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Authors: Sarah Pinborough
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office and I come out laughing with a male colleague. I don’t know why we’re laughing, probably just a small, polite joke shared in a lift by two people who barely know each other. My smile falls when I get into the car and see his face. The tyres screech.
He doesn’t speak for two days other than to call the agency and tell them I won’t be coming back to work. I cry a lot. I ask him what I’ve done. He pins me down on the bed, straddling me, his knees on my arms. Leaning forward he spits in my face, his hands on my face, fingers pressing into my eyes. His words assault me until his rage passes and then he cries himself. I shake inside as he retreats into a ball in the corner. I feel sorry for him.I feel sorry for me. He seems so vulnerable and I sit on the carpet too and wrap my bruised arms around him.
‘Hush,’ I say. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll be all right. I don’t care about work. I won’t go anymore. I just care about you. About us.’
I think I can mend him. This is my mistake because he’s not broken, he’s just been put together wrong. The only breakable thing in the relationship is me.
I live in a drift, not a deep one, but a dark one, and I save whatever shine I can muster for when Penny and Paul come and visit, which isn’t as often as they’d like, especially Penny, but more than enough for me to cope with. I live on a wire and the stress of visitors is enough to send me over the edge. They add an unknown quantity to my day. I can never judge what they might say or do, or what I may say or do in a brief relaxed moment that may need to be paid for later. I avoid drinking when we have visitors. I need to keep my wits about me. I’m good at pretending, though. I don’t think anyone notices. My brother and sister are far too busy being happy for me.
I watch him talk with them as we laugh over wine and more of Paul’s tall stories and I wonder how they don’t see me flinch when he casually rests his hand around my shoulders. The hand that has pushed and pulled and squeezed and punched me. I try to remember that it has also loved, but just like the ring that doesn’t fit my thinned finger anymore, the idea of love has longsince disappeared. There is something going on between us, but it isn’t love.
Time passes in grey waves and I have no real concept of it outside of hourly telephone calls, bruises, insults and terrifying moments of affection. I have closed down. There is me and him and I can’t give attention to anyone else. It’s too exhausting. Penny goes to Turkey to live on a boat with a man she has met, and Paul disappears. I don’t worry about Paul and I doubt Penny does. We understand. Another business has gone bust and he is hiding.
Paul owes him money, though. Not a large amount, and I never even knew about the loan, but it’s great fight ammunition. How my family are a drain on him. Just like me.
I don’t see Paul for two years. Like Penny, he prefers things easy, and out of sight is out of mind. He doesn’t like to look at things that make him feel bad, but then you know that already. You don’t see him much either and I figure he owes you money, too. You have come back from the Shetlands, admitting defeat on your second attempt at marriage, determined to clean up and I fob you off. I know it upsets you, but I need to live my insanity in peace. I’m sorry, Dad.
Then things change again. My eyes constantly burn with exhaustion. I don’t sleep much anymore and that’s probably why, once again, I don’t notice the early symptoms. I’m too preoccupied with surviving day to dayand telling myself that things aren’t that bad to realise that a little thing like a period has gone missing.
I am at the counter in Waitrose when I suddenly feel sick, badly sick, dizzy and queasy like the first attack in a dangerous case of food poisoning. I leave my basket and dash into the toilets. I am sure I am going to throw up. My skin sweats cold and I throw handfuls of water on
He doesn’t speak for two days other than to call the agency and tell them I won’t be coming back to work. I cry a lot. I ask him what I’ve done. He pins me down on the bed, straddling me, his knees on my arms. Leaning forward he spits in my face, his hands on my face, fingers pressing into my eyes. His words assault me until his rage passes and then he cries himself. I shake inside as he retreats into a ball in the corner. I feel sorry for him.I feel sorry for me. He seems so vulnerable and I sit on the carpet too and wrap my bruised arms around him.
‘Hush,’ I say. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll be all right. I don’t care about work. I won’t go anymore. I just care about you. About us.’
I think I can mend him. This is my mistake because he’s not broken, he’s just been put together wrong. The only breakable thing in the relationship is me.
I live in a drift, not a deep one, but a dark one, and I save whatever shine I can muster for when Penny and Paul come and visit, which isn’t as often as they’d like, especially Penny, but more than enough for me to cope with. I live on a wire and the stress of visitors is enough to send me over the edge. They add an unknown quantity to my day. I can never judge what they might say or do, or what I may say or do in a brief relaxed moment that may need to be paid for later. I avoid drinking when we have visitors. I need to keep my wits about me. I’m good at pretending, though. I don’t think anyone notices. My brother and sister are far too busy being happy for me.
I watch him talk with them as we laugh over wine and more of Paul’s tall stories and I wonder how they don’t see me flinch when he casually rests his hand around my shoulders. The hand that has pushed and pulled and squeezed and punched me. I try to remember that it has also loved, but just like the ring that doesn’t fit my thinned finger anymore, the idea of love has longsince disappeared. There is something going on between us, but it isn’t love.
Time passes in grey waves and I have no real concept of it outside of hourly telephone calls, bruises, insults and terrifying moments of affection. I have closed down. There is me and him and I can’t give attention to anyone else. It’s too exhausting. Penny goes to Turkey to live on a boat with a man she has met, and Paul disappears. I don’t worry about Paul and I doubt Penny does. We understand. Another business has gone bust and he is hiding.
Paul owes him money, though. Not a large amount, and I never even knew about the loan, but it’s great fight ammunition. How my family are a drain on him. Just like me.
I don’t see Paul for two years. Like Penny, he prefers things easy, and out of sight is out of mind. He doesn’t like to look at things that make him feel bad, but then you know that already. You don’t see him much either and I figure he owes you money, too. You have come back from the Shetlands, admitting defeat on your second attempt at marriage, determined to clean up and I fob you off. I know it upsets you, but I need to live my insanity in peace. I’m sorry, Dad.
Then things change again. My eyes constantly burn with exhaustion. I don’t sleep much anymore and that’s probably why, once again, I don’t notice the early symptoms. I’m too preoccupied with surviving day to dayand telling myself that things aren’t that bad to realise that a little thing like a period has gone missing.
I am at the counter in Waitrose when I suddenly feel sick, badly sick, dizzy and queasy like the first attack in a dangerous case of food poisoning. I leave my basket and dash into the toilets. I am sure I am going to throw up. My skin sweats cold and I throw handfuls of water on
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