Warning: features scenes of domestic violence

The flat by the beach

The sky was a vivid blue. Strips of white cloud made fairy cities in the air, with skylines of fluffy domes, spires and minarets. Small waves rolled endlessly in to shore. She felt thankful for the loud and salty wind because it dulled the constant chatter in her head and soothed her somewhat, like white noise. Still, her palms sweated and she rubbed them on her short, denim skirt. She drummed her right heel against the rubber sole of her thong. Down below on the beach a group of people ran and chased a dog that frolicked in and out of the waves, but all this was seemingly soundless; all she could hear was the drone of wind and sea.

It was because of the droning wind that she didn’t hear the car pull in behind her and jumped when the car door slammed shut. He’s here, she thought and began to turn, fixing what she hoped was an adult smile to her face.

But it wasn’t who she was expecting. It was someone else. Her body leapt into action with a single, terrified thought. Run.

She ran along the beach path, across the road and up the first steep side-street she came to. Her thin legs pumped, her thongs slapped the road and her lungs heaved and burned but she couldn’t stop or slow. She ducked behind some flats, over a gate onto some bins, along a laneway and across another road. Only two more blocks. She ducked off the street wherever she could; over a fence, behind a shop. She thought she might be sick but forced herself to keep going, keep going.

Eventually she allowed herself to look back and didn’t see anyone following. How the hell had he found her? What did he know? She couldn’t think about that now. On she ran.

At the sun-faded front door of a flat, she impatiently knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more. She jiggled while the waited. Hurry up! she called.

Alright, alright, he muttered as he pulled the door open. She burst past him and into the untidy loungeroom. It’s him! He’s found us! He saw me just now at the beach. Lock the door and check the windows!

What? How? he asked, but he was already moving to the kitchen window and sliding it shut.

I don’t know! Is the laundry door locked?

Yeah. Did he see you come here?

No, she said. Her fingers trembled as she wedged the old piece of broom handle into the lounge window, locking it shut.

But what were you doing at the beach?

I was meeting someone. It had to be a public place. Don’t worry about that now!

Who?

Just someone. Quick, shut all the curtains. Is the window locked in Mum’s room? Is she awake?

Yeah, it’s locked, I checked it before. Who were you meeting?

Just a man.

Were you going to work for him? He started to become angry. We talked about that!

No, not like that! It was just a job helping out with appointments – answering the phone, talking to clients. Not what you think. Don’t look like that! What else are we going to do? We need some money! Mum needs her medicine and now we’ve got the power bill.

Instead of getting angry, he just nodded and sat down on the couch. Why are you just sitting there? she asked.

What else is there to do? We’re locked in now. Either he’s coming here or he’s not.

She nodded and sat down on the other sofa, pushing clothes and food wrappers out of the way. She was sure he hadn’t seen her come here. She became calmer with each minute that they sat in the quiet, semi-darkness.

How’s Mum been today?

He shrugged. No change.

Shall we tell her that I’ve seen him? she whispered.

He shook his head.

Bang, bang, bang!! A loud and forceful knock at the door. They both leapt up and ran behind the big sofa. She thought her heart might beat out of her chest. Shit! she mouthed to him.

Bang, bang, bang!! She thought she might wail or vomit. Squatting, they leant against the wall together, silent and still. Without thinking she took his sweaty hand in hers and he squeezed.

They waited. She could barely breathe.

I think he’s gone, he whispered.

She still trembled with fear. How will we know? Wait a bit longer.  

He nodded. Eventually he said, So he must have seen you come here.

She couldn’t work it out; she was so sure she’d lost him on the run home. But then maybe he’d been watching her for days. That was just the kind of psycho, creepy thing that he would do. She felt physically sick at the thought of his stubbled, lined face at the beach, so close to her. She shivered.

We have to go, she said.

What? You mean leave here?

Yeah. It’s not safe anymore. I’ve got stuff packed already – there’s a backpack in the corner there and another bag in Mum’s room. We just have to put a few more clothes in– 

But where are we going to go?

Plan A – Sheryl’s place.

Sheryl’s? That’s plan A? Shit, I hate to think what Plan B is.

Plan B is Doug’s.

Doug’s?! How is that even a plan? He stood up and gestured with his arms. I thought you had this worked out!

Well, there aren’t many options to choose from are there, smartarse? You got any better ideas? She said, standing too.

No, but I don’t bloody like those, especially Doug’s. What’s Plan C then?

The cops.

The cops! Shit, that must be desperate, because we all know that will just end up with Mum locked in some kind of home and us off to child protection! None of those sound like any kind of plan to me. They’re shit. I’m staying here. He folded his arms across his body.

She fumed as she stared at him, with his stained tank top, greasy hair and angry pimples. As if now was the time to have a tantrum like a stupid five-year old! He never understood anything. He should try being the one in charge for a while – he had no idea how hard it was. Tears threatened and she swallowed them back down.

She looked around the disheveled room they stood in, and at the still-silent front door. She really didn’t know what they should do.

But really though, he said more calmly, those are not plans. We can’t really do any of those. Maybe it wasn’t even him. Don’t do anything crazy just yet. Let’s wait. 

No, she said decisively, we have to go now, while he’s not here. You get Mum ready and I’ll get the bags ready. You can tell Mum he’s found us and that we’re going to Sheryl’s. That’s it.

He shrugged and began to move about the room, picking up clothes off the big sofa. Where’s the phone, she muttered as she rummaged under papers and wrappers on the coffee table. She moved to the small sofa and felt between the cushions, pulled out the old mobile phone. I’ll call Sheryl.

Then – bang, bang, bang!! And this time, his voice, raging and ragged, Open up ya little shits!! I know you’re in there!

She almost let out a scream of terror as she leapt at her brother, who momentarily held onto her. They froze and stared at the locked door, before running up the short hallway. Get Mum ready! she whisper-yelled. I’ll get the clothes and stuff!

She ran into their tiny bedroom and stuffed things into an overnight bag. Her lips felt numb and her scalp tingled. He was still banging and yelling, horrible things about them and Mum, and what he wanted to do to them now that he’d found them. He was in a real rage, she could tell. She remembered too well. Her ears rang, but through it she heard her brother, yelling and her mum wailing and now shouting, No! No!

Her brother ran in and said, He’s trying to break in the door! Mum’s says to call the cops!

The cops?! He was banging on the window now too and she imagined it shattering under his force. Mum screamed and she thought maybe she did too.

Yes! He said, the cops! Call them now!

She looked dumbly at the phone, still in her hand. But the home and child protection…!

Bang!! Bang!! The door again. She heard a splintering sound. He grabbed the phone from her hand, pressed 000, already in speed-dial, and talked into the phone. He told them where they were, and even with all the banging and screaming, she couldn’t believe that after everything they were calling the cops.

The banging and screaming went on and then she heard a siren and of course the stupid bastard finally stopped banging and yelling threats and abuse and ran away and it was quieter. She sank onto the floor, hugging the overnight bag to her body. Stupid. Cowardly. Bastard. And then, although he was gone, the police were there, in their flat – their safe, little flat – and her mum was sobbing and the police were asking questions about who he was and who they were and how long had they lived here and did they know him, did they have an intervention order and what was wrong with Mum, was she sick? And now it was only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time.

She went to her mum and hugged her and cried and said I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.   

Copyright Sophie Ransom 2021