Invisible (35 page)

I shook my head. ‘After all that’s come out
about him, does he strike you as the reasonable type? No, he just wants me to
visit so he can mess with my head and play his little mind games. He’s no intention
of giving me what I want, I’m sure of it.’

She squeezed my hand once more and threw a
worried look at Peter.

Bugger, bugger, bugger, there was no way I
was letting that bastard ruin our evening. It’s the first time I’d even
attempted to cook for anyone for an eternity, so I gave myself a shake.

‘Enough
about depressing things,’ I said, forcing myself to be bright. ‘Tell me all
about you two!’ To show I was totally fine I even forced down a mouthful of
spaghetti and sauce.

Kim
and Peter looked at each other again, smiling shyly, almost apologetically, but
they couldn’t keep their happiness under wraps. Their faces positively glowed as
they spoke about their relationship, their plans to move in together, and how
wonderful Peter thought Henry was.

Everything
seems to be moving apace, but they look so right together that it doesn’t seem
too fast.

Finally,
I stood and started clearing the plates, with Peter hurrying to join me. As we
went into the kitchen, he seemed anxious to say something and my heart fell a
little; I hoped he wasn’t going to say more on the divorce when I was trying so
hard not to think of the next five years I faced being Mrs Port Pervert.

‘I,
err, I wondered if I could ask your advice on something,’ he said nervously,
setting the plates down carefully and licking his lips.

‘Of
course,’ I replied, curious.

‘Umm,
well…’ he sent a nervous glance in the direction of the living room where Kim
was flicking through my old CDs. ‘I’m thinking of…well, proposing to Kim, what
do you think?’

This
last sentence had come out in such a rush that I just stood there blinking for
a second. Then went to squeal but managed to stifle it, realising Kim would
hear and wonder why I was giving her fella a bear hug in the kitchen. Instead I
settled for silently pumping my arms and jumping up and down, a huge grin on my
face.

Peter
smiled right back, clearly overjoyed by my reaction.

‘Bloody
brilliant, that’s what I think,’ I hissed gleefully.
‘When?
Where? What’s the plan?’

‘Really?
You think she’ll say yes?’ he
confirmed.

I
rolled my eyes. ‘I’ve never seen her happier. Now come on, spill!’

Suddenly
Kim appeared in the doorway, waving a Stone Roses CD. ‘God, I haven’t heard
this in years! Can I put it on?’

If
she saw the way me and her fella froze guiltily, she didn’t give anything away.
Just goes to show how the innocent mind doesn’t spot suspicious behaviour…

‘Yeah,
no problem,’ I squeaked. ‘Actually, that’s a ‘best of’, but if you look in my
bedroom, I might have their original album somewhere.’ That bought us some time
as she wandered from the kitchen.

‘Quick,
tell all,’ I urged Peter.

‘I’m
going to take her and Henry on a surprise trip to Euro Disney – I thought Henry
should be involved?’ I nodded that his thinking was probably correct. ‘Well,
their favourite Disney film is Toy Story. So I was going to get Buzz
Lightyear
to ask her if she’d spend infinity and beyond
with me.
Too cheesy?’

Umm,
yes, way too cheesy, but it’s also the sort of thing Kim will adore, and that’s
what I told him. At this, if he’d have smiled any wider he’d have wound up with
a flip top head!

I
have to say, despite the bitter divorce blow, tonight’s been one of the best I
can remember – and one that I know won’t be tainted with anything untoward in
years to come.

Finally,
there’s some truly good news in my life. Without Kim and Peter’s example I
think I’d give up and decide all men were total shits and love is for suckers.
How tragically ironic though that as I’m desperately trying to get rid of my
husband, Kim is gaining one.

Five
years. How can I be that man’s wife for another five years? I keep rubbing the
empty space where my wedding ring used to be; maybe I hope subconsciously that
if I rub hard enough I’ll magically erase the marriage. If only.

Sunday 30

So, I’m stuffed as far as
divorce or selling the house or anything is concerned. But I’ve come up with a
plan. I was lying in bed, trying to sleep as usual, but for once it was anger
making me toss and turn rather than guilt and bad memories. Suddenly a flash of
inspiration struck at 4am. I’m going to speak again with Peter and with Marsha
too, and see what they think.

Sunday 7

I pick up the new visiting
order Daryl has sent (he sends one every week now) and my stomach flips at the
thought of seeing him, a rush of blood pounding in my ears and making my heart
race.

I hope I’m ready for this.

Thursday 11

I’ve been given the go-ahead
by Marsha and Peter, and I’ve booked myself in, so tomorrow I face Daryl for
the first time since court. Seems sort of fitting somehow, as I’ve just
realised that tomorrow is the anniversary of us getting arrested; I won’t be
celebrating that, but it did mark a…turning point in my life, shall I say, and
hopefully tomorrow will too.
The first day of the rest of my
life, possibly.

I’m sick with nerves, can’t
think of tomorrow without my stomach feeling like it’s trying to churn its way
out of my body. As for my heart, I’ve been fascinated and fairly freaked out to
discover that when it pounds hard enough I can actually see it against my
chest.

Last night I found myself
once again wishing I were dead. I stood talking to my reflection in the mirror,
crying about how useless I am, worrying that Daryl will send me back to the
pathetic specimen I used to be; I could already see it happening before my eyes.

Or worse, going to the
prison and finding a man broken by the discovery of his two sides. Why worse?
Because then I might feel sorry for him. Slide into that abyss again and I
might as well be dead.

I opened the bathroom
cabinet and took out the bottle of sleeping pills.
Stared at
it.
Then put it back again.
Because I have to try
this.
I have to speak with Daryl and put my plan into place. If it
doesn’t work, if things go really badly and I wind up a blubbering wreck
then…well, I can always kill myself tomorrow.

Friday 12

The journey to Wakefield
prison seemed to take both an incredibly long time but also to fly by. All too
soon I found myself parking the car, going through the security checks of a rub
down and walking through a metal detector, had my passport scrutinised and then
I was led into a room full of low tables, each with four chairs. I sat down,
swallowed nervously and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.
Seconds later, the door opened and the prisoners filed in. As soon as I saw
Daryl it felt like someone had punched my solar plexus and my heart leapt
painfully. I clenched my hands together tightly to stop my urge to fidget, and
forced myself to meet his eye.

Calm, I had to stay calm. I
knew what I’d come to say, and I was going to take Marsha’s advice and harness
my anger and nerves to get me through this. I hate confrontations
though,
get so worked up that my heart pounds and the
adrenaline just seems to make me want to cry. Still, I have improved a little
lately, and I knew this time I couldn’t afford to get like that so used the
deep breathing techniques I’d learned in yoga.

Daryl gave me a predatory
smile, the kind a cat gives a mouse, as he eased himself into the plastic chair
opposite me then leaned back and assessed me.

‘Hello, Gorgeous, you’ve
lost more weight. Don’t get too skinny, you’ll look gaunt,’ he greeted. ‘How
are you?’

‘Fine…thanks,’ I replied stiffly. My
throat was really dry, so dry I could barely swallow. ‘I just need the loo,’ I
announced suddenly, jumping up again.

As I stood, a guard came over and
accompanied me to the ladies’ toilets. I had a quick wee, washed my hands, saw
they were trembling like crazy. I had to get myself together, couldn’t let
myself fall to pieces so quickly. I took a sip from the cold water pooled in my
hand then splashed my face lightly with the remainder. Deep breath, a quick
check in the mirror; I looked okay, no real outward signs of nerves. That gave
me the courage to walk out of the loo again, get patted down,
then
march back over to Daryl.

‘I want a divorce,’ I
announced before I’d even sat down again.

The pupils in Daryl’s
ice-blue eyes contracted. ‘I’m trying to be civil to you. I wanted to see you
and talk about things, and you can’t even be bothered to ask me how I am before
you start with your demands,’ he said, voice dangerous and low.

‘I didn’t come here for a
row,’ I replied, voice steady, fidgety fingers
plaited
firmly in lap. ‘But I didn’t come here for a chat about old times either.’

He looked at my hands, eyes
narrowing. ‘You’re not even wearing your wedding ring. We’re still married you
know – or are you out fucking other people already? I bet you’ve been doing
that ever since I got arrested, haven’t you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snapped. I
know I shouldn’t have shown him he’d touched a nerve but I couldn’t help it.

Instantly he leaned forward and we
started a whispered argument, faces inches from one another.

‘How could you?’ he demanded.

‘How…?’ I was flabbergasted.
‘How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful when you’re in prison –
or doesn’t rape count as adultery?!
You hypocritical, vile… How could
you do those things? Why, Daryl? Why? I need to know.’

Instead of answering he reached out
towards me. ‘Don’t touch me!’ I hissed, and squirmed away as though he was
poisonous.

The anger rose inside me, making me
shake far more than the nerves had. I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought
of him, but snapped my mouth shut and shook my head. Not like this. I needed to
stay calm and in control. Right now I was playing into his hands; he wanted to
rile me. I had to stick with my plan.

Frustration registered on his face as
he realised I wasn’t going to bite further. ‘You’re a cunt, you’re a cunt.
You’re just a fucking cunt,’ he sneered.

Those were the kind of words he’d
thrown at his other victims too, when he’d been raping them. Thinking of them
gave me strength.

‘Well, that’s charming,’ I replied
sarcastically. ‘You’d think given the circumstances, of the two of us I’d be
the one swearing and name calling, but I’m not.’

That was the moment I’d been waiting
for. It was the tipping of the balance of power. Suddenly Daryl didn’t seem to
know what to do now I was the one being calm and he was floundering in rage.

‘I think you should leave,’ he
snapped.

‘I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, when
I’ve finished our talk.’ I couldn’t believe my own gall. It felt exhilarating
rather than nerve-racking.

‘You’ve really fucking blown it now,’
he shook, spittle flying from his mouth, cheeks reddening. ‘You’ll never get
what you want from me. How dare you?’

‘That line again, Daryl? How dare I
what? Speak my mind?
Very easily.
I’ve discovered I’ve
got one since you’ve been locked away, and I’m rather enjoying using it,’ I
smiled sweetly.

‘Yeah, well, you were so desperate to
trust me. It was
all your
fault, everything was your
fault. You kept nagging me about kids, I couldn’t talk to you about anything;
it’s like that psychologist said, you’re the reason why I was forced to hurt
those women. And you couldn’t even see what was in front of you, you just blindly
kept on seeing what you wanted to see,
kept on trusting
me.’

It was the biggest metaphorical slap
in the face he could give me. But I’d known it was coming and barely blinked.
‘You’re right,’ I nodded. ‘I did blindly trust you and that makes me sad. But
then, trust and love are pretty normal behaviour within a marriage. As for
nagging you about a family…yes, I was desperate for your child. And now,
somewhere out there, one of your victims has a living breathing reminder of the
vile things you’ve done to her. She has a beautiful baby created from hatred that
should have been ours, created from love.’

For a second he looked
stunned and there were tears in his eyes. He held my gaze for one, two, three
heartbeats, perhaps thinking of the very different lives we could have had if
only he were normal. Then he blinked and the tears were gone.

‘You still haven’t asked how
I’m doing,’ he said petulantly, changing the subject. ‘It’s not easy for me in
here, you know. I’m victimised by staff and inmates. My cell is tiny and
there’s no separate loo,
it’s
right there in the same
room as I sleep in; have you any idea how disgusting that is? Then there’s the
mandatory drug testing, and you know how much I hate needles…’

Was the big bad killer
really whinging for sympathy?

‘I haven’t even done anything wrong,’ he added,
folding his arms, shirt sleeves straining across his huge muscles.

I looked in his eyes and could see he
believed it. I was a bit scared when I realised that. ‘My God I’m so glad I
came over today to have this out with you because you really believe your own
lies,’ I gasped, stunned. ‘You have something broken inside you, there’s some
emotional circuitry that’s gone wrong with you.’

I’d known that before, of course I
had. But to stare into the eyes of someone and see close up that they aren’t
connected properly, aren’t like other people, is a revelation. If you weren’t
looking for it you might miss it, but now it was blindingly obvious to me.

Daryl’s smile was back as he lounged
back in the plastic chair and it creaked in time to his gentle bouncing. ‘You
know why I kept in touch with you after the arrest?’ he whispered
conspiratorially.
 
‘Because I though the
jury would look at prim and proper you, with your neat clothes and your perfect
hair, and your little girl walk, and it would colour the way they thought of
me. I thought they’d think someone like you would never be with a nasty
bogeyman.’

He
sneered
this last word, twisting his smile. ‘You couldn’t even get that right though,
could you.
Fucking useless bitch.’

Revulsion shuddered through me.
Time to end this charade.

‘Will you agree to the sale of the
house, and to me divorcing you?’ I asked calmly. ‘I’m willing to visit again
and talk about the details with you, if you agree now and sign this paperwork
to allow me to put our home on the market.’

Even as I was speaking he was shaking
his head, smirking, arms still folded, slumped in his seat like a teenager.
‘Nope.
I’m not going to let you go, Gorgeous.
Never.
I love you,’ he snickered, shark eyes glinting with
humour.

I held his gaze and nodded. Now was my
moment. ‘That’s fine, I expected no less. I know you must be feeling impotent
in your cell, unable to exert any power over women, so you’re reduced to
playing this game with me,’ I said, leaning forward to be certain he caught
every word.

‘But know this: I will win in the end.
All I have to do is
wait
for five years and then I can
divorce you whether you like it or not. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.
And in the meantime I’ll be out and about having fun, living my life without
you in it, while you will be stuck in here.’ I waved my hands around airily to
take in the depressing brick and concrete that surrounded us.

There it was, that familiar, furious
look that had always set me back-tracking and apologising in the past. Daryl’s
face like thunder, the storm clouds had well and truly gathered. I swayed
slightly but held my ground, still staring straight into his eyes as they bored
into me.

His full lips were white with fury.
Then he swallowed and smirked.

‘Well there’s nothing you can do about
the house,’ he replied, head bobbing arrogantly. ‘I’ll never agree to its sale.
We’ll be tied to it for the rest of our lives. You’ll be tied to me.’

Still I held his gaze. ‘You lose,
Daryl,’ I smiled. Then I stood and walked away.

He must have been too surprised to
react, because it was only as the guard buzzed the door to let me out that I
heard Daryl’s voice calling out to me. ‘Don’t see how I can lose. Tell me what
you mean.’

I felt the familiar pull of guilt and
more that always made me do as Daryl said. The urge to spill the beans was
almost overwhelming.
Almost, but not quite.
Marsha had
prepared me for this and I carried on walking, even though my legs felt like
they belonged to someone else and wouldn’t seem to work properly.

I kept on walking until I
reached my car and climbed inside. Put the keys in the ignition. Rested my
hands on the steering wheel amazed at how very calm and in control I’d been…

…And then I fell apart. How
I cried. For the loss of the man I’d loved, for the children I’d imagined, for
the future I’d thought was guaranteed. It’s all gone, all dead, and I finally allowed
myself to grieve.

But more than anything, I
sobbed for the young woman who had wanted all those things. I’ve never allowed
myself to really mourn her passing because it made me feel guilty, as if that
was somehow detracting from what Daryl’s victim’s had suffered.

That girl was an innocent
victim too though. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.

Trembling, I pulled my phone out from
the glove compartment where I’d had to leave it, and dialled my parents. They’d
lost that girl too, and now I could suddenly see how hard it must have been for
them to see her death and watch me shuffling around trying to be her lookalike
replacement.