Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [97]
‘You fucking lying bitch, I gave you a twenty!’ That was it, he was off, laying into her for giving him the wrong change – which was a lie anyway because I’d seen him give her ten pounds. I still don’t know if it was a mistake or he was trying to con her. What I do know is that being scared of him had just been taken to another level. If he could turn on a stranger like this in a public place, there was no telling what he would do to me in the privacy of our own home.
I don’t know if that was the catalyst or whether it was the next time he body-checked me into the wall or the time after that, when he hit me across the dining room before falling to his knees and begging forgiveness. All I know is that, at some point, I finally woke up. I was depressed, I was bruised from his fists, I was lonely and, worst of all, I was scared to be in the same room as my own husband. The moment I admitted that, it felt like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. As they say, admitting the problem is the first step to finding a solution. Now I had admitted my problem, I realized the solution was staring me right in the face – and it had been for a long, long time.
I need to leave.
Suddenly I wasn’t scared of him anymore. In one fell swoop, one clear-cut decision, I retook control of my own destiny. From now on, it was just a matter of sorting out the practical issues. Like packing, leaving and finding somewhere else to live. First though, I had to tell Peter.
We were all upstairs when the right moment came. He seemed in a decent mood, the sun was shining, everything appeared to be in place. Following him into the bathroom, I said, ‘Peter, I’m not happy. I can’t go on with this. I want a divorce.’
He stared at me for a few seconds, then smiled and nodded.
He’s agreeing, I was relieved to think. But then his face changed. It was like a thunder cloud had parked over his head. From smiles to a face knotted in rage in a matter of seconds. It was utterly disturbing – and it was about to get worse.
Without a word, Peter barged past me and ran across the landing to Daniel’s room. Before I could follow, he reappeared carrying our son.
‘Peter, what are you doing?’
He didn’t answer, but slowly walked towards me until he reached the top of the stairs.
Oh my God!
‘Peter! Put him down!’
He didn’t move. Holding a confused Daniel at arm’s length over the staircase, he said, ‘I’m only going to say this once. If you leave me, I will fucking hunt you down and kill you.’ Then he shook Daniel so hard I thought he was going to drop him by accident. ‘And then I’ll kill the kid.’
‘Put him down! Put him down! I’m begging you! Give him back to me, please!’ I was screaming, hysterical, but I didn’t dare go forwards. Daniel was distressed and crying, but Peter was cool as you like, just staring, daring me.
‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘You win. I’ll stay. I promise.’
He considered it for a second, then nodded and swung Daniel over to me. Then, without even looking back, he skipped down the stairs as calmly as if he were being called for breakfast.
When he was safely out of sight, I fell to the floor, clutching my son harder than I ever had before.
‘What have I done?’ I sobbed. ‘What have I done to you?’
Daniel didn’t answer. He was still frozen with fear.
Everything changed after that. Every aspect of our life got worse.
I was suddenly under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He confiscated my car, motorbike keys and purse, so I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. I had a Bradford & Bingley account book with about eight grand in from the tea shop sale, but that disappeared as well. If we needed food, he accompanied me to the shops, swearing his way up and down each aisle, putting half my choices back on the shelves and refusing to lift a finger when it came to carrying the bags. I couldn’t go out to the boot of the car without him following.
If he went out he locked every door and window and took my house keys, so I was a