Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [111]
As we drove down the M8, Daniel asleep in my arms, I realized I couldn’t relax. Was it really happening? Was Peter actually driving us to Portsmouth?
Or is it a trap?
I pictured it all being an elaborate hoax. He’d tricked me into packing up his house and now he was going to dump our bodies and flee the country. Even as we crossed the border into England, I couldn’t shake the idea that he was up to something. I was such a terrible liar – I still am. It was inconceivable that the great manipulator hadn’t seen through my little act. But the closer we got to Portsmouth, the more I let myself believe he’d fallen for it. I allowed myself a brief flash of pride and a smile at the deception.
I must have learnt something during my life with him.
That smile soon vanished the moment we pulled into Middlesex Road and I realized the hardest part was still to come. Now I had to make the call to the solicitor so she could set the legal wheels in motion. A few days ago it had all sounded so simple. I’d light the flare and the cavalry would come charging in. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t see it working any better than when Granny had tried to shift those men from Telscombe Cliffs. Was this solicitor telling me Peter would just be removed from my flat and that would be the end of it? It was all very well these people saying they could do this and stop people doing that, but individuals like Peter live outside the realms of legality. Their brains work differently. They see laws as things for other people. What they want, they get. Life is all about going from A to B – it doesn’t matter how you get there.
I was close to giving up the whole idea. This was the man who’d nearly taken my head off when I’d undercooked his pork chops. He’d killed our son’s guinea pigs just for nibbling a bit of wallpaper.
What the hell is he going to do to me when he discovers I’ve been conning him?
The closer the moment got, the more I was leaning towards not going through with the plan. It was all very well my solicitor throwing him out of the flat tonight. But what about tomorrow night? Where will my protection be then? Or the night after? Or the night after that?
I’d virtually decided to cancel the whole thing, but one look at Peter making himself comfortable in my flat while I lugged a box up the stairs knocked the sense back into me. My future life flashed before me and I did not like what I saw.
‘Will you keep an eye on Daniel?’ I said. ‘I’m just popping out for milk for the tea.’
That was the first test for both of us. For me, I was entrusting my son to the man who had kidnapped him not even a week earlier. For Peter, he was being asked to babysit – something he’d always refused to do. And he had to allow me out of his sight, something else that he hated doing when we were together. He weighed up his answer for a second and then said, ‘No problem. Don’t be long.’
Even though I had memorized the solicitor’s number, my trembling hands meant I had to try it half a dozen times before I got it right. When I heard her voice, I could have cried. She, as ever, was calmness personified.
‘Go back to the flat and act like everything is normal. The bailiffs will be there before your kettle has even boiled.’
The realization of what I’d just done hit me like a thunderbolt the second I hung up. In a few minutes Peter was going to discover that I’d tricked him. He was going to learn that it had all been a lie. I didn’t love him, I’d reported him to the police and I’d won sole custody of our child.
How on earth is he going to react?