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LIA
Fifteen minutes later, after taking a moment to just sit with my thoughts on the huge teak double bed in this beautiful room that houses a matching wardrobe, plush taupe carpet and pine green bedding, I head back downstairs.
As I wander back down the hallway, my emotions are all over the place. I have mixed feelings of relief and guilt. Relief because at least Toby and I don’t have to sleep another night in my car, and guilt because of all the mistakes I’ve made, not just this past week, but the last few years staying with a man who I knew, deep down, was incapable of ever changing.
They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. Of course now that I’ve been able to distance us from Martin, I can see clearly, but whilst you’re in the thick of an abusive, toxic relationship it’s hard to do that. So very hard.
Bit by bit I allowed Martin to chip away at my self-esteem and confidence. I’ve lived for so long in fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing to set him off in a rage. Fear of doing the wrong thing. Walking around him on eggshells constantly. If I didn’t dress in the clothes he wanted me to wear, he would abuse me. If I looked at him in a way he didn’t like, he’d raise his fists.
God forbid standing up to him.
As I reach the top of the stairs, a sudden memory of that morning he’d beaten me so badly I knew I had to leave comes rushing back in, and I have to grip the handrail to steady myself as a wave of nausea washes over me. I’m littered with bruises, all because the coffee I brought him wasn’t big enough.
“Are you fucking stupid?” he’d shouted at me. “I asked for a large!”
My mumbled apology had been met with a sudden explosive rage as he’d thrown the coffee cup against the wall and launched himself at me. The rest is a blur of fists flying, of pain and humiliation. He only stopped because the postman had knocked at the door with a delivery.
I’ve thanked my lucky stars ever since, knowing that if Martin hadn’t been interrupted he may well have killed me. That morning, as I struggled to my feet, I knew we had to escape, wholly believing that it would be just a matter of time before he’d take his rage out on Toby too.
Dragging in a few deep breaths, I force my feet to move and head back downstairs. With each step I lock away the memories and plaster on a smile. Protecting Toby from my pain, from any kind of heartache, is my top priority.
“Toby?” I call, my stomach rolling when I don’t see him sitting on the sofa. The television still plays cartoons, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Toby?!” I shout a little louder this time, panic making my heart race.
For one awful, terrible moment, I think the worst.
Then I hear Toby’s childish giggle and Drix’s deep chuckle, followed by a more feminine one. My stomach coils, the sound both comforting and terrifying all at once. Toby is such a sweet and loving kid, and I know he’s already becoming attached to the man who’s shown us both such kindness, the likes of which I’ve not experienced in a long, long time.
“Hey, what’s happening here?” I ask, stepping into the beautiful shaker style kitchen that’s almost as large as the open plan living space I’ve just passed through. Cabinets run the entirety of the room, and the thick wooden countertops and flooring give it a lovely warmth, or perhaps that warmth is coming from the huge Aga cooker that looks like it hasn’t been used in quite some time, given the pristine condition it’s in. If I were ever in a position to own such a beautiful home, this would be the exact kitchen I’d like.
“Mama, we’re making cherry pie!” Toby exclaims, his eyes lighting up as I approach them. Perched on a stool next to the large kitchen island, Toby's hands are covered in flour. Next to him Daisy watches Drix roll out some dough, amusement in her eyes.
“Well, trying too anyway,” Daisy explains, smothering a giggle as she casts a dubious look at the dough Drix seems to be having trouble with. She gives me a warm smile. “Settled in okay?”
Our eyes meet, and I see the empathy in hers. “Yes, thank you.”
She nods. “Of course.”
“So you’re making a cherry pie?” I ask, avoiding Drix’s gaze as I look at the ingredients scattered across the island.
Toby bounces on his seat. “Drix says that it’s even better than chocolate cake!”
“I do love a slice of cherry pie,” he grins, his hands covered in sticky dough. There’s a dusting of flour across his cheek as he looks over at me. “And it is better than chocolate cake.”
“You might be good at demolishing a cherry pie, but I’m not so sure you’re as good at making one,” Daisy giggles as Drix pulls a face, the dough way too sticky to roll out.
“I’m not sure that dough is going to cut it,” I observe, approaching them.
“Yeah?” Drix frowns. “I swear I’ve followed every step in the recipe.”
“May I?” I ask, rounding the island.
“You bake?” he asks, stepping aside so I can assess the damage.
“It’s one of my favourite things to do,” I say.
“Mama is the best baker ever! She makes the yummiest chocolate cake. Before she had me, she made birthday cakes for a living!” he says proudly.
“Thank God for that, because I think I could use some help here,” Drix admits, swiping at his face and depositing more flour.
