How To Throw Your Life Away Read online

  How to

  Throw Your Life Away

  Laurie Ellingham

  Copyright © 2016 Laurie Ellingham

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1530104807

  ISBN-13: 978-15301048

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  How to Throw Your Life Away

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  Also by Laurie Ellingham | The Reluctant Celebrity

  ABOUT LAURIE ELLINGHAM

  To A, T and L, with love

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to those in the know who answered my questions about police procedures. Thanks also to eagle-eyed Kathryn Jones for her proof reading skills, and to Maggie and Mel Ewings, my first draft readers. My dad, Steve, also needs a mention, for his unwavering encouragement. And finally, Andy, my amazing husband, who is always in my corner, even when I start sentences with ‘and.’

  Writing can be a lonely path, so I’d like to say a special thanks to the writers and bloggers on #BookConnectors for making me feel part of a wonderful community.

  CHAPTER 1

  Saturday

  Katy stared at the shiny silver bolt holding the table leg to the floor and wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, how she’d come to throw her life away. Not to mention, how she’d come to be arrested for assault.

  Sergeant Mackenzie pressed a button on the black recording device until it beeped. ‘Interview number alpha uniform six three nine. Today’s date is Saturday the second of July, 2015. The time is six thirty-eight pm. Present in the interview is myself, Sergeant Mackenzie, and my colleague, PC Donavon. Please state your full name and address for the record.’

  ‘Katy Marie Davenport. Fifteen Hamilton Close, Henley, Essex.’ Her heart thumped in her chest. Nausea danced and churned in her empty stomach.

  ‘Please confirm that you are waiving your right for legal representation.’

  ‘I am.’

  Did she even know a solicitor? There was Mr Melford who had worked on the purchase of her house a few years ago, but he wasn’t the fastest solicitor in the world. If she counted on him, she’d probably find herself celebrating next week’s thirty-third birthday with Sergeant Mackenzie and PC Donavon. What was the point of a solicitor anyway? She’d done it. She’d thrown her life away.

  Sergeant Mackenzie reached into a pocket in his uniform, removed a black notebook and flipped it open. He looked a little like her dad. Maybe it was because he was about the same age, or maybe it was the comb-over. Or maybe it was because the last time Katy had felt so ashamed was when Claire had persuaded her to sneak out of the house when they were sixteen and go to a nightclub she’d been forbidden to go to.

  Her dad had been waiting at the kitchen table for her in his red plaid dressing gown and matching slippers. ‘I’m not angry, I’m disappointed,’ he’d said. How ashamed she’d felt then. And now? Now shame didn’t begin to cover it.

  ‘In your own words, Miss Davenport, please explain the event which led to us being called to the stated address earlier this evening.’

  ‘Er right,’ Katy drew in a shaky breath as heat crept across her cheeks, ‘I hit my boyfriend over the head with the TV remote.’

  PC Donavan let out a sharp series of coughs. Katy glanced at the young policeman. Was he laughing at her? PC Donavan looked too young and too short to be in a policeman’s uniform. Didn’t they have a height requirement anymore? He’d had to stand on his tiptoes and stretch his arm out just to guide Katy’s head into the police car. As if being led away from her house by two policemen wasn’t embarrassing enough.

  Sergeant Mackenzie turned his eyes towards his colleague, and the young officer fell silent.

  ‘Your boyfriend is Mr Adam Cartright?’ Sergeant Mackenzie asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when you say that you hit your boyfriend with a television remote, was it just once or more than once?’

  ‘Four or five times I think.’ The heat in her cheeks spread down to her neck as she spoke. The events of the afternoon felt distorted and unreal, as if she was recalling a vivid dream, or a nightmare, except it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. It was much worse. This was her life.

  ‘What was Mr Cartright doing at the time of the attack?’

  Katy’s entire body cringed. Had she caught him in bed with next door’s gorgeous nineteen year old daughter? No. Had he told her it was over after five years of her life spent with him? No. Had he been sitting on the sofa minding his own business? Yes.

  ‘He was watching television,’ Katy said, watching the look of confusion cross the officers’ faces. ‘I asked him what he wanted for dinner and he didn’t answer me. I asked him three times and he didn’t answer.’

  ‘Did he say anything or do anything after you started hitting him?’ Sergeant Mackenzie asked.

  ‘He said “I want pizza” or something like that.’ The truth sounded even worse out loud than it had in her head.

  PC Donavan snorted.

  ‘Interview suspended at six forty five pm,’ Sergeant Mackenzie said, pressing another button on the recording device in the middle of the table. It responded with two short beeps.

  ‘Miss Davenport, please excuse us for one moment. Can I get someone to bring you a cup of water?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Katy attempted a smile. It was not returned by either officer.

  Katy watched as the senior officer took PC Donavan’s arm, almost dragging him out of the room. The muffled sound of his raised voice carried from the other side of the door.

  Katy scooped her long dark brown hair into a pony tail and then let it fall back down her back. Some of it still felt wet, clinging to her neck after the hot afternoon she’d spent digging in her garden.

  Goose bumps began to spread across her forearms. There had been no time to change out of the vest and shorts she’d been wearing. Could she ask for a jumper? Was that allowed?

  She looked down at her red vest top and gasped. Her nipples were so visible she might as well be wearing nothing. Why had she not put a bra on that morning? Because she never wore a bra at the weekends, that’s why. They made her feel hot and always rode up or got twisted when she was lugging bags of top soil around the garden. She was forever ripping off her heavy duty gloves to wiggle it back into position.

  It was not as if Katy needed the support. She needed to wear a bra about as much as she needed to be sat in a police interview room wondering if her life would ever be normal again.

  Katy
wrapped her arms around her chest and stared at the walls of the windowless interview room. The harsh yellow light from a long fluorescent tube on the ceiling hurt her eyes. It was nothing like the warm glow of the sun that she’d spent her afternoon under.

  She had never in her life seen the inside of a police station before. The air smelt stale like Adam’s socks after a week in the washing basket, where they waited for her Saturday morning washing frenzy.

  Did she need to get used to confined spaces, unnatural light and bad odours? Was she going to prison? Katy tried to remember an episode of a prison show she’d seen a few years ago. How would she survive in prison? Did prisoners still wear a uniform? She thought about her skinny long arms and flat chest in an orange jump suit. No doubt the trousers would be too short and swing around the top of her ankles. There really were no perks to being six foot and a quarter tall.

  A shiver ran over her body. What she would wear in prison had to be ranked at the very bottom of her priorities. Her life, as she knew it, would never be the same again. If she went to prison, what would Mary do without her? They’d never had a formal agreement, but the elderly Garden Centre owner often asked Katy to help her when she needed it. Katy spent most of her Sundays there helping Mary. It was her haven.

  What about her job? Would Adkins Advertising sack her? What would her parents say? Would they cut their once-in-a-lifetime world cruise short? Would anyone visit her in prison?

  Her best friend Claire would visit. She’d be banging on the door at the start of visiting hours and would drill Katy for all of the prison gossip. Despite the enormity of her situation, a smile flickered at the edges of her lips. Claire would jump out of her seat when she found out.

  Just then, the door to the interview room opened and the two police officers returned. She watched Sergeant Mackenzie’s lips move as he stepped towards the table. She thought he might be apologising for the delay, but she couldn’t be sure over the hammering of her heart in her ears.

  The two officers sat back down in their original positions. PC Donavan kept his gaze focused on the table as he slid a plastic cup of water towards Katy. Sergeant Mackenzie pushed a button on the recording device. It beeped once.

  ‘Interview continued at six fifty five pm.’

  ‘Miss Davenport,’ he said, ‘I want to remind you again of your right to legal representation. We can suspend this interview until your solicitor arrives. If you do not have a solicitor then we can arrange one for you.’

  ‘No,’ Katy said. The thought of being back in the holding area under the weary gaze of the female duty officer, or worse being placed in an actual cell for who knows how long, filled her with unquantifiable dread. ‘I’m fine. I’m guilty of hitting my boyfriend. I’ve admitted it, so I’m not sure how a solicitor can help me.’

  ‘Very well, then let’s proceed.’ Sergeant Mackenzie flipped his notebook open once more. ‘Now, Miss Davenport, often when we are called to investigate cases of female domestic violence we find that the attack is the result of a prolonged period of abuse by the male partner. Has Mr Cartright ever hit you, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. Adam would never in a million years hit me. I’ve never done anything like this before ever. I...I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Well, now is the time to try.’

  Katy closed her eyes for a moment as the event of the day washed over her. ‘It’s like I just snapped,’ she whispered.

  ‘Can you repeat that please, Miss Davenport? For the recording.’ Sergeant Mackenzie said, nodding towards the black box sitting on the table between them.

  ‘I snapped.’

  Katy picked up the cup in front of her and took a small sip of lukewarm water, pushing back the lump that had formed in her throat.

  ‘Adam had been watching TV all day, just like every day. I’d cleaned the house, I’d gone to the supermarket. I’d spent the afternoon in the garden. That’s my love, gardening. And then when I came back inside the kitchen was a mess again. I remember feeling annoyed, but I told myself to rise above it. To let it go. It was Adam’s weekend too. Although he works from home, so he gets to watch a lot of TV. I’m the one that commutes to London everyday and I’m the one that comes home to find the house a mess. I’m the one that tidies it up. I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this,’ Katy said, sweeping her fringe away from her forehead.

  ‘Then I went into the living room to ask him what he wanted for dinner. He was so focused on the football that he didn’t hear me, and I felt something inside of me just...just snap. There were these white spots, and then it was like I was watching someone else hit Adam with the remote, even though I knew it was me.’

  ‘And nothing like this has ever happened before?’ Sergeant Mackenzie narrowed his eyes as he stared at her.

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I promise you, nothing like this has ever happened before.’

  ‘Do you still feel angry towards Mr Cartright now, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘No. I can’t believe what I did. I’m truly sorry. Nothing like it will ever happen again.’ Tears sprung out of Katy’s eyes. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, and fought to hold back the sob building inside of her.

  ‘Interview concluded at seven ten pm.’

  Sergeant Mackenzie touched another button on the electronic recording device until it responded with a long sharp beep.

  Katy held her breath as she waited for the officer to speak. Would she be spending the night in a cell?

  ‘Well, Miss Davenport, on any other night we would put you into one of our holding cells whilst we interview witnesses, however as we have just had our first drunk bar brawl, from a group of all day drinkers, in we are now pushed for space. It also seems that the member of the public who was passing by your window at the time of the attack, and reported the incident to us, is a little confused by what she saw. She reported seeing a man hit a woman, but as you and Adam have both confirmed that it was the other way round, we won’t be using her witness statement for our report.’

  Sergeant Mackenzie tucked his notebook away. ‘Mr Cartright has also declined to file charges.’

  Katy drew in a sharp breath. Up until that moment it hadn’t crossed her mind whether Adam would press charges. He had every right to, didn’t he?

  ‘However,’ Sergeant Mackenzie said, ‘even without a witness or a victim willing to file charges, the law allows us to prosecute you for domestic assault under the definition of CCV, which is Common Couple Violence. Do you understand?’

  No, she did not understand. She did not understand how any of this was happening to her. She did not understand why she had picked up the TV remote or why she had used it to hit Adam with all of her strength. She did not understand what had happened to Adam, and to their relationship, or how her life had gotten so far off track.

  Katy swallowed hard and nodded.

  ‘As this is your first offence I am going to give you what is called a Conditional Caution under the Rehabilitation of Offenders Act 1974. As the name suggests this is very similar to a normal police caution, but it has conditions attached. In this case I am recommending that you attend a six week anger management course. If you agree to attending anger management classes then the police will not seek to prosecute you for assault. Do you understand?’

  ‘You’re not charging me with assault? I’m not going to prison?’ Katy said.

  ‘No,’ Sergeant Mackenzie said with a slight nod of his head, ‘but do not underestimate the seriousness of this situation, Miss Davenport. You must pay out of your own pocket for the anger management course, and you must attend every single class. You will need to have the class leader sign this attendance form,’ he continued, sliding a yellow A4 piece of paper towards Katy, ‘and submit it directly to me at the end of the course.’

  Katy nodded, pulling the form closer and avoiding the stare of the police officer.

  ‘It just so happens that the next course starts this Monday at eight pm in Henley Community Arts Centre, on
Church Street. Can you attend?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good. PC Donavan will escort you to reception and give you the relevant forms to sign, and if you don’t mind I will give you one small piece of advice -’

  Katy flicked her eyes to the officer as a golf ball sized lump swelled in her throat.

  ‘These things don’t happen in isolation, Miss Davenport. In my experience people do not just snap. There is always something else behind it. Something that has been there for quite some time. Go to the classes. Use the techniques they give you to really address what happened today.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Katy lingered on her front door step watching the taxi driver manoeuvre the large people carrier around the tight space at the bottom of the cul-de-sac. The small talk from the driver had been a welcome distraction from what awaited her now – Adam. Her boyfriend of five and a half years.

  Up until a few hours ago she’d thought they were happy. Up until the moment she’d snapped and thrown her life away. Now she didn’t know what to think.

  They had a good relationship, didn’t they?

  A weight settled on her chest, as if someone had sat down on her, pushing the air out of her lungs.

  The headlights from the taxi bathed Katy in a sudden glow of yellow light and jolted her from her thoughts.

  ‘Lost your keys?’ the driver yelled from the open window as he slowed down.

  Katy held her keys up for him to see. ‘No. I was...’

  The taxi driver waved and pulled away before she needed to finish her excuse.

  A silence fell over the street. Katy’s eyes scanned the windows of the other houses, searching for the peeking faces or twitching curtains of her neighbours. How many of them had seen her escorted out of her own home, and taken away in the back seat of a police car?

  The windows were dark and empty. Some had the familiar moving light from television sets, making Katy turn to face her own house. She peered into the living room window, but the television was off. Did that mean Adam was gone? Gone out? Or gone for good?