Maybe it’s because I know I’ll be seeing Millie tomorrow that I feel less stressed than usual about going out tonight. Dinners at friends’ are the equivalent of walking through a minefield for me as I’m always worried about doing or saying something Jack will use against me. I’m pleased that I didn’t fall into the trap he set me by shading the words in Esther’s book, although I’ll have to be careful that I don’t say anything to her that he could misconstrue.
He took the book away with him when he brought me my breakfast this morning and I laughed to think of him scouring the pages in vain for anything untoward, a word or two scored through with my nail perhaps. It obviously annoyed him to find there was nothing because he spent most of the day in the basement, always a bad sign. And very boring for me. I prefer it when he moves around as it amuses me to chart his movements as he goes from one room to the next, trying to work out what he’s doing from the sounds that come to me from below.
I know he’s in the kitchen at the moment and that he’s just made himself a cup of tea because a few minutes ago I heard the sound of the kettle being filled with water, and the click when it switched itself off. I envy him. One of the many things I hate about being kept a prisoner is not being able to make myself a cup of tea whenever I want and I miss my kettle and the regular supply of teabags and milk I used to have. When I think about it now, Jack was a pretty generous jailer in the beginning.
From the way the sun is beginning to dip in the sky, I guess that it’s somewhere around six in the evening and, as we have to be at Esther’s for seven, Jack should be coming to let me into the bedroom next door, the one that used to be mine, so that I can get ready. Before long, I hear his footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, the key turns in the lock and the door swings open.
When I see him standing there, I feel as dismayed as I always do at how normal he looks, because surely there should be something—pointed ears or a pair of horns—to warn people of his evilness. He stands back to let me pass and I go eagerly into the room next door, glad to have the chance to dress up, to wear something other than black, something other than slippers on my feet. I slide open the wardrobe door and wait for Jack to tell me what to wear. When he doesn’t say anything, I know he is out to give me false hope by letting me believe I can wear what I want only to tell me to take it off again as soon as I’ve put it on. Maybe because I managed to see through his ruse with the book, I decide to gamble and choose a dress that I don’t want to wear at all, because it’s black. I take my pyjamas off. Uncomfortable though it is to have Jack looking on as I dress and undress, I can’t do anything about it as I lost my right to privacy long ago.
‘You’re beginning to look a bit scrawny,’ Jack remarks, as I put on my underwear.
‘Maybe you should bring me something to eat a little more often,’ I suggest.
‘Maybe I should,’ he agrees.
By the time I’ve got into the dress and am doing the zip up, I begin to think I’ve got it wrong.
‘Take it off,’ he says, as I smooth it down. ‘Wear the red one.’
I feign disappointment and take off the black dress, pleased that I’ve managed to outwit him, because the red is the one I would have chosen to wear. I slip it on and, maybe because of the colour, I feel more confident. I walk over to the dressing table, sit down in front of the mirror and look at myself for the first time in three weeks. The first thing I notice is that my eyebrows need plucking. Much as I hate having to do such rituals in front of Jack, I take my tweezers from the drawer and start perfecting my eyebrows. I had to negotiate the right to wax my legs, pointing out that I couldn’t look perfect if they were covered in hair, and, fortunately, he agreed to add a packet of wax strips to the minimal supply of toiletries he brings me each month.
When I’ve finished my eyebrows, I put on my make-up and, in honour of my dress, choose a brighter lipstick than usual. I stand up, walk over to the wardrobe and look through the shoeboxes, looking for my red-and-black high-heeled shoes. I slip them on my feet, take the matching bag off the shelf and hand it to him. He opens it and looks inside, checking that sometime over the past three weeks I haven’t managed to conjure up pen and paper out of thin air and transport a note through solid walls and into the bag. Passing it back to me, he looks me up and down and nods approvingly, which ironically I know is more than some women get from their husbands.
We go downstairs and in the hall, he takes my coat from the cupboard and holds it open while I slip my arms into it. In the drive outside, he holds the car door for me and waits until I’m in. As he closes it behind me, I can’t help thinking it’s a shame he’s such a sadistic bastard, because he has wonderful manners.
We arrive at Esther and Rufus’s house and, along with a huge bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne, Jack hands Esther back her book, which I presume he’s returned to its original state. She asks me what I thought of it and I tell her what I told Jack, that it took me a while to get through it because it wasn’t the sort of book I would normally read. She seems overly disappointed, which makes me wonder if it was her who highlighted the words after all and, hiding my panic, I look at her anxiously. But there’s nothing on her face to suggest I might have missed an opportunity, and my heartbeat slows back down.
We go through to where Diane and Adam are waiting, Jack’s arm around my waist. I don’t know if it’s because of all the little courtesies he’s accorded me or because I managed to wear the dress that I wanted, but, by the time we’ve finished our drinks and are heading for the table, I’m beginning to feel as if I’m a normal woman on a normal night out instead of a prisoner out with her jailer. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve had too much champagne to drink. As we wind our way through the delicious dinner that Esther has cooked for us, I’m aware of Jack watching me from across the table as I eat too much and talk a lot more than I usually do.
‘You look pensive, Jack,’ Esther remarks.
‘I was just thinking how much I’m looking forward to Millie coming to live with us,’ he says, in what only I recognise as a call to order.
‘It can’t be long now,’ she says.
‘Seventy-five days.’ Jack sighs happily. ‘Did you know that, Grace? Only another seventy-five days until Millie moves into her lovely red bedroom and becomes part of our family.’
I’d been about to take a sip of wine, but my heart plummets so fast that the glass comes to an abrupt stop in mid-air and a little slops over the side.
‘No, I didn’t know,’ I say, wondering how I could have sat there so complacently when time is running out, wondering how I could have forgotten, even for one minute, the desperate situation that I’m in. Seventy-five days—how could there be so little time left? More importantly, how am I ever going to be able to think of a way of escaping from Jack when I haven’t been able to in the three hundred and seventy-five days that must have passed since we came back from our honeymoon? Back then, even after the horror I had been through—and the ones that had faced me when we arrived at the house—I had never doubted that I would be able to escape before Millie came to live with us. Even when each attempt I made failed, there had always been a next time. But I hadn’t tried for more than six months now.
‘Carry on, Grace,’ says Jack, nodding at my glass of wine and smiling at me. I stare back at him numbly and he raises his glass. ‘Let’s drink to Millie coming to live with us.’ He looks around the table. ‘In fact, why don’t we all drink to Millie?’
‘Good idea,’ Adam says, raising his glass. ‘To Millie.’
‘To Millie,’ everyone chimes, as I try to fight the panic rising inside me. Aware of Esther looking at me curiously I raise my glass quickly, hoping she won’t notice my shaking hand.
‘While we’re in a celebratory mood,’ Adam says, ‘perhaps you’d all care to raise your glasses again.’ Everybody looks at him in interest. ‘Diane is expecting a baby! A brother or sister for Emily and Jasper!’
‘What wonderful news!’ says Esther, as congratulat
ions fly around the table. ‘Don’t you think so, Grace?’
To my horror, I burst into tears.
In the shocked silence that follows, the thought of the punishment that Jack is going to exact from me for my lack of self-control makes me cry even more. I try frantically to stem the tears but it’s impossible and, horribly embarrassed, I get to my feet, aware of Diane at my side, trying to comfort me. But it is Jack who takes me in his arms—because how can he do otherwise?—and holds me close, cradling my head against his shoulder, murmuring soothing words of comfort, and I cry even harder, thinking of how it could have been, of how I had thought it would be. For the first time, I want to give up, to die, because suddenly everything is too much and there is no solution in sight.
‘I can’t go on like this,’ I sob to Jack, not caring that everyone is listening.
‘I know,’ he soothes. ‘I know.’ It’s as if he’s acknowledging that he’s gone too far and, for a split second, I actually believe that everything is going to be all right. ‘I think we should tell them, don’t you?’ He raises his head. ‘Grace had a miscarriage last week,’ he announces. ‘And I’m afraid it wasn’t the first.’
There’s a collective gasp and a few seconds of appalled silence before everyone starts talking at once in subdued voices, commiserating with us. Although I know that their kind words of sympathy and understanding relate to a miscarriage I’ve never had, I manage to derive enough comfort from them to be able to pull myself together.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble to Jack, hoping to dilute the anger I know I’ll have to face later.
‘Don’t be silly,’ says Diane, patting my shoulder. ‘But I wish you’d told us. I feel awful about Adam announcing my pregnancy like that.’
‘I can’t go on any longer,’ I say, still speaking to Jack.
‘You’d find it much simpler if you just accept everything,’ he says.
‘Can we just leave Millie out of it?’ I ask desperately.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he says solemnly.
‘Millie doesn’t have to know, does she?’ asks Esther, puzzled.
‘There’s no point upsetting her,’ Diane frowns.
Jack turns to them. ‘You’re right, of course. It would be foolish to tell Millie about Grace’s miscarriage. Now, I think I should take Grace home. I hope you’ll forgive me for breaking up the party, Esther.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly, not wanting to leave the safety of Esther and Rufus’s house, because I know what will be waiting for me once I get home. I move out of Jack’s arms, appalled that I could have taken comfort there for so long. ‘Really, I’m fine now and I’d like to stay.’
‘Good, I’m glad. Please, Grace, sit back down.’ The shame in Esther’s eyes tells me that her remark, the one that had prompted my tears, had been barbed and that she feels guilty for having laboured the point that Diane was pregnant. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly, as I take up my place again. ‘And about your miscarriage.’
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘Please, let’s just forget it.’
As I drink the coffee that Esther has served, I work harder than I’ve ever worked before, horribly conscious of how stupid I was to let my guard down. Aware that I need to redeem myself if I want to see Millie tomorrow, I look lovingly at Jack and explain to everyone around the table that the reason I broke down was because I feel dreadful that, for the moment, I seem unable to give Jack the thing he wants most in the world, a baby. When we finally stand up to leave I know that everyone admires my speedy and charming recovery and I sense that Esther likes me a lot more than she did before, which can only be a good thing, even if it’s only because of my imperfect womb.
Reality hits me once I’m sitting in the car on the way home. Jack’s grim silence tells me that however much ground I’ve made up in relation to the others, he’s still going to make me pay for my stupidity. The thought of not going to see Millie is more than I can bear and, as silent tears spring from my eyes, I’m shocked at how weak I’ve become.
We arrive at the house. Jack unlocks the front door and we go into the hall.
‘You know, I have never questioned who I am,’ he says thoughtfully as he helps me off with my coat. ‘But tonight, for a split second, when I was holding you in my arms, when everybody was commiserating with us about your miscarriage, I had a taste of what it was like to be normal.’
‘You could be!’ I tell him. ‘You could be, if you really wanted to be! You could get help, Jack, I know you could!’
He grins at my outburst. ‘The trouble is, I don’t want help. I like who I am, I like it very much indeed. And I’ll like it even better in seventy-five days’ time, when Millie comes to live with us. It’s a shame we won’t be going to see her tomorrow—I’m almost beginning to miss her.’
‘Please, Jack,’ I beg.
‘Well, I certainly can’t let you off for your appalling lack of restraint tonight so if you want to see Millie tomorrow, you know what you have to do.’
‘You couldn’t stand that I didn’t fall into your pathetic trap, could you?’ I say, realising that he had set out to upset me during the dinner by mentioning Millie coming to live with us.
‘Pathetic trap?’
‘Yes, that’s right, pathetic. Couldn’t you come up with anything better than shading words in a book?’
‘You really are becoming too clever for your own good,’ he snaps. ‘Whichever way I look at it, you need to be punished.’
I shake my head pitifully. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve had enough. I mean it, Jack, I’ve had enough.’
‘But I haven’t,’ he says. ‘I haven’t had nearly enough. In fact, it hasn’t even begun for me. That’s the trouble, you see. The nearer I get to having what I’ve been waiting for for so long, the more I crave it. It’s got to the point where I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of waiting for Millie to move in with us.’
‘Why don’t we go back to Thailand?’ I say desperately, terrified he’ll suggest Millie moves in with us sooner than planned. ‘It will do you good—we haven’t been since January.’
‘I can’t—I have the Tomasin case coming up.’
‘But you won’t be able to go once Millie comes to live with us,’ I point out, eager to consolidate my position, needing to keep Millie safely at school for as long as possible.
He gives me an amused glance. ‘Trust me, once Millie comes to live with us, I won’t want to. Now, get moving.’
I start shaking so much that I have difficulty walking. I make my way to the stairs and put my foot on the bottom step.
‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he says. ‘Unless you don’t want to see Millie tomorrow, of course.’ He pauses a moment to make it sound as if he’s giving me a choice. ‘So what’s it to be, Grace?’ His voice is high with excitement. ‘A disappointed Millie—or the basement?’
PAST
After what Millie had told me about Jack pushing her down the stairs, the pressure to get away from him intensified. Even though I’d made her promise not to tell anyone, I couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t suddenly blurt it out to Janice, or even accuse Jack to his face. I don’t think it had occurred to him that she might have realised her fall was more than an accident. It was easy to underestimate Millie, and presume that the way she spoke was a reflection of the way her mind worked, but she was a lot cleverer than people gave her credit for. I had no idea what Jack would do if he discovered that she knew very well what had happened that day. I supposed he would dismiss her accusations as quickly as he had dismissed mine and suggest that she was jealous because he and I were now together, and was trying to break us up by making false accusations against him.
The only thing that kept me going through that bleak time was Millie. She seemed so at ease with Jack that I thought she’d forgotten he had pushed her down the stairs, or at least had come to terms with it. But whenever I told myself it was for the best, she would trot out what was fast becoming her mantra, ‘I like you Jack, but don’t like Jorj Koony,’ a
s if she knew what I was thinking and wanted to let me know that she was keeping her side of the bargain. As such, the pressure to keep my side of it grew and I began to plan my next move.
After what had happened when I’d tried to get the doctor to help me, I decided that next time, the more people who were around, the better it would be. So when I felt ready to try again, I pleaded with Jack to take me shopping with him, hoping that during the course of the trip I’d be able to get help from a shop assistant or member of the public. As I got out of the car, I thought my prayers had been answered when I saw a policeman standing only yards away from me. Even the way Jack held on to me tightly when I tried to break free lent weight to the fact that I was being kept prisoner and, when the policeman came hurrying over in response to my cries for help, I honestly thought my ordeal was over, until his concerned words—‘Is everything all right, Mr Angel?’—told me otherwise.
My behaviour from that point on confirmed what Jack had thought to tell the local constabulary some time before, namely that his wife had a history of mental problems and was prone to causing disturbances in public places, often by accusing him of keeping her prisoner. As Jack held my flailing limbs in a vice-like grip, he suggested to the policeman, in full hearing of the large crowd that had gathered, that he come and see the house that I called a prison. As the crowd looked on, whispering about mental illness and throwing Jack looks of solidarity, a police car arrived and, while I sat in the back with a policewoman who tried to still my tears of despair with soothing words, the policeman asked Jack about the work he did on behalf of battered women.