Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,149
anyone. I thought you were in Athlone, it never crossed my mind you’d collected him. It would only have taken you a minute to call home and leave a message, or ring work and tell me. But no, you went off gallivanting and left me worried sick.”
“Not sick now. Looking beautiful. Give me a kiss,” Martin leant forward and breathed yeasty fumes at Lucy. She leant away.
“Not now, Martin. I don’t feel loving towards you. You don’t care for me, how can I?”
“My wife. Have to love me - make love to me. Your job.” Martin’s hand was working its way in under the duvet and onto Lucy’s thigh. “Come on, Luce, ’tsa a great day, won the match, good time with the lads, wanta finish it properly.” His fingers walked over her leg towards her groin and he pulled her leg towards him, his hand searching. He was up on one elbow now, leaning towards her, pushing her back onto the pillows with his shoulder, his breath fast and ragged. Lucy felt his knee pushing between hers and she struggled from him.
“No, Martin, stop!”
“Won’t.” Martin laughed and grabbed her arm, pushing her down. Lucy put her hand over his and gripped.
“That’s the girl. A bit of spirit.” Martin’s knee forced between hers again and Lucy jerked her leg up to get away. Then her head shot back as Martin’s first slap hit her face. The second connected with her nose.
“Bitch!” he snarled, “going for the balls isn’t fair.”
Lucy gaped at him. Fair? Her nose was throbbing and she felt tears starting. She took a deep breath and rolled towards his pinioning hand, pulling her leg free and kicking towards him. Martin grunted and let go. She hit the floor with her knees and in moments had grabbed her dressing-gown and was out of the room and running across the landing into the bathroom. She slammed the door and shot the inadequate little bolt she had screwed on at the very top after taking the key away so that the children would not get locked in by accident. She hoped it would hold. As Martin swore and banged on the door she threw her weight against it, bracing her feet against the bath. The door bulged and vibrated behind her as he thumped. After a minute there was silence and she heard his feet going back to the bedroom. She sagged onto the toilet, tears streamed down her face and blood trickled onto her lip.
“He’s gone mad! Drunk, but he’s been drunk before. This time he’s mad!”
“No, not actually mad. Just telling the truth. In vino veritas, they say. That is how he thinks. How he has always thought. You should not have married him, I told you.” Trynor was perched on the side of the bath. “Now, come on, wash your face and go and find somewhere to sleep. You can’t talk to him tonight, he’s past it.”
Lucy splashed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes red-rimmed, her hair spiky, a bruise beginning under one eye. There was a tentative tap on the door.
“Go away!”
“Mummy?”
Lucy opened the door. Aisling was on the landing, her eyes big in her face, her hair sticking up round her face like a halo. She was clutching Teddo, who had only this year been allowed to stay in bed all day and not accompany her everywhere.
“What’s the noise? Is Daddy angry?”
“Daddy got very excited at his match and then he had lots of beer. He’s gone to sleep now,” I hope, added Lucy under her breath. I wouldn’t be able for him if he came at me now. “And you should go back to bed.” She led Aisling back into her room and lifted the duvet, encouraging Aisling to settle Teddo in his place on the pillow and cuddle beside him. She stroked her daughter’s shoulder and sang softly almost under her breath, watching the child’s breathing slow, becoming even and calm. So much for my little triumph, my new car. Just another bad day. More struggle. More keeping it normal for the kids. Covering up. Hiding the problems.
“No, Lucy, not more of the same. Time to change. Listen to me. Time to change.”
But if he thinks I’m going to go on like this, keeping the whole household going, so he can go off to matches on a weekday, steal my son and not tell me where he is, he can think again.