Escape From Evil (31 page)

Now, though, I was grateful. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than him touching me. Ironically, I too found myself using Daniel as a means to an end. Focusing on his poor sleeping, I would take Daniel up to bed around half seven, read him a story and do my darndest to fall asleep on his little single bed. The way I saw it, Peter loathed child noise so much he’d never rouse me if I was in Daniel’s room, in case he set the crying off. My son, unwittingly, was protecting me, like a car alarm or, I was sad to appreciate, a human shield. Even though there was no danger to him, I felt bad using him like that. But it worked. I was amazed how often I got away with that, actually. By the time I’d emerge, it would be morning and Peter wouldn’t be surfacing for a couple of hours.

I thought I was being so clever, making sure I wasn’t available for sex at night. I assumed Peter didn’t have the appetite of a younger man, so all I had to do was keep out of his way. I was wrong. There was nothing wrong with Peter’s libido. He was just saving it for someone else.

One night I put Daniel to bed and did my usual thing of snuggling up next to him. Usually I’d sleep through the night. On this occasion, I woke. My head felt incredibly cloudy, but I could hear voices downstairs, so I went to investigate. Peter was there with a woman, a slim, young blonde. She was dressed casually, in jeans, trainers and a sports top, but I knew this wasn’t right.

‘Who’s she?’ I asked him.

‘This is Lisa.’

That didn’t help much.

‘What’s she doing here? It’s late.’

Peter glared at me. ‘That’s none of your business. Fuck off back to bed.’

I did as I was told, but instead of going to our bed I made my way back to Daniel’s room. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, but it seemed important that I stay awake. Ten minutes later I was sure I heard two sets of footsteps making their way up the stairs. It was hard to tell. I felt as if my ears were packed with cotton wool. It was very disconcerting, but not as disconcerting as picking up the unmistakeable noises of Peter having sex – and a woman screaming.

I didn’t dare investigate. I put a pillow over my ears and desperately hoped that Daniel wouldn’t wake up. Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the unusually powerful urge to sleep.

The next morning Lisa was gone and Peter didn’t mention anything. A few nights later the same thing happened, except this time Lisa arrived before I’d put Daniel down. I felt a lot more alert than I had the last time I’d seen her. Ignoring the risk, as soon as Peter went to the toilet, I said, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t welcome in my house.

The girl shrugged. ‘Not up to you, is it? You’re not the one paying me.’

Paying her? What for?

Then Peter returned and told me to get rid of Daniel and come back. I said I wouldn’t.

‘All right, the kid can stay as well.’

I was out of there before he’d finished speaking. When I finally made my way back downstairs, I froze in the doorway. They were already having sex. Peter saw me. ‘Come in and watch. You might learn something.’

Typical of him, the bastard. I tried not to look at the vicious way he was smacking the girl’s back and bottom with every thrust into her or pulling her hair and making her scream with pinches and arm-twists. She was squealing like a cornered animal, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. He never listened. At the end of it she looked frightened and cold. He just looked hungry.

I’d seen enough and turned towards the stairs, but Peter had other ideas. I hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was holding my arm, digging his nails into me like his life depended on it.

‘Get off, you’re hurting me!’

‘Shut it, bitch,’ he shouted and even while I was still trying to free my arm, he began tearing at my dressing gown.

‘What are you doing? Get off me!’

But he wouldn’t. I fought and I fought, but he was too strong. My gown and then my night clothes were ripped off my back and I was forced down onto my knees. It had taken seconds and it just proved how he saw me: I was nothing. No one. Something to use and discard.

I tried to stand up, but his grip on my neck just tightened. I thought about collapsing and rolling away, but he was one step ahead of me. One fierce tug of my hair and I wasn’t going anywhere – not unless I wanted my scalp ripped raw.

I was terrified and so confused. It was Mum being raped at Telscombe Cliffs again. That’s all I could think. I’d always wondered why she didn’t fight and now I knew. She couldn’t. Men are too powerful, even one standing at 5΄7. There was nothing I could do.

Then it began. There was no attempt at preparing me, no thought for any pleasure I might have or anything I might need to be ready. Peter just forced himself into me, roughly and noisily. The more I cried and begged him to stop, the more he seemed to enjoy it. The more I said he was hurting, the tighter he gripped my skin and the more viciously he pounded my body. At that moment, I wasn’t his wife. I could have been anybody. For a second, I thought it wouldn’t have even mattered if I’d been dead, but that was wrong. Peter needed me alive because he seemed to thrive on my screams.

When he finished, it took me a few seconds to realize he had. I was so sore and was bleeding so much that I hadn’t even noticed the pain stopping. Trying not to be sick, I scooped up my clothes and ran for the door. Only then did I notice Lisa on the sofa, watching with a blank expression. Had she seen everything? Why hadn’t she helped me? I didn’t know and at that moment I didn’t care. I thundered up the stairs and didn’t stop running until I’d reached the sanctuary of Daniel’s room. I was safe. A broken woman, but safe for now. Just when I’d thought Peter couldn’t degrade me anymore, I’d reached a new low.

It was a few days before I could walk without pain again. The physical agony was actually the least of my worries. Every twinge I had reminded me of the ordeal I’d been subjected to. It was everywhere; my entire body was a reminder of that night. It was a day or two after the attack that I realized something.

He hasn’t apologized.

That was important. No matter how unpleasant or hurtful or spiteful he’d been in the past, Peter had always been quick with his regrets. Forty-eight hours after raping me in my own lounge, it was as though he’d forgotten the whole episode. That wasn’t a good sign. For some reason, he no longer felt the need to say sorry. Did he honestly think he’d done nothing wrong? Or was he so confident in his power over me that he could no longer be bothered?

Over the next weeks and months, there were several new faces in the house. Sometimes Lisa, sometimes other girls of my age or maybe younger. My memories of them are admittedly vague, like I’m trying to see through a fog. That’s often how it seemed at the time too. Sometimes it felt like I was living in a dream. It was a vile thing for Peter to do in my own home, with his son around, let alone me. It was as if he was saying,
I can do better than you.
They all looked like they could do with a decent meal and a few hours in the sun. And they all acted as though they weren’t there by choice. Not in front of Peter, of course. When he was there, they couldn’t do enough for him or to him. I think, to be honest, he was their meal ticket.

When so many unpleasant things are happening your mind tries to block them out. Consequently, I can’t say for sure how often there were strange women in the house. I do know it felt like at least a couple of times a week. Sometimes I was forced to watch them; sometimes they were forced to watch me be subjected to Peter’s violent fantasies. Other times I’d wake up in Daniel’s bed, heavy-headed, convinced I could hear yelps and yells and I’d roll over and pray that I was being left out tonight.

I knew he was hurting the other women, because he hurt me. If anything, I suspected he held back with me. So why did they keep returning for more? I couldn’t understand it. Then I realized,
Maybe they think the same about me?

The truth was, I had no choice. I couldn’t have left if I’d wanted to.

Not all Peter’s visitors were female. One day he announced he was going out.

Thank God
.
A few hours on our own.

‘Don’t go getting any ideas, though,’ he said, ‘because I’ve got eyes everywhere.’

With that he sneered a half-laugh and left. I was just about to pick Daniel up when a thought occurred.

He didn’t lock the door!

Excited, I ran up the hall and turned the handle. I was right. Unlocked. It flung open. And there, walking up the path, was a stranger.

I didn’t know this bloke from Adam, but he was nice enough. A bit rough, but friendly. He just said Peter had asked him to look after me. After what I’d seen Peter do to those women in the house, I was terrified of what ‘look after’ meant.

Has he hired me out?
I wouldn’t have put it past him.

But he had literally just come along to make sure I stayed where I was. It happened again and again. Whenever Peter popped out, more often than not, this guy would turn up. God knows what was in it for him because he’d only get a cup of tea for his troubles. Then we’d watch the telly or sit in the garden or I’d cook while he played with Daniel. It was utterly surreal and, I suppose, quite a threatening thing if you think about it. I shudder to think what he might have done if I had tried to leave. It could have all been bluff or it could have led to a world of pain. All I know is, after the initial shock, I didn’t bat an eyelid when he turned up. I was just grateful he was nice. But that didn’t stop me planning my escape.

Peter must have thought he was so clever. He’d terrorized me to the point where I was putting up with all sorts of physical and mental abuse and yet he knew I was too proud to tell anyone. But, just in case, he monitored my phone calls to Granny and I was under round-the-clock surveillance. I had no money, no privacy, no pride. I was broken and utterly dependent on him. He’d won. I was completely under his control. Or so he thought.

Peter made one mistake. However much he trod me down, however close he came to breaking me with this relentless regime of violence and degradation, there was one fact that kept me strong. I was a mother.

The bastard could do whatever he wanted to me, but there was no way I was going to give in and endanger my son’s life for a second longer than necessary. Ever since that moment on the stairs when I’d realized how Daniel was just a poker chip to Peter, I’d been ready. I had my secret bag of 10ps, scrounged and found, and I had my plan. I just needed the opportunity.

Then, one afternoon, just after five, Peter came over to me in the kitchen. The onslaught I braced myself for didn’t come.

‘I’m going to a car auction. I’ll be an hour and a half.’

He’d recently started buying and selling cars, like he’d seen me do in the past, although this auction looked to have caught him off guard because he was in a hurry as he left the house. And he forgot to lock the door.

Normally I wouldn’t have budged. My minder would be just arriving. Not this time though. There was something about the way Peter had been rushing around. This was a last-minute arrangement. He looked flustered, anxious to get out in time.

I bet he’s forgotten about me.

It was a gamble, but one I had to take. If I got it wrong and my prison warden caught me, then there would be hell to pay. But if I was right . . .

Just the idea of freedom put a spring into my step. I flew round the house, grabbing clothes, toys, essentials – as many things as I could stuff into a holdall. Then I scooped up Daniel, put my emergency stash of coins in my pocket and went to the front door. And I froze.

What if it’s a trap?

It would not have surprised me one bit to see Peter standing on the other side, just waiting. As I stood, transfixed, by the door, I could picture his face, smug and angry at the same time. I could imagine him gloating that he was too clever for me. And I could picture every single blow that he would rain down on my head and my face and my body to teach me a lesson.

It was too much. I felt sick. I couldn’t go through with it. The risks were too great. And then I felt Daniel wriggling in my arms and I knew the risks of staying were even greater.

Come on, Wilson,
I ordered myself.
You have to do this.

I yanked open the door and – nothing! He wasn’t there. I’d never felt such relief. But now the hard work began. I literally ran as fast as I could manage with my child and luggage until I was out of the cul-de-sac. Only when I was deep in the heart of the estate did I stop fighting the urge to slow. But I dared not stop altogether. I had to get off the main road before Peter came home. If he discovered me there would be repercussions to end all repercussions.

Eventually I reached a bus stop. It was such an anticlimax after the sprint, but I had no choice. I couldn’t afford a cab. My heart was still racing when the first bus pulled up. I threw our stuff onto a rack and hurried to the back. Now the nerves began in earnest. It wasn’t just the exercise making my heart pound a hundred times faster than usual. I’d never felt so nervous. The enormity of what I’d just undertaken kicked in and panic followed. Before, on our street, I could probably have explained it away as taking a walk, getting some fresh air. It was implausible, but there was a chance he would swallow it. But if he caught me now, he’d know I was trying to escape.