Suddenly it struck me – the only way out of this was to become the victim, not the perpetrator.
Night had fallen by the time I left my car outside End of the Line, then I hurried along the streets, thinking clearly for just long enough to make sure there were no CCTV cameras above me. I made my way towards the Racecourse, a 120-acre rectangular park with only the occasional streetlight. Once in a darkened, secluded spot, I stared at the time on my phone and remained motionless, waiting for five minutes to pass. A sharp, searing pain burned my face like acid and my ear was ringing. I wanted to collapse to the ground in tears from the pain.
‘Don’t give in to it,’ I muttered under my breath, and gritted my teeth. Then, when five minutes had passed, I took a deep breath and ran back into the open on paths by busy roads, past shops and lamp posts with mounted cameras.
‘I’ve been attacked!’ I sobbed to the duty officer at Campbell Square Police Station. I didn’t need to encourage my body to tremble, and he could see by my bleeding face and hand that I’d been through the mill. He called for a colleague, and a young woman in uniform ushered me towards a chair.
‘Are you in need of any urgent treatment?’ she asked gently.
I shook my head. ‘No, he didn’t . . . rape . . . me. I escaped before he did that.’
She led me into an interview room at the back of the station and the next two hours of my life went by in a blur. It was as if I had allowed someone else to control my body, my brain and my conversation. I became a spectator listening to myself conjure up lie after lie.
I explained how I’d been walking home from End of the Line through the park when I was pushed to the ground from behind. It was too dark to see his face when he rolled me over and kept hitting me in the face and then grabbed me hard by the shoulders and arms. I saw a knife in his hand, but somehow I’d managed to knee him in the groin, disable him and flee.
While officers were dispatched to the scene, the crime was recorded and my statement and photographs of my injuries were taken. I was hesitant when they asked me to remove my clothes for processing, especially as I’d be forced to wear an unflattering forensic suit.
I was now the victim of a crime. And should I ever be linked to what happened in the cottage, I’d have an alibi as to where I was. If that failed, I’d tell them Steven was a caller I’d grown fond of and who’d lured me to his home with desperate threats to kill himself. While it was unprofessional of me, I was concerned for his well-being. Then I’d tell them he attacked me and his death was self-defence. I had all my bases covered.
But the hours spent inside the station also had another purpose, as it brought Tony to me. In the early hours and following a call from the duty officer, my worried husband appeared. The moment his eyes fell upon his injured, vulnerable wife, over a year’s worth of animosity melted away.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, and placed his arm around my shoulders, instinctively kissing my crown. His lips were as soft as raspberries but I recoiled, as any physical contact hurt following my fall down the stairs. ‘What happened?’
I mustered up the right amount of effort to burst into tears again, and placed my nose against his neck, breathing him in deeply. There was a faint scent of the previous day’s aftershave and moisturiser left on his skin. The police officer explained to Tony what had happened to me.
‘Can you take me home, please?’ I begged.
We left with a crime number and orders to see my GP the following day if my injuries worsened. Within a quarter of an hour, Tony’s car was pulling into our drive.
‘Do the girls know what happened?’ I asked.
‘No, I didn’t want to wake them and worry them. I left Effie a note in case she woke up and said I’d explain it to her in the morning. Where’s your car? It’s not on the drive.’
‘I left it at the office,’ I said.
‘Why were you walking home when you’re doing night shifts?’ he asked as if he was frustrated with me, but fell short of telling me off.
‘Are you saying this is my fault?’
‘No, no, that’s not what I meant. Let’s get you inside.’
Tony helped me from the car and put his arm around my waist, gently assisting me up the driveway until we crossed the threshold. His touch felt magical. Tony’s eyes were diverted to the walls and he stared at each of them before looking at me. I knew what he was thinking.
‘I just want to sleep,’ I said quietly, and turned away.
He helped me upstairs where I changed into my pyjamas and crawled into bed.
‘Will you stay with me tonight?’ I asked.
Tony looked at me awkwardly. ‘Laura . . .’ he began.
‘Just for tonight,’ I said. ‘I’m scared and I need you to make me feel safe.’
He nodded, and I pulled the duvet from his side of the bed to invite him in. He turned on the bedside lamp but sank into an armchair in the corner of the room instead. It was progress; at least we’d be sleeping in the same room. Despite my physical pain, knowing he was in touching distance helped me to drift off into a satisfactory sleep.
By the time I awoke late in the morning, Tony had left me to face the day on my own. He texted to say he’d walked to End of the Line to pick up my car and it was parked on the driveway and that he’d return at teatime. That left me alone for seven hours. Only I wasn’t alone, because Steven was ever-present in my thoughts. Was he still alive and in that cottage, slowly bleeding to death, or had he died moments after I’d plunged my knife into his stomach? I had to know the truth.
I took the car, drove to his village and slowly approached the cottage. Locking the car doors, I tried to steady my shaking hands. There was no police presence or tape sealing off the area. The front door that I’d propped open with a chair had been closed and the light in the front bedroom had been switched off, so something had happened after I’d left. Suddenly the door opened and a man appeared. He was much older than Steven. I watched as he picked up a pair of garden shears and began hacking away at a hedge. If Steven’s body had been in that house, he’d have been discovered by now. There was no doubt in my mind that Steven was still alive.
But that in itself brought more problems. Where was he?
I was constantly on edge in the weeks that followed. Every couple of hours, I’d cautiously peek through the bedroom window blinds, first scanning each parked car, then each bush and neighbour’s window, looking for a person or a shadow. I kept the curtains closed and, every morning and night, I’d check every window lock.