‘Enjoy it?’ Rowan asked.
‘I wasn’t expecting to, but it was all right, yeah. It sounded good when you sang it that last time. Dead Christmassy.’
‘Will you come back?’
April nodded. ‘I think so. I might even see if my boyfriend’ll come to the service. He doesn’t really like Christmas.’
‘What? Why would anyone not like Christmas?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s complicated. Some bad memories. But this year’s a chance to make some better ones.’
Bad memories. You have no idea, I thought. Or did she? Did she know about the Christmases Sam spent in hospital? The squat? I usually worked Christmas Day, unable to turn away triple pay, and generally Sam spent most of it in bed with a bottle, or out seeking the hollow comfort of a stranger as lonely and depressed as himself.
It looked as though this year, I would be choosing between an Upperton Christmas, or cosying up with Sam and April. I couldn’t have imagined anything worse, until Perry suggested we combine the two.
Maybe Marilyn had a spare place at her Christmas dinner table?
My first scar, the four-inch slash beneath my collarbone, was a Christmas present from Snake. I didn’t know the official name for what I had become – his girlfriend? His victim? Whatever name I called myself, it didn’t disguise that I was sleeping with a drug dealer. A man who controlled me with his mood swings, his money, his raw power and absolute supremacy. Occasionally his fists.
Christmas Eve, he objected to me working so many hours over the holiday period. I objected to him having sex with all the skanky women who came round begging for handouts. He said he wouldn’t need to if I was around more, and ordered me to get undressed even though I had a shift in the pub.
In my head, I knew this was wrong. I knew he treated me like a slave. He was a merciless man who had no more capacity to love me than a cockroach did. But he wanted me for something, and in my twisted heart, that felt better than nothing.
However, some kind of survival instinct kicked in when he told me to skip work. It remained my one tenuous thread to a different reality, to a world where people sat down to eat Christmas dinner with their family, swapped presents, played board games and talked about where they were going on holiday. He didn’t know that half my tips were stashed in a metal box the pub manager let me keep in her office.
‘No. I have to go to work.’
He sneered at me. ‘What, because they couldn’t possibly cope without you to wash the pots? A monkey could do your job. And probably better.’
‘I need the money.’
‘I’ve got money. Look.’ He pulled a wodge of notes out of his jacket pocket and thrust them in my face. ‘Oh no – you won’t touch my money, will you? Too good for my money. Except when it pays your rent. Or the electricity. Or the food in your sexy belly.’
I tried to push past him, to get my bag and go. He grabbed my hair, yanking me back into the bedroom.
‘I said, get undressed.’
‘I said, I’m going to work.’ I could hear the fear in my voice, the hint of panic. Snake could hear it too. He laughed, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall.
‘No, darling. You’re going to do what I tell you.’
I screamed, making him laugh even harder. The couple of people passed out downstairs wouldn’t dare intervene, even if they could hear me.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
The phrase triggered something deep in my memories.
You’re not going anywhere.
I had heard those words before, many times, spoken by a snake in a different skin.
I remembered what she’d said – that night – the night we packed our bags and so very nearly made it.We’re going, Rachel. Starting a whole new life. With a new name.Faith means strong. It’s being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we don’t see. We can’t see it yet, but there’s a new life waiting for us.
I didn’t understand my mother’s words. Not then, not now as Snake bored his crusted eyes into mine, daring me to resist. But I knew, standing here with my back against the wall, what she would say. She died trying to free me from a life like this. She had died. Beaten and bloodied on the floor while her baby hid in the wardrobe under an old coat and her son begged the police to hurry.
I thought about all the times Grandma found me hiding in my new wardrobe, my hands pressed against my ears in a vain attempt to shut out the memories. How she held me, rocking me through the night and telling me over and over again that I was safe now.
I glanced past Snake’s head at the battered old wardrobe and slowly brought a hand up to release one of the grips pinning my hair back. Then as Snake visibly relaxed, easing back a fraction, I raked the grip across his face as hard as I could, and ran.
