‘Do you have anything for washing?’ I asked, realising that she had been staring at me with a wicked grin on her face the entire time.
I gathered up the laundry and took it down to the utility room just off the kitchen. Separating the whites from the darks, my thoughts turned to my mother. In a house full of spoiled men, we always did the housework together. That’s when I would practise my sign-language with her and my people-reading. But she didn’t like me reading her too much. She said it wasn’t right for a daughter to know too much about her mother’s life. I never even asked why, but when I got older I tried to break that rule. Unlike everyone else I met, though, my mother was prepared for this kind of intrusion and kept herself guarded. There was something she was hiding from me, that was for sure. And so I began to hide things from her too. By the time I met Shane, our relationship had become distant and there was a different kind of silence between us. She told me I was making a mistake, that she didn’t trust him, but by then it was too late. As if I was trying to prove a point, or punish her （or myself）， I sleepwalked into my marriage like stepping out into oncoming traffic. And I had no one to blame but myself.
I was setting the fire in the living room when I thought I saw a movement at the window. I immediately thought it might be Henry and rushed, then slowed, to the front door. As I was opening it, I realised that Henry would never come to the front door, he always tapped on the basement window. The thought came too late. Before I had time to react I felt the hard blow against my cheekbone and it knocked me sideways against the wall. Shane. As I looked up, he threw a scrap of paper into the street before slamming the door shut behind him. I touched my face and felt the wetness, then saw the blood. His hard expression and clenched jaw told me everything I needed to know. He was in charge now.
‘You must be losing your memory, Martha.’
‘W-what?’
‘Forgotten you’re a married woman.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I fucking saw you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Last night. All over that guy like a slut. Is that how you repay me?’
Repay him? For what? I could smell the drink on him. There was no predicting what he’d do now. I began calculating the safest option; if I went with him now and took whatever punishment was coming my way, I could try and escape again. If I was still able. How was I back in this situation? He kicked my legs out of the way and walked into the hallway. Suddenly, I could see a future of this careful planning, weighing up the least dangerous ways of living a life with this man. My life was reduced to surviving Shane’s violence.
‘If Mitch hadn’t been with me last night when I saw him kissing you, I would have murdered that guy with my own bare hands.’
‘Henry? Please say you didn’t hurt him!’ I had visions of Shane attacking him on his way home last night.
‘Henry? What the fuck sort of name is that?’
He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me up, but I stayed on the floor.
‘You’re my wife, Martha. You belong to me!’
‘I belong to myself,’ I said, tired of placating him. What did it matter anyway? Whatever I said, he would always be this angry person. I could see now that I wasn’t the cause of it.
‘I don’t remember inviting you in,’ came a voice from behind us. Oh Jesus, Madame Bowden. I wanted to die rather than have her see me like this. A victim.
‘I told you already, her mother has cancer and wants her home.’
‘You damn liar!’ I found my voice again. ‘How could you lie about something like that? And even if my mother was on her deathbed, I wouldn’t go back there.’
He hesitated but only for a moment.
‘I’m taking you home, now.’
‘She’s not a potted plant,’ Madame Bowden said with a sarcasm that hardly fitted the situation. She would get both of us killed.
‘I’m not going with you,’ I said, scurrying backwards on the floor and shielding Madame Bowden. I didn’t trust my legs to hold me upright.
Shane shook his head in disbelief.
‘You ungrateful bitch … I’ve given you everything.’ He stepped towards me and began pulling me by my hair, but I grabbed on to the bannister of the stairs.
‘Why are you doing this, Shane? Why do you want me back? We’re not happy together – if we were you wouldn’t hurt me like this,’ I said, pointing to the blood on my face.
I’d never asked him before. Never had the courage. My voice sounded detached from my body. It must have worked, because he stopped for a moment, his hands still gripped around my wrists.
‘You push me, Martha, you know you do.’
I was the scapegoat for everything that had gone wrong in his life. So he never had to face up to anything. Even now, he was blaming me, calling me everything under the sun. I turned my head towards Madame Bowden, but she was no longer behind me.
‘You just keep pushing—’
And then something did push him. Something pushed him so hard that he broke through the wooden spindles of the bannister that led to the basement flat. The sound of wood breaking was like a volley of gunshots, followed by a sickening thump and crack.
‘What happened?’ I asked. The hallway was dark around and I had the sudden feeling that I was alone. The silence was terrifying. I couldn’t move. My vision grew blurry.
‘Is he dead?’ My hand flew to cover my mouth once the words were spoken.
Finally, I heard the sound of her walking stick against the floorboards. She looked down into the stairwell for a long time, then turned around and asked me if I were all right. I felt as though I were in a dream. The noise of people outside told me that the world was still turning, but I felt like it had ended. I crept up behind her and looked over her shoulder. Down, down, down and there he was. Splayed on the floor with one of his legs trapped underneath him at an impossible angle. The bone was sticking out of his skin. I thought I would vomit and so kept my hand over my mouth. Letting my eyes reach his, it became clear that his head wasn’t right either. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t make sense of it.
‘I want you to get your coat and go down to the shops for me.’
‘W-what? What are you talking about?’
Madame Bowden looked unnervingly calm.
‘I’ll need a round roast for this evening and a nice bottle of that French Beaujolais I like.’
‘Are you serious? Have you seen what’s happened?’
I looked back down at Shane. It was strange to have our roles reversed like this, me standing over his injured body. I looked for some glimmer of recognition in his eyes – maybe he was still alive. But there was nothing. I began to shake all over.
‘Martha,’ she repeated, placing her hand on my shoulder. ‘I want you to leave the house and do as I ask. All will be well on your return.’
I walked down the street unseeing. Outside, I could almost believe that it hadn’t happened. I’d had some kind of episode and imagined the whole thing. I did exactly as she asked. I went to the butcher and asked for a round roast. I went to the off-licence and found the wine she liked. And yet all the while, the same words swam around in my head. Had she pushed him?