, I asked him again. No, he said. He pushed my bra up over my breasts, and pressed his index fingers down into the soft centres. How do you feel now? he said. What do you want? Do I make you sick? Tell me. He grabbed the waistband of my knickers, and bunched it up in his hand, pulling it upwards. I toppled nearer to him. Does it hurt you? he asked. I felt the bite of the material as it thinned and tightened, I felt a dull pulse in my anus. Do you like it? he said. Yes, I said, I do. You can’t do without me, can you, poor baby? he said. You need me. I think I’ll come back for good. You know, and never, ever leave. I know that’s what you really want.

Without letting go he undid his trousers, and let them fall. I pulled his prick free. I wanted to bite it hard. No you don’t, he said. He pushed me, and I lay back on the settee. Do it now, I said into his blond hair. He manoeuvred the taut material to one side, and forced his penis in through the narrow gap. It hurts, he said, and pulled harder. As we came he said, Look at me, watch me. But I clutched his hair and stared at my other self, my floating self. I thought, She must pity me. She reminded me of my plan just by floating there.





I dig without due care





I LAY AWAKE the following morning. When it was six o’clock it was time to get out of bed. I wanted to do it without disturbing him. He lay on his back, his leg resting across my thighs. I began to push him off. He muttered, then turned to lie on his side facing me. He flung his arm across my breasts. I lay still, and breathed as shallowly as I could. His head was resting on my hair, tugging at the roots. I pulled it out from under him smoothly. I thought I should wait for a while, but it was already beginning to get light. I could hear the birds waking up. I watched him sleeping. I kissed his mouth. It felt cool and gentle. Sweet dreams, I whispered into his ear. I inched out of the bed, and closed the bedroom door softly.

It took me some while to find the back door key. All the time I listened for any sounds from upstairs. He had drunk a lot last night so I felt safe. On the patio the paving was damp under my bare feet, like the skin on a reptile’s back. I had forgotten my robe. Misty air drifted pleasantly over my naked arms as I searched behind some big pots for the trowel. It was starting to rain mistily. There was a strong, unfamiliar, early smell of earth and trees. I kneeled down, and began to dig choppily under the laurel bush. Crumbled mud sprayed onto my nightdress. It started to rain. I could hear heavy drops striking the broad leaves above me.

Eventually I pulled out the red box. The painted surface was already beginning to bubble up. It felt heavy and chilled as I rested it on my knees. I crouched in amongst the laurel leaves, turned the thin, filigree key in the lock, and opened the lid. I took out the plastic bag. With my soiled fingers I fingered the wad of notes through the opaque plastic. I began to sob silently. It felt as if I’d found the door to another world, and it was swinging silently open. I stood up and stepped out of the laurel.

He was waiting for me, his hair sleep-rummaged. You bitch, he said, and grabbed the bag from me. You sly little bitch. He rummaged in the bag. You’ve been stealing from me, he shouted. I almost laughed it was so untrue. Then I screamed that he was a liar. That I had always paid for everything. I watched as he swung his arm back, and with full force smacked my face. The sound of his palm thumping my ear and cheekbone was not the sound I’d heard in films. I fell heavily on to my knees. I was blinded, as if the blow had knocked both of my eyes out onto the paving slabs. I rested on all fours, my jaw felt as if it was flapping like a snapped hinge. He walked away across the patio, slamming the door behind him. He took all my money with him.