Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [105]
Debbie could see that I was upset, but she had a plan. ‘Come here,’ she said and pulled out a pair of nail scissors from her bag. Then, while I stood open-mouthed at the idea, she hacked away at my dress until it rested above my knees. By the time she’d finished, we were both laughing at the raggedy line her tiny scissors had made. But, my God, what a release it was.
‘I can see my legs!’ I said. Okay, they weren’t as slim as I remembered, but psychologically it was a reminder that I was a woman and it was okay to dress like one too.
I was so happy with my new look. We went out for lunch, Debbie’s treat, and I didn’t care if anyone looked at me oddly. That skirt was a statement of intent. I’m going to get my old self back.
It took a month or two of firm dieting, but the weight fell off. Like everything else, I put my mind to it and made it work. When I finally achieved my aim of getting back to a size eight, Debbie appeared again to celebrate with me. We drove down to Brighton and spent an afternoon trying on outfits in a fetish shop. Then, back home with a bottle of wine, we poured our selves into our new latex mini-dresses and hit the local night clubs.
If I had to put a date on when I finally regained my independence, that night in Portsmouth would be one of the candidates. Watching a dancefloor full of blokes drooling at me and Debbie, buying us drinks, flirting like crazy and getting nowhere made me feel like a million dollars. I thought, This is who I am! I didn’t want any male company, but just knowing I still had ‘it’ went a long way to banishing the meek, unattractive washer-woman I’d become over the past few years.
That was an important night in my recovery. There was another date, however, when I would really come of age if I handled it right: the next time I saw Peter.
I think it says a lot about Peter that he didn’t give up on me. If you’d beaten and humiliated and bullied a woman so much that she left all her possessions behind and fled the country, wouldn’t you be too ashamed to see her again? He obviously didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong, though, because as soon as he could, he arrived in Portsmouth.
I knew the day was coming. I knew Peter wasn’t the sort of person to just give up and walk away. He would consider me unfinished business. It was only half-time in the game of control, as far as he was concerned. Still plenty of time, in his mind, for him to be the winner.
Even though I was expecting it, my blood still froze when Granny told me, ‘Peter rang – he wants you to call him.’
For a while, I considered not returning his call, but what was the point? He’d just leap into his van and track me down eventually. I didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. No, I thought, I have to face this head on. At least that way I could do it on my own terms.
In the days leading up to Peter’s arrival, Granny and Grandpa were beside themselves with nerves and even talked about having a man in the flat for protection. I genuinely couldn’t see what the fuss was about. I felt a completely different person to the broken wretch who’d done a moonlight flit weeks earlier. I looked different and I felt different. I was stronger. The weight had lifted from my shoulders and I was standing tall again. I had my family five minutes up the road and my own two-room flat – on housing benefit – in Middlesex Road. I’d reset the clock to 1986 and I was ready to take on the world again. Peter was no threat, as far as I was concerned.