morning?’ Mark’s tone was almost sing-song.
Her smile was thin as she acknowledged her husband’s comment.
‘Yes.’ She nodded.
She looked at his eyes, which were bright and animated. She had so many questions for him, so much that she wished she had the courage to say. Her very first question, the one that hovered at the front of her mind, would be: ‘Are you mad, Mark? Is this where this comes from? Are you insane? Do you know that you are mad, or do you think that you are not? It surely has to be madness that drives you. It has to be an unsound mind, a cruel and mad disposition that drives you to do those unspeakable things to me. Where does it come from, Mark? Did someone do bad things to you? Where do these ideas germinate? Does your behaviour bring you joy or sadness? It brings me sadness, Mark; it brings me great sadness. You have taken the person that I was and you have slowly dismantled me over the years until this is all that is left, this shell, this casing, that used to house a person. It used to house me, but me is gone and the husk is all that is left. I am gone and you have done that to me. Why me, Mark? Why did you pick me? I had so much to offer, I had so much to give. I had a life…’
Her husband continued. ‘Well, an early night for you tonight, my darling.’
She nodded at the comment, which was heavy with connotation. She felt an overwhelming urge to cry; it was tiredness, she knew. She found it so much harder to cope when she was exhausted.
Kathryn downed two cups of very strong coffee, knowing that she would need it as fuel to get through the day’s chores. Failing to complete the requisite chores meant a dire end to the week. On Sunday nights Mark would sit with a checklist that he would print off from the computer. If a tick could not be applied to each chore that was listed, alphabetically, then each chore without a tick would earn her one point. That could mean as many as six or seven extra points.
Chores for Wednesday began with the polishing of all ‘best shoes’, or ‘chapel shoes’ as they were also known. This meant a good coat of wax polish and then a stiff brush followed by a shine with a soft cloth, for four pairs of shoes, one per family member. She then had to change the water in all the vases of fresh flowers, to avoid that nasty rotting smell; plump all cushions; remove all the objects and detritus from the kitchen dresser, wash and dust each item as appropriate, and return them to their correct positions after dusting the shelves and wiping out the cupboards; polish all the mirrors until they were smear-free and shiny; and rake the shingle on the front driveway to ensure that it was as evenly dispersed as possible, removing any litter or other objects that might be lurking under those tiny stones.
Kathryn had in the past tried lying about the chores. She recalled one particular Sunday night when Mark had been reading from his checklist. His modus operandi was to read out the chore and the day and wait for her to reply ‘Done’ or ‘Fail’. That night he was standing behind her as she knelt, and read, ‘Cleaning on top and inside of medicine cabinets, Friday’. She knew that she hadn’t done it; she had been distracted and had simply forgotten. So she lied. To avoid being cut, she lied and said, ‘Done’.
He had swiftly and accurately swiped her around the side of the head with the clipboard, the plastic corner of which cut her just below her left eye. A single drop of blood ran down her cheek and dripped onto the shoulder of her nightgown. Mark had broken one of his own cardinal rules: never to hurt her where it would show or require explanation.
‘Look what you made me do!’ He was furious. ‘Do not ever lie to me.’
He pulled her face towards him by gripping her chin in his fist.
‘What is this?’
In his hand was a small ball of rolled-up newspaper, no bigger than a large grape.
‘It… it’s newspaper,’ she stammered.
‘Correct. And do you know where I hid it?’
She shook her head, although she could have made an educated guess.
‘I placed it on top of the medicine cabinet, and in the