‘That’s not true, Billie. Believe me, Iamthinking of you but as usual you twist my words and use them against me.’
‘Oh God, here it comes. The pity party, hold on while I get the violin out.’ Billie shook her head in disgust.
Claudia responded with a tut and sarcasm. ‘I think the only person holding a pity party is you! And if you can’t be civil then I suggest you find somewhere else to sulk or – better still – go home to Stan and sort your life out.’
The whole village of Thurlstone probably heard Billie’s screech as she stormed back down the path dragging her wheelie case, then raced off in her car, vowing never to speak to her mother ever again or listen to her stupid selfish advice.
No way was Billie going home so she headed further north and holed up in a small, remote village on the east coast as far away from scumbags, her mother and Stan as she could get. After burrowing down, Billie festered for a few days during which time she either ignored Stan’s calls or repeatedly told him it was over. He had let her down, like everyone else, her dad not included. But by day six she was starting to calm down, miss Stan a lot, and was starting to see his point. Maybe they could compromise and a nice holiday might be what they needed. By day eight she was bored out of her head, sick of reading and pretending to enjoy the windswept, craggy beach view, and the nosey owner of the hotel was doing her head in, so Billie went home.
Relieved to find the locks hadn’t been changed and her stuff wasn’t in the hall in bin bags, Billie waited for Stan to come home and in the meantime made him his favourite curry, smiling at the notion he would smell it as soon as he opened the door and be pleased she was home. They could work it out she was sure, taking baby steps through their fragile relationship, not giant leaps across the globe in flip-flops and kaftans.
Stan didn’t come home that evening and by the time he did, in the early hours of the following morning Billie had fallen asleep on the sofa and the madras was a dried-up problem for the dishwasher to solve. It didn’t take a genius to work out what he’d been up to. After Billie wore him down with her relentless interrogation, wanting to know who he was with and where he stayed and why he couldn’t have got a taxi straight home, Stan confessed to a one-night stand with a total stranger he’d picked up in a club. He really did think it was over, that she was never coming back so got pissed and found solace in a stranger.
It didn’t matter to Billie what she looked like, her name, if she’d made his betrayal worthwhile because the faceless woman could have been anyone – even gorgeous Rachel Green from Central Perk, who met Stan bloody Geller while he was on a break.
What did matter was that Stan had let her down and the chain of events linking the moment she opened a kitchen door and faced up to a psycho with a knife to the moment when she found out her boyfriend was a cheat was coming to an end.
No matter how much Stan begged for forgiveness, for her to stay, Billie packed her bags then went to her cousin’s. She sold her car on eBay, said goodbye to her parents by phone from the departure lounge at Manchester airport and buggered off to Greece. As Billie closed her eyes to hold in the tears and the plane took off, she told herself her mum was wrong. Running away was Billie’s speciality – at least she was good at something.
* * *
Pulling onto the quiet suburban estate of new builds, Billie decided it was time for a quick chat with the face in the rear-view mirror, the one with pink hair and a nose ring. Rain began to splatter the windscreen but she wasn’t going to let that ruin her parade. This was supposed to be a happy meeting.
‘Right, stop it, stop it now. You’re here for a good reason, not to drive yourself bloody insane. Being one step away from a psych ward was enough, so pull yourself together, woman.’ Scanning the street for number twenty-nine, Billie realised that if anyone spotted her she’d look mad anyway, talking to her reflection.
‘Ah, here we are. Now, paint on a smile and stop being a big, fat depresso.’ Parking up outside the semi, Billie turned off the engine then grabbed the carrier bag and flowers and hoped she wasn’t going to get soaked in the sudden downpour.
She hadn’t even set the car alarm before the front door opened and Carol appeared at the door, waving like mad. The sight of her, physically healed and free, made Billie smile and as she walked up the path, any lingering dark thoughts quickly skittered away, washed down the gutter by the rain.
22
Billie shuffled in her uncomfortable plastic seat, trying hard to look interested in Jude, the support worker who was passing around leaflets giving details of a women’s march taking place the following month. The group members were a nice bunch and Billie didn’t mind spending time in their company. It was one person in particular that made her skin crawl and now that person was seated immediately to the right.
While the others discussed if they could make it or be bothered to head into the centre of Manchester for the protest, Billie’s mind focused on the task in hand, all the time staying in character. Her legs were stretched out in front, ankles crossed over mud-splattered UGG boots, her arms folded onto her chest, semi-sullen face avoiding eye contact with the others.
While she waited for the session to begin proper, her mind wandered back to one morning in Aiden’s office when he explained her mission. It had been a pivotal day that led her here, to a tatty community centre in Gorton.
* * *
Billie was trying to get her head around everything that Tom, Aiden’s super-geek, was telling her. On the desk was a second-hand, half-decent iPhone that was part of her new identity. No matter how simple Tom and Aiden made it all sound her stomach was churning and her brain was on overdrive, trying to take it all in.
Aiden had explained that two of the groups Kelly attended were government- or charity-funded and required a referral from thepolice or another agency. However, the third was run on a volunteer basis by an ex-victim who, with the support of a local councillor and MP, had secured some funding for a women’s drop-in centre. The only criteria needed to attend was that you were female and had been the victim of violence. Billie ticked both boxes.
‘But I’d feel like a fraud because what happened to me isn’t technically the same thing… Don’t you think it’s wrong to attend a meeting under false pretences? And what if they find out?’
‘There’s no way they will find out because you don’t necessarily have to speak about your experience, just listen. And you’re not a fraud, you still suffer from PTSD, so you might even learn something from the sessions – apart from what makes Kelly tick.’
‘It seems wrong but if it’s the only way, I’ll have to do it. I can’t exactly make an appointment at the dental practice where Kelly works, lean across the dentist and say “Hi, do you want to be my friend?” and I’m certainly not into having extra fillings. Anyway, it’s hard to talk when someone’s got one of those squirty water things in your mouth so it looks like I’m off to the community centre.’
Aiden smiled and gave her the thumbs-up. ‘Right, so let’s go through it one more time. Never ever take your own phone into a meeting with you. Leave it hidden in your car just in case it falls out of your bag. Anyone with two phones is seen as dodgy and you have to come across as legit, okay?’
Aiden was leaning across his desk looking intense. Billie nodded and then Tom took over.
‘I’ve loaded your contacts with plenty of fake names and numbers. You’ll never have to ring any of them. They’re for show, like Mum and Dad and imaginary family members. The Chinese takeaway, local pub, taxi firm, are real and located close to where you are supposed to live on the estate, just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ Billie had to ask.
‘I don’t know, but I thought it better to have a few real numbers. It’s a fail-safe. The only two you will really need are mine and Aiden’s in case of emergency and they are down as Andy and Trev. They can be your cousins, if you like. I kept our initials as a prompt. Any problems, ring or text us.’
