The victim, p.3
The Victim, page 3
After a few moments, Fiona chastised herself for being nosey and set off again to track down the shoes she was searching for, for a forthcoming wedding. Perhaps Caron would tell her of this visit to the city centre the following week when they met again; it could be a good sign if Caron and her husband were out together.
On Thursday, Caron was Fiona’s only client of the morning and the counsellor, feeling they still hadn’t entirely made a connection was anxious to do so. But it was only their third meeting; perhaps they needed more time for the relationship to gel.
Caron entered the counsellor’s office with a flicker of a smile on her lips, her face devoid of make-up and dark circles beneath her eyes. Fiona’s eyes widened slightly – this could have been an entirely different woman to the one she’d seen at the weekend. After they were seated, Fiona reminded Caron of the confidentiality clause and then asked how she felt.
‘Okay.’ Caron relaxed into the chair with a sigh and Fiona hoped this session would bring the breakthrough she was looking for but Caron’s next words startled her.
‘It’s good to finally get out of the house. I haven’t been over the doorstep since coming here last week. Bill’s decided it’s time to do the spring cleaning so I’ve been stuck at home every day, scrubbing everywhere.’
This didn’t ring true; surely it was Caron whom Fiona had seen in town at the weekend, and if so, was this a lie or merely an oversight on her client’s part? But why would she be untruthful about something so insignificant? Fiona attempted to put it out of her mind. An unnecessary lie could destroy the trust between a counsellor and client, so she decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume her client had simply forgotten about being there.
Caron continued. ‘Bill likes the house to be clean and tidy and his mother’s coming for lunch on Sunday so it needs to be finished by then. It’s lovely having such a big house yet it can be hard work keeping it up to scratch.’
‘Do you get on well with your mother-in-law?’ Fiona asked. Caron hadn’t mentioned Bill’s mother before and it could be a productive change of direction.
‘Not really. She rarely comes to our house. Bill visits her a couple of times a week and takes her shopping every Saturday. Madelaine hasn’t been too well lately and Bill said I should make more of an effort with her but thankfully she seems better now. She always thought I wasn’t good enough for her son and clearly doesn’t like me, so not seeing much of her suits us both I suppose. I find her quite difficult; she’s very critical of the way I keep the house and the meals I cook, and I often wonder what Bill must say to her about me. But I tell myself she’d have been that way with any woman he married although I’m not always convinced.’
Caron stopped talking and sighed, biting her bottom lip and searching the room with her eyes. Fiona allowed the silence, assuming Caron was deliberating about something, mentally wrestling whether to share with her counsellor or not, something else about her mother-in-law perhaps. Finally, after a few moments of silence, Caron pulled up the sleeve of her coat and showed Fiona her left arm.
Three small round blisters which could only be cigarette burns were clearly visible on the inside of her forearm. Raw and weeping, they looked extremely painful.
Tears welled in Caron’s eyes and Fiona’s heart ached for this troubled young woman, both for the pain of her injuries and the mental anguish she was so obviously suffering. Caron clearly wanted Fiona to know about this latest injury and the counsellor understood her inability to verbalise what was happening in her life. The wounds appeared to be freshly inflicted and untreated.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ Fiona asked, her voice quiet and even. There was a brief silence while Caron pulled her sleeve back down and then looked at her counsellor.
‘I don’t know what I did, Fiona, that’s the frightening thing. I usually know what I’ve done to annoy him, but he came home last night in a really dark mood. I thought maybe something bad was going on at the office, you know? Yet he never talks to me about work. I wondered if his mother had taken a turn for the worse, although he’d have told me if she had. Then he lit a cigarette and suddenly grabbed me by the wrist and did this – and I don’t know why. I screamed with the pain, but he just laughed. I was so scared!’
‘Caron, you don’t have to stay with Bill. There are places to go; we can get help and support for you.’ Fiona spoke solemnly, worried for her client’s safety. If her husband could deliberately and cruelly inflict such injuries, what else might he be capable of doing?
‘I know, Dr Choudhry told me as well, but Bill would only find me wherever I went.’ Caron’s tears were spilling down her cheeks now; she looked desolate, a small lone figure. Fiona silently longed for her client to find the strength to escape the abusive life she was living yet the decision must be her own.
‘If you go to the police, they can arrange for a restraining order to keep Bill away from you. It can easily be put in place, and he’ll be arrested if he breaks the order.’ A frown crossed Fiona’s face as her client shook her head.
‘It wouldn’t make any difference; he’d find me and make life so much more difficult than it is already.’ Caron appeared resigned to her fate, and Fiona knew it wasn’t her place to persuade her otherwise. Having outlined the options, only Caron could decide what to do and it looked as if she intended doing nothing at all.
For the rest of the session Caron reverted to talking about more mundane matters, back to the spring cleaning and the meal she would prepare for her mother-in-law, her words at times stunted and disjointed. The young woman’s mind seemed to skip from one dusty corner of her brain to another as she verbalised random facts without any apparent thread to connect them. Fiona simply listened for the rest of the hour, trying to follow the rambling monologue and feeling this woman’s pain.
As they neared the end of their time together Fiona asked if Caron would allow one of the practice nurses to dress the burns on her arm. She nodded her agreement and Fiona made the phone call before directing her to the treatment rooms.
When Caron eventually left the surgery and with her permission to do so, Fiona knocked on Dr Choudhry’s door to speak with him about this latest physical attack on his patient which seemed so much more sinister than the usual hitting or punching. Fiona feared the abuse may have escalated to a more calculated and planned form and told the doctor of her worries.
‘She’s a stubborn young woman is that one.’ Enda Choudhry sighed. ‘I don’t know why she stands by him, and if she’s telling us about some of the things he does, it makes me wonder what else there could be that she doesn’t tell us.’
Fiona agreed, yet they could only do what Caron would allow, a frustrating situation for them both. At the back of Fiona’s mind was the fear things might come to a head in the Rivers’ household. Caron seeking help through counselling could indicate a shift in her usual passive acceptance of her domestic situation and she may even at some point wish to be proactive about her position and her future. Unfortunately all her doctor and counsellor could do for the present was to remain in the background as support for whenever Caron needed it.
6
April 3rd
I like Fiona Singleton. The first time we met I’d been expecting an older lady with a tweed skirt and grey hair tied up in a bun, a bit frumpy and dour. But Fiona’s nothing like that. She doesn’t judge me or offer advice which makes me feel I can talk to her. I also expected her to comment on my face – the bruising was awful on that first visit, all kinds of black and blue with an ugly gash on my head, yet she said nothing as if she hadn’t even seen it. I find myself opening up to her more and more and I think she’s pleased I’m sharing all this personal stuff. I even showed her the burns on my arm and she offered to have a nurse dress the wounds for me.
I’m sure Bill suspects I’ve been going out. When he came home from work yesterday, he grilled me even more than usual about my day and I struggled to account for every minute. He said he’d tried to phone and there was no answer so he asked where I’d been. I told him I was in the bathroom and didn’t hear the phone. Thankfully he let it drop, I’d expected it to cause another outburst, but he must have believed me. If Bill finds out I’m seeing a counsellor he’ll be furious. I want to see Fiona again so I really must be more careful.
* * *
A few days later, the phone rang as Caron put her key in the front door, so she pushed inside and grabbed the hall handset, instinctively knowing it would be Bill. She was returning from an appointment with Dr Choudhry, who’d been running late, otherwise she’d have been home in good time.
‘Caron? You took your time answering. Have you been out?’
‘Just in the garden, a bit of deadheading and tidying up after last night’s rain.’ Caron knew she sounded out of breath and hoped her husband wouldn’t notice. He was ringing earlier than usual, and she wondered why.
‘Right, well, things are rather hectic here, there’s a problem with the server, and the whole computer system is jammed. It means I’ll be late home, so I’ll be dashing tonight and I’ve got a meeting later. Did you remember?’ Bill paused, waiting for an answer. Caron was thinking – had he told her about a meeting?
‘Caron, are you there? This meeting is important. I can’t miss it?’
‘Yes, yes, I remember, so what was it you wanted me to do?’ Her mind wasn’t on Bill’s meeting. Instead, she was still mentally re-running her morning’s visit to the surgery. Bill sighed, she could imagine him scratching his chin in annoyance.
‘I need my grey suit pressing and make sure my shirt’s ironed, the new silk one I put out last night. Dinner will have to be sharp at six, too, as I’ll be on a quick turnaround, so make sure it’s on the table pronto!’
‘Yes, fine, I’ll remember.’
‘Good – I have to go now, it’s chaos here and Gerry’s looking agitated. Don’t forget the suit.’ With that reminder Bill finished the call and Caron exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Why did he always have to check up on her? It was the same every day – Bill rang religiously at 10.30 each morning – she could picture him drinking his coffee and dialling their number to make sure she was home. What on earth would he think if he knew where she’d been? She shuddered at the thought.
Caron gazed around her home – it certainly was a beautiful house, a far cry from the place where she grew up. Moving into the kitchen, she spent a few minutes getting meat out of the freezer for dinner and checking she had enough fresh vegetables, then made herself coffee and took it into the lounge where she took out her diary and wrote another entry.
April 8th
This morning I had an appointment with Dr Choudhry – just a catch-up – he wanted to know how the counselling sessions were going and if they’re helping at all. His concern is touching, it feels good to have someone care about me, and I was able to tell him how well things are going with Fiona. It’s becoming easier to talk to her – she doesn’t offer an opinion, just listens to me, which makes me feel I matter to someone. The …
Caron’s train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a car on the drive outside. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the window – it was Bill. Quickly she stuffed her diary under the seat cushions on the sofa, aware of how disastrous it would be for him to see what she was writing. Why was he home? He never left the office during the day – Bill was a man of unwavering routine, so something must be wrong and it wasn’t long since they’d spoken on the phone. Caron greeted him at the door.
‘This is a surprise, Bill. Is anything wrong?’ She stood back for her husband to enter the house and he marched past her into the kitchen, his thick eyebrows arranged into a scowl.
‘Everything! The bloody internet’s down altogether now and Gerry’s struggling to get connected again. We’ve been inundated with calls from clients wanting to know why they can’t access our apps. It’s pandemonium!’ Bill rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger as if he had a headache coming on; Caron knew the signs.
‘Make me a coffee, will you?’ he growled.
Pleased to have something practical to do, she began to make fresh coffee.
‘So why come home? Won’t they need you at the office?’ she ventured to ask, wondering if he was home for the day and fearing he may be.
‘I need something from my study and I’ve time for a coffee. You sounded a bit distracted on the phone so I thought I’d check if you’re okay. Kill two birds and all that.’ Bill stared directly into her eyes, a searching look from which she turned away, unable to read his mood.
‘Here’s your coffee.’ She placed a steaming mug into his hands and followed him into the lounge, quickly checking there was nothing out of place to suggest she’d been writing.
All was as it should be and the couple drank their coffee in silence until Bill looked up and asked, ‘So you’ve been gardening, have you?’
Caron hoped he wouldn’t want to inspect her work.
‘Yes, just pottering, nothing too heavy.’ She felt her face flush at the lie although Bill didn’t appear to notice and drained his coffee cup.
‘Hmm, right, I’ll just go and get those papers and be off again. You won’t forget to press my suit, will you?’
‘No, I’ll do it now so it’ll be ready when you get home.’
It was a relief when Bill finally left. Caron flopped on the sofa, felt under the seat cushion and retrieved her diary. Tucking her feet up, she chewed the end of her pen for a few minutes then began to write again.
April 8th
Gosh, I just had a lucky escape when Bill arrived home unexpectedly. He never does that – I hope it’s not going to happen again, he might come home while I’m with the counsellor! I’m used to his phone calls – always wanting to know where I’ve been – if I’ve been out, but this is different, unnerving even. Why can’t he be more like he was before we were married? I loved his spontaneity then, the little surprises, treats and outings which sadly ended after the wedding. This seems to be the real Bill – a slave to routine and I’m forced to follow suit. The clock rules our lives and if I’m late with a meal there’s hell to pay! I must have his clothes ready for tonight and the dinner on the table on the dot at 6pm. I dread to think what he’ll do if I’m late – the last time his meal wasn’t ready on time, the slap he gave me loosened a tooth. The memory still makes me shudder.
7
Day 1
Caron sat silently in the little room at the police station, trembling with fear and anticipation of what would happen next. The morning’s events ran through her mind on a loop, over and over – the image of her husband falling to the floor, dead. The blood, the knife. Had she actually killed him? Did she really thrust the knife into his flesh? Caron shook her head as if to erase the memory. She dared not think any further than the next few minutes and must take things one step at a time, otherwise, she’d never get through the ordeal. The police had been kind to her so far – would their understanding continue? Could she make them see what had happened?
The room was warm, and Caron felt faint and sickly. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten that day yet couldn’t face food and would surely be sick if she ate. She was shaking – with shock or fear, it was impossible to tell. The female officer stood beside the door, guarding her as if she possessed enough energy to attempt to escape – to run away.
A man entered the room, a face Caron hadn’t seen before or at least she thought not. Events and faces were becoming increasingly blurred as was time and reality.
‘Now then, Caron, isn’t it? I’m Dr Yarrow and I’d like to take a look at you to see how you are.’ The doctor’s features were solemn and businesslike and his voice was gentle. Folds of skin sagged from his cheeks and under his eyes; he looked far too old to still be practising. His manner could be described as fatherly but as Caron had never known what it was like to have a real loving father, she couldn’t judge. Mentally, she labelled him as efficient and tried to focus on his words.
When the doctor asked about recent injuries, Caron held out her left forearm, where the burn marks were visible and would probably leave permanent scars. Caron mentioned her right arm and shoulder which ached from being recently bruised, so the doctor inspected them too. He also poked at a small scar on her forehead from another relatively recent injury. Then the doctor nodded to the policewoman, who was still at her post by the door, and she asked Caron’s permission to take photographs of these injuries.
With the task complete, Caron covered herself up again as if ashamed of her damaged body. After asking further questions which Caron assumed were to determine her state of mind, the doctor appeared satisfied she was fit to be interviewed by the detective inspector and gently explained his decision.
Dr Yarrow then opened the file he’d brought with him and Caron watched as he pulled out a simple diagram of a human form and marked it with a red pen to indicate precisely where her injuries were. His task was complete and he smiled. Finally, he asked if she had any objections to him taking a blood sample, a mouth swab and fingernail cuttings. Did she have a choice, Caron wondered as she meekly nodded, and the samples were duly taken. Bagged individually, they were placed on top of the pile of her clothes, ready to be taken for examination by the forensics team.
Caron had the illusory feeling of being on a conveyor belt, processed through the system with no say in what happened next, though it was nothing more than she expected. When the knife had plunged into her husband’s body that morning, she knew instantly her whole future was in jeopardy. In that one violent moment, she had forfeited the right to make any future decisions for herself.
