‘Maybe you should occupy more of your time with your children, and leave me the hell alone.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Do you think I’m spending too long at End of the Line? I can cut down my hours, if that’s what you want.’
‘I don’t care what you do.’
‘You used to. We can’t sort out whatever is happening between us if you don’t try.’
‘Some things are beyond sorting out.’
I felt sick. ‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this. We’ve been married for almost sixteen years. Every couple has bumps in the road . . .’
‘A bump? Is that what you’ve convinced yourself this is?’ He lowered his voice to make sure the children couldn’t hear him through the open window. Then he looked at me with a contempt I’d never seen in his eyes before.
‘I know about you, Laura,’ he growled. ‘I know what you are and what you’ve done. I know everything.’
My eyes locked on to his and my legs felt as if they were about to give way. He couldn’t have been referring to what I thought he was.
‘What . . . what are you talking about?’ I stammered.
‘You tried to hide your old social services file from me, but I found it and read the whole fucking thing,’ he snapped. ‘You have lied to me right from the very beginning of our relationship, and then every step of the way since. About what happened when you went into care in that house with Olly . . . the lot. I have no idea who I’m married to.’
I took a step back and felt the bile rising from my stomach, up my throat and into my mouth. I tried to pretend his words hadn’t just slashed me like broken glass.
‘You don’t have anything to say, do you?’ he continued.
He was right, I didn’t. I cursed myself; I knew it had been a huge mistake digging up the past. But once I had it written in black and white, I couldn’t dispose of it, no matter how hurtful and inaccurate it was. Instead, I’d hidden the file, so I could reread it and torture myself over and over again. Only Tony had clearly stumbled across it, too. It explained why he’d become so distant with me, why sometimes when I looked at him with love, he looked at me with loathing.
Suddenly I was brought back to the present by the sound of a car engine outside. I craned my neck, hoping to see Tony’s car. But it was the obese couple that lived next door. Tony was probably waiting until later, and for me to go to bed before he brought the girls home.
The oven timer chimed, so I slipped on my oven gloves and removed a large cooking pot. I pushed the lid to one side to remind myself it was a chicken casserole I’d made. I poured some into a bowl for me, and the rest I’d leave for the others to heat up if they were hungry. They’d probably ignore it though. The freezer was packed full of Tupperware meals I’d made for four, but that’d only been eaten by one.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FIVE MONTHS, TWO WEEKS AFTER DAVID
‘If you can’t see yourself getting any better, what’s the best outcome you could hope for?’ I asked Steven.
Like all my questions, it was delivered in a caring, measured manner. But it was a loaded one. I focused on the second hand of the clock on the wall, measuring the time of his response. Twenty-four seconds elapsed before he spoke again.
‘That one morning I just don’t wake up.’
‘You don’t want to wake up,’ I reiterated. ‘I understand.’ And I did. The same thought had crossed my own mind over the years, more times than I cared to admit. Only, I possessed the strength to soldier on.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I have to live for?’ he said.
‘Would you like me to? Would you listen to me if I came up with some reasons?’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Then I won’t patronise you. When you’ve thought long and hard about bringing your life to an end like you have, I don’t have the right to tell you you’re wrong, and that’s not what End of the Line is here for. I’m not going to try to pull you out of a hole; I’m in that hole with you. Have you considered how you might do it? In our first conversation, you mentioned ending your life by standing in front of a train.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘What are your thoughts now?’
‘Hanging.’
My eyes lit up. Almost sixty per cent of suicidal men end their lives by strangulation, but I’d yet to come across one. The prospect immediately excited me. My tally to date was eight overdoses on illegal or prescription drugs, three jumpers and four who’d bled to death.
I took a moment to compose myself. ‘Where would you do it?’
‘In my bedroom. I live in a cottage with a vaulted ceiling and wooden beams. I’ve tested them by doing pull-ups so I know they can take my weight. Honestly, it’s the perfect place.’ His voice was animated, like a child trying to impress a parent.
I was pleased to hear from Steven now he’d finally found me again, although he took a little longer than I’d expected. He seemed more serious than ever about wanting to die, as if he’d taken the time between calls to really consider how he might go about it.
The door to the office opened and Zoe entered. She gave me one of her lipstick-on-her-teeth smiles and a thumbs-up, then took a seat a couple of desks away from mine and unpacked her bag. It was a satchel I hadn’t seen before. If there was any doubt she was a lesbian, she’d just answered it. I moved the receiver closer to my mouth and chose my words carefully so she didn’t overhear me.
‘Why would you choose . . . those means . . . over any other process?’
‘Because I reckon it’s quick and it’s easy and not much can go wrong.’
I shook my head. This was precisely why people like Steven needed people like me. He was naive. Only if his method was meticulous and well researched would it be ‘quick and easy’. There was so much he hadn’t taken into account. If he chose a drop hanging, he’d instantly fall unconscious and death would soon follow. Now that would be ‘quick and easy’.
But chances were the beams in an old cottage weren’t high enough for that, so Steven’s drop would likely be just a few feet. If he got it wrong, he could suffer a long and drawn-out death. I had so much to teach him.
‘I’ve bought some rope and I’ve been practising my knots by watching YouTube clips,’ he offered.
‘I don’t think it will be as easy as that.’
‘Why not?’
I glanced over towards Zoe. She was engrossed in a Snapchat conversation, sending silly pictures of herself with rabbit ears and a dog’s snout to some equally juvenile-minded fool.
‘Because there are a lot of complications involved in your method, if that’s what you choose,’ I whispered. ‘But we can work through that another time if it’s the direction you decide to take.’
‘So you’ll help me?’
‘As I’ve explained to you before, it’s not my job to try to talk you out of anything or into my way of thinking. I’m just here to listen.’
‘What if . . . ?’ His voice trailed off.
I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn’t. ‘David?’ I asked. ‘Are you still there?’
‘David?’