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
It was confusing. It was horrible. Without my earphones, without the music, I could hear Jack screaming somewhere out of sight. The change was abrupt. The information overload was too much: Jack was upset; his dad was white with fury; I was in big, big trouble; something was broken. He thought it was me – was it?
I thought I had been doing a good thing by cleaning the flat, but it didn’t seem to matter. The soft grey carpets had never looked better but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered because I realised that he knew about me: he knew about my tablets.
Could he? Is that what he meant?
My mind went slow: replaying his words. As fucking usual, you’re out of it! I held on to the hoover, my hands clenching the handle.
I blinked, uncertain.
He stared at me, his thin face twisted with fury. ‘How long do you expect me to put up with this shit?’ he said, his question now full of rattlesnake warning.
I scrabbled along the wall to get away from him. I could get no further because our sofa blocked my path. I could hear the warning in his voice. What ‘shit’ was he talking about? What did I have to defend? The chair pressed into my back legs. I wanted to get away; I glanced past him thinking I might be able to dodge and weave and be free. But now I could see, standing in the doorway watching it all, was the crying Jack. He was cuddling his new soft plushie Peter Rabbit (because everything now was Peter Rabbit this, Peter Rabbit that).
His father grabbed me by the shoulders, his fingers talons in my flesh. I didn’t see him but he leaned in so close I could smell cigarettes on his breath. ‘You. Are. A,’ he hissed, ‘Disgrace.’
Jack finally seemed to have stopped crying. He’d plugged his mouth with his thumb and rubbed and rubbed the rabbit’s ear against his face.
‘You’re an embarrassment, Lisa.’ I could feel his father’s spittle spray against my face. He pushed me much harder this time: bam! Maybe because I wasn’t looking at him but instead at the rub, rub of Peter, I fell back easily, bouncing off the wall from my hip, onto the sofa.
The impact forced my jaw up, banging against my top row of teeth. The impact jolted my brain and forced me back to my husband. He dropped the pieces at my feet, his voice cold: ‘You were just so jealous.’
I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain: I did not want to see. Yet after a breath, I opened them anyway.