It was the weekend, so I dropped them both at a friend’s house and went home to run some errands. Cleaning up, tidying their rooms, getting some work stuff done- just some admin things. Really a very ordinary day, if a bit boring.
At about 4 O’clock, I had to pick the kids up, and I brought them back home, made them an early dinner and tucked them into bed at about 7. It was Saturday, so they complained about going to bed early, but eventually I got them to go to sleep.
I sat around the house for about an hour, drinking cups of tea and watching the TV- the X factor was on, as I remember. But at about 9, I had to go out for a fag. I’d been resisting all day, but at 9 O’clock I snapped. Just one, I thought, and I popped into the alley behind the flats- if the kids smelt it inside, they’d only ask questions.
Standing outside, tucking my arms into my scraggy grey M&S cardigan and taking long, relieved breaths of smoke, I suddenly felt aware of a noise behind me. A slight rustle in the darkness- somewhere at the end of the alleyway.
Turning around, the silhouette of a man came into sight. For just a second, I stood completely still. Then, coming to my senses, I began to shuffle towards the street, wanting desperately to be back in the flat, safe with David and Jenny. He came towards me though, and he grabbed my arm. I screamed- he clawed at my face, hissing at me to be quiet. Dragging me down to the floor, he attacked me, and I whimpered and squealed. He hurt me... and then he left me there, and in the morning- when I remembered what happened, as I saw my ripped clothes and my purple bruises- I cried.
I wanted him dead, your Honour. I really did. And you know what? I still do.