The Little Prisoner_ A Memoir - Jane Elliott [54]
Now he strode back out to the car, no doubt confident that he’d nipped my pathetic little rebellion in the bud and that I would be meekly getting Emma ready for him when he returned.
I closed the door quickly and tried to keep calm, breathing deeply and fighting the urge to play safe and give in. I was committed now. I would get a punishment anyway for answering him back. I was going to have to press on, whatever the consequences.
I quickly ran through the options in my mind. It was no good attempting to get out of the back door because that was where he would be parked. My best bet was to be ready at the door when he came back so I could run out the moment he barged in. I was more likely to be safe outside on the street than trapped inside the flat. He wouldn’t be afraid to make a scene and smack me about, but he probably wouldn’t take it too far in public, especially if I had Emma with me. He would be concentrating on trying to get me back indoors where he would have time to do as much damage as he wanted.
On the kitchen worktop behind the door I’d laid out a carving knife, a Stanley knife and a hammer. I was prepared to use any one of them if necessary. If I killed him it would only mean going to prison, which couldn’t be any worse than the life I was already living.
I quickly dressed Emma so that we would be ready to make a run for it when the time came.
Fifteen minutes later Richard was back and banging on the door. I was surprised he didn’t just kick it straight in, but maybe the few minutes he had had to gather his thoughts meant that he was keeping control of his temper. Maybe he realized I was serious this time and that he would have to be careful if he wasn’t to blow the seventeen years of training me and breaking my spirit.
I was shaking all over and thought I was going to throw up with fear. I put Emma behind me and opened the door a crack again.
‘Get Emma out here now,’ he ordered.
‘You won’t be seeing her again,’ I told him, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
He ranted and raved, saying he was going to get Mum to sort me out and that he was going to kill me when she’d finished with me, but he didn’t force his way into the flat, which surprised me.
‘Emma can easily be made to disappear, you know,’ he warned. ‘You can’t watch her every minute of the day. One day you’ll look away for a second and she’ll be gone.’
I shut the door while he was still yelling about smashing the windows in. I waited for the sound of splintering wood as his foot came through the door, but it never came. It was as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. Once he had finished shouting there was just silence.
When I was sure he’d gone I went to a neighbour’s house and stayed there until late that night, telling them everything. In one way it felt good to be talking openly about my private nightmare, but at the same time I was still terrified that Richard would find out I had let our secret out of the bag. Eventually I felt it was safe to go home again.
My neighbours gave me a walkie-talkie and promised that if they saw his car or any member of the family approaching they would buzz me and I should grab Emma and run to their flat.
Shortly after Steve and I got back together I told him what I’d done and he bought me a mobile phone and told me that I should call the police if Richard tried to get near me. I was glad to have the phone, but I knew I would never ring the police. If I did that the retribution would be too terrible to contemplate. I’d seen what had happened to other people who had informed on my stepfather and I wasn’t ready to go that far yet. At the moment this was still just between him and me.
Everything was quiet for a few days. I felt much the same way a soldier in the front line must feel, waiting for the enemy to attack and never knowing when it’s going to come or from what direction. I tried to make life seem normal so as not to stress Emma, but I spent most of my time round with my neighbours as they tried to feed me up a bit.
One afternoon