The Solicitor Calls

'I've just been putting a bundle of papers together for the court and there are a few questions,' came the measured tones of Mr Harker, the solicitor. 'Dr Asperger says that he is not employed by any internet betting organisation and never has been.'

'But his name is on their website, I showed it to you last time I saw you. Technically, he isn't employed by them but he is a training associate. He doesn't get paid by them but he does earn money training other people.' I blubbered, shocked at Jay's nerve. He was playing this game right to the line, staying just this side of honest and back to his usual tricks.

'Can you send me the website address please? And another thing, he says you had a trial separation of four months in 2001. Is that correct?' Mr Harker sounded surprised that I had the strength of character to separate from Jay for an appreciable amount of time.

'Does it make any difference?' I gasped in fear.

'No, don't worry, he just wrote it and I was checking with you. It really doesn't matter for the financial agreement. Did you separate?'

'No, there was no trial separation in 2001, it was in 2002.'

'Are you sure? And was it for four months?'

'I can check, I'll have it in my diary, hang on a second. I'm sure it wasn't four months and I'm sure it was in 2002.' I reached over to the shelf of old diaries, plucking up the diary for 2002. 'Anyway, I can easily prove the date, the police would have a record. He was chasing me around the house, pushing me around and threatening to kill me. Nina was so scared that she phoned 999 and the police came over.'

My mind rushed back eight years, to one winter's night in 2002. The children were in bed, asleep, we were sitting drinking wine in the sitting room. I had planned the whole evening carefully, children to bed early, favourite dinner, glass of wine to calm him down, reassurance about how much I loved him, how much I was concerned about his stress levels. He was almost taken in, at least until he realised I wasn't going to spend the evening extolling his virtues. I brought the subject round gently 'Jay, I'm a bit worried about you and Nina. You haven't spoken to her much now for months. She's getting really upset, would you like to talk about it?' I was initially proud of my subtlety. I hadn't mentioned that he was shouting at her on a daily basis, that he was pushing her out of the way in the hurry to get away from her and that I was calming her down every day, trying to stop her from crying, reassuring her that he still loved her, in spite of the evidence which was obvious to everyone. He sat up straight, staring me out, his mood suddenly changing from self preening to his silent anger.

My calm, measured approach was clearly not working but I was determined not to give up. Nina was too upset for me to let it drift on. 'You have to talk to me about it, you can't treat her like that anymore. It's cruel' He remained sitting there, motionless, angry and silent. We sat there, polarised in our respective attitudes for ages. I tried again to get him to talk but he wouldn't. I began to feel angry at him. I had spent time and money planning a cosy chat which would solve Nina's current misery. I picked up my glass of wine and threw it at him, missing him but hitting the cream curtains. By now I was upset, our voices rose, waking the children. I could hear Nina walking towards the stairs and anxiously calling down into the dark hallway 'Please don't shout at each other!'

'It's ok, Daddy and I are just having a chat. It's really not important, go back to bed, I'll be up in a minute,' I tried to reassure her but walked into the kitchen, reaching out for a coke bottle and pouring it on to the floor. Jay had followed me in and watched me, silent and angry. 'I'm going to wreck this kitchen until you talk to me, you can't just ignore it like this, we have to talk!' my voice raised to the silly, high pitched squeak I always manage to resort to when I'm angry and upset. Jay watched me as I poured the bottle on the floor, his face contorted in a grimace of hatred. I reached out to the olive oil bottle but Jay snatched it off me, screaming that he would kill me. I ran out of the room, in time for the children to come downstairs and watch him pushing me. I ran out of the house towards the car, my eyesight blurred by tears. I could hear Nina crying at Jay 'I'm going to phone the police if you don't stop, I mean it' as I jumped into the car. Jay came out and loomed over the windscreen, 'She's phoned the police, they are coming over, you'd better come indoors' he calmly said, turned and walked back in. I followed meekly, to be greeted by the children anxiously holding on to me. 'I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done it,' sobbed Nina, 'I was so scared he was going to kill you. I'm sorry.'

The police arrived to find Jay sitting quiet and composed in the sitting room and me holding myself together, ashamed that someone had finally discovered my sad little secret. They spoke to Jay in the sitting room whilst I went into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. I heard them talking, with Jay's indistinct voice rising in a complaint. I was in the far corner of the kitchen when they came to talk to me. I looked away from them, unable to make eye contact. They asked me what happened and I brushed the incident aside, I tried talking to him but he couldn't talk, things got out of hand, our daughter was upset, she called the police.'

'Would you bring a prosecution with our support?'

The words shocked me, my hand shook as I shut the dishwasher door, 'He's my husband, I can't do that to him, he's going through a lot of stress at work, he can't help it, he's not normally like this, he usually just shouts, I..........'

'But that's abuse, just as much as hitting you. It's emotional abuse, you shouldn't have to put up with it. He'll only stop when you bring a prosecution and he moves out.'

But I couldn't do it. If I admitted the abuse then I admitted that I was abused and that's something that happens to pathetic, weak women. I wasn't abused, I was in control of the situation, I was strong, it's just sometimes it got a bit too much for me. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. The policeman put his arm around me. I struggled to get free, I must not let anyone be nice to me, then I'd feel sorry for myself, be honest about the relationship I was in and give up. But there was something so kind and caring about that shoulder, and the tears started flowing. For sixteen years I had kept those tears back and finally they were released. I sobbed uncontrollably into the uniform of that nameless policeman, the corner of the room becoming a humid micro-climate of tears and strings of mucus. I knew that by acknowledging the true facts of the relationship, I had sounded its death knell, I also knew the policeman would have to put his jacket in for dry-cleaning. Here I was, a nuisance and a failure, the tears flowed more.

I dragged myself back to the present, to hear Mr Harker's voice 'Was he prosecuted?'

'No, they asked me to press charges but I couldn't, he was my husband, I couldn't do that to him.' My mind lingered on that damp, uniformed shoulder, which I could never thank enough. 'Ah, I've found it in my diary. The police came over on the first of February, he would have left on the second. He was back by the middle of April. Here, 14th April, we were in Ireland, on holiday. He organised it.'

Dublin, Spring 2002. Cold weather, hot coffee shops, the Book of Kells, the Barracks. Back to the hotel. The children falling asleep in their bedroom, the door between the two rooms slightly ajar so I could hear them if they disturbed. Nights of physical passion, me trying to wake some vestige of love in him, him merely scratching an itch. Too late to back out, having to perform my wifely duties, meeting his needs, searching for some hint that he loved me, that he cared for us, that he wanted to be with us. Continually pushing that vision of a damp, uniformed arm, a man's voice ' It's emotional abuse, you shouldn't have to put up with it.' out of my mind. Jay rolling off me, falling asleep, fulfilled. Me lying on the bed, tears slowly dribbling down the sides of my face until my hair was damp and my eyes gritty.

'About the house valuation ....'

'Ah yes, he wrote again, demanding a valuation, stressing that the judge and said he could change his mind.'

'But she didn't, I'm sure she didn't.'

'No, I don't suppose she did. But don't worry, he says she did so I've written to him, telling him that we had preempted his demand and enclosing the latest valuation. He's played straight into our hands, your new valuation is significantly less than the previous valuation.'