Over My Shoulder: a dark psychological drama about power and control by Patricia Dixon

Author:Patricia Dixon [Dixon, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2018-08-23T22:00:00+00:00

I sobbed as I cleaned up the awful mess, collecting soggy, sauce-smeared wrapping paper and deformed cardboard boxes which encased the gifts I’d lovingly bought for my family. Not one was left untouched. Shane’s sweatshirt had been ripped apart, the hood and sleeves dismembered and flung to different corners of the room. The check lumberjack shirt for Dad was in a similar state but when I found the little statue I’d bought for Mum, with the head and arms smashed off, the pathetic sight of it ripped my heart apart. The box of Thornton’s chocolates was mashed and distorted, some of the Belgian delights were scattered across the floor or hidden beneath the sofa and Mum’s bag of sugared almonds rolled balefully into the pile of rubbish which I swept into the centre of the room.

Kane remained upstairs for the duration of the task. I’d heard him in the bathroom, taking a shower, something I desperately needed because by then I really did stink. During the clean-up, between bouts of desperation tempered by fear of winding Kane up again, I managed to assemble my thoughts and quell the more unhelpful agitators gathering in my brain. They urged me to grab my car keys and make a run for it, then keep my foot on the accelerator and get as far away from Kane as I could. The next suggestion was to ring the police and have him arrested for assault – the evidence would be staring them in the face and a night in the cells was the least he deserved, then I could go to my parents.

And there it was, the glowing spectre of my family, looming large and hovering above me like the Holy Spirit itself, casting a warm, golden orb of light, beckoning me home. The serene perfection of this image, of them, sleeping peacefully in their beds without a care in the world was the very thing which prevented me from running straight into their loving arms. Yes, it would have been simple, to listen to a voice which screamed at me to flee, but another told me to look at the time, it was three o’clock, only five hours to go. Surely I could make it through to daylight hours and a more suitable time to descend on my parents?

If I kept my head down and didn’t rattle his cage – because for now the beast appeared to be sleeping – I could be with my family for breakfast. Whilst I scraped sauce off the floor and sobbed into my tattered gifts, I’d already concocted a believable story as to why I’d arrived empty-handed. They’d understand and be sympathetic, concerned and angry perhaps but nonetheless supportive and in an attempt to cheer me up, would insist we got on with the day and have some fun. They were good like that. They were perfect. All I had to do was survive a few more hours, my ultimate aim to be with those I loved the most and for a million reasons, didn’t deserve to be tainted by all of this.

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