A Very Personal Tyranny

Short Story, more anti-romance than romance really

            Kate sat at the dressing table, the large mirror forcing her to hold her book awkwardly close to her face. She could have sat on the end of the bed but she didn’t want to share any space with him. With it. A lot of people, her nephews and nieces for example, became more sweet and beautiful when sleeping; Richard didn’t. A mess of sodden crumbs from his last meal had spilled out of his mouth as he slept and now clung in his scruffy beard. The more fluid constituent of his nocturnal dribbling had left a damp patch on the pillow that was far from transparent and that she would have to surreptitiously scrub in order to spare the cleaner from going above and beyond the call of duty in touching the effluent. Just because she had to suffer the indignities that followed from life with Richard didn’t mean anyone else should have to and if she could spare the poor maid that, she would. Recently she’d done a lot of cleaning up after him. Both literally, as he failed to wipe his shoes, mop up spillages, or even flush the toilet, at other people’s houses as well as their own; and metaphorically, as she whispered lamentations and explanations to those who had been the victims of his coarse and unpleasant remarks. Whispered so that he shouldn’t shout at her there and then for undermining him. Indeed she now seemed to be constantly almost scuttling behind him to clear up or make amends for whatever careless damage he would wreak next. Like his personal apologist. Like his nanny.  

            Kate couldn’t deny that she liked Richard best when he was sleeping and thus providing her with one of the rare and desperately needed intervals from the myriad of humiliations he inflicted upon her each day but this was not to say that she positively liked him at these times. As he lay there, grunting and spluttering under the bedclothes, like a pestilent corpulent slug; emitting noises and smells that a flatulent sow would have been embarrassed to produce; she was reminded how he touched her. How he thought he had a right to touch her. Was she shallow? She didn’t think so. It wasn’t that he was unattractive, or overweight, though he was; she could certainly have tolerated that. If she’d taken a totally objective view she’d have had to admit that some of her previous boyfriends had been fairly ugly, and one a little flabby, and she’d cared very deeply about each of them. It was the attitude that went with Richard’s appearance that made it so unsettling and unpleasant to her; that made it a source of distress that was so much more than physical. Some let themselves go and took no pride in their appearance because of a genuine absence of vanity that was praiseworthy; others because they had such low self esteem as to really not give a s**t about themselves and how they looked, which was at least pitiable. Richard, on the other hand, took no care because he didn’t give a s**t about anyone else. Nobody else’s opinion mattered to him on any subject or at any level and his slovenly nature was just one manifestation of his contempt for others. A contempt that was recognisable even now, in the cruel smile he wore while sleeping; a smile that would have been truly sinister and threatening if it hadn’t been caked with the food debris that he hadn’t bothered to wash off.

            Predictably, sexual matters were one of the most natural and frequently recurring traumas that followed from the Richard’s conjunction of obliviousness and odiousness. It wasn’t just the physical repulsion as he heaved his bloated form over her; it was that he just didn’t seem to care, that it apparently didn’t even occur to him that anyone could fail to enjoy the experience. She’d always been so sensitive in the bedroom, as in the rest of her life; so careful about other people’s feelings. Even her slight appendix scar, she wouldn’t press against a lover unless she was sure he was comfortable, though none had ever objected or shown any reluctance. She tried to read feelings, to accommodate wishes that had not been expressed; one of her most basic desires in life was to make others happy and she would do what was needed to inform that desire.  Richard, by contrast, chose to notice nothing. No matter how undisguised, how obvious; he wouldn’t, couldn’t, see how she shrunk back from him. How he made her shudder. Again, it wasn’t a lack of sense of self or some improbable imagination of himself as an Adonis that fuelled his lack of care; he had just enough physical coordination to reveal an awareness of his swollen limbs at least. Richard just didn’t have a sense of anyone else’s self; how differing opinions could exist and another person might experience quite otherwise from how he did. In all areas of his life, Richard closed his eyes to any dissent or discomfort; in the case of sex, often literally.

Why was she with Richard? How had an incidental and, though she hadn’t been honest enough to admit it at the time, irritating, figure in her life managed to turn the key to the lock of wed-lock? Why had she accepted his proposal? That final question, at least, was an easy one. The shock of it had pole-axed her; paralyzed her intellect as well as her body, and her sensitivity to the feelings of an unpopular, ill-favoured man had ensured that the word that eventually escaped her lips was a whispered “yes”. Why then hadn’t she been able to tactfully tell him her true feelings at any point in their engagement? Simply sensitivity again? No; she might have mustered the courage to hurt another if she had recognised the full nature of the abyss that she was staring down. Her brother had clearly not liked Richard upon meeting him, though he had attempted, poorly, to conceal it, but he had chosen to offer reassurance rather than provoke revolution. No matter what the results of his decision had been for her, she couldn’t have faulted him; his support and concern, his breathtaking honesty and courage as he confided in her the insecurities he had felt before his own marriage and in its early days. She knew how difficult it was for him to reveal any unhappiness, let alone unhappiness of such a personal and private nature, and yet he had told her of how much work it had been; how many doubts and insecurities he had felt, and all of those he had recognised in his wife that made him painfully aware of his own failings. It had all been worth it, he had told her, he had learnt that romance and happiness weren’t found or won but earned.

“Things will get better for you too.” he had assured. And she had believed him. And they hadn’t.

Another family meeting had cemented the brutally piled bricks of their relationship, this time with Richard’s relatives. Her own family, though clearly disappointed and concerned to see her with him, had made the expected pretence of finding him witty and interesting; none such had been forthcoming from his. Not the gentle mockery of loved ones, his father was openly rude to him and his brother had been more than aloof, frequently leaving the room when Richard came in and making no effort to disguise his preference not to spend any time with his sibling. His only communication with her had been to shake his head and roll his eyes.

“What on earth were you thinking?” he clearly meant to signify, “what the f**k’s wrong with you that you can put up with him?” Kate had expected to find a doting mother, a smothering matriarch who might provide explanation for Richard’s childish egotism. In fact even she hadn’t seemed particularly interested in him, had ignored him like the others when it was easier for her. Had that engendered a new sympathy in her? The possibility that he was merely reflecting the neglect he had suffered; that he was unloving because he was unloved? It seemed depressingly probable; that their whole marriage was built on his deficiency and her pity for it.           

            Kate wasn’t enjoying her morning’s read very much, two weeks of waking hours earlier than Richard had contributed to her finishing both of the books she had brought with her and desperation for reading material had forced her to the Gideon’s Bible, which didn’t exactly have a continuous or structured plot. She also believed that she had already heard about most of the significant events that would occur in the tome and so that unless she had chanced upon a rare, alternate-ending, edition of the Bible, it would be quite bereft of surprising twists for her. Though Richard’s unconsciousness was, in itself, no unpleasant thing, it did mean that she was essentially trapped in their hotel room and forced to spend one of the last mornings of their holiday doing something that she could have been doing at home. And wouldn’t have chosen to. The torrent of rebukes she’d have faced from Richard for doing something independently of him were enough to motivate her to stay; particularly as the dread of his later ranting and sulking at her would have undermined any enjoyment she could have taken in a morning’s exploration of the town. Richard evidently didn’t approve of her having a life outside of him; he didn’t see the need for it.

Part of his tirade when she’d taken the opportunity to visit the town centre as he similarly snoozed on the first morning of their stay was the argument that by her idle wandering, she had thereby robbed them of the greater pleasure they’d both take in seeing it for the first time together. He just didn’t realise that she was not only happy going out alone but happier. That she didn’t appreciate his offending strangers and embarrassing her with loud moans each time another person blocked his path or charged him more than he had expected in a shop, or otherwise failed to meet the ideal standard of behaviour he required of others but clearly had no intention of conforming to himself. That worst of all for her was the guilt by association, the foisting of his foibles upon her, that she was sure must be made by everyone they met. The terrible chain of reasoning that because she was his wife, she must share at least some of his repellent quirks, that many of his manifold failings must be attributable to her as well.

“We’re Richard and Kate Keller.” Richard would say, in any of the brief interims between his making a new acquaintance and their making unlikely excuses to be out of his presence. And that was how they were forever seen; Richard & Kate- single entity.

“I’m Kate, and this is Richard.” she wanted to say instead, just for the subtle nod to the fact that they weren’t the same, that she was still an individual. The one occasion she had managed to get a word in first and had said that, Richard had simply boomed

“Yes, Richard and Kate Keller; that’s who we are,” pushing her aside as he leant forward to shout “how do you do?” enthusiastically in their new companion’s face. She hadn’t objected to taking his surname, of course not; her only valid complaint, that it associated her with him, was hardly one that she could have voiced. It wasn’t a bad name; she actually quite liked the alliterative effect of Katy Keller. Her only opposition was to its owner. Frankly, she’d happily switch to Katy Kockface if Mr Kockface only happened to be a decent and considerate individual.

            The monstrosity curled up in the sheets finally stirred and sat up to ask the time.

“Twelve thirty-five” she replied, trying her best to keep her tone neutral. Either she was unsuccessful or Richard had grown used to everyone he knew being annoyed with him because he sounded distinctly grumpy and put out as he muttered,

“Well I’m tired.” and lay back down. She sighed and replaced the Bible in its drawer. She wouldn’t have minded further delays to their leaving if he’d used the time to smarten himself up or at least do something about his stench, but she knew he would spend at least another ten minutes in bed before devoting approximately thirty seconds to personal hygiene. She heard him eventually rouse and move to the en-suite bathroom as she checked her make-up in the dressing table. Truth be told, she expended little effort on her own appearance now. As Richard’s repulsive personality and form combined to forge an ugly cataract; to cloud and colour everyone’s view of her, it didn’t really seem worth it. It would have been more sensible to just go out with the word “sorry” written across her forehead in lipstick. Richard exited the bathroom and clicked his tongue at the two minutes she had spent on her vanity. She saw that he had at least made the token effort to scrub the encrusted gunk from around his month, though he expressed a desire to immediately replace it. “Time for some grub.” he stated.

            The hotel had its own restaurant; it happened to have friendly staff and excellent food, but it was entirely for reasons of proximity that Richard preferred it. Kate ordered lunch while Richard ordered breakfast and it was she who faced a critical glare from her partner for being discordant, though with it being almost one o’clock, she considered her choice the less unusual. He had a full cooked breakfast, of course, which meant he had the opportunity to yellow his chin and the tablecloth with egg yolk and knock a bottle of ketchup to the floor. The waiter was very accommodating though and not only didn’t complain but didn’t make any of the huffs and eye-rolls of discontent and disgust that she’d grown used to from eating out with Richard. He also took the time to talk with them, which, with Richard’s mouth constantly stuffed and bulging, generally meant with her. He recommended sites they hadn’t yet seen in the region, seemed generally interested in their plans and lives and told Kate a little of his own. He was studying history at university and would be returning for his final year after the summer break and, as Kate now taught the subject, they were able to have a mutually enlightening conversation about his dissertation plans. Though her lunch had been a simple affair, the intelligent company had meant she’d enjoyed it more than almost any recent meal and she volunteered a generous tip on top of the five pence Richard always added to every restaurant bill; as though anyone were ever grateful or amused to receive it, and as though it had ever elicited anything but puzzled looks as to whether it were an attempt at an extremely weak joke or not. The attendant smiled while collecting their payment and Richard beckoned Kate to move his ear over to him, totally unnecessarily. He bellowed in a voice that she could not only have heard from her original position but that everyone in the restaurant could patently hear,

“He’ll be happy to get a tip from you. Lad clearly fancies you; think he was staring down your top the whole time.” She turned away mortified, not wanting to look in Richard’s direction a moment longer, though many diners turned in the opposite direction to stare at him and her; this vulgar, boorish couple. Their waiter carried on serving but did look quite hurt and would probably be more reserved with clientele in future because of Richard’s senseless slur. She wanted to reassure him, tell him that she knew it wasn’t true, that he was a good waiter and would have to excuse her husband’s idiocy rather than letting it affect his work. But she knew that even if it miraculously wouldn’t have prompted an angry scene with Richard, her attention would now have only embarrassed the poor boy further. Whether Richard was being malicious or just being a moron, she didn’t know; but she couldn’t see how he could be motivated by jealousy or think there to be any truth to what he had said. If she wasn’t actually old enough to be the youth’s mother, she’d certainly come to look and feel that old since marrying a man almost old enough to be her own father; though without any of the accompanying wisdom or passivity that age could bring. With every eye in the restaurant upon them, she led Richard out.            

            They took the car they’d hired and went to visit a pretty coastal village she’d heard of and wanted to see, though which she’d imagined leaving for several hours earlier as it wasn’t a particularly short journey to get there. He drove but it unfortunately didn’t distract him from talking without pause to her, and he didn’t use any one of his hundredfold trite remarks to apologise for embarrassing her once again, or even to acknowledge that he had done so. They had travelled by plane to Edinburgh, so she had at least been spared the torture of a nine hour car journey with Richard; having instead only a relatively short drive out of the city in the hire-car to reach their final destination. Not that it had meant an easy trip; there had been astoundingly little at Bristol Airport to occupy the waiting time before their flight and she had been forced to profess an unlikely interest in the merchandise at ‘Tie Rack’ in order to break up the interminable period of sitting with him as he frightened children, and often their parents, with his boomed greetings. Her sympathies had gone out to the member of security who had been compelled to perform a pat-down search on Richard after he had passed through the scanner, though Richard had naturally thought that he was the one who had been inconvenienced and shabbily treated.

“They’re like the Gestapo in here.” he’d roared, unexceptionally making no effort to keep his voice down. The security staff all sensibly ignored him but a fellow passenger in a skull-cap, who Kate might have predicted Richard would end up offending at some point, did brave Richard’s bulk and snarling face to come over and explain in what poor taste his comment had been. Unable to ignore this unambiguous disagreement with what he had said, Richard spluttered apoplectically for a while as the young man walked away before turning to Kate and, once again clearly audible, declaring how too many people nowadays had no sense of humour. He tried to force her agreement, asking, “Isn’t that right, Kate?” and “You with me?” so that she couldn’t equivocate and avoid condoning his stupid and insensitive comments without gainsaying her husband. She’d pretended to see a notice about their flight and led him in a circle until he’d forgotten about his source of aggravation. He could, by the simple fact of their matrimony, associate her with attitudes and behaviour she thought despicable, but he couldn’t make her volunteer her blessing for them.

            They arrived in the village in time to catch the latter half of a fête that Kate would have liked to experience in its entirety; though even if she had known it was occurring, she couldn’t have raised Richard any earlier from his slumber that morning. She liked the individuality and the unpretentious casual nature to the festivities at such small village events. You could have a good time but it was up to you to do so; there was plenty to see and do, but nothing in particular that one was expected to. The tents and activities didn’t intrude upon a peaceful pottering about the village but provided an additional diversion for any who wished to partake of it. Though she had needed to slow her pace to a crawl to allow Richard to keep up, which she in fact had no desire to do; she had been enjoying their exploration when, ten minutes into it, Richard decided that he’d stretched his legs enough after their car journey and wanted to stop for a cup of tea in the church hall. Kate mused; not for the sake of making a decision, since she knew her opinion or assent was never required any more, but to weigh up the possible risks. Even Richard could hardly suspect ulterior motives of the elderly members of the Women’s Institute who would be bringing them tea and biscuits and, as the price would most likely be miniscule, his oh-so-hilarious five pence tip might actually be appropriate for once. Inside the hall, he ordered a scone to go with his tea and proceeded to purloin small packets of butter from three different tables, so that he might coat it sufficiently, before they sat down at one with a man of about Richard’s years already seated there. As they finished their tea, Richard spoke incessantly to the stranger, and delighted in finding such a passive listener; who allowed him to lecture without any of those tedious interjections, expressions of differing opinions, or requests for clarification of what the hell he was even talking about, that more regularly greeted his diatribes on the state of the world. Firmly believing himself to have made a new friend, Richard progressed to some of his even more extreme and laughable views and was further overjoyed to not, for once, find himself instantly rebutted. What he didn’t appreciate, which Kate had spotted inside a minute of their sitting down, and which everyone else in the building was surely well aware of, was that Richard’s ‘interlocutor’ was, in fact, stone deaf. He had been nodding agreeably to Richard’s enthusiastic vocalizations because he didn’t have a clue what they meant and had not wished to upset, or disagree with, someone who was jabbering so frenziedly. As they left the hall Richard was overwhelmingly impressed and sought an echo from Kate as to what an interesting man they’d chanced to meet.

“Yes dear,” she replied meekly, “you certainly enjoyed talking to him.”

“Such a character,” he stated, “such a sensible chap.” Richard seemed genuinely unaware that he had gained no information about this individual whatsoever, nor been greeted with a single word from him. His mind worked feverishly to invent a second side to the conversation and he spent several minutes telling Kate, as they continued through the village, how refreshing it had been to receive such wise and thoughtful words of encouragement; words that had never, in point of fact, been uttered.

            Their next stop, soon after their first because Richard’s fitness levels were pushed to breaking point by a half-kilometre walk up a slight incline, was at a pub, as they sat in the garden to enjoy a performance by a local band. Or at least she enjoyed it, since she could recognise that the highest standards were not to be expected of a group of twelve year olds playing to two dozen people in a village pub garden. It was not in Richard’s nature to make allowances. “Let’s go,” he commanded, audible even above the band’s playing “we can drink inside and not have to listen to this.” In truth the band weren’t very good, but Kate was enjoying the atmosphere nonetheless and it would be callous and rude to walk out halfway through one for their songs. It wasn’t beyond even Richard to stay for an additional two minutes to avoid offending a group of adolescents who might well be performing publicly for the first time.

“We can just stay for a little, can’t we?” she asked, “I’m having fun.” Richard snorted derisively.

“You can’t possibly be enjoying this, it’s appalling.” Not breaking the habit of a lifetime, he couldn’t or wouldn’t lower his voice by the smallest fraction of a decibel, attracting annoyed glances from others in the audience and clearly hurting the feelings of the band members, who showed remarkable professionalism in playing on regardless as an overgrown infant at the front of the crowd paid them unqualified insults as he continued his ill-mannered rant.

“Richard, please,” she whispered, pressing closer to him than she was comfortable with, so as to make use of the ability he’d somehow never acquired; to speak to only one person at a time, “what does it matter? Good or bad, this is important for them, they might always remember this day and you’re ruining it for them. Think about how you’re making them feel; what if they were your children?” He stared at her, utterly bemused that she’d stood up for him for once and expressed a conflicting opinion. He looked about to snap angrily at her when his expression changed to a cruel smirk as he thought of a retort that he considered amusing.

“Then I’d have a vasectomy,” he replied, “and avoid bringing any more nuisances and noise polluters into the world.”   

“Yes, very droll, aren’t you the master of wit and repartee?” Kate thought darkly as Richard, extremely pleased with his banter, looked around to see if anyone else had caught it and was chuckling appreciatively. Obviously, nobody was, as it wasn’t funny in any case and even less so when the question he had been responding to had passed unheard by anyone else; since she, unlike he, possessed at least rudimentary control of her own voice and volume. Further, it was becoming obvious that, unsurprisingly, many of the audience were parents or friends of the band members and were now fixing Richard with murderous red-eyed glares.

“You’re right Richard; let’s find another pub to have a drink in,” she proffered, much to his satisfaction, “Let’s go.”

“I knew you couldn’t like that rot,” he bawled as she led him away, unaware that her desperate concession had been made only for the sake of saving his undeserving life.

            She nursed only a small glass of wine in the pub; rarely now wanting to risk consuming a large quantity of any depressant, lest it lead to her taking the final step, which did not, in sober states, appeal to her, even if it were the most logical course. Additionally, if she drank little enough that she could do the driving on the way back; Richard would take the opportunity to exceed even his gargantuan threshold and might give her some peace by falling asleep, as he often did after drinking. One of her most surreal and interesting experiences since she’d married Richard had been in a pub in Bristol. Richard had been typically stooped in an ale-inspired drowsiness and she had gone to take one of the chairs outside and enjoy the star-filled night. It was only after sitting that she’d noticed a man a little older than her occupying a nearby bench. With considerable difficulty he’d walked over to sit next to her; she’d wondered how much he’d been drinking to be in possibly an even worse state than Richard, but shortly into their talking had concluded that he had probably consumed something other than alcohol. She didn’t know why she’d struck up conversation with this odd man, probably she’d just been grateful to talk to anyone, or how long they had been talking for; but she knew that her dismay had been unqualified when it had been brought to a premature end by Richard’s lumbering out.

“Kate, get away from that drunk.” he’d demanded as he leant on the doorframe and breathed with difficulty, the irony lost on him. “And don’t go out without me, especially not at night; it’s dangerous.”

“Isn’t that my risk to take though?” she’d thought. “And can’t I rely on my own judgement?” There had been no danger, except perhaps from Richard himself; her new companion had looked as though he’d have struggled to overpower an asthmatic grandmother in his condition.

“Goodbye rare and exquisite jewel,” he had pronounced, removing his trilby and twirling it grandiosely in front of his chest as he had bowed to her, “thanks for listening to a crazy old man.” Then he turned to Richard. She couldn’t remember whether she’d spoken to the outsider of her unhappiness or whether he’d judged Richard, and her relationship with him, in the few seconds since he had met her husband.

“You’ve torn the wings off a butterfly.” he’d said, no trace of slurring or narcotic impediment in his voice.             

            In her dreams that was all he’d said; he’d walked straight out without another word, the unmistakable hero of her story, and left her husband spluttering and dumbfounded. In her fantasies there had been only the one metaphor and its subtlety had allowed it to produce an unconscious change in Richard; sewing the seeds of doubt in his conscience and transforming him gradually until he either released her or became a loving and loveable man. But the stranger had persisted; he’d wanted Richard to understand fully. 

“You’ve clipped a parrot and left it to stagnate in an aviary.” he’d continued, “You’ve crushed and violated something beautiful so that you can put in a collection; keep it on display. Yours is the brutality of the flower-press.” She didn’t think badly of her would-be rescuer, she knew he had only wanted to help her; but hadn’t realised that his words could worsen her situation instead of better it. It was at this point that he had really walked out and he had left Richard spluttering; but with rage rather than incomprehension. Even Richard couldn’t have failed to discern any meaning from what he was being told. His cruelty and her discomfort were only intensified by the revelation being made that she was not happy; now that his knowledge of this obvious truth could not be doubted. Now he responded to any suspicion of her less than total exhilaration and enthralment with the vicious two-word phrase: “Cheer up.” This spiteful weapon was deployed whenever they were out and about and he caught her reddening at the latest embarrassment he had visited upon her or when she allowed a hint of the depression she felt inside to show on her face. The expression as Richard used it amounted to no more than, “You’re unhappy; that’s your fault, you shouldn’t be. At least don’t let it show.” He’d said it in bed once; he hadn’t meant to but it had slipped out. It had been one of the unusual instances when he’d kept his eyes open and perhaps she hadn’t been able to disguise her revulsion and misery. That was when it had become undeniable; that he knew she didn’t enjoy it. And yet he’d carried on anyway. She’d wanted to be physically sick after that time; had rushed to the bathroom under the pretence of having something in her eye. It was the revelation of his mercilessness, much more than the physical act, that had nauseated her. And if he had ever later felt pity, he hadn’t let it show; his evening demands were no less frequent. Though it was true that he’d kept his eyelids even more firmly clenched since then.

            As she’d predicted, they did spend several hours drinking, though she switched to lemonade for her next drink and consumed about three millilitres for every pint of beer Richard drained. They ordered food as well; which at least saved the need to hunt for a new restaurant in the town, now that she couldn’t face returning to the one at the hotel. Though Richard had a steak, his food couldn’t have much diminishing effect on the vast quantity of alcohol he had drunk and he began to slump. Kate began to make her judgement about when they should leave. Ideally she’d like Richard to be drunk enough that he’d fall asleep in the car shortly into their journey, or at least be quiet and then fall asleep immediately once they got back to the hotel room; but also sober enough that he could still walk to the car, since she could hardly shift his bulk herself. It was a delicate balancing act and she let him have two more pints before she suggested they go. He nodded, scarcely hearing, and she had to grasp his plump fingers with her hand to lead him to the car. As she drove them out of the village, he did indeed fall nod off in the passenger seat and she was free to think as she took them through the countryside. She kept her window open to breathe in the fresh air and mask Richard’s odour, and wanted to shriek out of it.

“We don’t love each other!” she wanted to scream into the air; in the opposite direction to the slumbering walrus she meant her assertion for. “You use me and I resent you; that’s all there is to our relationship.” A desperate part of her wanted to crash deliberately; to overturn the car and release them both in a flaming wreck. She’d never do it; her pain and longing couldn’t negate her moral fibre, but it would be easier and more likely to succeed than talking to Richard. He’d make her feel unreasonable; feel that she’d expected something impossible from a marriage and that her unhappiness was down to her own failings. He’d make her concede that I words to him; make her, despite herself, believe once again that things might yet improve; that she might be in for something other than decades of degradation and depression. His will would prove more forceful than hers; he’d make her stay with him.  

            She’d never despised anyone before she’d known Richard; he, of course, despised almost everyone. Would this be the most terrible humiliation he would inflict on her; what all the daily trials and traumas were summing towards? That his influence, his constant oppressive presence, would finally make her like him; drag her, kicking and screaming towards assimilation. And the more she kicked and screamed, the faster the process would be. Kicking and screaming was, after all, the behaviour of the petulant and the infantile; the sort of reaction Richard himself would make to something that upset him. He thought he’d already achieved this; had dismissed her suggestion of going any of the late night music events in town, with the statement,

“We’re too old for that sort of thing.”

“As if we are the same age,” she’d thought bitterly, “as if we’re just the same and every adjective that applies to you must equally apply to me.” Was that how he’d completed and finalised the stealing of her youth and independence? With a sentence.

            It was the noise of revellers in town that woke Richard, as they drew close to the hotel. If he hadn’t been roused then he may well have had to spend the night in the car, as she had no motivation to bring him back to consciousness and couldn’t perform the physically impossible task of moving him to their room. She guided him to the lift, glad that they met nobody there, nor in the corridors. This journey proved only a brief intermission to Richard’s slumber and once in the room he collapsed immediately across the double bed, selfishly sprawled wide; spread-eagled so that there was no room for her. Kate didn’t relish nights in the same bed as him but she really did need sleep that night, which his lack of consideration had made unnecessarily difficult. After washing, changing into her pyjamas, and brushing her teeth, and not neglecting to pack, she took a pillow and curled up on the floor.

            Kate slept surprisingly well on the carpet. Unfortunately well; it was almost eleven when she woke. Though Richard was still dead to the world, he couldn’t be relied upon; even taking his typical laziness into account, the previous day had contained scant waking hours for him and he might well wake sooner than usual. Though she’d needed the sleep for preparation, she regretted taking it and risking everything; but she couldn’t wait another day. She’d at least been smart enough to get as much ready as possible before and only dressed and collected her bag before departing. A thrill ran through her as she closed the door behind her and found herself truly alone for the first occasion in a long time. Already, as she breezed through the corridors, she found herself greeted by smiles from hotel guests and staff that had been wholly absent when she had been with Richard. Her bag contained all she needed but this amounted to very little, and it was small enough to carry with ease. It needed to be; she would not be taking their vehicle. The keys were still in Richard’s pocket; she didn’t care. It reminded her of him anyway and she passed the spot where it was parked without a glance at it. The freedom; the lack of certainty that hit her as she left the hotel grounds almost overwhelmed her. There could be an acceptable conclusion to her sorry tale; a means of escape that wasn’t murder or suicide. Simply walking away; running from what terrified and tortured her. She could make the literal and physical breakaway when she couldn’t bring herself to put anything in words. As she’d feared he might, Richard did wake early; she heard him calling her name from the balcony adjoining their room, though facing in the opposite direction from the path she’d taken. She didn’t let it dampen her spirits; he wouldn’t follow her, he couldn’t catch up with her even if he was sufficiently enthused to try. His voice grew louder; not desperate, he didn’t really care about her, but confused and annoyed. Where was his wife? She was his wife, after all, how was it even possible for her to go off without so much as a by-your-leave. None of his other property did.

 “Shout then, you old fool,” she thought jubilantly as her name reverberated, “shout as much as you like. Cut the most ridiculous figure. Tell the whole world that I’m not joined with you any more.”

            Of course there would be consequences. Richard’s family, despite their evident contempt for him, would think her irresponsible for her desertion; particularly if they found themselves seeing more of him as a result. Even her own family might think that and the most detailed explanation of her misery could not bring her their total forgiveness, they would think she ought to have tried to explain, taken the braver route. But time could accomplish what her words could not and forgiveness would come. Because they felt something that Richard was incapable of feeling; they loved her. Yes, it would take time, she might feel that her exile was not totally self-imposed for a while; but forgiveness would come eventually. And she, too, would forgive herself the one selfish act of her adult life. Despite everything, her sympathy for Richard had not been exhausted; she honestly believed that her disappearance would take less away from him than the truth; that she couldn’t love him. She wanted no harm to befall him and hoped that one day he might find someone he could lean on and find leaning back; such that they could support each other’s weight, such that the support would be mutual. But that wasn’t her; he had hurt her to support himself. She hadn’t been his equal, but his crutch.

As she reached the station in the town centre, Kate didn’t know where she would go; she wanted to be far from him, to leave the country if possible. An irrational part of her thought of countries that Britain had poor diplomatic relations with; as though she might otherwise be extradited for the ‘crime’ of abandonment. She’d prefer her exile to be less than total; to be able to re-establish contact with her family, even with friends who had drifted away from her since she’d married Richard. But even if that were impossible, she could cope; she could survive being alone for a while, after years of having her independence progressively stifled. She’d find a job and earn a living, she’d make new friends; wherever she went, she’d get by. And if she failed, so be it. Anything would be preferable; better to perish in the wilderness than live in a cage. There was a huge world out there and, whatever else came her way, she would never let him trap her again.