Fiona was surprised at how quickly her crestfallen look had appeared. She guessed Dawn was used to people seeing through her fragile front to the vulnerable person beneath. ‘Your kindness. It’s the sort of thing one shows to a fellow…you know.’
‘Survivor. The word you’re looking for is “survivor”.’ But it didn’t ring true, coming from her lips. Dawn sat down.
‘I’ve suffered, yes. But in the past, not now. I’m with a good person now.’ The comment was more than emphatic: it was defiant.
‘I’m glad for you.’
‘And you? How long has he been doing this to you?’ Breaking eye contact, Fiona lowered the ice pack and re-adjusted the cubes inside. ‘On and off over the last few years.’
‘On and off? But more and more often?’
Fiona pressed the ice pack against her forehead and shut her eyes. More and more often? In truth, she couldn’t tell; her recent past had merged into one long nightmare. ‘He’s under a lot of pressure at work. He’s always so sorry afterwards.’
‘You mean, once he’s sober?’
Fiona opened her eyes, surprised at the accuracy of the guess.
Dawn leaned forward, anger in her voice. ‘They’re always sorry the next morning. But that doesn’t last for long. In fact, it lasts for less and less time. It’s a cycle, don’t you see? It’s a cycle that just gets faster and faster. You have to get out of it.’
Fiona closed her eyes again, but the tears had escaped down her cheeks. ‘You know that’s not so easy. We’ve been married almost twenty years. I haven’t anywhere else to go.’ She started getting ready to stand. ‘In fact, I should get home. He’ll be asleep now. It’ll be safe.’
‘He’s not coming back,’ Dawn said quietly.
‘Sorry?’ Fiona replied, half out of her seat.
‘The man you married. You’re hoping he’ll come back one day, aren’t you?’
Fiona pictured her husband of all those years ago. Slim, a full head of hair, the quantity surveyor eager to work his way up the construction company. She thought of him now. Overweight, balding, face ravaged by drink, the strength she’d once found so reassuring now used against her.
‘He’s gone,’ Dawn continued, laying a hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t go back there tonight. Stay here — there are plenty of empty rooms.’
Fiona gave a hollow laugh. ‘I don’t have any money.’
‘Sod the money.’
‘I can’t have you risking your job because of me. What if your manager found out?’
Dawn smiled. ‘I’m the night manager. As long as you’re out before the day manager arrives at seven, there’s no problem.’
Fiona looked around the room uncertainly. ‘Who actually owns this place?’
‘Some business conglomerate down in London. I’ve never seen them. It was built for the Commonwealth Games last summer and it’s been dying on its arse ever since. Please don’t go back to him. You’d only be setting the whole process in motion again.’
Fiona sighed. ‘Staying the night here won’t achieve anything, other than to aggravate him further. I’ll have to face him at some point.’
‘Why? Have you left any children back there?’
Fiona gave an aggressive shake of her head. She couldn’t face that one, not now.
‘Then put a stop to it for ever. Leave him.’
Fiona stared at the floor. ‘Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me. But leave him for where?’
‘Get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow I’ll put you in touch with some people. There are houses you can go to, places where you’ll be safe.’
‘You mean women’s refuges?’ Fiona said. ‘But they’re for. .’
‘Battered women.’ Dawn completed the sentence for her.
‘Women from all walks of life, of all ages.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Women just like you.’
Dawn got to her feet and removed a bottle of brandy from a cupboard. The sight of it made Fiona’s stomach clench with longing. ‘You could do with a splash of this,’ said Dawn.
Trying not to appear too eager, Fiona extended her cup, watching the rich chestnut liquid as it glugged from the bottle. As she took a thankful sip, more tears spilled silently down her cheeks. ‘Is that how you escaped? By going to a women’s refuge?’
‘More than once,’ Dawn replied, taking a generous sip herself.
‘I’d begun to believe that I was one of those women who always fall for the bastards of this world.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I’m happy. You know what I reckon is most important? Companionship. A partner in life who treats you as equal. To be honest, sex isn’t really that important.’
Fiona almost shuddered at the thought of what her drunken husband would do to her in the bedroom.
The outer doors of the motel opened, and low voices sounded in the foyer.
‘Dawn!’ A woman calling. ‘You back there?’
‘Two seconds,’ Dawn whispered, getting up. ‘Yeah, hang on.’ She hurried into the reception area.
‘Got a spare room?’ The woman’s voice again.
‘Yup. For the night or. .?’
‘An hour.’
Fiona leaned forwards to see out the door. The woman was standing on the other side of the counter, hair tied in a ponytail, long red nails tapping impatiently on the fake wooden surface. Next to her was a man in a suit, looking awkward.
‘That’s twenty pounds,’ Dawn said to him.
‘Ah. Right.’ He fumbled for his wallet. The money was handed over, but Dawn didn’t open the till. Instead the notes went straight into her back pocket. She passed the woman a key.
‘Number four’s free.’
The couple went out through the doors and Dawn came back into the office. Fiona looked at her inquisitively and she shrugged. ‘That conglomerate? I couldn’t live on what they pay me. It’s the only way to make ends meet.’
Fiona’s mind was working, ‘Earlier on, when you asked if it was a john, you meant a…You thought I was a. .’
Dawn looked embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t sure. Your clothes weren’t right, but most women who book in here are working girls. I’m sorry. As soon as you started speaking, I could tell you weren’t.’
Fiona took a gulp of her drink, suddenly realising why the man in the bingo hall had been so callous earlier. She laughed at how her life had shifted.
‘What?’ asked Dawn, smiling nervously.
‘Nothing,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s just that if anyone had told me this morning that I’d be sipping brandy in a brothel in Belle Vue tonight, I’d have thought them mad.’
Dawn’s face relaxed and she held the bottle out again.
Fiona extended her cup but, before tipping the bottle, Dawn said, ‘So you’ll stay here tonight?’
Fiona felt like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff. ‘What are these refuge places like?’
‘Heaven compared to what you’re suffering at home.’
Fiona took a deep breath. ‘OK. I’ll give it a go.’
Dawn’s face broke into a smile and she topped up Fiona’s cup with brandy.
Fiona wrapped a towel round herself and tried to step out of the shower. The brandy was coursing through her veins and she had to grab at the shower curtain. A couple of hoops were ripped off before she regained her balance. Wiping steam from the bathroom mirror, she looked at her face. Aside from the injuries, a good-looking woman with wavy brown collar-length hair looked back.
‘You can do it,’ she said slowly, words slightly slurred. ‘You can leave him.’
The ice had reduced the swelling a bit and she hoped the bruising wouldn’t be too obvious. She wished she had her makeup bag with her. Instead, all she had was a miniature toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste Dawn had found in a desk drawer.
Not surprisingly, acting as night manager of a run-down brothel wasn’t Dawn’s life ambition. As they had worked their way through far too much brandy, she had outlined her plan to emigrate with her partner to Holland, as soon as they’d put enough money aside. Renting rooms out by the hour was going a long way towards letting them realise their plan.
Fiona hung the towel on the rail, then, not trusting her balance, sat on the toilet to put her knickers back on. Carefully she walked across to the bed, peeled back the bedclothes and climbed in. The sheets had worn thin from washing, but they were cool and clean. She flicked the light off and let her head fall to the side.