happy families

She jumped involuntarily as she heard the door slam downstairs, but she forced herself to stay there on the big plush sofa, in the room they called the den, watching the tennis players leap around the court. There was nothing else to do after all. She looked at her glass. The ice was melting into the whiskey. She took another sip, and then another. It helped numb her just enough to carry on.

Then she heard a voice. Oh thank god it wasn’t him at all, it was one of the kids. Kids – they were pretty much grown up but all still at home. He didn’t like anyone to leave his control zone. He kept them there with money of course – David for instance, whose voice she could hear – he was supposed to manage the properties. The deal included staying at home – no home, no money.

She knew he needed it more than the others too – except Simon, and that was only for the time being, while he was in Brixton. When he came out it would be the same thing all over again. Simon was hopeless, a dreamer. All he wanted was enough heroin to get him through the day and a fast motorbike to impress his friends.

David was cunning, like his father, but David used his cunning only to fuel his cocaine habit. The rents from the properties went straight up his nose. She knew that. It would come to a head soon, when her husband found out, and there would be more scenes, more violence. She sighed and forced her eyes back to the television. She pressed her brightly painted fingernails into her hand until they dug deeply into the flesh. The pain made her feel calmer.

From downstairs she heard the sound of the kitchen door. The carpet was so thick you couldn’t hear when someone climbed the stairs, but she knew David would be with her soon. She smoothed her hair and took another sip. It was working nicely now. Maybe her husband would be in a good mood when he got home. Perhaps he would have done a deal big enough to satisfy his ego.

She smelt David before she saw him. That aftershave he always wore entered the room before him. She barely turned her head, so it was a minute before she noticed he had someone with him. “Mum – this is Emily”. Oh dear god let her leave before he comes home. She looked at the girl, unsmiling. “Wimbledon?” Emily asked brightly. Then the front door slammed again, and she knew this time it really was him. “David, get me another drink” she said, holding her empty glass out. She was determined to stay there on the sofa.

The girl looked unsure as to what to do. She didn’t sit down. She waited awkwardly until David came back from the drinks cabinet. He kissed his mother and began some breezy small talk about the tennis, as if everything were quite normal. She saw his eyes dart to the open door. Together, they waited silently for the entrance of his father.

And there he was finally, grim faced. She prayed David would have the sense to get the girl out before it started. She could not bear it when other people saw.

He almost managed. But as they were leaving, after having been introduced politely, Emily just happened to turn around, and out of the corner of her eye she was astonished to see a middle-aged man aiming a vicious punch at his wife’s head