Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
‘The violence? You haven’t forgotten?’ For one awful moment, I think he’s going to deny it. I think he’s going to say that it was all my imagination.
‘I remember, Lisa. I couldn’t forget something like that.’ He looks at the smashed glass on the floor and then at me, before he gets up to fetch a glass of water. ‘He was a very, very difficult child.’
I pause, nearly lose courage, but still want to know. ‘Your girls, they’re not . . .?’
He turns off the tap and looks at his glass filled with water as if the answer is there. Of course he understands what the implication of this question is to me.
‘They’re fine,’ he says finally. He puts the water in front of me.
I remember looking out of an upstairs window, listening to Nick smashing our plates and knowing it was over. Perhaps it wasn’t just my DNA. ‘And your marriage?’ Do you smash plates? Does she smash glasses?
‘Anne-Marie is good to me.’ He’s found the dustpan and brush. I watch him sweep up the broken glass, which is now a metaphor for my heart. It takes time to sweep in the grout, and he covers the whole floor very carefully – it keeps him too busy to look at me. I watch him, this man, my husband for many years, but not now, now someone else’s. She’s lucky I think, Anne-Marie. ‘So, she treats you nicely?’
His foot triggers the bin lid and he tips the glass in. ‘Yes, she does. She’s very kind.’
‘Was I kind?’ This matters suddenly, even after all these years, it matters more than anything.
He looks up, but looks away too quickly. ‘You did the best you could.’ He reverted to staring into the bin.
‘What does that mean?’ Fear flutters crow wings inside my chest. ‘You don’t think I was a good wife?’
‘It was hard for you.’ He releases the bin lid and it clangs shut, punctuating his statement. ‘Jack was hard, even right at the beginning, even when he was tiny. It was a terrible labour – it was all just . . .’
Terrible?
‘. . . from the start, just so hard.’ He fills the kettle. ‘We should have something hot. Tea. No more booze for you.’
‘Can I have something else for the pain?’ I hesitate. ‘A bit more from the larder?’
‘You don’t need to ask me.’ He laughs, but not meanly. I like the way his eyes crinkle now; it suits him. ‘You never used to ask my permission.’
‘My head hurts.’ I sound like I’m grumbling. I’m surprised when Nick gets up and goes to the larder. He comes back with a light dose of Valium.
‘How did you know these were what I wanted?’
‘They always left you in the best mood.’
I swallow them. ‘I didn’t know that you . . . noticed what I took.’