Every disgusting and foul detail. It was only when I said it out loud that I realised how bad it had gotten. If I had done this months ago, I would probably have put a stop to it, but for some reason, I was terrified of doing this. I felt like I was trapped in the marriage, and I couldn’t make a single decision for myself. Every time I tried to move the relationship in a different direction, Amelia would immediately correct me with a biting insult or a slap. Confiding to my sister and her partner the hell that Amelia was putting me through made me feel so much better. We all cried for hours as I slowly made my way through each aspect of the torture my wife was increasingly subjecting me to. I had never cried as much in my life, and the release made me start to almost feel like my old self again.
“You have to go to the police,” Poppy demanded, “she is unhinged.”
“No. I can fix this. She just needs help,” I argued.
“What if she doesn’t let go when she starts choking you next?”
“I won’t let it happen again.”
“It will happen again,” Poppy insisted.
“It won’t. I promise.”
“She sounds like she just needs help,” Josephine interjected.
“Jo, she is physically beating him and trying to choke him to death,” Poppy responded.
“I know, but some couples lose their way.”
“It’s not about that anymore! She could end up killing him!”
“They haven’t even tried counselling yet or anything. They can at least try to make it work.”
“Look at his neck, Jo! You can literally see each of her fingerprints bruised into it.”
Their argument faded out of my consciousness. They were still arguing, weighing up the pros and cons of me leaving her or ringing the police. Although neither of them had actually asked me what I wanted to do. It was the most bizarre feeling I had ever experienced; I simultaneously loved and loathed Amelia. When we were good, our marriage was amazing. But the lows were horrific; I fully agreed with that. I also felt like I had committed far too much time and energy into our relationship to just let it go. I wanted to get back to the good times. The happy times. We were amazing together, but I thought Josephine had a point; we had just lost our way.
“Oh my god. Just stop it!” I shouted.
Both Poppy and Josephine were startled by my outburst and ceased their debate immediately.
“I appreciate you both giving me your points of view, but I didn’t come here for that. I just needed to talk to someone. To be honest, I haven’t decided yet what I am going to do,” I explained.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I just hate seeing my big brother like this,” Poppy said softly.
“You don’t need to be sorry. I’d be the exact same way. Can I stay here tonight?”
“Of course you can,” Josephine said.
“I just need time to think,” I muttered.
We all hugged again, and they finally let me go upstairs by myself. I loved my sister; she had always been there for me since we were kids. Growing up with our parents was difficult, and if I were an only child, I don’t think I’d be the same man I was that day. Josephine was perfect for Poppy, and I envied their relationship. They were so supportive of each other and of each other’s families. They were even facing the same trials as us, but they had reacted to them entirely differently.
I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Amelia’s handprints on my neck had already started going a ripe purple colour. It was sore, too, and it still felt like she had her hands around my neck. I couldn’t place where it all went wrong for us. I found myself endlessly listing possible reasons for how we got there, and I realised that every single one of them was my fault. Or was that what I was meant to think? I didn’t know whether the thoughts I had were my own or they had been forcibly implanted in my head by Amelia.
Any sane person would have walked away from her. I knew that, but I was in love with her. It complicated things. I’d devoted my life to making her happy, and to use a financial term, I was hoping to see the return on that investment. I just wanted to wind back the clock a few years before all this started and try again. My wife, the love of my life, might still be underneath this beast she was becoming. I sat on the edge of the bath with my phone in my hand, searching for couples’ therapists or counsellors who could help. There were plenty of alcoholic groups we could go to that would help her with the drink. I started to feel hopeful until I realised I would have to pitch these to Amelia before she would actually go. That in itself felt like a monumental task.
I hadn’t slept that well for a while. I didn’t know whether it was because Amelia wasn’t beside me or because I’d finally got the abuse off my chest. Nothing had been sorted out officially yet; it just felt good that I was making positive steps in the right direction. Poppy knew now, at least, and I felt so much better unburdening myself of it all. My strength had returned, and I started feeling like I could take on the world again.
It might have been a mistake, but I decided that I would stick it out and at least try to fix the issues. I owed the marriage that, right? Maybe with a bit of external help, we could get back on track and be in the relationship that we always wanted. I didn’t know how I would approach it with Amelia, but I’d have to make her understand that if we didn’t go down that road, the marriage would be over. If it was going to work, I had to take the strength I’d found in Filey back home with me.
I just hoped I wasn’t kidding myself.
XII
THE MAGICIAN
AMELIA
Was I really the person they were describing? I didn’t feel like it. In the heat of the moment, it felt like they were describing someone else. The suggestion that I was a domestic abuser or drunkard made me feel grimy. I methodically went through our relationship from the start until the end, and I began to remember things I’d said and the violence I’d been inflicted. Whatever Harry had told them must have been blown out of proportion, and he was no longer around to correct them. If they had this perception of me ever since we met, why wouldn’t they have intervened sooner?
I wouldn’t stand back and be lectured by Yvonne about drink and drugs. She chain-smoked an entire tobacco harvest each day and drank enough to kill herself ten times over. I could take or leave the drink, truthfully. I wasn’t addicted to it like Yvonne was. The tablets I was on were taking were prescribed to me by an actual doctor, and I didn’t take them often enough if anything. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a saint like my darling sister-in-law Penelope in her perfect home and marriage, and I needed something extra just to feel normal. I resented what they’d said about it making me aggressive, and if Harry was there, he would have defended me. The more I mulled it over, the more I thought they were just trying to hurt me for no apparent reason.
I fully admit that we were going through a rough patch ever since we’d started trying for a baby. What with the house move and Harry changing jobs, we’d taken too much on at once. Nevertheless, I didn’t think the episodes of violence between us were regular enough to be considered a problem. Why would he want to have children with me if he was so scared of me? Harry always championed our relationship and fought for it, but that didn’t fit the image his family had of our marriage.
Poppy and Yvonne were standing in the bay window, staring at me in the car. I decided to start driving. I couldn’t stand to be in their gaze. I didn’t intend it, but instinctively, I’d started driving towards where Harry was buried. I suppose subconsciously, I needed to feel close to him, and I hadn’t visited the cemetery since the funeral. I parked the car and started the long walk to his grave. I took out my phone and sent James a text as I walked.
Did Harry hate me for all the arguments we had?
Harry yearned to solve the disputes between you. I can see he loved you very much.
James’ message confirmed to me what I thought. Either I was misremembering our entire marriage, or they were lying. I reached the grave; the flowers that had been left there had already started to rot after being constantly attacked by the Filey sea air. I removed the unsightly ones and tidied the grave up the best I could. I should have brought something with me.
“Harry,” I whispered, “if you felt like I was ever abusive to you, I’m sorry. I just loved you so much.”
Harry remained silent.