The Banishing (2 page)

“What would you like me to do?” Melissa asked.

“Take his BP and vital signs. Then, wash him down.”

“He needs a bath?”

“He’s caked in blood, Melissa. His family is travelling down from Wales to see him, and they can’t see him like that.”

Melissa nodded and headed for bed three. Her heart sank when she saw him lying there. During her time there, she had seen awful things—things most people would never see in their entire life—but she never got used to it the way other staff promised she would. She just couldn’t, and in a way, didn’t want to.
Who wants death to be normal
, she thought, staring down at him. W
ho wants blood and illness and comas to be everyday life?

“You won’t get much done staring at him,” said a voice from behind.

Melissa turned around. It was her friend, Sharon. She smiled then winced. Her lip felt cracked, torn. Sharon’s smile dropped when she saw the cut.

Sharon quietly pulled the curtain around the patient shut, then said in barely a whisper, “What the hell happened to you?”

Melissa suddenly wished she’d listened to Mark. Was it going to be like this all day? All week? “Nothing,” she said. Pathetic and defenseless, she found no other words.

“Nothing? Oh right. Yeah, that’s nothing.”

Melissa wanted to hug her friend in that moment, seeing the concern in her eyes and wanting more of it, needing more of it. Nobody knew what she’d been going though since Mark had started….turning on her. The secret was curled and sleeping inside her mind, invisible to everyone. Until now.

“I’m okay, really. I just fell this morning when I was taking the bins out.”

Sharon reached out and rubbed her hand along her friend’s arm. “Mel, seriously. You don’t look good. I don’t even mean the bruise, but everything…you’ve not been right, lately. Something is wrong. I’m not stupid.”

“I appreciate your concern, but really, don’t worry. I’m good. I‘m all right,” she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. “Now, are you going to help me bathe this patient?”

Sharon sighed, folding her arms across her chest. Her long, blonde hair was tied back into a bun, revealing her beautiful, youthful face. Her eyes look alive,
like mine once did
, Melissa thought, staring at her with a strange longing, an uncomfortable sense of envy.

“Is it Mark? It is, isn’t it? He’s been hitting you.”

Each word hit her like a brick against her chest. Her heart thudded wildly, and she felt a rise of panic. “Stop it,” Melissa said, turning away and lowering the bed sheet on top of the patient. “I need to get on with this.”

“That bastard. You need to get out, Mel. Please, listen to me. If he did this to you—”

“If he did this to me, Sharon, I’d have been out already. Trust me.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed. Millions of women go through this. Loads of women find it hard to leave their partners, but—”

“Shut up!” Melissa hissed. “Please!”

Sharon took a step forward. “I care about you. Don’t push me away.”

“Let’s meet up at lunch time, okay? We’ll talk, then. Not here, not now.”

Sharon smiled—satisfied—and nodded.

Chapter Three

It was still raining. The sky above them was a dome of gray, clouds swollen with water hovering above them with the promise of more to come. Sharon had managed to arrange her lunch break at the same time as Melissa, but the canteen had been busy—too busy for them to talk properly—so they were standing outside, taking shelter by a cluster of trees that were situated behind the main hospital building.

She hadn’t planned what to say. All morning, while cleaning patients, taking blood pressures and changing bedding, she had been devoured by two thoughts that were constantly battling for her attention. The first had been Mark. What to do about him and worrying about what he might do next. The second thought was what she was going to tell Sharon. She wanted to tell her but was frightened of what telling her might mean, and for that, she felt weak and stupid.

Melissa had been with Mark for five years. They had started dating when she was 20. Now, she was 25—the age where she had expected to be happily settled into married life or perhaps planning the family they’d spoken of—but instead, she was tied up in this nightmare, and she didn’t know where to turn, what to do.

“What happened? I want to know, because something is just not right with you. You’ve been like this for ages.” Sharon pulled out a lighter from her pocket and flicked it open. The flame sprung to life, and she lifted it to her face, lighting the cigarette that hung between her lips. She inhaled and released a small puff of gray smoke. It hung momentarily in the air, and then dissolved to nothing.

“Been like what?”

“A fucking zombie, that’s what. You’ve stopped coming out with me. You’ve been totally distracted at work. Now this? Jesus, Mel. You look awful.”

Melissa leaned back against the tree, enjoying the feel of the cold air against her skin. “You’re right. I’ve not been myself for weeks. Well, probably months.”

“Why?”

“Mark.”

Sharon’s eyes widened. Two twin spheres of blue that seemed to darken at hearing her friend’s words. “I knew it. He’s been hitting you!” Sharon motioned toward the cut on Melissa’s lip and fell silent, stunned.

“For five years, he was the perfect man, perfect husband. He never laid a finger on me.”

“Until now.”

Melissa felt a tidal wave of relief as she began to loosen up, began to feel the weight of the truth fall from her. It was the first time she had admitted it to anybody, and despite her anxiety about where it might lead, what letting go of it all might mean, she felt good. “Until a few months ago. I think it started when we moved into the new house.”

“You’ve been there—what? A year now?”

Melissa looked over at her friend, nodding hesitantly.

“He’s been hitting you the whole time?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Keep it down. I don’t want people hearing.” Melissa fell silent as a group of nurses passed them, clustered together in a tight group, talking and laughing. After they disappeared around the corner of the building, Melissa finally said, “No, he hasn’t been hitting me the whole time, but he started changing
around
that time. At first, I thought it might just be the stress of moving. You know, it was a struggle, financially…” Melissa paused, thinking back to the time—a time when things were normal, good, even perfect. “It all just changed.”

Sharon dropped her cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with her foot. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it went from him just being kind of moody and snapping at me now and then, to getting really angry over stupid things. Then, he got all funny about me spending time with you, like he didn’t want me having friends.”

“Sounds like the guy is a nut.”

“Then, the last couple of months he started…you know, pushing me a bit. At first, just a slap across the face—”

“Just? There is no
just
about it, Mel. What he’s doing to you is—”

Melissa raised her hand in an attempt to stop Sharon. “Yes, I know. Don’t you think I know? Anything you say, I’ve already thought it.”

“So, he started hitting you?”

“Yeah. A few weeks ago, but today was the worst.”

Sharon leaned in close, putting her arm around Melissa’s shoulders. “Babe, you need to get out. You know that? If he can do this to you—the woman he is supposed to love—then he’s dangerous. Out of control.”

“That’s what I’m scared of.”

“You should be!”

“Thanks,” Melissa said. “That makes me feel great.”

“Seriously, he’s dangerous. Leave him. Even if you end up staying at my place. Or a hotel or something.”

“You know, I’ve actually thought about leaving him,” she confessed, motioning for them to walk back to the hospital. It was almost 1:00 PM, signaling the end of their break, and Melissa knew she couldn’t risk being late. Again. Her ward manager was already pissed off about her late arrival that morning.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming on,” she said, linking arms with Melissa as they walked.

“There is a ‘but’. Of course there is. I’ve known him for years. We were best friends. So close. Closer to me than anybody has ever been. As crazy as it sounds, after what I’ve just told you, I love him. What if there is something wrong, and I can get him help? What if things can get back to the way they once were?”

Sharon sighed and shook her head. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs’ and a hell of a lot of bruises while you’re waiting for your answer.”

Melissa knew she was right, but something kept her back, stopped her from moving on.

* * * *

The rest of the shift passed uneventfully. Sharon had practically pleaded with her to not go home and to leave Mark, but despite her own fear and wanting to do everything she knew she should, she left for home with the promise of phoning Sharon if anything happened that night.

It was almost dark when she left the hospital and stepped into the parking lot. The rain had eased off, dissolving resignedly into a light drizzle. Pulling out of the almost empty parking lot, Melissa wondered what the night ahead held for her.
Which Mark will be there waiting for me? The real one, or the other one
—
the one I don’t know?
She felt nervous and tried to fend off the feeling by turning up the radio. A song she didn’t recognize filled the car and the air around her, and she hummed along, trying to force some life—some energy—into her.

The roads were busy. Rush hour. Melissa followed the trail of cars ahead, moving slowly. By the time she reached home, she felt the beginning of a headache twinge along her scalp. She pulled into the driveway and switched off the radio, staring up at the house. It looked gloomy in the dying light. The house. What Mark had always wanted for them, for their life together. Thinking of those long hours that Mark had put in, the way he would be out of the door first thing in the morning and would sometimes not get back home before she would already be in bed, Melissa wondered whether the house had been worth it at all. They had rented a small flat for the first few years of their relationship. One bedroom, tiny. It was nothing more than one large room plus a bathroom. Melissa had taken to calling it “the box”, but she had liked it, had enjoyed their time there. It had been the space where their relationship had grown from a tiny flower into a full, passionate blossom.

That flat they had both lived in held wonderful memories for her. The night Mark had gotten down on one knee and proposed to her was the strongest—almost too perfect—one.

Mark was the first one to suggest moving, though. They hadn’t even discussed it. It wasn’t something Melissa thought was in the cards. Happy at the place they were, content for the first time in years since her parents’ deaths several years before, she admitted to herself—she didn’t want any more upheaval. Anymore change. She had simply wanted to be mellow in the bubble she and Mark had built around themselves, cocooned in a happiness that she never dreamt possible.

She remembered him coming home from work one night. It was late, and Melissa had already changed into her pajamas when Mark sauntered into the room, a huge grin on his face and a newspaper in his hand. He ran into the lounge and tossed the paper into her lap. “Page fifty,” he had simply said.

Melissa leafed through the pages until she came to the small ad Mark had circled in blue ink. A house. Two bedrooms. A large garden. Garage.

“It’s perfect for us,” he had said to her, watching as she read over the estate agent’s description. “Don’t you think we deserve our own home? Our own home, Melissa! Think about it.”

Thinking back on it now, on the way things had slowly crept toward this bleak reality in which she now lived, Melissa wished she’d said “no” straightaway. Yet even then, before she knew what she knows now, and before she knew Mark would change the way he had, she had felt strong reservations about the move. About the house. There were two main reasons: the first being financial. Melissa’s wages were meager, and although Mark earned a considerable amount as a courier, there were quiet periods. Dry periods, when he could easily go for days without being assigned any jobs. Taking out a mortgage felt like a huge step.

She remembered Mark’s face when she had expressed her concerns and knew how much the concept of buying their own place must have meant to him. His face dropped, his eyes lost their warm sparkle, and he looked defeated.

So she had, for his sake more than anything, agreed to take a look at the property the next day.

Mark was right—it was a beautiful, little home. Nothing spectacular or grand about it, but she didn’t need that, didn’t want that—and more importantly, could not afford that. It was basic, in truth. Two small bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, a large (huge was probably closer to the truth) lounge, and a kitchen that had been newly remodeled. The place had obviously been redecorated by the current owners. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air bitterly, and the thick, wooden doors to each room were shiny and sleek, elegant.

Melissa liked it. Mark loved it. They left the property after the estate agent locked up—she had seemed bored of showing them around the house and had waited outside, chain smoking—with the promise that they would be in contact that same day.