The Little Prisoner_ A Memoir - Jane Elliott [49]
When the boys were around we had to act out a charade, with me saying, ‘Can you look at such and such for me?’ and going into the bedroom or bathroom with him to look at some fictitious problem. He would order them not to move and to stay with Emma till we got back.
Although I loved Paul and I knew he loved me, it was impossible to carry on a normal relationship with so many stresses and such terrible secrets coming between us. By the time he got home from work I would be in such a state I would have to take it out on someone and he was such a kind, patient man he would get it all, without having any idea what he was doing wrong.
In the end I could see no choice but to finish our relationship. I loved him, but I knew that I was ruining his life and I could see no way that things could ever be any different. He was such a good man, always handing over his pay packet and putting up with whatever I said, but perhaps deep down I resented the fact that he wasn’t rescuing me. How could he, when he didn’t know the trouble I was in? He saw Richard’s moods and knew what a terrible influence he was on me, but he had no idea of the abuse that was going on every day while he was out at work.
He begged me not to end it and I felt terrible about doing it, but I couldn’t cope with everything that was going on in my head. I wanted to make him hate me so he would go under his own steam and I wouldn’t feel so guilty, but it didn’t work. Still, I finally convinced him that I was serious and that the relationship had to end.
After that I moved into a flat on my own, which meant that I didn’t have to worry about Paul and what I was doing to his head, but also meant that Silly Git had even more unrivalled access to me. To make matters worse, this flat was closer to his home than the first one, only five or ten minutes’ drive away. It felt as if I was being reeled back in.
Sometimes my brother Pete would let himself into my flat as well. I would just come home and find him there. At first he would try to pretend that I’d left the door open but eventually he had to own up that he had a key. I felt I had no privacy or independence, but he just laughed my protests off.
Richard made it clear from the first day that the flat was his territory now. If he was sitting in the armchair smoking a cigarette, he would casually tip the ashtray onto the floor and watch as I scurried around clearing it up and assuring him that it wasn’t a problem. If I made him a cup of tea he would knock the mug onto the floor and ask for another. After all the years of training I knew better than to show him anything but a cheerful face and endless politeness. If I didn’t co-operate I knew I would suffer the consequences.
In the past I’d been frightened that Mum would suffer too, and now there was the added fear that Emma might be used against me. Richard had taken all my boyfriends away from me whenever he chose, what was to stop him taking Emma away if I displeased him? Nothing. I was more trapped than I had ever been.
In an attempt to find some form of freedom, I started spending my milk tokens on bottles of wine. Emma had come off the bottle when she was one, so I didn’t need to use them for her any more. I was drinking far too much, but still I couldn’t escape. Richard was entirely in control. He told me what time I should be up in the morning, what time I should be home by in the evening and what time I should go to bed. He told me how to decorate the flat and what furniture to buy. If he had any old stuff around the house that he wanted to get rid of he would instruct me to buy it off him. He ruled my life as if I was still a small child and still I had to keep smiling and keep being grateful.
I did at least have one ally at the new flat in my friend Cheryl, who lived nearby.