The Trap of Trust
15 March 2024
I dont even know where to start this entry tears still threaten every time I pause to breathe. I suppose Ive got to collect my thoughts somehow. This relentless ache inside my chest just wont subside, but maybe these pages will help untangle the mess.
It began this afternoon, with Lauren arriving at my flat like a tornado. She threw her bag onto the armchair, flopped beside me on the sofa and glared at the ceiling as though it alone was to blame for her woes.
You wont believe it, Emma. The landladys throwing me out! I mean, really, of all things Shes given me barely two days! She punctuated this announcement with flailing arms, her indignation nearly tangible.
I just stared at her for a minute; she looked utterly lost, with her eyes shining with unshed tears and her lips trembling. For a moment I was struck by how childlike she looked, thoroughly defeated by the world.
She wants me on the pavement by Friday! Does she expect me to sleep rough? What sort of person chucks someone out with such little notice? Laurens voice quivered.
Truth be told, I had always thought Mrs Sutton, the landlady, was rather fair and practical but I didnt say that at first. I just kept gazing out the window the fifth time Id done so in an hour. (I was waiting for a parcel, but Laurens arrival made me feel guilty for not giving her my full attention.)
Are you actually listening, Emma? she hissed, when she caught me glancing outside yet again. Im pouring my soul out to you, and youre daydreaming about the bloody street!
Sorry, I muttered, dragging my gaze away. I was just expecting someone, but Im here now, promise. Tell me what happened, really Mrs Sutton doesnt strike me as the sort to act rashly.
Lauren huffed, then continued her performance, waving her hands for dramatic effect. She caught me in a robe with her OH fixing the tap! She got jealous! As if Id ever fancy that balding, pot-bellied, old-school-plumber of a husband of hers! Id been tortured for days by that bloody leaky tap drip, drip, drip. I nearly tried to break it myself just to stop the racket.
I stifled a laugh just the thought of Lauren attacking a tap in desperation had me close to grinning. But she didnt notice, swept up in her monologue.
Anyway, her husband turns up in the morning Im still blurry-eyed, just up, and open the door in my dressing gown. Not nude or anything! Just a robe. Then, half an hour later, who should stride in but Mrs Sutton herself no warning, like its normal to barge in! Sees me, sees her husband in his overalls, and gives me the most damning look you can imagine.
So she assumed the worst? I asked, the picture slowly making sense.
Of course she did! As if Id ever God, hes not even my type. Shes made up her mind, though. Now shes protecting her property from scandal. Her words! What a joke.
I couldnt help but smile, thinking about Laurens beloved array of silk-and-lace dressing gowns. We had picked one out together, with Lauren all the while cooing over it in the shop mirror: So chic, so elegant! But truth be told, it was basically see-through, finished in lace, and barely skimmed her knees. I gave her a look. Lauren, your robes could send a priest into a cold sweat. No wonder the poor chap was distracted.
She shot me a wounded glance. Youre supposed to be on my side! Here I am, homeless, and youre making jokes!
I just sighed, running a hand over my face. It was true I wasnt the best company that afternoon; my own mind was weighed down with worries. Id thought I had put it all behind me, but every day, it snuck back in.
Its just Its Ben, I finally confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.
At once, Laurens tone changed, her drama replaced by genuine concern. She inched closer. Your ex-husband? Youre regretting the divorce now, arent you? Her voice had that distinctly I told you so ring, though she tried to disguise it.
I flinched. How dare she? After everything Id told her about what went on in that marriage how much Id confided.
I do NOT regret it, not for a single minute, I spelled out, sharply, to make it clear there would be no debate. Id do it all over again, without hesitation.
Lauren just shrugged and rolled her eyes. Suit yourself. Good men are scarce these days.
Theyre not as good as they seem, I shot back, unable to even try for a joke.
The silence grew heavy. I was drawn again towards the window, every instinct in me on edge. Then, there it was: a white car, same make and model as Bens, parked just outside. My gut twisted. Instantly my palms were clammy, my heart thundered in my chest, and I turned away so Lauren wouldnt see the fear.
Wheres my phone? I muttered, almost panicking. I searched, wild-eyed, on the coffee table, under the sofa cushions, by the bookshelves, until I finally found it by the pillow. My hands shook as I unlocked the screen.
Lauren, oblivious, watched me like Id lost the plot. What on earths got into you, Emma? See a ghost out there?
I shook my head, unable to explain. The car Its Bens model. Suppose its him?
She drew the curtain and peered outside, then rolled her eyes. Its not. Theres a blonde woman driving, and some bloke sitting next to her. Not Ben. Come away from the window, youll only make yourself ill.
I tried to collect myself, but the panic lingered. I forced myself to sip some water, though my hands still trembled. I spoke the truth that was clawing inside me.
Ben threatened me after the court. He said Id regret humiliating him like this.
In those dark days after the split, it had only been texts at first. Angry, relentless, vicious, saying Youve made a mistake, Youll pay for this, Dont think you can get rid of me so easily. I tried not to panic, told myself hed calm down, he was just angry. The messages grew more specific, more frightening.
The divorce had been loud, messy, public. I was forced to present evidence: doctors notes, records of injuries, dates that told a story you couldnt ignore. Ill never forget the look from the judges bench when the pattern became clear the bruises, sprains and cuts, all starting around the same time Id first resolved to leave.
When I think back on it, I realise I spent so long pretending everything was fine, trying to talk to Ben, gently explaining how miserable Id become, but he either exploded or laughed it off. Then came the small acts of intimidation: broken ornaments, flashes of temper, threats. For a while, I was truly frightened. I couldnt bear to go home, checked and double-checked the locks at night.
My turning point came when my brother, Sam, visited. Strong-willed, ex-army, he instantly sensed something was off. When Ben made to strike me again, Sam stepped in. It got physical and in the end, Ben ended up with a couple of fractured ribs and a concussion.
That night, I packed up my life. I quit my job, left our flat and this city behind, and moved back to my family home. There was no way Ben could have tracked my new address I bought my grandmothers old place, did it up, made it my own haven.
For a fragile time, life grew quiet again. Sleep came easier. I started to feel safe but it never lasted long.
One day I opened the door to a delivery. I thought nothing of it Id ordered some books and bits for the house. But inside the package wasnt kitchenware. It was a childhood teddy, decapitated, with a note: Want to end up like him? I can arrange it.
Hed tracked down my storage unit, rummaged through my old things, and stolen that bear. It chilled me to the bone.
After that, the creeping fear grew. He sent an old school leavers photo with my face scored through in ink. On the back: You wont escape me. I barely left the flat, only venturing out for groceries if Sam or Dad could accompany me. There was another package, another note. I lived like a hermit, ordering deliveries, keeping my phone in hand, barely sleeping.
It got worse. One morning, I looked out and spotted Ben, standing by the entry with his hands in his pockets, scanning the block like a wolf. I called the police. They spoke to him, he flashed his documents and charmed them. Then he stayed looked right up at my windows, waving, mouthing, I’ll be back.
The bottom fell out of my world.
I told Lauren everything, my words tumbling out in stifled sobs and clipped sentences. She listened, her earlier complaints falling silent, her face lined with regret for having ever accused me of ignoring her.
Oh, Emma And I was cross about you not wanting to meet up with me, she said, squeezing my hand. Compared to yours, my problems are nothing.
I managed a brittle smile, then it struck me: You could move in with me, I blurted, the words surprising even myself, at least for a couple of months, while I get things sorted. I still need to sell this place, you see.
Youre selling up? Laurens eyes widened. Why? This is the ideal spot. Spacious, great view.
I ran my finger round the rim of my mug and tried to explain. Because I need to get away. Move somewhere Ben will never find me. I want a normal life just to walk to the park or go to bed at night without flinching at every sound. I want to feel free again.
Lauren fell silent, digesting this, and then nodded. Where will you go?
Havent decided, I said. Perhaps a little town by the sea, or somewhere in the Cotswolds. I have some old friends in both places who might help me get started.
She looked uncertain but agreed to my offer in the end.
That week felt peaceful for the first time in months. I stopped jumping at every creak in the night, my phone vibrated less and less with venomous texts from Ben, and no ominous packages arrived. For a while, hope took root.
Then, one morning, I resolved to take the bold step of popping round to the greengrocers on my own. I hadnt left the flat alone in ages, but the day was bright, and Lauren encouraged me. You cant stay inside forever, she insisted.
The air outside was a revelation: fresh, cool, restorative. At the corner shop, Mr Harris, the kindly security chap, greeted me. Weve not seen you in weeks, Emma! All well?
I managed a grateful smile, bought everything Id denied myself for ages strawberries, sweet rolls, real butter. At the till, Mr Harris chatted about the weather, and for five wonderful minutes, I felt almost normal.
But as soon as I turned for home, it happened: a cold, hard hand clamped round my arm. Ben, face contorted, eyes icy.
You think I wouldnt find you? Youre coming with me, quietly, unless you want this to get ugly, he hissed.
For a moment, every muscle stood frozen until I saw old Mr Harris step out of the shop, his voice firm.
Everything all right here? he boomed.
Bens grip slackened; he put on a fake smile, but his words were barbed. No problem! Just having a word with my wife.
She doesnt look happy to see you, said Mr Harris, glancing at me. I shook my head desperately.
Ben glared, then let go, shoving me. I hit the pavement hard. Pain shot through my knees but I held back tears.
See you soon, Ben sneered as he stormed off, his voice ice-cold.
Mr Harris helped me up, fussing over my bloody palm and grazed knees. Well ring the police next time, he insisted.
But the terror returned, sharp as ever.
***
That night, I couldnt sleep. I saw it all in my mind, over and over: Ben waiting, grabbing me outside the shop; the humiliation; the dread. How had he known Id be there? Was he still watching, waiting for my next mistake?
I told myself tea, something sweet, maybe it would settle the nerves. So I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Lauren, padded to the kitchen and stopped in my tracks.
Laurens voice drifted from the spare room, low, tense, not the gentle croon of a conversation with her sister or mum.
Ben, what were you thinking, grabbing her outside the shops? Now shes all over the place, probably wont step foot outdoors again for weeks. Youll just have to wait until she leaves I cant promise Ill get her new address
My breath froze. I leaned closer, listening.
I’ll try to convince her she needs professional help then maybe I’ll get details out of her, but dont mess up this time. There may not be another chance.
I nearly collapsed against the wall. My trusted friend the one Id sheltered, confided in, relied upon was betraying me. Bargaining away my safety for Bens sake.
I tiptoed back to my room, trembling, silent tears streaking my cheeks. My only thought was to ring Sam.
Fifteen minutes later, the front buzzer sounded, a lifesaver in the dark. I rushed down and flung open the door; Sam stood there, tall and solid, his face tired but vigilant.
Thank God its you, I whispered, clinging to him tightly.
Lauren, hair wild, shuffled into the hall in her creased pyjamas. Is it morning already? she grumbled.
Its Sam. And Lauren, how long have you been spilling my secrets to Ben? Dont deny it I heard everything.
Colour drained from her face before she stiffened, expression defiant.
He called me first, she shot back. Offered me enough for my own flat if I fed him information. What was I supposed to do, keep scraping by in temporary lets forever?
Id rather be homeless than a traitor, I said quietly, heartbroken.
She rolled her eyes. Easy to say from where youre standing.
Sam glared. Try it again, and Ben will regret it. Trust me.
Were leaving, I told him, and Lauren youd better get out, too. Youve got thirty minutes.
Where am I meant to go? she wailed, looking to me for sympathy.
Anywhere you like. Just go. Sam squared his shoulders.
She saw there was no point arguing, slammed the spare room door and started packing.
***
Within days, I moved, taking my family Mum, Dad, my two brothers and me halfway across England to a sleepy town on the coast. No one outside that house knew where wed gone. I deleted my socials, changed my number, altered my name.
Ben tried. He called friends, probed old neighbours, maybe even tried private detectives. Nothing worked. His attempts faded, a little more each week.
A while later I heard hed started seeing someone a woman named Charlotte. It ended after he hit her. Only this time, she had an influential father. The police acted quickly, and Ben ended up in prison.
Lauren, meanwhile, drifted from crash pad to crash pad, boasting once about having snagged the attention of a property magnate. But his wife soon learned about her, and Lauren ended up with a broken nose and a ruined reputation. After that, she fell in with men who drank too much and treated her worse her dreams of security dashed by her own betrayal. Whenever I think of her now, I can only hope she finds some kind of peace.
As for me? It took time, but I found safety. My new job as a bookkeeper puts me among kind, caring people who never poke at my past. I have friends again real ones and weekends are for the little joys: the salty air on my morning walk, a book under the canopy of the park, the taste of a proper scone and jam at the beachside café.
When memories haunt me, I let them come, but they no longer rule me. I am grateful for this quiet, ordinary life, and finally, Im learning to trust again not in others, perhaps, but in myself.
And thats enough.
