Page 45 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
I have told Dee certain things. That David can be jealous, possessive. That we argue sometimes. Nothing about the violence. But I have often wondered whether Dee knows, whether she’s guessed. David is careful never to leave a mark on my face or my arms. But there was that time we went to a spa and I thought Dee had seen the bruises on my ribs when we were changing. And Dee is sharp; it’s hard to get things past her. Twice now I have tried to organise a surprise party for her at the pub and she’s guessed weeks in advance.
‘You know what he can be like,’ I say. Even to my own ears, my voice sounds weak and a bit fragile.
‘I’m not sure I do,’ Dee says.
We have finished collecting glasses and wiping down the tables and we’re both standing behind the bar. I pick at my nails, unable to look at my friend. I feel as though I might crumble to dust if Dee sees the truth in my eyes.
‘Do you want to come with me, stay at mine?’ Dee asks.
I know that would make things worse. That it would only delay the punishment that is coming.
I shake my head. ‘Why would you ask me that?’
We are skirting around the subject, and I need us to get to the heart of it. Even if it means I crumble. It is time.
‘Because I think maybe he hurts you,’ Dee says, and her voice cracks on the word ‘hurts’.
I don’t look up, but I sense Dee moving closer to me, and when my friend is only inches away, I risk a glance.
‘Does he hurt you, Shell?’ Dee asks.
And I nod, quick and slight. Someone who wasn’t paying attention might have missed it. But not Dee.
‘Fuck,’ Dee says. ‘I knew it. I wish I’d said something earlier. I wish…’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say.
And without a beat or pause, Dee replies. ‘And it’s not yours.’
I’m not sure what to do, because for the first time, someone in the world other than me and David knows what is going on in our marriage. And I haven’t crumbled. I am right here, with my friend at my side. And Dee doesn’t think I’m stupid, or pathetic – doesn’t seem to, at least. It’s a position I’ve never considered, and I feel like I’m floating in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Dee says.
‘Dee, it’s not that simple. We’re married, and he loves me…’
‘No!’ Dee is shouting now. ‘No, Shell. That isn’t love.’
And I feel as though my friend has set my whole life on fire with these words. ‘You should go,’ I say.
‘What? No. I want you to come with me. I can’t just leave you to go up there and face him.’
I walk over to the door, open it on the cool November night. ‘You should go.’
Dee stands defiant for a minute or two more, and then she picks up her bag and coat and walks past me.
‘Tomorrow,’ she says. ‘And Shell, I’m here. Whenever you’re ready to leave. Okay?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I say. As if I haven’t heard the rest of it.
Upstairs, David is waiting. I knew he would be.
‘You took your time coming up,’ he says.
He’s on the sofa, his feet up, the TV off and no book or magazine in his hand. Has he just been waiting here for me since he came down?
‘I was clearing up,’ I say, my voice flat.
Sometimes, the attacks come out of nowhere, and I can’t prepare for them. I prefer that. When I know it’s coming, like tonight, the anticipation is just as bad as the actual beating. Sometimes, when it happens, I think of Mick. Wonder whether my mum is still living with this same thing. Whether it was inevitable, for me, once Mick had started things off in this direction, like a ball rolling down a hill, gathering pace.
