Three days had passed before Robert returned. A blue carrier bag laden with beers hung around his wrist. His mood was as foul as it had been when I last saw him, so I kept out of his way as best as I could. Even Rover, who would spend the evenings curled around Robert's feet, seemed weary. A broken vase, yet another unfortunate victim of his rage, lay scattered in the bin's bottom, a broken picture frame on top of it. Piece by piece, he destroyed our home..
Only Naomi's room remained untouched.
Two plates of lamb stew on the table, a single plate of crusty tiger loaf in the centre, I braved talking to Robert for the first time since his return.
"Dinner is ready."
My voice was unrecognisable, unsteady and quiet. I sat, not moving, until Robert thumped down onto the wooden seat and started shovelling his food. He pulled the tiger bread towards him, a daring glare shot my way.
"No dumplings?" The sight of half-chewed food turned my stomach.
I shook my head. Robert huffed, but said nothing further on the matter. We sunk back into palpable silence, my head a whirl of words I dared not utter. I longed to know where he had been and who he had been with. The soft scent of blossoms soaked into his clothes taunted me, her name lost in the air between us. I said nothing.
"I'm going away again soon. Not sure how long I'll be gone."
"Okay."
I kept my gaze down, focussed on a singular herb floating through the gravy. I hadn't wanted stew, couldn't stomach the thought of anything containing the thick brown substance making its way past my lips, but Robert had insisted. No. Not insisted. Dictated.
"Okay? That's all you have to say? What you don't care anymore? Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here at all."
My mouth opened and closed, words lost to me. He did not give me the chance to answer, his plate already pushed forward, still full to the brim as he stood grumbling.
"That was the worst stew I've ever eaten in my life."
Still, I remained voiceless, unmoving. Still, I did nothing to defend myself for fear of facing his wrath once more.
I did nothing.
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"It sounds like life at home was awful for you, Mrs Collins."
I nod, still staring at my hands, picking at the skin around my nails. Awful didn't quite make the cut. Torture seemed more appropriate.
"There are women's refuges about, places that help people in abusive situations. Did you ever reach out to one?" Ben asks, his head tilted to one side.
I nod, still not meeting his eye.
"I did, just one. It didn't work out."
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The woman on the phone had sounded nice, approachable, trustworthy. I'd found the number for the refuge online, though I made sure to delete my search history afterwards, just to be on the safe side. Walking along the cobbled pathway, my heart felt as though it might fall out of my body. I'd never been so uncertain, so scared.
With just a small suitcase of belongings, things that I thought to be most important, I had left while Robert slept. I knew he would have been furious when he woke and found me gone. Or perhaps he'd be too drunk to notice right away. The anger he'd feel would be much worse if that were the case.
A portly, blonde-haired woman with an enormous smile on her face welcomed me, taking my suitcase and guiding me inside with a hand on the small of my back. She introduced herself as Vivian while pouring a cup of tea. The living room, if that is what you could call it, that we sat in was bare and dirty. Stains garnished the sofa, rim marks covered the entire coffee table. I'd perched on the edge of the cushion, feet together, hands on lap, not wanting to touch anything. It was so different from what I'd left behind.
Vivian spoke, though I didn't absorb what she had said. My eyes kept scanning, body tense as I waited for, well, I wasn't exactly sure what. I could hear other women, but whoever they were, they kept themselves out of sight.
"Shall we take you to your room?"
I blinked, not quite sure what I was nodding at. It took a moment, until I had followed her up the equally dishevelled carpeted staircase, before the reality of it all started to sink in. I was really leaving him.
My room, tiny and dim, housed a single bed, a small sink, and a little kitchen area. My entire home downsized into something that I couldn't believe could be deemed as liveable. After explaining the rules the staff at the refuge expected me to follow, Vivian bade me goodbye and hurried from the room.
I sunk onto the mattress; the springs digging into my thigh and bum. The netting in the window was tinged yellow, mould growing about the frame. I felt as though millions of ants were crawling over my body. Red raw from scratching continuously, I let out a wail. How could this have become my life?
The other women living in the refuge, there were two of them, both significantly younger than I was, were so incredibly welcoming. It was easy to sit and converse with them, to slowly feel the tension dissipate. Within a week, I had come to call them both my friends. Visitors weren't allowed past five o'clock in the evening, so we'd sit and eat together before watching whatever movie we fancied that night. It became easy to fall into a routine with these girls, and for a split second, I allowed myself to believe I was really free. That I had left my life with Robert behind.
I was an idiot.
I should have known I could never truly escape. That he would somehow find me. I don't know how he managed it. I'd been sitting in the back garden, swatting at flies while one of the woman polished her toenails. My phone lit up beside me. I watched his name pulsate, bile in my throat as I let it ring without answering. Again and again, he rang and texted. I wanted to grab my phone and throw it, to wipe his name from my life. Yet, I did no such thing. I gave in, as I always do. I answered his phone call.
I listened to his tearful apology as he begged for me to come home. I believed him when he said he'd stop drinking, when he told me he would make more time for us to do things together. When he told me he would go back to work if I really wanted that. He spun his lies into an intricate web, and like a clueless fly, I was trapped.
I was an idiot.
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It didn't take long for things to revert to normal. Sure, for the first few days, Robert was the man I had fallen in love with. He'd make me breakfast in bed, he searched for work; he did everything he had said he would. I'd let myself believe he really had meant what he said, that he truly feared losing me.
Now I know, he feared only losing the control he had. I wasn't sure what sent him back to drinking, or if there even needed to be a trigger. As soon as that first drop of beer soaked his lips, Robert snapped. He smashed wedding photos, screamed that I was no wife of his, that I was a liar and deserved to die.
I'd been sitting on the sofa, once more exiled from my bedroom, quietly reading a book I'd not long before loaned from the library, when he'd tumbled through the door. When I hadn't given in to his sexual demands, he tore the book from my hands, ripped it in half and screamed his hatred at me. I'd clutched the pieces of the book as I slept, tears soaking the cushion.
He ignored me after that. Unless it was to insult my food or how I looked, my clothes by now had started to hang dangerously off my frame. I'd never been a particularly slim woman, nor had I ever wanted to be. It had taken a while before I realised the pounds had slipped from my waistline. Robert took great pleasure in highlighting my sickliness, how gaunt my face had become, how dark my eyes were. But I couldn't eat, the food sticking in my throat until I gagged and heaved.
Work became my sanctuary, Claire thankfully having found extra shifts for me. I'd spend as much time as I could out of the house. The woman's refuge was no longer a feasible option for me. I'd lied to Claire and told her a child in the family had got a hold of the book I'd borrowed as I handed over the replacement fee, though I refused to take out another, instead preferring to read during my breaks or when the library was quieter.
I'd tried so hard to escape from my own life that I had almost failed to realise the anniversary of Naomi's death was swiftly approaching. The realisation struck when a small blonde child bounced into the children's section in search of The Gruffalo. She bore such a striking resemblance to Naomi that I couldn't pull my mind from memories of my daughter. I'd paid greater attention to the calendar that lunchtime, almost choking on a sob.
I let myself wonder if perhaps the ever impending anniversary was the root cause of Robert's excessive drinking and consequential anger and violence. Grief is such a complex journey that it made sense to me, especially knowing Naomi died by Robert's hand. The pain he must have been feeling had no doubt sent him spiralling out of control. I told myself to forgive him, to try and understand what he must have been going through alone without his wife offering any support. I was just as much to blame for the rift between us. With a plan to apologise in mind, I almost sprinted home - I'd decided to leave my car at home that day.
When I got home, the lights were off, curtains half drawn, the door locked. I knew instantly that only Rover would be inside. I just wish I had got home sooner.