Anger and Beyond

Part 1

Anger

Chapter 1

The front door closed with a crash. ‘Is that you?’ Gerry called out. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised that it was a stupid greeting, but such was her level of stress these days. She needed to establish some level of communication with Richard before the possibility of yet another row.

‘Why? Were you expecting someone else?’ Richard shouted sarcastically from the front hallway.

She gave a sigh; once again he had come home from work in a foul mood. Her spirits sank, as her heart beat increased, and without realising it, her whole body became tense. Carefully controlling her anger she spoke in as neutral a voice as possible.

‘I’ve made us a salad, and if you are ready, I’ll just whip up an omelette to have with it. Cheese or ham, Richard?’

‘Neither,’ he said angrily, pushing past her as she went into the hallway to greet him. Turning, he went out of the door he had just entered. Back into the January damp and cold, he headed straight to the pub. He hated himself for what he had just done. In fact, when he thought about it later, he was not even sure why he had acted in that way. It was everything; work was not like it used to be with all the form-filling and back-covering paperwork that had to be done. He used to love his job, and he was good at it. That was then; it used to be more exciting and a lot more fun. Come to that, so was life with Gerry. She used to be more exciting and more fun, but then her job had also become a lot more pressurised, and every evening, it seemed she had work to do and could only manage a bloody salad and omelette for an evening meal.

He knew he was being unfair, which made him even angrier. It wasn’t her fault, yet he took his own frustrations out on her, the woman he loved. What the hell is wrong with me? he asked himself as he started on his second pint.

Letting out a long sigh while in her haste to return to the kitchen, Gerry stumbled backwards and knocked against the bikes standing in the hallway; losing balance, she fell with the bikes on top of her. Although not really hurt, she felt shaken and more than a little sorry for herself. I can’t stand much more of this, she thought. It had been a really great day at school: the children had all been so enthusiastic and full of life, still telling stories of their individual Christmas fun. It was the first week of the new term in a new year, and they felt the excitement of new beginnings, just as she had also felt—at least, until she returned home, coming back in high spirits only to find that with Richard’s presence once more in the house, she wished desperately that she were somewhere else.

The first three years living with each other had been exciting, filled with laughter and affection. Their lovemaking, which at first had been passionate, caring, and spontaneous, started to bore Richard. It began by Richard being more innovative and then more and more demanding, seeking higher and higher heights of satisfaction. Gerry wasn’t averse to this; Richard was an extremely attractive and exciting lover. The two of them adored each other and found it difficult not to want to touch each other whenever they were together, but then the demanding and controlling behaviour on Richard’s part continued into all areas of their life together. He demanded to know exactly where Gerry was and what she was doing. He made it quite clear that her friends, especially Freda, were not welcome.

Richard had grown up in a family of seven boys, all highly competitive and all keen sportsmen. His father, a large, strong man, had worked as a miner in South Wales, where Richard lived until he left home after winning a university scholarship. He and his father didn’t have much in common. His father had been brought up in an environment that was very masculine, and his grandfather had also been a miner. Richard’s family had lived in the same village since the 1800s, and despite the fact that coal mining had virtually ceased to exist during the past three decades, neither the villagers nor his parents had moved on to a world where men and women enjoy a more equal relationship.

His father did not understand Richard’s intelligence and considered studying at university to be not very manly. His mother supported him, however, which caused a rift between the two parents. Richard’s father died at the very young age of fifty-six. One memory Richard had of him was from when Richard was only seven years old. He complained to his father that he had been bullied at school. His father’s response was, ‘Did you hit him first?’ When Richard replied that he hadn’t, his father just said, ‘Well, then, what do you expect? In life, Richard, make sure that you hit the other guy first. It’s no good waiting for him to hit you. You may not be able to hit back if the other guy is any good.’ Because Richard often told that story, Gerry believed it had affected him quite deeply.

Until six years ago, Richard was an accomplished rugby player for the Metropolitan Police first team. It was during that time that he started drinking heavily. At first it seemed like part of the rugby club’s social scene on a Saturday evening after the match, and they both enjoyed it. Richard was popular and thrived on the respect that he rightly deserved from his teammates. As his drinking got heavier, though, and his controlling behaviour and quick temper became more apparent, he began to lose that popularity. Like a plant derived of sunshine, he became more and more inward looking. His previous quick smiles and ready jokes became scowls and sarcastic put-downs. The change over the past six years drained the love out of the relationship.

Richard knew that his behaviour was becoming more and more unreasonable, but he just didn’t seem able to put out the fire that burned inside him, making him so angry. Alcohol temporarily cooled that anger.

He was a handsome, dynamic young man, but a combination of stress and too much alcohol had marred the clean-cut features that had attracted all the girls at university; still a striking figure at six foot four, there was, however, a slight paunch where before had been the flat, firm frame of the sportsman that he was. He should have seen a higher rank in his career by now, but his temper had on a few occasions gotten the better of him, and he did not play the corporate political games that seemed to him to be so abhorrent. Although still quite successful in his work tracking down miscreants, his erratic behaviour from time to time had slowed down possibilities of a promotion.

Chapter 2

Sorting herself out from the tangle of the two bikes lying on top of her, Gerry got to her feet, feeling sorry for herself and shedding a few tears, thinking longingly of her parents, wishing those kind, quiet, and very ordinary middle-class people were alive now. Feeling like a child at the age of thirty-three, she wanted her mother and father.

Freda answered the telephone. ‘Freda, hi. It’s Gerry, have you got a minute? I must talk to you. I feel so desperately alone, and I’m scared.’

‘Hi, Gerry. What is it? Is it Richard? What has he done?’

‘Freda, I can’t stay with Richard any longer.’ Trying hard not to cry, Gerry had to sniff, and her voice broke. ‘He says he loves me, but he just wants to control me.’

‘That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard you say for a long time, Gerry,’ Freda replied in her down-to-earth and forthright way. ‘Tell me, has anything happened? Are you hurt?’

‘Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just that I realise that I am no longer me. I don’t like the pathetic, submissive person I’ve become in the past few years. Most of that is because of Richard’s temper. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I need to get away.’ She went quiet for a while as she took a deep breath, still sobbing. ‘I can still make a life for myself, but not with Richard constantly putting me down and sapping my confidence.’

‘You mean his bullying, don’t you?’ Freda said. Gerry didn’t reply to that remark; after all, they were talking about the man she was once madly in love with.

‘I’ve no idea where I’m going, I just know that I must be careful and give myself time whilst I work out my notice at school, in order to avoid more confrontations.’ Once again Gerry had to pause whilst she controlled her emotions. ‘I need a new start, so I want a clean break.’ Gerry took a deep breath. ‘I want you to know, Freda, you are my best friend, and I know that you will keep my secret. I will always stay in touch with you.’ This time she couldn’t control her crying.

‘Look after yourself, Gerry, and please keep in touch. I’ll be worrying about you, but I know you can do it, and it is the right thing to do. Gerry, I’m going to miss you.’

‘Bye, Freda dear, I’m going to miss you too.’ After putting down the telephone, still sobbing, Gerry started to plan her disappearance.

Freda and Gerry had gone to the same North London junior school together, but at the age of eleven, they found themselves in different schools. Both of them attractive in very different ways. Gerry was often called a natural beauty, with blue eyes, light-brown hair, a small turned-up nose, and a clear complexion that needs little or no make-up. Gerry was born to be a teacher; if she could help anyone, Gerry would always try. Kind, quiet, and shy, people instantly felt attracted to and trustful of her.

Freda, on the other hand, classically beautiful, with large dark eyes and long dark hair, was fun loving and sociable. Outgoing and enthusiastic, she made you want to be in her company. They were so different that there was never a feeling of competition between them. When out together, they always had fun.

Gerry, the more intellectual of the two, achieved well at school and went on to university. Freda took a course in hairdressing at the local college and completed an apprenticeship. At the age of only twenty-five, she had married and opened a salon, which soon became very successful. Sadly, Freda’s husband was killed in action in Iraq only one year after their wedding.

Chapter 3

Richard and Gerry had enjoyed many happy vacations during the summer months during their first few years together, trailing the caravan behind the car and stopping wherever they found themselves. During the past three years, it had stood unused and had started to look rather shabby at the bottom of the garden. During the winter months, Gerry quietly put items she would be taking with her into the caravan. This was made easier by the fact that she usually arrived home before Richard. Even when he finished work earlier, it was unusual for him to arrive at the house before 7 p.m. He regularly popped into the pub at the end of the road for a couple of hours. .

They had bought the house in Islington, North London, with the inheritance Gerry had received from her parents. They had shared such good times together at first. Going out on a Saturday when he didn’t have a game of Rugby, playing for the North London police first team, buying things to make the house their home. Richard had even enjoyed doing the do-it-yourself jobs around the house, while she enjoyed painting the walls, making curtains, and covering cushions, enjoying reading homemaking magazines and using whatever they had to achieve the latest fashionable look. They were fortunate enough not to have a mortgage. People would often remark that they were a perfect young couple. Neither wanted children at that stage, she working at her career in teaching, he achieving well in the police, having been promoted to detective at a young age.

Everything was perfect until Richard was dropped from the first team and asked to play in the second team. He saw this as an insult, although he made jokes about being ‘past it’. That disappointment coincided with a different approach to his work: now there was more and more emphasis on well-rounded achievement and less on the number of convictions each officer achieved individually. The change evolved over a period of two years, and during it, he gave up playing rugby but still spent as many hours in the clubhouse, drinking with the boys.

During the months of January and February, Gerry stashed things in the caravan; the weather helped to ensure her secret, but there was still a risk. The situation had become so much easier as they rarely saw each other, and when they did, their conversation was reduced to minimal. Richard’s drinking was still increasing, but this actually helped the situation. Now that they had little to do with each other, most days Richard would fall asleep after eating and snore loudly in the sitting room. Gerry had moved into the guest room and had school papers to mark, so she often spent time in the small room that had been turned into an office. When there was no marking to do, she read a lot about life in France.

She booked a midday channel crossing for March 19. As part of her preparation, she had invested in a new comprehensive and expensive mobile phone and a laptop computer to take with her. She also ordered a new car. On Thursday, March 19, at 8.00 a.m., Richard left the house for work, leaving Gerry with her thoughts as she awaited delivery of the new car. Her emotions were a mix of excitement and fear—not fear of what she was doing but fear of the unknown.

At eight thirty Mike, the garage salesman, arrived with the new car, interrupting her thoughts and demanding action. Mike helped attach the car to the caravan, and as she drove away from the house that had been her home but recently had felt like a prison, she was filled with an assortment of new emotions, including disappointment and anticipation. The true enormity of what she was doing hit, and for a while she let the tears flow.

Stop this nonsense! she thought. This is the most sensible thing you have done in the past six years. She had left a note for Richard saying that she was heading south-west for a few days and would be in touch. She felt that it was almost true: she intended heading south-west—from Boulogne to Rouen in France! Richard would assume that she meant Devon or Cornwall. This would give her several days before he took any action. It would be because he would feel rejected and his pride would be hurt. Pride was important to Richard.

Chapter 4

As she left the ferry at just after 2.00 p.m. local time, the clouds overhead were dark and menacing, and the rain was steady and persistent. The greyness of the day didn’t help her trepidation. Despite feeling sure that she was doing the right thing, a nagging doubt, borne of her latent lack of self-confidence, underscored that feeling. Although nervous, she knew that she had to make sure that she had some food in the caravan and a bottle of gas for heating and cooking.

Coming across a Leclerc supermarket just off the motorway she shopped and filled the car with petrol. Finding a book of French caravan sites in the supermarket, she was very disappointed to learn that the majority of camping and trailer sites remained closed until after Easter; some did not open until June. She decided to make her way south via the few campsites that remained open. It would help put greater distance between her and her previous life.

When she couldn’t find a site in the book near Rouen, where she had anticipated her first stop would be, she remembered a place in Caen that remained open all year. She had spent a holiday there when her parents were alive; she had been eleven at the time. It was probably the last holiday when she could be just a girl and a loving daughter. After that came the more complicated relationships between teenage children and their parents.

She was an only child, much loved and probably more than a little indulged. A very late child, her mother was thirty-nine when she was born. She had a happy, secure childhood, living on a quiet road of identical semi-detached houses. Respectable people leading respectable lives, living in a respectable area. Both parents died when she was in her twenties, and she missed them terribly at this moment, alone in France in miserable weather.

The journey to Caen was a nightmare, and she didn’t arrive at the campsite until seven thirty that night, long after dark. At last the rain had ceased, but it was bitterly cold. Thankfully, she had telephoned ahead, so the site manager had stayed on and was waiting for her. Arriving in the dark taught her a very useful lesson: to plan future journeys to arrive during daylight. The manager, a practical man who didn’t waste time with small talk, soon had her connected to the water and even hooked up the gas bottle for her. He could see that she was exhausted, and wondered why a woman would arrive so late in the day and alone. Resisting the temptation to tell him anything, as she was far too exhausted. She just wanted to sleep, after taking a shower and cooking eggs and bacon with the crusty bread bought in Boulogne.

The next day, she awoke feeling more positive. She visited the bank. Because the Crédit Agricole branch in Caen was a branch specifically for English people living in France, the assistant there was able to give her a lot of advice about the dos and don’ts of French banking. He also advised on basics of the health system and taxation. Deciding to spend another night at the site in Caen before setting off farther south, she used the time to check on sites en route. Avoiding the motorways, she drove south, passing through Le Mans, Tours, Poitiers, and Angoulême, to Périgueux.

On Wednesday, March 26, it occurred to her that she needed to have some sort of idea where she was heading; she couldn’t just keep driving south. She needed a plan to give some sense of direction, at least in the short term. For the past few days she had been avoiding thinking too much, living only for the moment. It was her birthday, and now