Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [103]
Just thinking about it now makes me cry. I was fighting waves of tears at the time. Daniel looked so worried, but I just couldn’t stop. I kept saying, ‘It’s all right, darling, Mummy’s just being silly.’ But seeing his little face and remembering Peter threatening to drop him down the stairs if I disobeyed overrode any other emotion. I knew, with all my heart, that if Peter reached us before the coach arrived, he would kill us. Of that I had absolutely no doubt. The whole scenario played out in my head again and again. However hard I resisted, he would drag me off that plastic bench in the bus shelter and kill me there and then. He wouldn’t care who was watching or trying to stop him. And then he would turn his attention to Daniel.
I was sick with nerves, my head spinning with question after question. Was I doing the right thing? Was I risking my son’s life unnecessarily? Should I have stayed to try to make it work with my husband? Should I just phone him and apologize and ask him to pick us up before it’s too late?
That thought honestly popped into my head. The longer I sat there, the more panicky and ridiculous my ideas became. Deep in my heart, I knew I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t a risk at all. It was the only way to save my son’s life.
After the longest ninety minutes of my life, the National Express coach arrived and we climbed on with all the other nocturnal travellers. If I’d thought my ordeal was over, I was mistaken. It was nine hours to London Victoria. Nine hours of staring out of the window, paranoid that every set of headlights overtaking us would be Peter’s van or my old Metro, dreading each pit stop in case he stepped on. While everyone else on the coach slept for hours on end, I was awake the entire journey.
Finally, we reached London. Daniel was tired and hungry, but I only had one ten pence piece left and I needed that to ring Granny. She didn’t complain about the time, especially when she heard my news.
‘We’ll pick you up when you get to Portsmouth,’ she said calmly. ‘Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.’
I wanted to believe her. But until I’d heard where Peter was, I couldn’t relax. How could I? That monster was capable of anything.
He’s probably planning something horrible right now, I thought.
I was right – but he wasn’t planning it for me.
SIXTEEN
His Home is Here with Me
The phone was ringing as we stepped inside the front door. Grandpa answered, while Granny helped me with my bag and Daniel.
‘Cathy,’ Grandpa called out, ‘it’s for you. It’s a hospital.’
I was so tired, my initial reaction was: Daniel! Then I relaxed. He was fine, he was with me. So why were they calling and how did they find me there?
‘Hello,’ I said gingerly.
‘Hello, Mrs Tobin, it’s Edinburgh Royal Hospital here.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Mrs Tobin, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about your husband.’
‘Oh my God, what’s he done?’
‘I understand you two have had an argument. Peter’s obviously very upset because he has taken an overdose. He’s asking for you. I think it would be for the best if you came up to see him.’
I remember that phone call so vividly. I was sitting down in my grandparents’ lounge and I was shaking like a leaf through exhaustion and nerves. I hadn’t managed a wink of sleep because I was so terrified about what this man would do to me – and now this anonymous doctor was expecting me to walk back voluntarily into the lion’s den?
‘That’s not going to happen. He’ll kill me.’
‘I don’t think he’s in a position to kill anyone,’ the doctor replied. ‘He’s very ill.’
‘Look,’ I said, trying not to sound completely callous to this stranger, ‘do you think the overdose will be fatal?’
‘No. I think your husband is more in need of psychological help than anything else.’
I could see it all. He’d just taken a handful of Amitriptyline pills that had been prescribed for his so-called depression and had called an ambulance