he play host in what used to be
his home. What were they going to talk about? What Santa was going to bring them for Christmas? He didn’t know whether Stephen had done it on purpose – he looked genuine enough but perhaps he was a good actor – but Mark didn’t stick around to find out. When the red mist descended, Mark knew from experience that it was best to walk away. His blood had been boiling ever since and he’d more than once berated the hands on the clock for moving so slowly but… finally his time was coming. All good things come to those who wait.
Christmas was done for another year.
Marie lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Would this be the last thing she saw? This discoloured uneven excuse for a ceiling. It had never bothered her before but she’d been staring at it for over a week now and it aroused an anger in her that was as fierce as it was absurd. She shouldn’t even be in here – she should be in the front room with Anna. From the moment it had happened, she knew she had to tell her the truth, but how to find the words? It was so awful, so unbelievable, what could she say to her? So she’d kept quiet. Day after awful day. Her daughter knew nothing about the deadly ultimatum or the gun that she’d hidden in the bedside table. Anna was a riot of misery and confusion and she would have to stay that way because Marie would not – could not – tell her the truth.
She was a bad mother. A bad person. She had to be to have invited such misfortune upon them. She had chosen a wrong ’un to marry and conceived a child who could barely function. Without giving any cause for offence, she had provoked endless abuse and countless acts of random violence. And now this. The cruellest of blows and the one that would finally end their sorry story. She had given up wondering why this was happening to them – it was just the way it was. She’d given up fighting too. The phone line had been dead since Ella left, the doors were locked from the outside and no one responded to her cries. Once she thought she’d seen a figure – a child perhaps – when she was shrieking out of the window. But it had hurried off. Perhaps she’d imagined that. When you’re stuck in a perpetual nightmare, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not.
Anna was crying again. It was one of the few functions of which she was capable and it cut Marie to the quick. Her daughter was lonely and scared – two things Marie had sworn she would never be.
Marie found herself on her feet. Walking towards the door, she stopped. Don’t do this. But she must. She knew it really. Their only weapon against the world was their love and their solidarity and Marie had stupidly smashed that because of her own fear and cowardice. It was pitiful, pathetic. Having determined not to tell Anna the truth about their predicament, now she knew she had to. It was her only weapon. Their only hope.