‘Oh my God.’ My hands flew to my mouth as I pushed open the door to the spare room. My sewing table was lying on the floor on its side. Half a metre away was my machine, a dark footprint staining the body, the delicate thread guides, tension regulators and spool pins snapped and bent, the foot control ripped away, lying on the other side of the room. My boxes of material that I’d so neatly stacked in the corner were upended and crushed, the material spilling out – ripped, mangled and smeared with what looked like red paint. My mannequin leaned drunkenly against the back wall, black-handled sewing scissors plunged into its chest. The floor was a riot of colour – thread, ribbons, buttons, bindings, chords, elastics and tapes, all splattered with the same red gloss paint. The curtains were ripped from the window, the mirror smashed and the upholstery on the chair I’d so lovingly covered before I moved in was slashed open, the white stuffing bursting out like a puff mushroom, the elegant wooden legs snapped clean off.
I backed out of the room, my hands still pressed to my mouth, certain we’d been robbed and the burglar was still in the house. Why else would my room be trashed and Margaret’s things missing? But where was she? An image of my mother-in-law, tied up and terrified, flashed into my mind and a cold shiver pulsed through my body. I stepped across the landing as softly as I could – heel, toe, heel, toe – trying to avoid the creaky floorboards. The blood pounded in my ears as I stepped past mine and James’s bedroom door. Did they have her in there? I paused mid-stride, one heel pressed into the floorboard, the ball of my foot raised. All my senses prickled with anticipation as I listened, then as a floorboard creaked behind me I sprinted across the landing, took the stairs two at a time and ran across the hallway. I vaulted my suitcase and sped past my shoes. I had one hand on the front door handle when it flew open and I was grabbed around the neck.
‘No!’ I slapped at my attacker as I was forced backwards, away from the light of escape and back into the dark hallway.
‘Bitch.’
I recognized the voice immediately.
‘James, stop.’ I tripped over my suitcase as he powered towards me, and fell to the floor. ‘It’s me. It’s Suzy.’ I reached my hands up towards him, certain he’d help me up when he realized his mistake. ‘James, it’s Suzy.’
He bent down and peered at me, his pupils dark pools in the gloom. His fingers made contact with my head and he stroked my hair back from my forehead.
‘James,’ I reached up and touched his face, ‘something terrible has happened. My sewing room … it’s awful. Everything I worked so hard for has been destroyed. Why would someone do that?’
The pressure of James’s hand on my head changed and he began raking his hand through my hair, pressing the tips of his fingers into my skull.
‘Ow.’ I wrapped my hand round his and tried to relieve the pressure. ‘Could you be a bit more gentle?’
‘I don’t know. Could you be a bit more truthful?’ He stood up suddenly, yanking me up by the hair.
It was as though my scalp was being ripped clean from my skull. I screamed and lashed out but I barely had time to find my feet before James set off, striding towards the living room, dragging me, still screaming, along the hallway behind him. Each step made my head burn like it was on fire. Just when I thought I’d pass out from the pain, James released his grip and threw me across the room. I raised my arms to cover my face as I flew towards the glass cabinet then there was a crash, I hit the floor and a thousand shards of glass rained down on me. I lay still, too dazed to move, and then James was on me again.
‘Lying down on the job again are you, you slut?’
He grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me across the room, back towards the door then yanked me to my feet.
‘Tell me the truth!’ he bellowed in my face then CRACK! his fist made contact with my cheekbone and I fell back to the floor.
‘Please,’ I tried to scrabble up, my fingers pressed to my cheek. ‘Please James, just tell me what I’ve done wrong. Let’s talk about it, let’s—’
CRACK! His boot made contact with my shoulder. He towered above me, his face a mask of anger, his eyes black, glittering holes and he raised his boot as if to kick me again when …
Ring-ring, ring-ring.
James glanced towards the living-room door.
Ring-ring, ring-ring.
He looked back at me.
Ring-ring, ring-ring.
Beep! This is 0207 4563 2983. Please leave a message after the tone.
The phone went to answerphone.
‘Hello? Susan, this is Jake from the Abberley Players. Sorry to call you again but I really need to talk to you. There’s been a fight, between Steve and James. Steve’s in hospital but we don’t know where James is. We’re worried about him. And you. He was saying some … um … unusual things. Could you give me a ring when you get this, please. My number is 0208 9823 7456. Thanks.’
I looked at James. There was a bruise on his cheek I hadn’t noticed in the dark hallway and the edge of his mouth was split, caked with blood. There was blood on his neck too, and on his fists. I didn’t know if it was Steve’s or mine.
He caught me looking at him and the look of worry on his face morphed into disgust.
‘Stand up.’
I slowly picked myself up from the ground.
‘Take off your clothes.’
I did as I was told, slowly, painfully, undoing the buttons of my shirt before slipping it off – I winced as it caught on my swollen right shoulder – then let it slip to the floor. I undid my jeans, pushed them past my hips and stepped out of them.
‘And your underwear.’
‘James, please. We weren’t going out together when Steve and I … when we … it was all a terrible mistake. I didn’t enjoy it and I didn’t feel anything. In fact, it just made me miss you more and—’
‘Your underwear.’
I pushed my knickers to the ground first then reached round to unclip my bra. My shoulder twisted sharply and I gasped in pain but I was more scared by what James would do if I didn’t comply so I undid my bra and dropped that to the floor too.
I flinched as he took a step towards me but, instead of hitting me, he side-stepped me and walked up to the window, threw open the curtains and opened the window.
‘Stand here, Susan.’
I hesitated. There was a row of houses opposite. They were separated from us by the busy road below but, just as we could see into their illuminated homes on a dark night, so they could see into ours.
‘The window, Suzy.’
I walked forwards like I was sleepwalking through my worst nightmare.