Love You Better (20 page)

18.

E
ffie winced as she dabbed a cotton wool ball doused with antiseptic lotion on the cut under her eye. It stung like hell, but it was nothing compared to the pain she was
feeling
inside.

He’d gone. He hadn’t even put up a fight when she’d thrown the bag at him. It was like he’d admitted defeat as he slowly picked it up and walked downstairs without saying a word before leaving the house. There was nothing he could have said anyway. He must have known after seeing her face that there were no words that could ever make what he’d done okay.

The skin under her eye socket was swollen and split, streaked with dark, dry blood. A deep red bruise had already spread, covering her eye completely. She didn’t need to look under her jumper. She knew her side and abdomen were covered in red blotches, like a rash.

Effie threw the cotton ball into the bin. The look on Oliver’s face when he’d come into the bedroom . . . For a second, it had
flickered
with shame and disgust. At least, she hoped that’s what it was. Despite everything he’d done, she didn’t want to believe she’d really married a monster, incapable of true remorse. The truth was, she hadn’t expected it to be so easy to tell him to leave and really mean it. What did that say about their marriage, about her? Was any of it even real? Had she ever really loved him if it had been so easy to tell him to go? And what if he’d really meant what he’d said, about him changing? What if what happened was just a blip, and he really was still the nice, dependable Oliver she’d married? Her head was filled with so many doubts, but all she felt now was numb.

For the third night in a row, she lay in bed, staring at the
ceiling
and running through every memory of her relationship with
Oliver
, trying to pin down where it had all gone wrong. And for the third morning in a row, she watched the sun rise over the rooftops through her window, having reached no conclusion.

Her phone vibrated on the bed next to her. Another voicemail. She’d diverted all calls, and if the rate of alerts was
anything
to go by, her mailbox was probably full. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. Instead, she listened to her street waking up. She listened to the postman opening and closing front gates until she heard her own letterbox clang, followed by the thud of envelopes hitting the floor. As the hours passed and
the sun
rose higher, front doors opened and closed as people left for work, and the chatter of children on their way to school floated through
the air.

Her mobile vibrated again, and she sighed, sitting up. Maybe it was work. She’d told them she was ill and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week, but it wasn’t unheard of for them to call on a day off. She held her breath as she took the divert off, bracing herself for the barrage of missed call alerts from Oliver. As the notifications popped up on her screen, she frowned. Missed calls from Lou, a couple from Mickey, two from the office and fifteen from Izzy, but not one call or text from Oliver. She was about to dial through to her voicemail when it rang, with Izzy’s name blinking on her screen. Effie diverted it before switching her phone off and burying herself back under the covers.

Two days later, Effie jolted awake and sat up in bed. She wiped the sweat from her chest and strained her ears, listening for the noise that had woken her from an already restless sleep. She’d never noticed before just how big the house was. It seemed like every room had doubled in size, and noises she’d never heard before filled the house at night. The boiler ticked over loudly, and the wind whistled through the sash windows. She’d taken to closing all of the doors in the house so they wouldn’t creak. For peace of mind, she’d had the locks changed on the same day Oliver had left, but even still, being alone was testing her to the limits. After a few minutes of silence, she slowly lay back down.

Stop being ridiculous.

She’d lived on her own for years; it wasn’t as if she was scared of living by herself. Effie turned on her side and took a deep breath. She was being paranoid, that was all. The numbers on the digital clock on the bedside table flicked over, and she closed her eyes. She had to shift the dull throb that had lodged itself in the back of her head since the night Oliver had left. She had to sleep, but the sound of rustling outside made her eyes snap wide open.

It’s probably a fox. Go to sleep.

But when she heard the noise again, her paranoia became something else. There was someone in the garden, she was sure of it. She sat bolt upright and grabbed her phone from the bedside table. What if it was a burglar? All of the windows and doors were locked, and the alarm was enabled. A burglar wouldn’t be able to get in without making a real disturbance, but her skin bloomed with fear as she sat perfectly still.

Calm down. It’s nothing. You’re overtired, and your mind is
playing
tricks on you.

If she didn’t hear anything else in the next two minutes, she’d pull herself together and try to sleep.

A minute passed. Then two. Slowly, she began to relax and lay back in bed, her heartbeat slowing to a steadier pace. Even if it had been a would-be burglar, he’d have given up and moved on to the next house after seeing no way in. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and loudly exhaled. There was nothing to be scared of – except for the unexpected vibration of her phone. Her stomach jumped as it buzzed next to her, and she almost let out a nervous laugh. She was turning into a jumbled bag of nerves.

‘Seriously, you need to chill the hell out.’ She heaved a sigh as she spoke quietly to herself in the dark room and slid a thumb across the screen.

She read the message, and tears pricked her eyes. She turned her phone off and put it in the drawer, but she could still see the
message
as clearly as if her mind had photographed it.

I miss you. I need you. I love you.

She was sure all three statements were true, and a flash of
confusion
and anger hit her. Why had he messaged her? Did he really think a nine-word text message was going to do anything to repair what had happened? And why had she felt a glimmer of
happiness
when she’d seen his name? This was the man who’d made her wet herself through fear. The only thing she should feel thinking about him was hate.

Effie huffed and turned onto her back. She’d meant what she’d said to him. She didn’t need his kind of love.

19.

T
hese are some impressive flowers. They were left by the door.’ Lou handed Effie a bunch of deep red roses and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you have any idea how worried
I’ve b
een?’

Effie looked down into the flowers and sighed. ‘I know.
I’m sorr
y.’

As Lou stepped past her into the house, Effie took a deep breath. Since Oliver had gone, she’d avoided everyone, and it was only when Lou banged on her front door with relentless vigour that Effie took the first tentative steps to re-entering the world. She looked
at th
e flowers again and put them on the sideboard without reading the card. With their luscious, thick blood-red petals and expensive cellophane and paper wrapping, she knew they were from Oliver, and he had nothing to say that she wanted to hear. She took a quick look in the mirror. Thanks to the Internet, she’d found a plethora of makeup tips to cover bruises, and she’d been experimenting, since she’d have to return to work soon. Still, she took her hair from the ponytail it was in to let it fall over her face.

‘How are you?’ Effie asked. Lou was looking much better than she had the last time Effie had seen her.

‘I’m fine. Nothing’s really changed, apart from you dropping off the face of the earth. What’s going on?’

‘Tea? The kettle’s just boiled, and it’s a long story.’

Lou nodded and followed Effie into the kitchen. It
was
a long story, and she needed to come up with a cover quickly.

‘I’m sorry I disappeared.’ Effie looked down as she dropped teabags into two mugs.

‘What’s up with you? Have you been sick? You don’t look so good.’

Effie slowly pressed a teaspoon against one of the teabags. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘Where’s Olly?’

Effie sighed, knowing there was no way to dress it up. ‘He’s moved out.’

Lou’s jaw dropped. ‘No way. When?’

Effie slid a cup towards her. ‘Last week.’

‘Why? I mean, what happened?’

All Effie could do was shrug. Despite being alone with her thoughts for over a week, she still hadn’t come up with an acceptable cover story as to why she was now living alone.
My husband beat me up
was a sentence she never wanted to utter aloud.

‘The flowers are from him?’ Lou asked, and Effie nodded as she picked up her cup. ‘Has something happened with Smith?’

Smith. The sweet smell of sweat and grass filled Effie’s nose, and a pang hit her in the solar plexus so hard, her thumb slipped in the handle of her cup.

‘Shit,’ Effie swore as half the cup of tea spilled down her top, scalding her skin.

She handed her cup to Lou and whipped off her vest. As Lou gasped, Effie stood frozen on the spot.

Shit.

How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t look up at her best friend. She daren’t. She didn’t want to see the look of horror and pity that would no doubt be plastered all over her face.

‘Effie,’ Lou whispered and put her cup down. ‘What the hell?’

She flinched as Lou reached out and touched her skin. She’d grown so used to seeing it over the past few days that, perversely, she’d almost forgotten it was even there. Effie closed her eyes, wishing she could rewind just a few seconds. Lou’s seeing the bruise would change everything. It would make it all real. Until now, Effie had been able to at least try to push what had happened from her mind, almost as if it hadn’t happened at all and that she’d told
Oliver
to leave because of something else.

‘What happened?’

The entire right side of her abdomen was covered in big yellow and brown bruises. It wasn’t anywhere near as tender as it had been, but that was little consolation.

‘Did Olly do this to you?’ Lou’s voice was thick under the strain of tears.

Effie stayed quiet. Why had she taken her bloody vest off? Now what was she going to do?

‘Effie? Did he do this to you?’

If she didn’t speak now, Lou would know for sure, and
everything
would be ruined. Lou would make her go to the police and she’d have to sit in a room, telling people all the ins and outs of her life.

‘I’ll fucking kill him.’

‘No.’ The sudden intensity in Lou’s voice made Effie snap her head up. ‘Don’t.’

‘I’ll wring his fucking neck.’

Lou slammed down her cup, and Effie squeezed the vest in her hands. ‘Lou, stop. It really wasn’t his fault. Honestly.’

Why was she protecting him? Lou was her best friend. They didn’t have secrets. Effie looked at her. Lou’s face was set with
horror
, concern and an anger Effie had never seen before.

‘So what happened then? And don’t tell me you walked into
a door.
’

‘Can I change my top? Then we’ll talk.’

Lou looked back at her for a few seconds before sighing loudly as she nodded, and Effie ran up the stairs. As she pulled a fresh T-shirt from the drawer, she ran through excuses in her head. She wasn’t protecting Oliver; she was protecting herself. She didn’t want the drama that telling the truth would bring, and what did it matter now anyway? Oliver was gone. They were over. He couldn’t hurt her again. She headed back downstairs and into the kitchen.

Lou shook her head. ‘Please tell me why you have a bruise the size of Australia on your side.’

Effie slid into the chair opposite. ‘I fell down the stairs.’

Lou rolled her eyes.

‘I’m serious. We were arguing upstairs, and he stormed out.
I trie
d to go after him, and I tripped.’

Effie looked at her, willing her to believe what she’d said. It was half true – they
had
argued upstairs. She’d read somewhere once that if you were going to lie, you should try to incorporate some truth into it, to make it convincing.

‘Arguing about what?’

‘I dunno, the usual stuff.’

‘Usual stuff that made him move out and gave you those bruises? Do you think I was born yesterday? At least come up with something more original than falling down the bloody stairs.’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Swear it. Swear on my life.’ Lou stared at her and shook her head when Effie didn’t reply. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She already knows.

Lou wasn’t stupid. Effie knew she could see through her lie. She looked at Lou, and her stomach swirled. Would it really be so bad to admit it? Would Lou really pity her?

Tell her.

They’d been friends since Effie’s first day at secondary school. She could trust her.

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Effie said quietly. ‘It’s not like he’s been beating me up all the time.’

‘So he
did
hit you?’ Lou slammed her hand on the table and stood up, shaking her head as she paced the kitchen. When she stopped and looked back at Effie, her eyes were blazing with fury. ‘It doesn’t matter how often he’s been doing it; he still hit you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’

‘Lou, I’m fine. Really. Do I look like a battered housewife
to you
?’

‘Quite frankly, yes.’ Lou shook her head. ‘Effie, you need to call the police. You need to call the police and get his sorry arse thrown into jail.’

Effie sighed. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve kicked him out. It’s over, and he knows it.’

‘And what’s to stop him coming back and doing it again? You
need
to go to the police.’

‘What’s the point? To have some can’t-be-arsed police officer come round and ask questions and do nothing about it?’

‘It’s not like that anymore. They take domestic violence
seriously
now, Eff.’

Effie shivered at the words. Domestic violence. She was already just another statistic.

‘Olly’s a barrister. I can’t go up against him.’

Lou shook her head again. ‘That little shit. He deserves to be locked up until he rots. All you’re doing by not going to the police is protecting him.’

‘I’m not. I’m just trying to get on with my life.’

‘You do know I can report it on your behalf? It doesn’t have to come from you.’

‘I mean it, Lou. No police.’

Lou took her phone from her pocket. ‘Then at least let me take pictures, just in case you change your mind. Think about it a bit more at least. Just because he’s a barrister doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any kind of justice.’

‘Why?’ Effie’s arms instinctively covered her stomach as she
pictured
seeing shots of her bruised body plastered over a host of social media sites.

‘You have to have something to fight with. If he ever does
anything
like this again—’

‘He won’t. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’

‘Just in case,’ Lou pressed. ‘I still think you should go to the police, but if you won’t, then at least let me take some photos.’

Effie slowly lifted the top. ‘Okay, but you can’t show them to anyone.’

‘Of course not. Unless he tries something like this again.’

The clicking of Lou’s camera echoed through the kitchen, and Effie closed her eyes. Usually when Lou took photos, they were selfies of the two of them pulling silly faces and having fun. This time, they were documentation of abuse. How had her life come to this?

Later that night, Effie sat on the sofa, trying not to feel dwarfed in her big house. Lou had offered to put her up, but Effie couldn’t quite bring herself to leave. This was her dream house after all. It was just that she hadn’t banked on feeling so lonely when Oliver had left. She’d spent nights alone in the house when he’d worked late and once when he’d gone to a conference in Birmingham, but she’d always known he’d be back. Now, it was different. Perversely, she missed his presence in the house. She missed having someone else around.

She draped a blanket over her legs and switched the television over to reruns of
Friends
while she ate a bowl of soup. It was the first proper meal she’d eaten for days, and she greedily wiped the bowl dry with the last of a crusty loaf, feeling oddly calm. Lou finding out had released some of the tension Effie hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. Someone else knew, and she trusted Lou to keep her secret, whether she agreed with Effie’s feelings on what to do next or not.

She put the bowl on the coffee table and curled up under the blanket. How many times had she seen this episode? Too many, probably, but with the absence of anyone else in the house, its familiarity was almost as comforting as her blanket. When the door knocked, she ignored it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she was too snug to move. Last weekend, two Jehovah’s Witnesses had knocked on their door. It was probably them again, and she couldn’t be bothered to politely decline. She ignored the persistent knocking and hoped they wouldn’t look through the window.

‘Effie?’

At the sound of Oliver’s voice, her entire body ran cold and froze, as if the temperature in the house had suddenly plummeted. Her heart stopped mid-beat. The voice she’d heard was muffled, but there was no doubt that it was his.

‘Effie. Open up.’ He knocked again, but she didn’t budge until she heard his key trying to fit in the lock.

There was no way he could get in, but she shot up from the sofa and went to the living room doorway, peering into the hallway. Oliver’s silhouette stood on the other side of the frosted glass panes. She saw him press the side of his hand against the door as he tried to peer inside.

‘Effie? Come on, let me in. I just want to talk.’

His voice was soft and gentle, like it usually was when he wasn’t stressed or angry. It sounded like Oliver. Like her husband.
She did
n’t move as he crouched down and lifted the letterbox, looking inside.

‘I know you’re there. I can see your feet.’

Her breath caught in her throat as she moved backwards into the living room.

‘I just want to talk. Things have changed. I’ve started an anger management course, and I really want to tell you about it.’

Effie closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She had to stand her ground. She couldn’t let him try to explain and twist things around in her head.

‘Come on, baby. We don’t want the whole street to know our business.’

She heard the letterbox close and after a few seconds, she let out her breath in one long, slow exhale. He was gone. She’d resisted him. Even though her heart ached at the sound of his voice, she couldn’t, under any circumstances, let him get inside her head, especially now Lou knew what had happened. It was bad enough to be an abused partner, but it would be even worse to be the abused
partner
who kept going back for more. She turned around to sit back on the sofa and froze as her breath caught in her throat.

Looking back at her were Oliver’s blue eyes, big, round and sad as they peered through the window. Her shoulders sagged as she stared back into them. He didn’t move or say anything – he just looked at her. Her spine tingled as she took in the features of his face. She knew them as well as she knew
her ow
n.

Remember what he did. Remember how he hit you.

Effie closed her eyes against the tears. How did he do this? How could he make her begin to doubt herself? Her breathing quickened as she waited for him to do something, anything. Why wasn’t he getting angry? Why wasn’t he banging on the window, calling her all the names under the sun? Why was he making this so damned difficult?