The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,70
you’re waiting for me to explain why I didn’t tell you.’
‘You’re telling me when you feel ready,’ Joe says. ‘And that’s OK. I’ve said this before but it’s worth repeating. You don’t owe me anything.’
She won’t look at him.
‘I couldn’t tell you before,’ she says. ‘I only found out when I saw a wedding photograph.’
Abruptly, she leaves the kitchen, returning a minute later with a black-and-white, framed photograph. Joe glances at the handsome groom, the lovely veiled bride. Yep, she’s married. He puts it, face down, on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t want to look at it again.
‘Are you afraid of Freddie?’ he asks.
She nods. ‘Always,’ she says. ‘I’m always afraid.’
Joe gets up, to give her a moment, and makes tea, choosing a herbal blend because whilst he badly needs caffeine he thinks she should probably avoid it. In spite of the late hour he feels excitement tingling through him like electricity. He feels on the verge of something important.
‘Tell me about Freddie,’ he says, when he is once again sitting opposite her.
‘I can’t,’ she says.
‘That’s OK,’ he says. ‘You have to be ready.’
‘No, I mean I can’t. I can’t remember anything about him. I don’t remember meeting him, I don’t remember our wedding day, I can’t remember where we lived, whether he’s ever lived here, where we went on holiday, whether we wanted children.’ She gasps. ‘Oh God, I could have a child somewhere and not know anything about it.’
‘Felicity.’ He grabs both her hands. ‘Look at me. Take it easy. Deep breaths.’
He gives her time.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he asks. ‘When you saw the photograph, why didn’t you say something then?’
She is very close to tears. ‘Because it makes me sound nuts and I don’t want to be nuts.’
‘Do you remember anything about him?’
She nods. ‘I think so, but it’s all so vague and jumbled up.’
‘What?’
In a small voice that he can barely hear, she says, ‘I remember him hurting me.’
‘Felicity, you’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Can you tell me more about how?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not really, because they’re not proper memories. They’re flashes, glimpses, all jumbled up. I can’t really make sense of them, but in all these flashbacks he’s hurting me.’
‘How? How is he hurting you?’
‘He burns me. And cuts me. I have so many scars, Joe. I tell people I got them working but I know that isn’t true. Also, I think he kept me prisoner. I have these horrible dreams about being locked up in the dark. And, I think I’ve been raped. Many times.’
With a sense of so much falling into place, even if it is a dreadful place, Joe says, ‘We need to go to the police. Tomorrow, if you prefer, but the police need to hear this.’
She stares at him, wide-eyed and fearful. ‘And tell them what? There’s no evidence that he’s doing this, just my word against his and all I can offer is some vague feelings and flashbacks. Who will take me seriously?’
‘Of course they’ll take you seriously.’
She raises her voice and shouts at him. ‘No, they’ll think I’m mad. I can’t be mad, Joe, I just can’t.’
Joe takes a deep breath. ‘Felicity, these amnesic periods you’ve been experiencing could be your way of coping with extremely stressful and frightening situations. If, even on a sub-conscious level, you’re afraid of Freddie, it could explain why you’ve been having problems.’
She blinks away tears.
‘Are there any other periods of your life that you can’t remember?’
‘There’s a gap in my late teens. A couple of years, I think, when I can’t remember anything much.’
‘Will you come back to therapy?’ he asks her. ‘Your Tuesday slots are still open.’
Her eyes fall. ‘OK.’ She reaches out a hand to touch his. ‘Joe, will you hypnotise me?’
‘Of course. We can do it on—’
‘No, I mean now.’
‘Here?’
‘I want to find out what I did tonight. I want to know if it was really Freddie I saw. I want to find out why I’m so afraid of him.’
* * *
Lying on the sofa, her head resting on cushions, Felicity falls into a hypnotic trance very quickly and easily. Joe pulls his mobile phone out of his pocket and switches it to silent, before activating the audio record app. He knows that his mother, at least, will applaud such a safeguard. Last, he finds a small notebook and pencil and opens it to a clean—
‘Hello, Joe.’
Joe stops moving. It is a second, maybe more, before he has the nerve to turn his