Page 28 of The Art of Loving You

The month after we had begun dating, Jack and I were strolling across the park, his arm slung over my shoulders when we’d passed Owen. I’d felt myself begin to shake.

‘Who was that?’ Jack asked, throwing a glance behind him.

‘That was my ex.’ My voice was small.

Jack stopped walking. ‘Did he … did he hurt you, Libby?’ He tilted my chin with his fingers so I was looking into his eyes.I could see the concern in his own.

‘Not physically but … he wasn’t a good man. He lied to me. A lot.’

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Jack led me to a bench and we sat, the sun warming our backs. I raised my face to the cloudless sky and closed my eyes, feeling the heat in the day, the slight whisper of a breeze against my cheeks. Plump ducks quacked as they waddled around the edge of the pond.

Jack didn’t rush me and when I was ready to speak again my words were quiet; shame had shrunk my voice.

‘Owen was my first boyfriend. I was seventeen and … I’d never been outgoing like Alice. I was grateful when he took an interest in me and at first … it was … I was happy.’ I turned to Jack, feeling the tears welling in my eyes. ‘I don’t know when it stopped being okay.’

I took a moment to compose myself, watching the bees hover around the bright yellow flowers in front of us.

‘He began to break dates, lie about where he’d been. He was seen in the pub kissing another girl. I confronted him and he told me he was comforting her because her mum was ill and he put such a spin on it I believed him.’ I couldn’t look at Jack. I could feel my skin burning with humiliation and yet there was something about him that made me feel safe as he listened, holding my hand, not judging me. ‘He began stealing from my purse and … I don’t know. Not growing up with two parents, I didn’t know what was normal in a relationship. I knew it wasn’t right though. Each time I tried to talk to him about his behaviour he had an excuse and most of the time I ended up feeling it was my fault. For three years I let him walk all over me.’ I swiped the tears from my cheeks.‘When he finally ended it he looked me in the eye and told me he was really sorry for the way he’d behaved. He said … he said he knew he’d treated me terribly but that he realised he’d never loved me. He’d fallen for somebody and had learned from his mistakes and wanted things to be different with her. The worst thing was, he sounded so sincere, it’s probably one of the only times he was honest with me.’ That honesty had sliced through me, the cold, hard truth that I wasn’t good enough to be treated with respect.

I had to take a deep breath before I could meet Jack’s gaze, wondering what I’d see in his eyes – sympathy, disgust, a realisation I was unlovable? – but instead there was a tenderness that made the tears form once more.

Jack tucked my hair behind my ear. ‘I promise you, Libby, I will never lie to you.’

And he hadn’t.

I was reading too much into Faith’s message; I’d find out eventually what she meant but Jack had never let me down.

It was almost ten o’clock. I had time to nip into town, stock up on Lemsip and Soothers and extra soft tissues before Maggie arrived.

It felt odd to be driving through country roads to reach the shops, rather than walking everywhere as we would have done from the flat. The car climbed a hill and it seemed as though I was driving into the swirling mist.

It only took fifteen minutes to reach civilisation. The houses dark and drab, too close together. Pavements glistening with damp.

I’d slotted my car into a sixty-minute parking bay and was striding in the direction of the chemist when I realised I’d be passing it.

The alley.

The thought stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t want to see the place Jack could have died. My toes scrunched inside my shoes as I willed my feet to move. I couldn’t avoid this street forever. I reassured myself that Jack was at home safe and sound, tucked up in bed. There was nothing here that could hurt me.

It was just a place.

But still, that’s what Jack would have thought on Thursday. My heart beat faster. The world didn’t seem quite so safe any more. I knew bad things happened, of course I did. I read the news, watched the TV. Part of our plans were to give restless teenagers a purpose other than roaming the streets looking for trouble, but knowing the statistics of crime and having somebody that you love experience something so brutal were two different things entirely.

Dizziness engulfed me. I steadied myself against a wall, my hands pressing against the rough bricks.

It took several deep breaths before I could set off again at a slow walk. I rounded the corner and the sight in front of me was wounding.

Flowers.

Flowers taped to the lamp-post at the end of the alley.

This was where the mugger died. This was where he ran into the path of an oncoming car. I was almost in a trance as I moved towards the already wilting carnations. Underneath them, a picture of a laughing boy, freckles dotting his cheeks, a gap in his front teeth. ‘RIP Kenny’ was written on the photo in black marker. Although I knew that Kenny wasn’t the innocent child depicted in the photograph, it was hard to equate him with the adult Kenny who had almost torn my life apart. Had his mother left the photo and flowers?His father? It was incredibly sad his life had been cut short. It was all such a waste. I fought back tears, not quite sure who I was crying for; Jack? Me? Kenny? His family? All of us? I just couldn’t unpick my twisted feelings – all I knew was I had to leave, get away. The buildings were shifting towards me, the sky pressing down. The smell of bacon drifting from the burger van up the road turning my stomach.

I shouldn’t have come here. I’d thought that once Jack was discharged from hospital the worst was over but the hidden scars, the emotional scars, would be harder to heal – for both of us. When the police had mentioned victim support I had dismissed the idea. I hadn’t felt like a victim, and that wasn’t how I saw Jack but now … now I felt small and scared and overwhelmed.

Unsafe.

I couldn’t feel the solidity of the pavement under my feet. I was detached, not fully present in my body.

---