Beneath the Skin(103)

When he’d finally finished, he held her chin to the mirror, forcing her to look, his leering sunken face touching hers. ‘See, you are black.’

The anger erupted then, taking over the fear. Her teeth gritted and her hands clenched into tight balls. The desire to bite, to kick and to pummel for all those years screamed to break out. She pulled back her arm and with all the force she could muster she swung at his face. Her fist connected solidly with his mouth, but he was too quick for her second go. Grabbing both her wrists with one hand, he punched her hard in the stomach with the other.

As she lay there, doubled up and struggling to breathe, the pain was unbearable. Yet she almost wanted to smile. The feel of her knuckles against his teeth had been worth it. But then Jimmy grasped her hand. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

The lights were off, which was a little strange and Sacha wasn’t at the front door to greet Candy. It was late, but not that late, so Jimmy must have taken her for a walk. Which was a good thing, Candy thought. Jimmy rarely left the house when he was drunk. It would be nice to have five minutes to wind down, to catch her breath and to chat to Chinue, if she was up, before the demands began. Not that Candy minded. It was her lot.

She’d had such a lovely day. The church was lit yellow with daffodils. She’d greeted the parishioners at the church door, handing them a prayer sheet and chatting. How she loved that feeling of being accepted, of belonging.

Candy took off her shoes at the door and padded up the stairs towards her bedroom to search for her slippers. The door was closed, the house silent. Perhaps Jimmy was asleep after all. She turned the handle cautiously, ready for Sacha to run out and greet her but careful not to wake Jimmy.

Sacha whined in the darkness and Candy turned her head towards the sound. Chinue was sitting on the floor next to the old gas fire, her arms around her knees and her head down. Slants of light from the ill-fitting curtains lit her in blocks. Shaking her head in confusion, Candy glanced at the bed. Jimmy was there, fast asleep; she could see the dark outline of his body.

‘Chinue? What are you doing in here?’ Then after her eyes became accustomed to the dark. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’

Chinue lifted her head and silently held out her hand. Candy gazed for a moment. Her mind was sluggish, too sluggish, trying to catch up, trying to work out what she was being offered. But as her eyes finally focused, she saw they were scissors. They were the orange-handled scissors that belonged in the kitchen. The handles were moist and the metal gloopy.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ Chinue whispered.

Candy is quiet today. She’s back in the stifling lounge of The Ridings, now decorated in red and gold tinsel for Christmas. Squashed in her chair, she’s staring at the television screen, but not, Antonia suspects, seeing anything. Not on the screen anyway.

She lifts her mum’s puffy hand and gives it a squeeze, as ever remembering those hands on that night. It’s difficult to reconcile the two women. The slim Candy had stared, her mind now sharp and calculating. She stared at Jimmy’s body, white and naked, punctured and bloody, and she knew what to do.

‘Take off your clothes, love, and give them to me to put on. Trim your hair, make it neat. Then stand in the shower and scrub. Scrub every inch. Your face, your hair and your nails. Wipe down the shower then put on your pyjamas and go to bed until I call.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Put my clothes in the wash basket. I’ll leave them outside the door. Collect up your hair, every last bit and flush it away.’

She gently pulled Chinue to her feet, holding both hands in hers, pointing upwards like a joint prayer. Then her eyes rested on her child’s. Deep, potent and strong.

‘This is my fault, not yours, Chinue. My fault. I should have been here. Remember that always, love. I did this. Me. We’ll never speak of it again.’

There was a last smile of reassurance from her mum. ‘Everything will be fine. Go to bed until I call. You start from there, love. That’s the story you tell. Forever.’

She did what her mum told her to do. She went to bed and closed her eyes, her head feeling light on the pillow without her long hair, but leaden with fear, confusion and dread. Almost asleep, she was woken by her mother’s screams and the howling of the dog.

A bright voice shakes Antonia back to today. ‘Morning, Antonia!’

Laura Jones looks fresh, her cheeks shiny, like a polished apple. ‘I believe you missed me the other Sunday. Did you want a word?’

Antonia shakes her head. ‘It was only to say thanks for pointing me in the right direction about Jimmy. You know, to the library.’

‘Oh, no problem. Glad to help. It was a lovely idea to have it printed and framed. Isn’t your girl clever, Candy? I wouldn’t have thought of that.’

She touches Antonia’s shoulder, a feather touch of care, which stings behind Antonia’s eyes. ‘Well, give me a shout if you need me.’

Antonia smiles her frozen polite smile and turns back to the silent television screen. She won’t need Mrs Jones. The seeping of the past, the digging and the need for detail has stopped. She was on the verge of telling Mike everything when he visited on the afternoon of Olivia’s death, to spilling it out, the truth. To confessing it all and to saying, ‘Dad cried and begged me for forgiveness before falling asleep, but still I stabbed him when he slept and couldn’t stop.’ But something held her back. The anxiety of rejection? The fear of him discovering the ugliness underneath? She doesn’t know. Survival, perhaps. Or maybe the secret has become a part of her she doesn’t want to let go. But it was the right decision, absolutely. Some things, she knows, are best hidden beneath the skin.