Page 5 of Saving Ren
“No, I didn’t.” Jeanette looks at me waiting for more. Not only do I not have it, but I’m also not about to spill my guts about my personal life to my bank manager.
My head spinning, I let out a long breath and begin to stand.
“Thanks, Jeanette. I’ll try and find out what’s going on and get some funds transferred from the business across, but they probably won’t show up until Monday.”
“No worries, Lauren. Hopefully, it’s like you say, and Jay’s just robbing Peter to pay Paul while waiting for a bill to be settled for money owing to the business.”
I offer her a weak smile. Both of us knowing that probably isn’t the case.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I sit in my car outside the bank and consider my options. We have a safe at home. I know it contains documents and jewellery as well as the money Jay keeps in there from cash jobs he’s not declared through the business. The alarm is linked to an app on our phones, and we both get alerts when it’s opened. I’ve had no alerts lately, so I know he hasn’t been in there, but he’ll get the alert if I open it.
I know my boys won’t hesitate to help me out, but I don’t want to drag them into this. I could ask my family, but again, I’d much rather keep them out of this until I’m away from Jay. Starting my car, I come to a decision. I know who it is that’ll have my back, offer me money, a bed, and anything else I might need. I spend the drive home playing out in my head exactly how I’m going to explain everything to my girls tonight.
* * *
Despite my building nerves,I’ve been looking forward to this night all week. After the way things have played out over the past couple of days, a loud, raucous night of drunken girl talk, the chance to forget about everything else and the decision I’ve come to, is needed more than ever. I’ve never disclosed the violent nature of my domestic situation to any of my girlfriends. As far as they’re concerned, I have a great marriage. And for over twenty years, I did. That’s the gutting thing about all of this. What once was so good has become incredibly bad in such a short space of time, and I still don’t know why it’s happened. The sad fact now is, I don’t care why. I’ve come to realise the past couple of days that it’s gone past that point, and my mind is made up. I just hope one day, Jay wakes up and realises all that he’s thrown away. I’m a good person. I’ve been a good wife and mother. I’ve given everything to those roles, but now I need to take care of me. The level of violence Jay aimed at me the other night is the worst ever. I know I should’ve spoken up sooner, got out earlier, fought back, whatever, but I honestly always thought I could fix things, and it breaks my heart to know that now, I don’t want to.
Before I went to the bank this afternoon, I spent the morning loading my car with family photo albums and other keepsakes that Jay wouldn’t notice were missing. He has a golf day with the boys tomorrow, the course over an hour’s drive away. Once he leaves, I plan on packing the rest of my stuff. Then I’ll remove the cash and anything else I need from the safe and be gone before he can get back home. I don’t yet know where I’m going, I’ve not thought that far ahead. I just know before there’s a repeat of what happened five nights ago, I need to get out.
* * *
As a child,I’d hated my curly red hair. It’d made me a target for bullies, and I’d had to put up with so much name-calling, it got to the point I’d sworn that as soon as I was old enough, I’d have it straightened and dye it black. But at around the age of fifteen or sixteen, I’d realised my curly red mane made me stand out from the crowd. All of my friends were blonde or brunette, and I enjoyed the sense of individuality it gave me, and I won’t lie, I began to love the attention my red hair garnered.
With the help of a good quality styling product and my GHD’s, tonight I’m wearing my hair in big bouncy, seventies style waves, rather than its natural loose curls.
I’d opted on jeans, tucked into long boots, and a chiffon blouse, with a short leather jacket over the top as my outfit. As I got dressed, Jay’s words from Sunday night and previous times over the past few months play through my head.
‘Useless fat bitch.’
‘Ugly fat fuck.’
‘What the fuck did I ever see in you?’
‘You’ve let yourself go, Lauren. Look at the fucking state of you.’
For a few short moments, I’d felt delighted that everything I put on felt loose, but when I remembered the extra layer of foundation and concealer I’d had to wear to hide the bruise on my cheek and the ugly purple now black bruise covering my hip, the cost of the weight loss caused me to steady myself at the bathroom sink, and draw in a few deep breaths so I wouldn’t cry and ruin my makeup.
I was fortunate to have been blessed with good genes, and with a good skincare regime, a few injections, and a lot of vanity, I’d always looked younger than my forty-four years, but staring at myself in the mirror now, for the first time in my life, I look older than my years. I’d done what I could with my makeup, but as I take in my watery gaze, the dark circles under my eyes, and the hollows under my cheeks, there’s no disguising the amount of weight even I hadn’t realised I’d dropped and the fact that it’s aged me.
Fighting the burn of tears and the tremble of my lips, I stare down at my hands as they grip the marble counter, and I make a decision. Pursing my lips, I blow out a couple of breaths, pull off my wedding, engagement, and eternity rings, and throw them in my makeup bag.
“Fuck Him,” I tell my reflection through gritted teeth.
My phone buzzes from where it sits on the edge of the sink, and I physically jump at the sound.
“Motherfucker.” I laugh at my reflection while pressing my palm to my chest. My eye is instantly drawn to my bare hand. A hand that, until this week, has worn some kind of a mark of my commitment to Jason East since I was eighteen years old.
“Fuck Him,” I repeat, before reading the message from Jo, letting me know she was five minutes away in the cab.
Swiping on my lipstick and giving myself another spray of perfume, I head out to the front of my house.
* * *
Slidinginto the cab next to Jo, I’m grateful for the darkness as the interior light switches off. As an accountant, Jo has an eye for details, and not much gets past her, and I’m now hyper-aware of the fact, my weight loss is apparent. After we air kiss and exchange ‘how are you’s’, I sit as far back into the corner as possible.
“Hair looks good. It’s got long. How’ve you been?”
A wall of every kind of emotion hits me, causing my resolve not to cry to crumble. It’s the ‘how are you’s,’ and the ‘you okay’s?’ that get to me every time.
