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9
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
I don’t know how long he’s had me here for. Nor can I even describe him, because his face is in shadow and I’m beginning to black out from lack of oxygen. All I know is that I can’t last much longer without taking another breath. And there’s nothing I can do, because his other hand has immobilised both of my arms above my head and I’m completely paralysed with no means of escape. Before I lose consciousness, I become aware of a shrill sound – that of a girl laughing – and I pray that she’s not on her own.
What seems like the next morning, I come to, only to realise that I’m lying on the wet pavement with a group of youngsters around me, gently tapping my face and shouting, ‘Hey! Are you OK?’
I try to sit up, aware of the rain pelting my face. Before I know it, a police car arrives and I’m put into the back of it. Bouncing around in the back seat despite the seat belt, I lace the fingers of my left hand with the ones on my right to ground myself emotionally. I’ve always done this. It feels like someone is actually holding my hand. Even looking down at it, for a brief moment one could believe that’s the case. I do this often. Stephen isn’t a hand-holder.
Which reminds me. I need to call him, tell him what’s happened. He’ll come running and take me home where it’s safe. He’s like that, Stephen. A protector. Which my own father never was, so it’s nice to know I finally have someone who cares.
At the police station, they tell me I’m lucky nothing was stolen and ask me to describe my attacker. And is there anyone they could call? So I ring Stephen’s phone, praying he hasn’t turned it off as he always does in the evenings now to avoid work calls from people who don’t know better. I’m lucky my phone was in my back pocket and that the kids scared him off, leaving my bag behind, after all. Much ado about nothing, in the end.
I wait a few moments and then, miraculously, he answers.
‘Hello? This is Headmaster Stone’s mobile phone. Who’s calling at such a late hour, please?’
Hismother? What the hell is she doing with his phone?
I clear my throat. ‘Audrey? Is Stephen there, please?’
‘Oh, hello, dear. Did you manage to go to the spa yet? I’ve already made three appointments for you and you never showed. That’s rather embarrassing for me as I know these people, dear.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose. ‘Sorry, Audrey, I forgot. I need to speak to Stephen, please.’
‘He’s not here. He left his phone at home.’
He never does that. Where the hell can he be? ‘Can I leave a message?’
‘You can if you want to, but if you leave him one yourself on his phone, it’s better. The minute he walks through the door, I’m giving him his phone, so…’
‘Right,’ I say, on the verge of screaming. ‘Can you please tell him to call me back as soon as possible?’
‘Why can’t it wait until the morning? You know he needs his sleep, dear.’
‘Because I’ve been attacked.’
‘Attacked? By whom?’
‘I don’t know, Audrey. A stranger in the street.’
‘What were you doing in the street at this hour? Honestly, you girls today… No wonder you get yourselves into all kinds of trouble. I bet you were wearing some skimpy outfit, as well. And now you were going to disturb Stephen so he could come to your rescue? Really, Emily! You should know much better than that, my dear.’
What?Is this woman for real?
‘First of all, I don’t own any skimpy outfits and even if I did, that doesn’t give maniacs the right to… Why am I even explaining this to you? You’re clearly against young women. I wonder why that is.’
‘Don’t be insolent, Emmie. It’s not what I expect from my future daughter-in-law. You know we have an image to uphold and you’re not doing very well, dear.’
‘Well, you’re not every bride’s dream, either,’ I snap before I can stop myself. Sometimes it’s not always a good idea to suppress your words.
Stunned silence.
‘I’ll give my son your message when I see him.’
‘Don’t bother! Goodbye,’ I snap and hang up. What a piece of work!
Immediately, my phone pings with seven messages from Maisie, the last one reading:
