Buyer’s Remorse Chapters 7 - 8 by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 More violence and scary scenes ahead, but stick with it.

-oOo-

Chapter 7

My second choice for a hiding place involved pulling my underwear drawer out all the way. It was the sort that ran on rollers, which meant you needed to push in a couple of catches to remove it completely – not the sort of mechanical thing a woman was supposed to know about. With the drawer all the way out, there was room enough behind to tape the spare rolls in place. As an afterthought, I taped the money rolls to the back of the chest of drawers rather than on the drawer itself. That way I figured you'd only see them if you stooped down low enough to look through to the back, and there was less risk of shaking them loose.

I settled the drawer back into place then crept into the boys’ room and watched them silently for ten minutes to make sure they were asleep.

I settled down to sleep around eleven o'clock with the alarm set for seven.

Not that I needed it. I woke before the alarm feeling gloriously well rested. The shower was a sensuous delight, as was my indulgence in creams, powders and soft, sweet-smelling perfumes.

I still possessed a somewhat dumpy and unattractive face and body – something which I resolved then an there to do something about – I still had two boys to look after – one an unruly brat and the other a wee timorous beastie with a tendency to whinge – and I was still married to a violent and unpleasant man even though he was out of our lives for now. Despite all that, I had a great feeling about the day ahead. Just one day in this new life and I already felt like I was making progress.

Perhaps there was some degree of boomerang effect. When I allowed myself to think on the previous couple of days, I found it hard to imagine a worse experience, but I'd taken steps to change things, and today I would take more.

I let the boys sleep in till seven-thirty then scooted them downstairs to wash and dress. Perhaps a little overly enthusiastic, but it meant that we were all breakfasted and ready to leave by eight-thirty.

The walk to school took only ten minutes, which suited me fine. Michael ran off to play with some of the other early arrivals leaving me time to march Steven through to the reception of the secondary school.

“We'd like to see the head please.” I smiled sweetly at the receptionist.

“Of course Mrs, er, Bush. Mrs Nullis is usually quite busy at this time, so perhaps...”

“I understand that. Perhaps you could help while we wait. You know the Saturday football matches like the one that was played here a couple of days ago? Who organises those?”

“Er, that would be all the P.E. teachers from the local schools. Mr Gibson is our...”

“And the teams. Each team represents one school?”

“Yes, but I thought you knew...”

“Perhaps you’d get a message to Mrs Nullis for me. I have some information about an incident that took place on Saturday afternoon in which a group of boys from one of Saturday’s football teams ganged up on and rather severely hurt a member of the other team. Perhaps she may think that’s worth interrupting whatever she’s doing right now?”

I could have made an assumption about the nature of the football matches, in fact I nearly had, but I’d learnt enough over the previous twenty-four hours to recall that making assumptions could turn around and bite you in the... er... ass. What was that saying about making an ass out of you and me?

“While you're at it,” I added as she started dialling her phone, “perhaps you could see if Mr Gibson might be free to join us as well.”

Schools tended to take matters of student welfare extremely seriously, so it didn’t surprise me when the head teacher, along with the burly man I’d met briefly on Saturday morning, appeared less than ten minutes later and ushered Steven and me into her office.

“Thank you for waiting Mrs Bush, do I assume that it was your son who was attacked?”

See what I mean about assumptions.

“Actually no. I am very disappointed to say that Steven was the instigator of the attack. He took my phone while I wasn’t watching and sent a text through to a friend I made on Saturday morning, the mother of the opposing team’s goalkeeper, suggesting we could meet in the park. He then sent a message to the rest of his team suggesting they should meet him there if they wanted some retribution. I interrupted them before they went too far, but I hate to think what might have happened if I hadn’t.”

“This was the whole team?” Mr Gibson growled.

“No. There were four others. I don’t know if I could give you their names, and Steven refuses to do so, but I could definitely pick them out of a line-up.”

Mrs Nullis woke her computer and pulled up student records for each of the team members Mr Gibson named. Being year sevens, their photographs were fairly fresh, so I was able to recognise Stevens four co-conspirators easily enough. The headmistress stepped out to ask the receptionist to gather the miscreants while Steven burned red with shame under Mr Gibson’s baleful stare.

I pulled out my phone and put a call through to Charlotte.

“Hello Sandra. It’s a little early...”

“I have the head teacher of my son’s school with me. We’re discussing what happened to Jake on Saturday and I was wondering if you’d care to add a few things.”

I passed the phone across to Mrs Nullis and joined Mr Gibson in making Steven feel uncomfortable. One by one he was joined by the rest of the gang of five, all looking extremely worried. All the while the head was listening to Charlie, her face turning grimmer by the moment.

“Thank you, Mrs Greer,” she said at last. “I cannot begin to express how deeply sorry I am for what happened to Jake, and how deeply disappointed I am with the five students I now have standing before me. I would understand if you chose to take this to the police...”

Five faces turned white, Steven’s perhaps a little less than the others.

“... that’s greatly appreciated. Rest assured, they will be dealt with most severely. Thank you Mrs Greer.”

She hung the phone up and passed it to me, turning a stony gaze on the five boys.

“Well?” she asked. “I assume you know why you’re here.”

Five heads nodded guiltily.

“Do any of you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Five heads hung in silent shame. Again, Steven’s less so, his expression more an imitation of his friends’ than one of genuine remorse.

“Were it up to me, I would exclude every one of you. However, since the incident took place off school grounds and out of school hours, I am limited in what I can do...”

“I’m not though,” Mr Gibson growled. “The five of you are off the team, and the rest will be told why.”

They shared looks varying from dismay to anger, but said nothing.

Mrs Nullis gave her subordinate a sharp look. “I shall be calling each of your parents today to tell them precisely what you did, and as soon as possible I will be arranging a meeting with them to decide what else we can do to show you how unacceptable your behaviour has been. In the meantime, you are to return to your classes and if I hear of even the slightest infraction of the rules from any one of you, you will receive the severest of punishments.

“Needless to say, you have let yourselves and this school down in a very big way. You have a very long way to go to redeem yourselves in my eyes. I suggest you make a start. You are dismissed. Pass on my apologies to your teachers for disturbing their lessons.”

The boys filed out with Mr Gibson trailing them. Mrs Nullis pursed her lips in my direction.

“I’m not sure if I should thank you for bringing this to my attention or express my dismay that it was your son who was responsible for it in the first place.”

“You need do neither,” I said. “Please make sure I am included when you arrange the meeting with the other parents. I’d like to make sure Steven’s punishment is at least on a level with what they decide.”

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing for a few seconds, then, “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have quite a lot to do today. More now. I’ll let you know when I arrange to meet with the others.”

I left, still feeling good about the day. Mrs Nullis’s attitude reminded me that I was still persona non grata in the neighbourhood, but that would only change over time as I gave people reason to alter their opinions of me. The conversations I’d had with my alter ego suggested that current opinion had been earned.

I diverted slightly on my way home and found the Lidl. It wasn’t the largest or best stocked of shops of its kind, and the staff seemed wary of me as I made my way up and down the aisles. I smiled and nodded at them, which if anything made them even more nervous.

I stocked up on fruit and veg, something that was in very limited supply back at home, and something I was sure would meet with considerable protests from my progeny. I also found a reasonable looking kettle in the random shit aisle and added it to my basket. I didn’t have any bags with me so had to invest in a couple of heavy-duty ones to transport everything home.

Laden down as I was, the walk home left me wheezing. I staggered up to the front door to find it slightly ajar.

…

Inside, the front room was a mess. The television screen had been smashed and the furniture all upended and broken, except for the sofa which just lay on its back. The back room, kitchen and bathroom were the same, with especial destructive attention focused on the pipework under the sink.

I dropped my bags and ran up the stairs. The boys’ room was its usual disaster of toys spread everywhere, so it was hard to see if it had been ransacked or not. The master bedroom most definitely had. The bed had been tossed and the contents of both the wardrobe and the chest of drawers strewn everywhere. All furniture had been moved, but was essentially intact, which was more than I could say for my clothes, which had been torn into tatters. I pulled the top drawer out of the chest of drawers and let out a sigh of relief at finding my hiding place undiscovered. I transferred the rolls of cash into my bag and put the drawer back before reaching for my phone.

Police first, reporting the break-in, then insurance, only to find that the house policy had been cancelled that morning. Charlie next, to let her know the latest development. She repeated her suggestion that I have the locks changed, so my last call went through to the locksmith she’d recommended, who promised to be with me by lunchtime.

The police went over the entire house thoroughly enough that they would have found where I’d hidden the money. They asked if I had any idea who might have done it, so I told them about what had happened between my husband and myself. The fact that the break-in had happened while I was taking the boys to school suggested someone who knew my routine. The destruction of the TV suggested vindictive intent rather than attempted theft, as did the wilful tearing up of most of my clothes. The coincidental cancellation of the household policy immediately before the break-in also pointed circumstantial fingers very much in his direction. They promised to contact him later as a part of their line of investigation.

While I was waiting for the locksmith, I rummaged through the mess to dig out enough information to open a building society account. I’d noted the presence of a Nationwide in the precinct near to the Lidl’s and decided that the money would be safer in there than loose around the house. George had to know I’d found it, since it hadn’t been in any of his hiding places, which meant it would be only a matter of time before he found some way of getting to me.

The trouble was, banks generally asked for proof of your address, meaning correspondence with your name on it, and pretty much all the official post was addressed to my husband. I settled on a utility statement addressed to him and our wedding certificate which I found in the mess in our bedroom. The latter offered an explanation why I might have been so eager to take on a different surname; even his.

The locksmith repaired my front door and added enough locks to make it secure. He did the same for the back door and the windows and charged me what seemed like barely enough for the parts he’d used. I challenged him on it, and he said he had no intention of making money out of vulnerable people like me. It was enough to make me cry, which made him feel awkward, so I apologised and asked if he’d give me a lift down to the shops.

It took over an hour to set up the account in my name, largely because of the irregularity of my proof of address. It eventually took the manager getting involved to cut through the red tape. Eventually I had my account with just over thirty thousand pounds counted and credited to my name. It may prove to be illicit or taxable, and I didn’t want any part of defrauding the Inland Revenue, so however much it cost me, I planned to declare it. Just that I needed to make sure it was safe for now.

The walk back home took me past George’s van parked at the far end of our road. The onus was on him to keep out of my way, so I carried on past without looking in.

“Where is it, you fucking cunt?” he snarled at me through the open side window.

“Five hundred metres, dipshit,” I replied pulling my phone out. “Should I call the police?”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be here when they come. Now are you going to tell me where it is?”

I took his photograph, then photographed his van and the surroundings. “Now you don’t have to be here,” I said and carried on walking. I tapped three nines into the phone app and waited for his next move. I didn’t need to connect the call. He was bright enough to know when he was beaten and drove off down the road before I reached my front door.

I set the kettle boiling and put a call through to Charlotte.

“I’m sorry, I’m monopolising your time a bit today.”

“What do you have for me now?”

“Something I didn’t tell you earlier. Something I found last night. George had a ton of cash stashed away in the house.”

“Go on.”

“When he picked up his clothes yesterday, he was a bit too keen to come into the house, so I had a bit of a hunt around. First I found a roll of banknotes he’d jammed down the back of the sofa with about five-thousand quid in it – mainly fifties and twenties. Then I figured a neat place to hide it so he wouldn’t find it would be in the kitchen plumbing. The hot tap hasn’t worked for years and he’s never got round to fixing it, so I figured it would be a safe place to hide it, except he had another twenty-five grand tucked away there. It’s why I think it was him who broke in.”

“Where’s the money now?”

“I just opened an account with the Nationwide down the road, why?”

“Shit. We need to get our hands on the original banknotes if we’re going to prove he was up to anything. I’ll give them a call, but I’ll need to meet you down there. Not many people deal in fifty pound notes, so we should be able to recover most of those at least.

“You did the right thing telling me about it, Sandy.”

“I’m guessing it’s going to be frozen now, isn’t it?”

“Possibly. I’m going to have to talk to a few people about it.”

“It’s just that he tore up pretty much all my clothes, so all I have is what I’m wearing at the moment, and all I have to keep us all alive is what’s left of the two hundred quid housekeeping he gave me yesterday.”

“Did that come from his stash?”

“Yes. And I’m guessing you’re going to tell me I can’t even keep that?”

“I’m afraid so. It may help us identify some of the rest of what you put in the bank, and it is potentially illicit money no matter how much you need it. I’d like you to meet me down at the bank in about half an hour if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Er, he was waiting at the end of my road when I came back from setting up the accounts.”

“He was, was he?”

“He was five hundred metres from my front door, but he did talk to me as I walked past. He wanted to know where it was.”

“The cash I presume. What did you tell him?”

“Yeah, that’s my guess. I reminded him how far he needed to be away from me, took some photographs and threatened to call the police.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you at the Nationwide in thirty minutes. If you beat me there, see if you can talk to the manager and tell him you found out the money you deposited may have been involved in a crime. It should get him to put as much as he can of it to one side.”

Dealing with the bank used up what was left of the afternoon. I had enough time to use some of my dwindling reserves to buy some sports underwear from Lidl – all they had on offer – before heading back to the school to pick up Michael and Steven.

Mrs Nullis found me outside the school gates.

“I’ve arranged to meet with the other parents tomorrow morning when they drop off their kids. I hope that works for you.”

I thanked her and assured her I’d be there, then walked the boys home.

“I’m afraid your father dropped by the house this morning while I was out,” I told them as we approached the door.

“I told you he was going to kill you,” Steven said with an ugly smile.

“Well, he wasn’t able to kill me since I wasn’t there, but he did have a good go at killing the house. The TV’s broken and most of the place is still a mess since I haven’t had a chance to clear up, so you two are going to have to help me do that.”

“That’s not fair,” Michael whined.

“No it’s not,” I agreed. “By rights, your father should do the clearing up, but since he’s not here, it’s down to us three, which I’m sure you’ll agree is slightly less unfair than me doing it all on my own.”

“I’ve got homework,” Steven said.

“Good. You can do that once we’ve tidied up enough for you to have a place where you can sit and work.”

I had them clear some space around the table while I cut up an apple and some carrot sticks for their snack.

“What the fuck’s this?” Steven wanted to know.

“We’re going to be eating healthier from now on, so get used to it. Oh, and strike one.”

“What the fuck more do you think you can do to me now that you’ve got me kicked off the team?”

“I imagine we’re going to find out tomorrow when I meet with Mrs Nullis and the other parents. I haven’t decided on the full extent of your punishment for what you did on Saturday. Even when that’s sorted, I know I can come up with other things, so tread carefully because that’s strike two and it’s still Monday.”

Steven settled down after that. He and Michael ate the apple but left the carrot, which was no more than I expected. I’d more or less planned that the carrots could mark the start of my diet. I’d never been that keen on carrot, but my first bite brought a pleasant surprise. My new taste buds seemed to actually enjoy the flavour. I’d need variety to keep from getting bored, but the prospect of salads for the foreseeable future didn’t seem so dreadful. What’s more, I’d managed to start the boys on healthy snacks.

We tidied the dining area between us, then I let Steven get on with what turned out to be quite a heavy load of homework – teachers having found out about his extra-curricular activities over the weekend and showing their disapproval perhaps – while Michael and I did what we could to sort the lounge. There wasn't much we could do about the telly, especially not with what fuckface had done with the insurance, but the rest could be put back in some sort of order.

Charlotte called me late in the afternoon to say that she’d had words with George and persuaded him to reinstate the house insurance. “I told him it wasn’t illegal not to have insurance,” she said, “but since his name was on the mortgage, I suggested he could end up owing the bank quite a lot of money if the house was to, for instance, accidentally burn down.”

“You didn’t!”

“Now, arson is illegal, so perhaps I should advise you not to explore the possibilities, but you should be covered again.

“I’ve also spoken with a few people further up the chain, and they’re real interested to know where all that money you found came from. Your husband is going to have to answer a few tricky questions in the near future. That being said, I’ve explained your situation and I’m hoping that tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest they’ll give me an answer on how much of it you can access to deal with your current predicament.

“I’ve strongly advised your husband to get a lawyer because he's going to want professional representation when dealing with the people who are now interested in him, and I've arranged a meeting next Monday for a first mediation between the two of you. Perhaps we can get together on Friday to go over what we should cover in that meeting.”

“That would be great. You really are a godsend. Especially after...”

“Like I said, this is my job and I take it very seriously. Besides, after this morning... You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I had to do something. I don’t know if Mrs Nullis got back in touch with you, but the five who attacked Jake, including my Steven, have been kicked off the team. The parents are meeting tomorrow to decide what else they deserve.”

“Isn’t being taken off the team enough?”

“I can't speak for the rest, but not in Steven’s case. Maybe if he showed any signs of remorse, but he still too angry about what’s been taken from him to think about whether or not he deserves it. He needs to get that point.”

“Well, he's your son. I'll talk to you tomorrow when I know more about the money.”

With the living room sorted as well as we could manage, I asked Michael very politely if he would tidy up in his and Steven’s room while I dealt with the chaos in the kitchen. When I checked on him half an hour later, I discovered his interpretation of my request involved gathering together all his transformers – I’ll admit there were quite a few of them – and playing with them. I didn't mind. At least he was quiet and not disturbing either his brother or me.

I worked on the kitchen while Steven worked on his assignments. Every now and then I peeked over his shoulder and made a suggestion or two, most of which he ignored, but then that was his choice.

With the kitchen tidied, I put together some food for the three of us. Sausage and mash seemed easiest, with a fair helping of vegetables and a good thick gravy to mask the greenery. Whipping the potato proved to be a more strenuous job than I recalled, but I figured I'd get fit enough with time.

Michael reappeared as the smells of dinner permeated through the house. Steven hadn’t quite finished, but I told him to put it aside while we ate.

“This is fucking amazing!” he told me around his first mouthful.

“Thank you for the compliment.” I smiled at him. “If it's all the same with you though, I'd like us all to work on our language.”

“But you swear.”

“I can't deny that, but perhaps with your father gone, we could all make more of an effort.”

“Will he be coming back?” Michael asked.

“I don't know, sweetie. That's going to depend on a lot of things, including what you and Steven want...”

“I don't want him to come back ever. I hate him and he scares me.”

“I can understand that, and right now I feel the same way. What about you Steven?”

“...?”

“How upset would you be if your father didn't come back into our lives?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it, would you? I get a feeling that our lives are going to change quite significantly, and I want to make sure as much as possible that the change is for the best, for all of us.”

“Like how you've changed, Mummy,” Michael smiled at me round a mouth stuffed full of sausage. “That's for the best for all of us.”

“I wonder if you’ll still think that after I tell you to eat your vegetables.”

He took it as intended and laughed before scooping a forkful of gravy drenched greens into his mouth.

Steven didn't seem so sure, but unsure was better than rebellious.

After tea, I bathed Michael while Steven finished his homework, then checked over his work while he bathed and got ready for bed. I showed him his homework diary where I'd written in the comments space, 'Steven spent two hours working really hard on his homework tonight.’

He looked at me as though I’d gone mad.

“You remember what I said about consequences?” He nodded. “I'm not saying we're done with what happened on Saturday, but this is a step in the right direction. You did good today and it's only fair your teachers know that.”

I tucked them in and looked into the other bedroom, still looking like the aftermath of a tornado. I didn't particularly want to sleep in the mess so I grabbed a pillow and the duvet and what looked like the least torn of my nightclothes and headed down to the living room.

Closer inspection showed the nightdress wasn’t fit for use, so I brushed my teeth, changed my sanitary protection and settled on the sofa in my underwear. Wrapped in the duvet, I was snug enough and sleep wasn’t long in coming.

Chapter 8

I was woken in the early hours by the sound of someone trying to break down the front door.

A very solid shoulder crashed into the door for a second time, causing the whole frame to shudder and dislodging a shower of dust from somewhere. The new security fittings continued to hold, though I wasn’t sure how much more they would take.

“I’m calling the police,” I shouted.

“Open the fucking door you fucking cunt.”

“Give me one good reason. Or on second thoughts, don’t bother. I’ll stick with my original plan.”

I picked up my phone and dialled nine-nine-nine just as he struck for a third time. It looked like the locks were loosening.

“Emergency, which service?”

“Police!”

“Police, what’s your emergency?”

“My husband's trying to break into my house.” A fourth shoulder barge. Yes, the door was definitely weakening. I gave my address.

“Okay. I’m sending someone to you now.” Another crash, this time there was the sound of wood splintering.

“Is there another exit to the house, ma’am?” That was a first. I’d never been ma’amed before.

“My children are upstairs. I can’t leave them.” I really couldn’t. In the three days I’d known them, neither one had done much to endear himself to me, yet abandoning them was beyond me, despite the rising panic threatening to overwhelm me.

“Ma’am, the patrol will be with you in just a few minutes. You need to find somewhere safe until they reach you.”

“I’ll try.”

“Stay on the line, ma’am.”

I backed out of the living room and up the cramped stairs. If the kids were to be believed, he’d already thrown me down them once, but I had to keep them safe. He’d already ransacked the house looking for his stash, so this could only be about revenge. Another crash from downstairs suggested he was close to breaking in. I pulled our bedroom door closed and slipped quietly into the boys’ room. They were sitting up in bed, wide eyed. I held a finger to my lips and leaned against the door. There wasn’t much room to manoeuvre at the top of the stairs and hopefully he’d waste time searching our rooms first.

The boys’ room was at the front of the house, so we heard the door give way and a few muffled curses as he negotiated the splinters and broken glass. More smashing from downstairs as he made his way through to the back. There wasn’t much to search though, so it was only a matter of seconds before he was stomping up the stairs.

“She’s in here, Dad!” Steven shouted.

A moment’s silence then strong hands on the doorknob twisting against mine. Panic leant me strength, even so I could barely hold it. He stopped trying.

I backed away from the door, very much aware of what was coming next. Socks aren’t much protection against Lego and I let out a painful hiss as a sizeable chunk dug into the sole of my foot. I dropped to one knee just as the door flew open.

I didn’t think, just launched myself at him, catching him full in his more than ample stomach. Despite the extra bulk I was carrying, I suspected he was still twice my weight. Still I caught him off guard and knocked him off balance. We crashed through the opposite door and sprawled into the wreckage of our bedroom. He caught his head against my bedside cabinet while I floundered away from his overly mobile flab. I brought a knee up with as much force as I could muster between his legs and backed out onto the small landing. The gasp of pain he let go brought me some satisfaction, but I doubted it would stop him for long.

I half ran, half slid down the stairs, just managing to raise my arms in time to keep me from colliding with the wall at the bottom. A quick glance showed me the lounge was a minefield of broken glass. I’d never get across it in my socks. Another glance upstairs showed my revolting husband crouching over the damage I’d done him, the livid rage in his face barely visible in the darkness.

The door out to the back garden was locked and I doubted I’d have a chance to turn the key before he caught me up. My only alternative was to make a stand somehow. I ran through the kitchen and pulled the bathroom door closed. The first thing that came to hand was the small step ladder. I picked it up and ducked out of sight in the small alcove beside the back door.

There really wasn’t time to try anything with the door. He was already downstairs and charging through the kitchen, roaring like an enraged elephant as he came. He collided with the bathroom door, almost taking it off its hinges.

I didn’t think, but just reacted, bringing the stepladder down on the back of his head. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but the surprise of it knocked him to the floor. He twisted around snarling in time to meet my second blow full in the face.

“Fuck!” he shouted, spitting out a mouthful of blood and teeth. His legs were splayed which gave me too tempting a target. I brought the stepladder down full force on the part of his anatomy that offended me the most. He curled forward over it protectively, giving me one final roundhouse swipe, catching him full in the face once more and laying him out cold.

The temptation to keep going until there was nothing left was almost too much to resist. Terror and indignant rage had pushed any capacity for reason to the back of my mind, but that was the part which was me, and I pushed back, holding myself from lashing out again until the emotions began to ebb. The stepladder grew heavy in my arms and I threw it, twisted and useless as it now was, into the corner.

It passed through my mind that i wouldn’t be able to reach any high shelves now, and an eruption of hysteria burst out of my mouth, barely contained.

I could hear noises of people moving through the house and sank down where I was, my legs giving way under me.

“Police,” a tentative voice called out. “Is anybody hurt?”

It was enough for me to lose what little self-control I had. I burst into a mixture of tears and laughter, which at least guided the policemen to my location.

George wasn’t quite unconscious, but he was sufficiently unresponsive for one of the attending officers to call in an ambulance. The other led me out through the kitchen then followed me up to the boys’ bedroom.

“She attacked him!” Steven still seemed intent on causing trouble for me.

I ignored him and sat next to a quietly sobbing Michael, pulling him into my arms. “My husband raped me on Saturday night,” I explained to the policeman. With a need to comfort at least one of my son’s, my recent emotional outburst had been replaced by a deep calm. “I have a restraining order against him. He already broke into the house and trashed it. He came back tonight looking to take out his anger on me.”

“Then what...” The policemen looked in confusion to Steven’s defiant expression.

“My eldest is angry with me because I’m punishing him for his own recent unacceptable behaviour. Would you like me to tell the policeman what you did, Steven? I’m sure he’d be happy to lock you up with your dad.”

Steven chose not to say anything more.

It took a while, but they brought a WPC onto the scene. It seemed strange that I should feel better about having a woman present, but I had a sense that the policeman who’d followed me up to the boys’ room had been drawing his own conclusions of what had happened, and none of them in my favour.

She let me settle the boys then led me downstairs. There wasn’t enough left of the front door to keep the weather out, but fortunately it was neither particularly cold nor wet. One of the police officers offered me a card with the number of an emergency locksmith. I recognised both the logo and number on the card and confirmed the digits against my recent call log. It was the same man. I dialled the number, rehearsing the conversation to come in my head.

A non-committal grunt greeted me from the other end of the phone.

“Hi,” I said and gave him my name and address. “Sorry to bother you, but I have some more work for you. I don’t suppose you have a spare front door in your van?”

He didn’t, but he could at least board up the doorway. He gave me an estimate of when he would arrive and I hung up to find the WPC had made use of my kettle and a few other things she’d found in the kitchen to make me a cup of tea. It was loaded with sugar, which I wasn’t too keen on, but she insisted it would revive me.

It did. We stayed in the back room next to the kitchen with policemen wandering about taking photographs and collecting evidence. With half the tea drunk and the rest too cold and decidedly too sweet, I put the cup down, gratified to find my hands no longer shaking. The WPC asked if I was ready to make a statement.

I told her everything, starting with the rape. I told her about the injunction against him and the money I’d found and what had happened to it. Then I told her about the night’s events from his first blow against the front door to my last one against his face.

She jotted it all down, then read it back to me. I nodded my agreement that she had a fair record of what I had said and she offered me a pen to sign and date it as such.

“I shouldn’t say this,” she said as she gathered the paperwork together, “but good for you. It sounds like he got what he deserved.”

“Am I likely to get into trouble?”

“Not if everything you say pans out. We’ll collect a few statements from your neighbours and, of course, he gets to give his version once he’s recovered. I dare say his will be quite a lot different from yours, but he’s going to have to justify why he was here in defiance of the injunction.”

“My older son is arguing in his defence.”

“Yes, I heard about that. How old is he?”

“Eleven. He’s also angry with me at the moment and not acting in either of our best interests.”

“That’ll be taken into account if it comes to it. We may have evidence enough that he won’t have to be involved.”

She led me through to the front room where the door had been replaced by a few pieces of plywood screwed into what remained of the door frame. The locksmith was just tidying up his tools. Yet again there was an invoice for a far too reasonable amount.

“You’re going to have to let me make this up to you some day,” I told him.

He smiled grimly. “Pay me when you can. No rush.”

I showed him to the back door and directed him to the nearest passage back to the street and his van.

“Do you need anyone to stay with you for the rest of the night?” the woman police constable asked.

“I should be alright,” I said, feeling anything but.

She scribbled down a number and handed it to me along with a couple of pamphlets for the Samaritans and another similar group. “These are what we’re supposed to give you,” she said, “but I’m on duty till eight. If you want to talk to me at all before then, give me a call on my mobile. If you fancy meeting for a coffee afterwards, likewise.”

“Without wanting to sound rude, why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I admire your courage. Because you merit a bit of special treatment. And on a more selfish level, because I wouldn’t mind having a friend like you.” She flashed me a brief smile before letting herself out.

Leaving me alone in the house with nerves so jangled that I’d never have been able to sleep. By then dawn wasn’t far off anyway, so I set to cleaning the downstairs as well as I could.

I had three refuse sacks full of rubble and wreckage by the time I needed to think about getting the kids ready for school, and the back room and kitchen were a lot closer to being liveable in. I roused the horrors and set them about getting ready for another day of learning, then sat with them as they munched their way through breakfast. I couldn’t really let Steven’s response to the previous night’s invasion go unchallenged, but how to handle it? I wasn’t convinced that subtle had much of a chance of getting through to him, so I decided to tackle it head on.

“What were you hoping to achieve last night, Steven? When you told your dad where I was?”

“I suppose this is my strike three, isn’t it?” he said with no small amount of sullen anger.

“No, I think this is far more serious than that. I’m trying to figure out what was going through your mind when you called out to him. Did you want to watch him kill me?”

A glint of vicious pleasure flashed behind his eyes.

“What did you expect to happen afterwards? Did you think your dad would be appreciative of your help? Did you think he’d show you some affection because you were on his side? Did you have some sick, crazy idea of a happily ever after being raised by your murdering psycho father?”

He didn’t answer, but sat clenching his jaw, staring at his half-finished cereal bowl.

“There is something very wrong with your dad. It may be that he’s just a violent, foul mouthed control freak who’s grown too used to having his own way, but I’m beginning to suspect it goes deeper than that. Sane people don’t do what he did last night.”

I waited, looking for a reaction, but if anything, he grew more obstinate. I sighed. I was going to have to decide sooner or later how far this particular apple had fallen from the tree, and just how poisoned it was. I wasn’t sure if I could do it without help. Maybe confrontation at this stage wasn’t such a good idea.

“Well. I don’t think we’re going to resolve anything here and now, so finish your breakfast and get your things together. We have matters to resolve at school, don’t we?”

And that was enough to earn me a scowl that promised nothing good. We’d have time to discuss things later, when I could more directly relate the misery of his punishment to the consequences of his actions. If he couldn’t learn that then maybe I’d have to seek outside help.

I picked up my coat and bag and helped Michael into his shoes while Steven sorted himself out.

“You have your homework?” I asked him.

“Of course.” Disdain dripped from his words. Okay, so next time he could remember without my prompting.

“Lunches?”

They had their lunches. I’d put them into their bags myself, but no harm getting them used to checking.

We headed out the back and down to the first alley through to the street.

“How long are we going to have to do that?” Steven just had to pass comment.

“Well, a new front door will cost us a couple of hundred pounds at least. More if we want a proper security door. At the moment I only have what’s left of the housekeeping your dad gave me over the weekend, which is down around the hundred quid level, so unless we can persuade your dad to fix the damage he caused, I think we’ll be waiting a while.”

“I thought we had insurance.” He’d evidently been listening to recent conversations.

“We do, or at least we should do, but since the damage was caused by the policy holder, I think they may decide to withhold payment.”

“Can they do that?”

“Oh yes, and with the full support of the law. If we had an agreement say, that I would pay you ten pounds per month on the understanding that you'd replace my phone if it was ever broken.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Yeah. Money for nothing,” I said.

“And your chicks for free,” he finished.

I couldn’t help smiling. “Well, this is insurance, not banging on the bongos like a chimpanzee, so let’s just stick with the money for now. So, I’ve been paying your money for a few months now and I’m bored of my phone. There’s a new one out and I fancy an upgrade. So, I ‘accidentally’,” finger quotes very much exaggerated, “drop it in the toilet. Do you think you should have to honour our agreement and buy me the new one?”

“Hell no!”

“I’ll overlook the language this time, Stevie, but please try not to swear.”

“Don’t call me Stevie. That’s like a girl’s name.”

It also happened to be the name I’d heard a lot of people using, like Mr Gibson. Why did they use it if Steven didn’t like it? Questions for another time.

“I’m sorry. Steven. You get the idea though? If your father insures the house against damage, accidental or otherwise, then comes along and causes it himself.”

“It still sucks.”

“Yes it does. Perhaps you’d like to tell your dad that the next time you see him. It’s down to him that we don’t have a TV to watch too.”

Also why I didn’t have any different clothes, but that wasn’t something he would care so much about.

We reached the school and Michael ran off to play with the other early arrivals while Steven and I went to join the head mistress and the parents of the other kids involved in the attack on Jake.

They were angry, understandably, but it became apparent early on that it was me they were angry with. My kid who’d instigated the ambush and me who’d blown the whistle resulting in their kids being kicked off the team, therefore inevitably my fault. My presence stood in the way of making any sensible progress, so after a few minutes listening to their complaints, I stood, interrupting yet another tirade directed my way.

“I agree,” I said. “I agree this was largely Steven’s doing, and it goes without saying that whatever you decide is an appropriate response, he’ll be getting more of the same from me. But don’t you for one more second try to convince us that your own kids are without blame here. Steven sent that message to the whole team, which means more than half of them knew better than to respond.” Either that or couldn’t get free to join in, but I’d give them the benefit of the doubt. “Furthermore, my son may have started the attack, but yours didn’t have to join in, did they?”

None of them had an answer to that.

“I can see it was a mistake my coming today, so my son and I will take our leave and let you get on with deciding an appropriate punishment, rather than wasting everyone’s time giving you a target for your righteous outrage. We’ll live by whatever you decide as long as it’s fairly shared between them all.”

I guided Steven out of the head’s office and found us a couple of seats in the reception area outside. Steven decided he didn’t want to talk to me, which was fine by me. I fished my phone out of my bag and gave Charlotte a call.

“Sorry if this is a little early,” I said by way of introduction.

“No, you’re okay. I dropped Jake off a few minutes ago. I’m driving but I’m hands free and the traffic’s pretty slow. What’s on your mind?”

“George broke into the house last night and tried to attack me,” I said.

“What! Why didn’t you call me?”

“I figured I’d taken up too much of your down time recently. There wasn’t much you could do anyway, so I thought I’d wait until now.”

“Give me the details.”

So I did, from his breaking through the front door to my calling the police to his chasing me through the house – I missed out Steven’s part in all the action – to the final point where he charged into the bathroom and I smashed the stepladder into his face just before the police arrived. By the end Steven was looking at me with a degree of wary respect.

“Where is he now, your husband?”

“They said they’d be taking him to the County General overnight, but if there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with him, then he’d be arraigned today.”

“Okay, leave it with me. I’ll find out what’s happening and get back to you. Can you get to my office this morning?”

“I should be able to. I’m sorting out something at the school right now, but maybe in about an hour?”

“I’ll have the coffee on. I should have something to report by then.”

I hung up the phone and waited. The way Steven was looking at me...

“Did you really do all that to Dad?” he asked.

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“There was blood, and I think I may have loosened a couple of his teeth.”

“Sweet.”

“Wasn’t he your hero last night? Weren’t you counting on him to rescue you from your evil mother?”

He closed down like a tortoise disappearing inside its shell. An intuitive part inside me gave me a gentle nudge.

“Oh, I see,” I said. “You didn’t really care which of us was hurt, just that one of us was, and maybe the other would be arrested.”

“You’re going to get done for GBH.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but that’s not going to happen. I have a right to defend myself – and you and Michael – against anyone who attacks us in our home as long as I only use reasonable force. I stopped once he went down, so no, they won’t arrest me. Sorry.”

He wasn’t happy about it, but that didn’t come as a surprise. Still, it gave me a better understanding of what was going on in his head, and I thought I had a fair chance of getting through to him. Not just then though. The head’s door opened, and four ashen faced boys filed out followed by their mothers, each of whom looked supremely self-satisfied.

Steven went to join his mates, jerking back at what they mumbled to him.

“What!” he yelled. “No fucking way.”

…

“Steven, that’s strike three.”

“I don’t give a fucking shit. I’m not fucking doing it.”

“Steven! Come here now!”

Stiff and rebellious, he reluctantly and very slowly obeyed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you may want to give him a break.”

I looked at the head mistress who’d just appeared in the doorway. She did not look pleased. She waved a hand into her office, and I joined her with Steven trailing behind.

“I need to state at the outset that this was not my idea. I’ll admit there’s a degree of poetic justice to it, but I’m not at all sure I agree with it.”

“Agree with what?”

“It was your idea the other day to let the parents come up with the punishment.”

I shrugged and nodded.

“Well, after you stepped out of the room just now, they settled down to business and very quickly decided that the problem lay in their son’s not having any respect for the opposition.”

“I’d agree with that.”

“One of them – Jamie Sykes’ mother I think – suggested that maybe they should be made to cheer for the other side for a while.”

“I don’t see that working.”

“No, neither did anyone else to start with, but then she suggested as an incentive to do it right, they should be made to form a cheer squad.”

“You mean...”

“Just that. Short skirts, pom-poms, the works. They should work out their own cheer routines and come along every Saturday and cheer for the other side until they managed to convince everyone present that they meant it.”

“Wow!”

“The other mums loved the idea and agreed to it before I could talk any sense into them. They also said that since Steven led the mob in the attack against your friend’s son, he should be the cheerleader. It’ll be up to him to come up with the chants and moves, and the group is to practice them alongside the football team practices in full costume. Oh, and you, as his mum, are responsible for putting together the uniforms.”

“How am I supposed to afford that?”

“They seem to think that you and your husband have robbed them of enough money, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty funding it.”

“I’m not doing it!” Steven said.

“I don’t think either of us have much choice, son. I did say we’d agree to whatever they decided as long as the punishment was shared fairly.”

“How is this fair?”

“Well, it’s like they say, it was you that planned and orchestrated the attack in the first place, so you should be the one who sets the example that makes things right.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I doubt you’ll get back on the team. Not you, not your friends. We also have the matter of your striking out already this week. To be fair, this first time around shouldn’t have anything to do with all this, but if you continue to defy me, there will be more strikes and who knows what your punishment will be for the next strike out.”

He glowered at me.

“Maybe I’ll design the costumes without consulting you or your friends. I have this image of bubble gum pink leotards and lilac chiffon skirts that would look so cute on you.”

The glower remained, but his lower lip was beginning to tremble.

“Maybe I’ll insist you get changed at home and walk to and from the game in your costume.”

“Dad wouldn’t allow it.”

“Your father couldn’t give two hoots one way or the other. He’d probably find it funny that you did this to yourself.

“Besides, he has enough problems of his own right now.”

“Oh?” Mrs Nullis asked quietly.

I’d somehow forgotten whose office we were in.

“George and I are going through a rough patch at the moment.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” To be fair, she did sound genuinely sorry.

“It’s been coming for a while. I’m hoping it’ll all be for the best when the dust settles, but right now it’s not great.”

“Dad broke into the house and attacked Mum last night,” Steven volunteered, largely I suspect because I was going to some lengths to avoid any details.

“Oh my! Are you alright?”

“A bit shaken, but it was George who had the worst of it.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t quite hide the smile.

“What did he overcharge you for?”

That at least wiped the smile off her face.

“We’ll talk about this later, Steven. For now, you’d better get to class.”

“Yes, take this.” Mrs Nullis handed him a pass. “It’s not your fault you’re late, at least not this time.”

Steven ran off without saying goodbye, which was hardly a surprise. He also ignored Mrs Nullis when she called after him not to run. She at least had the manners to bid me good morning before showing me out of her office and turning back to the inevitable pile of paperwork.

A gentle walk followed by a twenty-minute wait saw me on a bus into town. The return ticket broke into one of my few remaining twenty-pound notes, much to the displeasure of the driver who nearly emptied his change machine giving me my change. Fifteen minutes of staring out through grubby windows dropped me five minutes’ walk away from Charlotte’s office. I arrived at her door shortly after ten.

“My sources tell me the Inland Revenue are auditing your husband,” she said as she poured out a couple of coffees. Not instant for the first time since my switch!

She passed me a mug and I inhaled the fumes with a contented sigh, much to her amusement. Odd that I hadn’t missed the cigarettes, but this...

“That explains why he was in such a foul mood last night,” I said.

“Yes. They managed to recover most of the banknotes you deposited yesterday. Which reminds me. They’ve asked me to reclaim any of the original bills he gave you over the weekend.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I have two kids to feed and less than a hundred quid with which to do it until this gets sorted. How do they expect me to manage if they take that off me?”

“I doubt they’ve even thought of it. You don’t have a choice though. If you refuse to give it up, it’ll make you complicit in whatever dodgy dealing he’s been up to.”

I dug out my purse and handed over the four twenties that remained. It left me with fifteen pounds and some shrapnel. I fought to hold back a sense of despair as I tried to figure out just how far I could stretch what I had left. I could probably get by without eating for a few days given the amount of unwanted padding I was carrying about, but it didn’t leave much for the boys. I made a mental inventory of the fridge and freezer and felt traitor tears prickling at the back of my eyes. I tried overriding hopelessness with anger, but that just turned them into angry tears.

“No friends or family you can borrow from?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“Can’t you put it on a credit card for a few weeks until we get this sorted?”

I let out a short bark of a laugh, which was almost more of a sob. “I didn’t even have a bank account before yesterday. George is very much the control freak.”

“Nothing of value in the house?”

I shook my head. “He either took it or trashed it when he came by the first time.”

“Jewellery? They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

I laughed again, and it came out considerably more bitter than I’d have liked. I struggled with my wedding and engagement rings, eventually managing to wriggle them off my pudgy fingers. Not even nine carat gold and a diamond that was almost too small to see – if it was even a diamond. I dropped them on the desk.

“What do you think I might get for those? I doubt I’ll be needing them much longer.”

She looked at them, then at me, then reached for her handbag.

“I really shouldn’t do this. I’m told I get too involved in my clients' problems.” She fished out her purse and counted through the notes, keeping back a ten and a couple of fives. The rest she offered. “Call it a loan. I’ll hold onto the rings as collateral if you like, and you pay me back when you can.”

I wasn’t too proud to refuse. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

She passed me some of her stationary. I counted through the notes and scribbled onto the paper. ‘IOU £340’ and signed it, just stopping short of using my old name. I slid the paper and pen back to her.

“Thank you,” I said with a choked voice. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“You’d be surprised.” She picked up the rings and placed them with the sheet of paper in a drawer which she locked. “On the bright side, you can probably go back to using your maiden name sometime soon.”

“You think I should go back to being Sandy Shaw? I’m not that desperate.”

“Tell me you’re joking. Your parents couldn’t be that stupid.”

“I wish I could.”

“I thought your husband was cruel. Do you still talk to your folks. I mean I’d totally understand if you didn’t.”

“They haven't wanted anything to do with me since George knocked me up while we were still at school. They kind of insisted we get married and deal with the consequences ourselves.”

“Don't they even want to know their grandkids?”

“You have met my children, haven't you? You know, the psychopath and the soppy one? I think we’re all too much of a disappointment to them.”

“Sounds like you’re better off without them. Mine pretty much disowned me when I left my husband. I got the feeling sometimes they liked him better than me, but then they didn’t have to live with him.

“Anyway, if you’re finished with your coffee, we should probably head down to the courthouse. The arraignment’s at eleven and it’s good to be early.