Written in the Scars (The Estate Series Book 4) (26 page)

‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Donna shook her head. ‘I just need to get home.’

‘Can I get you a coffee?’

‘No! Could you… would you stay here with me until the taxi gets here?’

‘Of course, madam.’

Donna relaxed a little, knowing that she wouldn’t be alone. All the while she waited, she tried not to think about what had happened, sitting on her hands as they began to shake. She kept her eyes glued on the lift. If Owen came into view, she would run behind the reception desk and beg the security guard to keep him away. God, what had she been thinking to put her trust into someone she hadn’t known for long?

The taxi finally arrived. Donna thanked the security guard and rushed out to the car, sliding into the back seat, closing the door quickly.

‘I need to go to Stockleigh, please.’

‘It will cost you, love,’ the driver told her. ‘It’s a fair way to— ’

‘I don’t care. Please, just take me home.’ 

Donna wrapped her arms around her body as she began to shake. She rested her head on the window, looking out on the darkness as she put distance between her and Owen. For now, she was safe.

She didn’t want to think of what would happen when Owen woke up and found her gone. All she wanted was to get back to The Mitchell Estate.

Chapter Thirty-Four

When Donna awoke the next morning, for a few glorious seconds, she lay contented. Then as the horror that had unfolded the night before came rushing back to her, she sat up in bed with a jolt. Wincing at the pain in her side, she looked around. Then she relaxed a little when she realised she was safe at home.

She pulled herself up to sitting and drew back the duvet. Lifting up her nightdress, she recoiled at the mess she saw. There was a bruise the size of a tennis ball just below her ribs on the right side, and several deep, bloody scratches over her chest and stomach. Her legs too had bruises on them, her vagina felt bruised too. It hurt every time she moved.

Covering herself up again, Donna burst into tears. What a bastard Owen was to trick her like that. To play on her good nature, and the fact that she was struggling to cope; knowing that her life had centred around helping others rather than having any fun herself. He’d found her at her lowest point and used it to get at her – to do that to her.

She shuddered as she thought back to the night before, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as an image of him thrusting into her over and over again played on repeat. How could everything have gone so wrong? She had just wanted a bit of love in her life, someone to share the lonely times with. A bit of levity amongst the drudgery of her daily routine. Now all she would be left with was hideous memories of the attack. In time, she might be able to block those out, but Owen had gone too far when he had threatened her daughter. She couldn’t let him get to Keera.

She jumped as her mobile phone burst into life and reached for it, only to see Owen’s name flashing across the screen. Quickly, she cut the call. She didn’t want to speak to him yet. But it rang again and again.

For fear of waking Keera, she switched it onto silent but still it kept ringing, vibrating as the screen lit up. Finally after a couple of minutes, it stopped.

Carefully, Donna pulled herself up again, swinging her legs slowly to the floor. Pain shot through her body, and she wondered if she’d need to go to A&E for an X-ray on her ribs. Everything ached too, like she had the flu and wasn’t capable of supporting her own weight.

Was she still in shock? After all, it had been less than twenty-four hours since she had been attacked.

Rape
.

The word flashed across her mind. She’d been raped, hadn’t she? Tears ran down her cheeks. There was no doubt in her mind, yet she could never tell anyone what had happened. She had seen what Owen was capable of; but the power to keep her daughter safe was in her hands. She couldn’t risk him going after Keera.

When she’d got home last night, Keera had been in bed. When Keera had shouted out to her, asking her why she was home so early, Donna had popped her head around her bedroom door and made up a story, saying that she hadn’t been feeling well so had come home rather than stay out overnight.

Even so late, she’d showered, crying as she had scrubbed at her skin. When it was red raw, Donna had climbed into bed and cried again.

No, she wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened. The bruising on her cheek would go, the scratches on her body would heal. No one would know any different from the outside. But inside, the scars would stay with her forever.

Her phone started lighting up again, vibrating across the carpet. She toyed with declining the call once more, but knew if she didn’t, Owen would only continue to phone, and she’d have to speak to him at some point. Would it be better to get it over and done with?

She answered the call. ‘What do you want?’

‘That’s a charming way to speak to the love of your life.’

Donna clutched her free hand to her ribs. ‘There’s a very fine line between love and hate.’

She heard him laugh again. ‘How are you feeling?’

Donna gasped. ‘How the hell do you think I’m feeling? You attacked me, you bastard.’

‘I did nothing of the sort.’

‘You attacked me!’

‘You enjoyed it.’

‘I did not!’

‘Well, I can’t remember you saying the code word to stop.’

‘How the hell could I speak when you shoved a scarf in my mouth!’

Another laugh. ‘Oh, yes, silly me.’

Whereas Owen’s laughter yesterday had made her smile, it now chilled her to the core.

‘I don’t want you to call again,’ she told him.

‘Fine by me. I’ve done what I set out to do.’

‘You heartless -’

‘Now, now, let’s not get all moody. You had a bit of fun, and you didn’t like it rough. But I won’t leave you alone until you agree not to mention this to anyone, you got that?’

Donna disconnected the phone and began to cry again. Owen had her over a barrel. She couldn’t let him get away with what he’d done, but she couldn’t risk him getting to Keera either.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. ‘Are you okay, Mum? ‘

‘Yes, I’m fine, love. I feel a lot better now.’

The door handle went down.

‘I’d love a cup of tea if you’re offering?’ she shouted, hoping that Keera would leave her alone until she was dressed.

‘Okay. I’ll bring you one up.’

‘Thanks.’

As soon as she heard footsteps treading down the stairs, Donna pulled herself out of bed and across to the wardrobe. In the full-length mirror, she lifted up her nightdress again to see the damage that Owen had wreaked.

Through her tears, she took photos of her injuries before covering them up again. She might not want anyone to see them, but she was certainly going to record them for herself.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Monday morning and Josie was at her desk when her phone rang. She reached for it, recognising the number. She’d left a message with one of the advice officers she knew at the Citizen’s Advice Bureau.

‘Den! Thanks for getting back to me. I need a bit more information about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I’ve been told you’re the man,’ she said.

‘Sure, how much do you know already?’

‘Well, not a lot really. Only what the media has reported, or what I’ve Googled. I’d like to know more about the symptoms.’

‘Well, someone with PTSD might experience feelings of isolation, irritability and guilt, angry outbursts, sleeping problems and difficulty concentrating. This state of mind is known as hyperarousal.’

Josie sighed. ‘What a horrible thing to suffer.’

‘Then there’s re-experiencing.’

‘Re-experiencing?’ Josie reached for a notepad and pen.

‘It’s when a person involuntarily and vividly re-lives the traumatic event in the form of flashbacks, nightmares, repetitive and distressing images or sensations, physical sensations – such as pain, sweating, nausea or trembling. Some people have constant negative thoughts about their experience, repeatedly asking themselves questions that prevent them from coming to terms with the event. For example, they may wonder if they could have done anything to stop it, which can lead to feelings of guilt or shame.

‘Then there’s the mental health problems – depression, anxiety or phobias, self-harming or destructive behavior, such as drug or alcohol misuse. Physical symptoms can be headaches, dizziness, chest pains and stomach aches. Need I go on?’

Josie thought back to some of the things Lewis had shared with her. ‘And it can happen long after the event, am I right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it can occur weeks, months or even years later. Although, it’s not clear exactly why some people develop the condition and others don't. In most cases, the symptoms develop during the first month after a traumatic event. However, in a minority of cases, there may be a delay of months or even years before symptoms start to appear. Each case is different. Has he been diagnosed?’

‘No,’ said Josie.

‘Shame. If he was, he’d be entitled to a disablement pension.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Ask him to call in and see me and I can point him in the right direction, if you like?’

‘I will, thanks,’ said Josie, ‘although that might be an issue in itself. He doesn’t want to talk about things.’

‘Maybe not to you or I, but perhaps someone else who is suffering with PTSD. If we ask him to get help too often, he’ll think we’re preaching. If he meets other sufferers, he might open up.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Josie wrote down a few more details after she had finished the call. She really hoped that she could persuade Lewis to meet up with Den. Maybe if Lewis talked to someone else going through the experience, he might open up.

Maybe he wouldn’t but it was definitely worth a shot.

Mission impossible? She hoped not.

Lunchtime and Lewis was sitting in the park. He’d just had a kick about with Dan and a few of his mates. Sweat was pouring from him but he didn’t want to remove his T-shirt while he was so close to a group of young children.

The boys had gone about ten minutes ago, but Lewis had found he didn’t want to leave. Despite having a laugh with Dan, he knew he’d only end up in the pub if he did.

He’d had a miserable weekend, feeling utterly depressed after being turned down for another job. The woman at the job centre had told him there had been twenty-three people ahead of him already. Twenty-three! What hope had he got of getting an interview for that? He didn’t even want the job anyway. Who’d want to stand at a bench sorting out screws into different boxes?

He glanced around the park. There were lots of people around, mainly mums and small children, a few groups of older kids.

‘Hey,’ a voice shouted. ‘Lewis Prophett?’

Lewis turned his head slightly to see a man around his age. The man was a lot shorter than him, made worse by the fact that his paunch was bursting out of his shirt. His skin had seen better days and his thin, greying hair needed a cut. When he smiled, he revealed far less than straight white teeth.

Lewis peered at him through narrowed eyes. Although his face looked vaguely familiar, even after searching his memory he couldn’t remember his name.

‘Nick Steadman.’ The man held up a hand to wave slightly. ‘You must remember me. You were in my class at school.’

Lewis nodded as he finally recognised the man’s name.

Without asking if it was all right to join him, Nick sat down next to Lewis. He pointed to a boy of about seven who was on the swings. ‘That’s my lad, there. Drake. Which one is yours?’

‘Mine’s just left with his mates. Been playing footie with him,’ said Lewis.

There was an awkward silence.

‘It must be years since I last saw you,’ said Nick.

‘I’ve been around.’ Lewis stared into the distance.

‘I heard you went in the army. I could never do that. I have enough taking orders from the wife all day and night. Nag, nag, nag.’ He sniggered. ‘How about you – are you married?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not together.’

‘How long were you away?’

‘Twelve years.’

Nick’s eyes widened. ‘Did you have to stay in that long?’

Lewis shook his head. ‘I got out two years ago.’ When Nick still looked confused, he explained, ‘I wanted to do something with my life. And it was better than hanging around here.’

Two girls came running past them, screaming as one chased the other.

Nick looked at Lewis again. ‘So what are you doing now?’

‘I’m in between jobs.’

‘Same here.’ Nick laughed. ‘Have been for near on five years now. As long as the government keep paying me to stay at home, that’s where I’ll stay too.’

‘Rip off Britain.’