Chapter 48: NOW - The Safe Room

Listlessly, I flick through the cameras, watching Peter and Emily for the rest of the day. The air feels thick and musty. I’m sweating despite the chill, or perhaps it’s just all the moisture in the air making my skin damp. Each lungful of air feels thicker than it should, as though the air has weight to it.

They make pasta, leaving a mess all along the kitchen counter. Big splodges of red pasta sauce decorate the marble. Sophie picks at her food while they shovel theirs in without speaking. All three sit in the living room, with Sophie in the armchair, and Peter and Emily on the sofa. I hear the sound of Peter’s cutlery scraping the bowl.

“Here, take these, will you?” Peter holds out the empty bowl to Sophie. “Do you know how to fill a dishwasher?”

Sophie nods obediently.

“Then knock yourself out, love.”

I watch helplessly as Sophie carries the bowls into the kitchen and starts emptying the dishwasher all alone. She does it slowly, carefully, like she’s terrified of dropping a plate. She’s helped me unload and load the dishwasher before, but she can’t reach most of the shelves in the kitchen to put everything away. I watch through my fingers as she drags over a chair to stand on and open the top cupboards.

In the living room, Emily sits on Peter’s lap. She’s snuggled into his neck. He has the TV remote in one hand, flicking through the channels.

“I could get used to this,” Emily says. “Living here, I mean.”

Peter makes a non-committal sound.

“Didn’t you say she grew up on the same estate as you?” Emily asks.

“Yeah. Bitch forgot where she came from, though.” Peter lets out a grunt. “She got one taste of money and cut her whole family out. Stopped me seeing my kid. That’s why we’re here. She needs humbling again.”

“What happened after she left the estate? She went to uni, right? How could a kid from a council estate afford that?”

I bristle. I couldn’t afford it. I took out loans and worked part-time jobs to pay for my rent. I only paid off the loans after Ed died because the inheritance covered it.

“Whored herself out. Met some rich sap at university and bled him dry.” He laughs. “Literally. Poor guy’s dead.”

“She killed him?” Emily turns her head.

Peter’s quiet for a moment, and then his attention shifts. “Yeah, she killed him. Like I told you, she’s a psycho.” He loosens the collar at his neck, pulling the shirt down to reveal his scar to Emily. “Remember. She gave me this.”

I run my fingers through my hair. The jagged scar shines bright white on the screen, like a long stretch mark. But it wasn’t me who gave it to him. It was Honey.

Emily kisses his neck, running her tongue along the scar, then leans back and gazes into his eyes. “If anyone tried to do that to you now, I’d cut their hands off.”

Peter smiled. “Good girl.”

She rests her head against his shoulder for a while. Then an expression of confusion comes over her face and she sits up. “Why didn’t she go to prison?”

I straighten. She did listen to me. She’s starting to question him.

Peter shrugs. “You know what it’s like. All that feminism shit. She gave them a sob story and they believed it.” He shifts her from his lap. “That’s enough questions.”

“I wish I’d had a judge like that when I got done for shoplifting.” Emily repositions herself on the cushions. “And that time a teacher felt me up at school. No one listened.”

“Well, they listened to her. Shut up now.”

Emily’s quiet for a moment. Her gaze shifts back to him, peering up beneath hooded eyes. “Don’t we need to figure out what we’re going to do now? We can’t stay here forever. The schools are going to open soon and⁠—”

Peter slaps her around the face. “Quiet.”

In the kitchen, I notice Sophie freeze when she hears the slap. She was listening to the conversation while slowly putting away cutlery.

Emily whimpers and cries softly into the sofa cushion but Peter doesn’t hit her again. Sophie stays out of their way, sitting quietly in one corner of the living room. Peter laughs along to Only Fools and Horses, while the women daren’t speak.

That night, I fall asleep, exhausted from the day. The nights have been so cold that I wrap myself in blankets, tucking everything in as best I can, but for the first time, I notice a temperature shift. It’s a little warmer. Still cold enough that I’d be shivering without the blankets, but noticeably different. The snow will melt soon. Sophie’s school might have already opened and if the teachers aren’t contacted about Sophie’s absence, they will investigate.

This is a relatively small place and a tight-knit community. Kids don’t tend to fall through the cracks here, not like back at the estate. This is also a long time for me to not call Rita and Bill. They’ll be worried. They may have called the landline already. Peter has my phone so he can send them text messages, maybe even pictures of Sophie, but they’ll want to speak to us soon. Then there’s Yvonne, who may well stop in to check on us. Peter is controlling the pressure cooker but at any moment, it could explode. He could explode. And I have no idea what he might do next.

The next morning, he doesn’t bother making pancakes. He stalks around in a towel after showering, appraising the house. He picks up photographs of me, Ed, and Sophie, and puts them back face down. The ones on the wall he dumps inside a cupboard.

I look at the scar as he saunters around the house. I remember the details from the trial. He’d woken as the knife sliced his throat, thrown her off him, and called the police while holding the wound together. I heard the emergency services call played in court. The rasp of his voice, the gurgle of blood. Honey had hit her head in her panic to get out. She got into her car to drive away but passed out at the steering wheel. The police found her twenty minutes later.

Peter had made a full recovery. She’d missed the artery.

He sits down on the bed next to a sleeping Emily. I feel at a loss now. I don’t know what else to do. I tried using my body to tempt him inside the safe room. I think it turns him on more knowing I’m caged in here. I’m not sure he’s ever going to touch me because if he does his fantasy of who I used to be will fade away.

He spiralled after his mother’s death. I’m sure she kept him somewhat sane, despite being a little insane herself. Then he got what he wanted—me trapped—and realised it’s not what he pictured. What he said about proving to me that he can be the perfect husband and dad is over now. When I watch him, I see the machinations of his thoughts. The lingering looks at my family pictures. The way he clams up when Emily tries to talk to him. He’s unravelling. Soon he’ll make a choice, and I believe that choice will be to kill me.

The only way this is going to end is if me or him is dead. If I’m dead, I can’t protect my daughter, so that’s not an option. But I have to figure out a way to either make him open this door, or for me to escape, and I must do it quickly.