Billie’s mouth had gone bone dry and her lips felt numb but she spoke again. ‘Gary, I’m asking you once more to step away and drop the knife.’
‘Make me, bitch.’
There was a groan as Carol tried to push herself upwards, then a frightened voice.
‘Mummy.’
A second. That’s all it took. The plaintive cry of a terrified child, Billie’s eye darting in that direction, taking in the little girl with the tear-streaked face and bedhead hair, holding her little sister’s hand. When Gary lunged forward and punched Billie in the face, as her hands flew upwards in defence, from somewhere, her training kicked in and she attempted to restrain and defend.
When Gary responded, he plunged the knife deep into her groin.
There followed the weirdest moment, when their eyes locked and she stared into the crazed blue irises of a sneering, elated man. Billie had never forgotten that look. It had haunted her ever since. The trance was broken by screams, Billie’s and that of a child, then another. Next came the pain, searing cold, like when your fingers stick to ice in the freezer, causing her to look downwards and register the steady flow of blood oozing down her black trousers and onto the tiled floor.
Instinct kicked in. It hadn’t deserted her, though she had ignored its earlier message to flee. It told Billie to stem the bleeding:Brain to hands, move now.Clutching the wound before forcing her eyes upwards, Billie staggered backwards, her legs giving way no matter how much she wanted them to stay upright. Sliding down the wall, aware now of a dull throbbing, not the severe pain she expected, the adrenaline and endorphins in Billie’s body acted as a natural sedative, but not on her brain. It was still functioning, just.
The girls were really screaming now. Billie was confused, panicked yet transfixed by the sight of her own blood, cherry-red liqueur, like her grandma used to drink at Christmas, sticky and sweet, all over her fingers and hands.What a mess. Mum get a cloth, Mum…
Billie’s sight was going all fuzzy, but she could still see Carol’s legs curled into her chest, a discarded pink slipper, Gary’s dirty white trainers, one set of laces hanging loose, very close, splattered with blood and as her head lolled backwards, resting against the wall, she felt muzzy and tried to focus on the knife in his right hand, dripping with liqueur. He was looking down on her and seemed oblivious to the distress of his daughters but also, the movement close behind him. Carol.
As she watched, felt, listened, Billie tried to make sense of what was happening, still desperate to prioritise, save life, hers, Carol’s…Oh God, the kids.
In her last moments of consciousness, her brain took a snapshot of the scene. Two little bedheads in theirFrozenandCinderellanighties, snotty noses, tear-filled eyes, hiccupping and sobbing, holding hands. Carol on her feet, holding the table for support, staggering slightly, moving out of sight, behind Gary. Then he sensed it, movement, maybe heard the shuffle of one pink slipper as it came his way. When she averted her gaze from the approaching feet, Billie raised her head and saw Gary sneer. That’s when Billie knew, he knew. Gary had evil in his eyes, wild abandon. He had nothing to lose, not now. Who though? Who would he choose? When he turned, Billie felt relief and then shame. It wasn’t her, not this time.
The screams came next. Gary lifted his knife arm, ready to strike. There was another scream, of rage, from Carol, two of terror from the kids, then a boom, perhaps the front door, faraway voices, male. Her view, previously obscured was now clear as Gary’s legs buckled. The girls were being scooped up and away by swift black-clad figures. Carol, the ashen, swollen face that went with the name, was frozen, one slit-eye purple and bruised, the other bulging. Her bloodied lips made an O shape while both arms dangled by her side, a steel meat tenderiser in one hand.
Gary fell backwards and Billie felt the weight of his body slam into hers. The pain that pulsed under her hands now seared red hot, and the blood that dripped suddenly exploded and gushed through her fingers. Giving in to the flow of cherry liqueur, Billie’s world went black.
21
They had survived, both of them. Although what Carol had endured during the course of her marriage to Gary – prolonged, violent attacks, sexual and mental abuse – was nothing like the assault he’d carried out on Billie, they were both his victims. It tied them together and had in some ways sealed their friendship.
If they’d thought it was all over, that night in the kitchen when Gary turned and wielded his knife towards Carol and she smashed the meat hammer into his forehead, they were wrong. The wheels of justice were set in motion and while Billie spent weeks recovering from her injuries, first in hospital and then at home, Carol suffered an entirely different fate. After she was treated for numerous cuts and bruises, instead of going home to her children she was taken to the cells and later, wept through her interview with the police. The two little bedheads were spirited off into the night and placed in emergency foster care.
The news of this rocked Billie’s world far more than the stabbing. How could a woman in that situation, who had clearly suffered so much at the hands of a despicable man, end up being questioned, a charge of attempted manslaughter hanging over her head? Once again she was at the mercy of Gary who, despite his crimes, was cared for by nurses who Billie imagined might want to pull the plug, or make good use of a squashy hospital pillow when nobody was looking. Billie knew she’d have been tempted. She also prayed he wouldn’t die and the CPS would go for self-defence.
Billie was tormented by the image of Carol, whose babies were in a strange home, missing their mum after witnessing such a horrific scene and she could not comfort them. Worse, after being kicked around the kitchen and in fear of her life, while Billie bled out onto the floor, Carol thought Gary was going to turn the knife on her so acted in self-defence and ended up in a cell.
The whole thing messed with Billie’s head. She thought she was going to die that night. That the bloodbath was going to fill up and overflow if Gary got his hands on Carol and those two, frightened little girls would lose their mummy. What if he’d gone for the girls too? When the flashbacks started, then the random, indiscriminate panic attacks that struck during the day or sweaty sleepless nights, Billie’s life turned upside down. She was smothered by fear and self-doubt, saw danger everywhere and became riddled with such terrible anger, that swelled and bubbled over in bad-tempered exchanges with anyone who didn’t understand, listen or seem to give a shit about how truly fucking awful life was out there. Not just on the streets and inner-city estates, but between four walls, care homes, everyday homes, A&E, shops, doctors’ surgeries, where low-life scumbags made other people’s lives a misery.
Billie couldn’t cope with the injustices in the world, the imbalance, the unfairness and downright cruelty of human being on human being. Stan had tried his best to understand, be patient and accommodating whereas her mother, well that was like pouring petrol on the flames every time they met. Claudia reverted to tried and trusted sayings or ‘bullshit’, as Billie called them. She had no intention of getting back on the horseorbike that she had fallen from. She had no best feet to put forward: hers were staying firmly inside the house. Socks wouldn’t be pulled up, neither would her chin and there was no bright side to look on.
Billie did not care that she had a decent wage and respectable job with prospects. As far as she was concerned she’d seen enough gore and grime, scumbags and sinners to last a lifetime. Billie wasn’t prepared to put her life on the line so happily left cleaning up the city streets to the much braver, dedicated, determined men and women of Greater Manchester Police.
When her daughter resigned, Claudia was horrified and ashamed, although she’d never have openly admitted it. But Billie knew. Her dad was stoical and supportive, preferring a whole, free daughter to one in a coffin, or psychiatric ward.
Stan was relieved because he thought that Billie’s decision was one less thing to deal with and given time and therapy for what they now suspected was PTSD, their life would get back to normal. So when Billie announced that she wanted them to go travelling for a year, get away from the humdrum of life and see the world, become a backpacking duo and hit the hippy trail, Stan’s refusal hit hard. It was like Hiroshima of the brain.
Billie railed against his attempts to make her see sense. Stan said that his businesses were flourishing so he couldn’t walk away now. And why couldn’t they take holidays? Anywhere she wanted, he’d pay, his treat, no problem. What about his mum and Darren? It was tight, clearing off, he’d miss them, they’d miss him and her. Stan said running away wasn’t the answer and they would find the solution together, step by step. But Billie didn’t want to take steps, she wanted to run as far and as fast she could.
Billie finally gave Stan what sounded like an ultimatum. She was actually calling his bluff. She was going away whether he came or not. He had to make a choice. Stan dug his heels in and although it later turned out he was calling Billie’s bluff too, their poker faces held firm. In a fit of rage and desperation Billie told Stan it was over then packed a bag and went to her parents’ house. Once there, Billie didn’t get the comforting words of approval she’d hoped for, mainly because her dad was at the garden centre buying compost and instead, she copped for an unsympathetic Claudia.
‘Always running away, aren’t you, Billie? When are you going to grow up and realise that you have responsibilities? And as much as I sometimes wish Stan didn’t fall under that category, you can’t expect him to drop everything because you’re having a wobble. Now sort yourself out and book an appointment with your therapist, or a careers adviser, whatever, and find something you can stick at for once in your life.’
‘Well thanks so much, Mum, very nice I must say! Do you forget that I could’ve died? Your only child was stabbed. Does that not scare you? Do you not worry it could happen again? And I have always paid my way, ever since I got my first job and have never asked you and Dad for anything so don’t make out I’m a scrounger or layabout. The jobs I’ve had might not be up to your standard but I’m not a shirker!’
‘I’m not saying that, Billie, what I mean is that you need to put your life in order and think of the future and of course I haven’t forgotten. How could I? It was a dreadful time, terrifying, for all of us but you’ve recovered now and thousands of people suffer much worse than you and then get back on their feet. That’s all I’m saying, Billie… you’ve been given another chance so should make the most of your life while you can, not spend it bumming around bloody Marrakesh or wherever the fancy takes you.’
Billie held her hands up in despair. ‘That’s it. I give up. I really, really give up with you, Mum. Just for once I needed you to understand and take my side instead of thinking about your own pride and what the bloody neighbours will say!’
