Invisible (36 page)

Dad answered.

‘
Th
-thank
you for everything you’ve done for me,’ I stuttered through the shuddering
breaths the tears were causing. ‘I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through.’

‘Love, what’s happened?’ he panicked.

‘I’m fine, d-don’t worry,’ I huffed
between sobs. Then I laughed, because actually it was true. I’d just confronted
Daryl and had survived, shattering nine years of control he’d had over me.

‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, ‘for the first
time in a long time.’

‘I don’t understand. Has something
else happened?’ he said, then I heard muffled conversation as he put his hand
over the receiver, followed by a clearer, ‘Here’s your mother.’

‘Sweetheart?’
Mum’s voice sounded high and worried.
But as I explained everything I found myself laughing again through the tears
and she was laughing too, with relief. Maybe I was hysterical. Whatever, it
felt good. This morning I’d felt like I was weighed down with worry, now I was
so light I could fly or run at 100 miles an hour or something.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Mum said as we
ended the conversation.

Yeah, I’m proud of me too. Part one of
the
plan
went just how I thought it would. On Monday
it’s time for phase two. Daryl would do his nut if he realised what that
involved…

Sunday 8

Well,
it’s
two months since I implemented phase two of the plan, and it all went really
well.

Basically, I defaulted on the mortgage
and handed in the keys of the house to the bank, and have declared myself
bankrupt.

Everything Daryl and I owned has been
sold off or given to charity, apart from a handful of things of sentimental
value that I kept. Kim and Peter did the selling on my behalf as I didn’t want
people to know whose things they were buying. They even found a home for the
truck – it’s gone to a charity that a friend of Peter’s is involved in, who
just so happened to be fundraising for a lorry to distribute goods to
orphanages in Romania. Apparently, the charity couldn’t believe their luck when
a ‘mystery benefactor’ donated one to them.

The proceeds from the sale were split
fifty/fifty between Daryl and paying off my debts; I didn’t get a penny. I
don’t care. All I wanted was to be free of Daryl. I’m sure he’s furious that
I’ve managed to escape being tied to the house, and him, forever.

I told him he’d lose his twisted game,
but he just didn’t believe me.

Now all he can do is wait helplessly
in his prison cell as the days pass, knowing that all too soon five years will
have gone by and I can divorce him whether he likes it or not.

While I wait for that glorious day,
I’ve got to get on with life though. I feel so much better now I’ve moved to a
different town on the other side of the country. Sometimes I catch someone
looking at me as if they recognise me, but they can’t seem to place me.
So far so good.

This is a fresh start, in a tiny flat
that’s sparsely furnished with things from charity shops, but I love it because
everything here is my taste. No impractical cream couch and carpets, no cold
glass dining and coffee tables.
Nothing pristine and perfect
and sterile.

Instead I’ve painted the bedroom a
deep, rich red, and the lounge a vibrant blue. To be honest it’s a bit garish,
but I don’t care because I did it myself and they’re colours I never would have
been allowed to have when I was married.

I’ve even managed to get a job at my
local clothes shop. It’s not much money, but it isn’t taxing either and at the
moment I still need all my strength just to keep myself together. I’m getting
stronger emotionally and physically, but it’s still an effort a lot of the time.
I feel a bit like a shattered teapot that’s been stuck back together and looks
fine but leaks when you try to use it. At least I have managed to patch myself
up somehow though, and maybe one day some of those leaks will be dammed too.

Thursday 13

Just back from
seeing Marsha.
It’s an exhausting trip, even though I stay overnight in a B&B, and really
I should consider just finding a local therapist but…I trust Marsha and the
thought of starting all over again with someone else is more than I can bear.
Marsha
keeps
me sane.

As
soon as I kick my shoes off and settle cross-legged onto the wide, comfy
armchair, I start talking. And God it feels good to be able to say anything I
want and know I won’t be judged.

Today
I finally confessed my two deepest, darkest secrets to her, the first being my
jealousy of Miss E, my doppelganger victim who has now had Daryl’s baby. Marsha
listened patiently as I finally talked my way round to realising that I’m not a
bitch for feeling that way. That I’m not some sicko who is jealous of what
happened to her; I’m not even envious that the child is Daryl’s.
I simply long for a child, and am a little jealous of every woman
who has one.

‘It
just seems more pronounced with Miss E because of the complexity and strength
of emotions involved with all your memories of that time. That and the fact
that she looks like you,’ Marsha explained. I nodded; that made sense.

I
told her about how sometimes I want to die and that I get through it by saying
‘I can always kill myself tomorrow.’ Her reply surprised me.

‘That’s
actually a really good coping mechanism,’ she said. ‘You’re not telling
yourself you can’t do it, which you’re obviously not strong enough to do at the
moment, but you’re also not giving in to the feeling. You’re simply telling
yourself that you can’t do it today. Good idea.’

Wow,
and I’d thought she’d think I’d need institutionalising or something. I’d been
so scared of confessing that to her.

But
she also took the time to point out that apparently if I take all my sleeping
tablets they won’t kill me, just make me sleep for a really, really long time.
Good job I never took them then, it would have been a right disappointment…

There’s no miracle cure for
my problems though. The counselling helps but I still constantly have trouble
sleeping, still feel terrible,
still
drive myself mad
with questions. All I can do though is keep my head down and plough through
this, hoping that one day I might just feel normal again.

Monday 16

My emotions are like the ebb
and flow of the tide. Sometimes I’m still so lost and angry and confused and
hurt and…everything else negative that the world can chuck at me. It’s hard, so
hard, not to fall apart again then. Not to pull the duvet over my head and
scream: ‘I give up world!’ Not to let myself be washed away by wave after wave
of overwhelming feelings.

But there are also times
when I’m together and fine.
Fine-
ish
.

There was a time when the
bad days happened far more frequently than the good days. I think now the
balance is tipping though. It’s an even split probably currently. Hopefully it
will eventually be more good than bad…. Although sometimes I worry that I’m
broken for all time now.

Tuesday 17

As the counselling works its
magic, I find I’m able to think clearly away from it too. Like, today I had a
revelation…

Why did I hang on so hard to
a marriage I hadn’t even been happy with, one I’d been considering walking out
on before the arrest? It’s something I’ve asked myself again and again, and
today I came up with an answer of sorts: it’s a bit like being mugged.

Okay, here’s my logic for
that… When you’re mugged, logically you know that your handbag is relatively
worthless and its contents can easily be replaced, and so the right course of
action is to let it go. Yet instinctively many people hold on. Clutch it
tighter against them and pull for all they’re worth, trying to keep hold of a
£30 piece of pleather that contains a cheap phone and some even cheaper make
up. Someone’s trying to take it from them and so they’ll do whatever it takes
to stop that thief.

That was me with my
marriage, I think. Logic said I should have walked away, but when the going got
tough and he was arrested, and it felt like someone was trying to tear us
apart, I instinctively clung to it instead, telling
myself
everything would be fine in the end.
Idiot.

Saturday 21

Today was Kim and Peter’s
wedding. I’m lying in a hotel room, exhausted but happy. It was uplifting to be
surrounded by so much joy.

It has though, stirred up a
lot of old feelings and memories. As Kim and Peter exchanged vows I kept
thinking of my own wedding day. I had so many hopes and dreams, and truly
believed that that day was the start of them all coming true…

Theirs was a very small
affair, but wonderful, and the looks on their faces as they exchange vows at
the register office… It was exactly how two people in love should look at one
another; as if no one else in the world exists but them and their happiness.
They glowed.

Kim looked like a model in
her cream, 1950s-style dress. When she threw her little posy of purple flowers
though, I didn’t bother joining the rush to try and catch it.

They’d asked me to do a reading
too, but I gently refused. ‘It makes my stomach squirm just thinking about
standing in front of people and speaking,’ I’d explained. ‘And what if someone
realises who I am? I want the day to be about you two, not about me and my
dramas.’

‘None of our friends or
family would ever say anything bad to you,’ Peter had said, and Kim had nodded
fiercely, tears making her eyes sparkle.

‘I know; I know they must be
lovely people to be anything to do with you two, but…’ Finally they’d accepted
my decision.

To be honest I’d been in two
minds about even attending the wedding, but I’m so glad I did. Kim has been my
rock through all of this; I don’t know what I’d do without her. And in taking
on his role as Kim’s protector and guardian angel, Peter seems to have adopted
me too. She’s got a good man there. Funny to think they wouldn’t be together if
it hadn’t been for Daryl’s crimes.

After the ceremony and
photos (during which I smiled nervously and tried to hide behind other people)
everyone nipped across the road to the pub where the small reception was being
held. A gorgeous meal and all kinds of speeches later, I took a tiny sip of
champagne to toast the bride and groom – my first taste of alcohol in a very
long time. It seemed wonderfully fitting though that it should be such a
celebratory drink.

Soon it was time for the
obligatory disco. It was fun, actually. In the darkness that was only lifted by
the rolling blue, green and red flashing lights, I even had a little dance.
Then I sneaked away while no one was looking, trying to stay invisible so I
could make my escape.

Now I’m in my hotel room and
I’m having a little cry. Not a huge self-pitying sob-fest, just a scattering of
tears because I’m so happy for Kim and the wonderful life she has ahead of her.

Thursday 3

Since Kim and Peter’s
wedding I’ve been struggling with something. In the end I confessed all to
Marsha, needing to know how to handle it, and if I was going completely insane.

‘I keep thinking about the
good times with Daryl,’ I admitted guiltily. ‘I used to hate thinking about
those times, they made me feel sick – they still do, very much so, at one
level, when I think about the terrible things he might have done first, to be
in a good mood…’

I swallowed, eyes darting
round the room as if trying to escape the words I was about to say.

‘…But I’m so lonely that
sometimes I…’ I stopped, reluctant to go further.

‘This sounds like a big confession,’
probed Marsha gently. ‘Something you don’t even like admitting to yourself.’

I shook my head quickly to
confirm she was right. She continued. ‘Okay, think of it this way: if you don’t
recognise it and accept it, you won’t be able to take the next step, which is
to stop it.’

Ooh, clever. I thought about
it for a few more moments, while Marsha waited patiently, and then ploughed on.

‘Sometimes I miss Daryl so
much it hurts. Physically hurts. It’s weak, I know, and maybe that’s why he was
with me, because I’m weak and pathetic and being with me made him feel powerful
in the same way that raping those women made him feel powerful. Maybe with me
it was emotional rape. I know our relationship was screwed up, abnormal. And
I’m trying to come to terms with that,’ I gabbled. ‘But you’re right, maybe
part of that is acknowledging my ‘addiction’ like they do at Alcoholics
Anonymous. My name is so and so and I’m a bastard-
aholic
.’

Marsha nodded. ‘This is just
another part of the grieving process, of letting go.’ It is? Great, because I
really want the letting go bit, and this harking back to ‘the good old days’ is
worrying and confusing the hell out of me.

‘You loved him,’ she said
simply. I did. I hate to admit it now, it feels dirty and wrong, but I did. ‘You
haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge that or say goodbye to him properly
because you feel repelled when you think of him. But you have to allow yourself
to say goodbye to the man you thought he was; the one you loved. Otherwise
you’ll never be free. Think of it this way: it’s as if the man you loved died.’

‘I wish he had died. It would be so
much easier then,’ I nodded.

I drew my knees up in front of me and
hugged them, pushing myself further into the squidgy back of the large
armchair. Turned and stared out of the window as I spoke, unable to meet
Marsha’s eye.

‘The thing is
,
it’s like there are two different people when I think of Daryl now. When we
were together all I saw was my amazing husband, who had some control and anger
issues, which I swept under the carpet. Then when I realised the monster he
really was, that was all I could see; the Port Pervert. Now though…now
sometimes I find myself wanting him back…

‘No,’ I corrected quickly, ‘not
wanting him back as such… Ah, it’s so hard to explain…’ I sighed, still staring
out across the lawn. ‘I don’t want him back, not the reality of him. I want the
fantasy. I want to go back to feeling loved and having a normal, boring life
with a normal, boring bloke.’

Another deep sigh that made
my whole body shudder. ‘Then I get annoyed with myself, because it’s like
saying I want the Port Pervert to be my husband, and
I
honestly, truly don’t want that. I don’t want mardy, controlling, murderous
Daryl back, I want… This doesn’t make any sense, does it…?’

‘It does. You have to
acknowledge the man you thought existed, acknowledge the love you had for him,
then you can finally start the process of letting go and moving on from him.
You’ve reached a really big moment in your healing process.’

‘Really, because it feels like
I’m going backwards…’

‘You’re not. Trust me.’

‘It’s just easier to think
of him as a monster than a man,’ I said, finally turning my head to face Marsha.
‘Because if I think of him as a person then I wonder why he became the way he
did. I even start wondering stupid things like, well, maybe he did really love
me. Is someone like that truly capable of love? I doubt it, yet he fooled me
for so long. I don’t know. I don’t know him. I’m not even sure I know me
any more
.’

I hugged my knees tighter then
let them go. ‘I suppose I just thought that once I’d confronted him and
symbolically won his stupid power
game, that
would be
it. I’d be free from him, you know? That’s how it always is in films: there’s a
big confrontation scene, and then the winner instantly gets to walk away and
live happily ever after, all their problems solved.’

The light shifted across
Marsha’s glasses momentarily as she adjusted them on her face. She took a
moment then replied. ‘What do you think you have to do to get your happily
ending then?’

God knows. But finally,
we thrashed out a way for me to face my feelings. I’m going to write a letter
to Daryl, one that will never be sent, of course; and hopefully I’ll pour all
my feelings out and leave them on the page.

Friday 4

So, here’s the letter I
have written not to the monster, not the Port Pervert, but instead to the
fantasy man (who did on occasion truly exist) that was my husband. I’m sort of
surprised by the tone of it; it almost felt like it wrote itself.

Dear Daryl

I know I’ll never send this letter – and I wouldn’t want to –
and for that reason I know I can put down all kinds of things I’d never admit
to your face.

I miss you. I really do. Insane, isn’t it? It’s been almost
seven months now since I found out the truth at the trial. My life had changed
utterly. Aside from the obvious, I’ve a new car – the cauliflower car had been
beaten up one too many times; a new flat, and lots of new furniture. You’d be
blown away by the way I’ve started a new life – I can see your face now. You’d
come inside the flat and be so proud of what I’ve achieved.

‘Wow, my babe did all this on her own?!’ you’d gasp. And you’d
give me a big hug. Your face all lit up, and your head thrown back with
laughter. You wouldn’t have chosen the colours yourself – the dark red in the
bedroom, and the knobs painted yellow in the kitchen especially – but you’d be
so impressed. Your approval always meant the world to me. It still does. Just imagining
your reaction makes me smile and feel better. But you’d tut at the red paint
splashes on the carpet!

I’m not writing this to have a go at you. I’ve tried to be angry
- and sometimes I still am – but on the whole I’m not very good at it. It just
eats away and grows and ends up making me feel worse. So instead I’m taking a
different tack…

I forgive you.

Not for what you did to others, that isn’t my place. This is
about me and you only. I forgive you for what you did to me.

It’s hard. But I’d rather let it go and forgive you, because
it’s better for both of us. Being angry and bitter will kill me. And won’t make
any difference to you at all because you can’t see it or feel it. But love and
forgiveness are far more powerful emotions. They will heal me.

Perhaps on some deep, cosmic level you’ll feel that love and
forgiveness and it will help effect your actions in the future and the way you
feel about yourself. I think your low self-esteem has an awful lot to do with
your actions – ironic as most people think only someone with a vast ego could
do what you did. You’re all front though, that’s why you need to ‘prove’
yourself by overpowering others.
Emotionally, physically…

Perhaps you really did love me, and in some way you were
fighting against that badness in you and that’s why you didn’t hurt me like the
other women. Well, that makes as much sense as anything else…that is to
say,
no explanation will ever really make sense to me. It’s
all insane.

There’s a distinct possibility that I’m just kidding myself, but
what’s the harm? You’ve already inflicted all the damage you could on me and
others; there’s nothing left for you to do. That’s why I have to accept the way
I feel, embrace it, then open my arms up again and let it drift away. I do this
not for you, but for me, so that one day, a day that grows closer all the time,
I’ll be free completely.

Sometimes I imagine you coming round. When I’m walking home at
night I imagine you’re waiting outside for me, standing by the wall, one arm up
on the pillar, one leg resting up on a step, looking all confident and at ease.
But you never are. And then I have to remind myself of where you really are,
and why.

I still ache for you, Daryl. I still long to put my head in that
funny hollow in your chest that seems made for my head, and I can almost feel
you breathing on my head – you know that funny habit you’ve got, like you’re
trying to heat up the top of my head? Feel your arms wrap all the way round me.
Sometimes, to help me go to sleep at night, I pretend you’re spooned up behind
me. We fitted together so perfectly.

But I’m not
daft,
I know we were far
from happy together. That we argued, snapped, sniped. That you were selfish,
controlling, manipulative… I often wonder what there is to love about someone
with so few loveable traits. Don’t know. But I managed it anyway…until I
discovered your absolute true nature.

So again I say, I forgive you.
With that, I give myself the gift of a blank piece of paper on
which to write my life.
A true fresh start free from
emotional baggage.

Goodbye.

Thursday 10

As soon as I’d settled,
cross-legged in the chair and made myself comfy for my counselling session,
Marsha asked if I’d written the letter. I smiled, feeling relaxed.

‘I did, and it’s really
helped,’ I nodded. ‘I’m feeling much more at ease somehow.’

Saturday 12

Kim has come to stay for the
weekend. As soon as she arrived though I noticed she seemed edgy and uptight,
as though she had something to tell me but was dreading it.

I poured a glass of wine for
each of us, feeling confident that I could handle a small glass without it
triggering a meltdown.

‘Everything
okay?’
I checked as I handed over her goblet. ‘Something you
want to tell me?’

She bought herself some time
by taking a sip. ‘You know me too well,’ she said, face halfway between a smile
and grimace. ‘Well…it’s really exciting, but it’s also really sad…’

Hmm, well that ruled
pregnancy out then. What on earth
could it
be, I
wondered.

‘Peter, Henry and I
are…we’re moving to Australia!’ she announced apologetically.

That I hadn’t expected. Now
it was my turn to take a gulp of wine as I tried to rearrange my face into
surprised delight. I think I managed it. Then I laughed, the news sinking in
and genuine pleasure replacing the fake act.

‘Bloody
hell!
This is huge…it’s massive…’ I said slowly, shaking my
head. ‘But it’s also a brilliant opportunity. So…how come? When did all this
happen? When are you leaving?’

‘One question at a time!’
she laughed, clearly relieved by my reaction.

Peter had apparently decided
to emigrate and had put in the paperwork before he and Kim had even met. When
they’d got together they’d found themselves talking about it more and more and
decided to go for it together, but hadn’t wanted to say anything until it was
sorted. They figured that that way, if their application wasn’t successful it
didn’t matter.

‘But it was successful, and
Peter’s got a fantastic job lined up in Sydney. He’s got an aunt and uncle, and
some cousins over there too, so we’ll know people when we arrive,’ Kim
explained, flushed with excitement. ‘The only problem is leaving you. I’ll miss
you so much!’

‘I’ll miss you too, believe
me,’ I replied, pulling a pained face. ‘Think of the lifestyle you’ll have over
there though, enjoying the great outdoors in all that lovely sunshine. It’ll be
wonderful for Henry.’

‘He can’t wait,’ she smiled
shyly.

I’m so pleased for her. I’ll
miss her like crazy though, she’s my best friend, and has kept me going through
the worst time of my life. I’ll never forget what she’s done for me.