Two Fates
Beyond the window of the shopfront, life had its own, peculiar rhythm. For Alice, this rectangle of the till, weighing scales, and scanner was both a prison and a haven. A prison because every day felt like an endless Groundhog Day: the monotonous beep of the till, packing groceries, polite smiles. But a haven, too because whatever waited behind the door of her own flat deserved only one name: hell. And that hell was called Steve.
Hurry up, love! I didnt come here for a life sentence, grumbled a hefty bloke with a trolley piled high.
Wont be a moment, Alice replied in a clipped tone, not looking up. Rudeness had become her only shield.
She hated this job. Hated the queue, the faces so perpetually dissatisfied, the smell of cheap sausages and mopped floors. But the job meant money, and the money she slowly hid away behind a loose floorboard in the kitchen. Her personal escape plan.
The line shuffled forward. Alice worked as if on autopilot: Good morning, need a bag? Thatll be two pounds thirty. Thank you, goodbye. And then, her rhythm faltered. All it took was one look.
There he was, fourth in line. Tall, lean, in plain jeans and a navy jacket. Cropped hair, a trace of stubble, and eyes… the eyes of someone whod seen something real. Not annoyance, not fatigue, but a quiet, deep sorrow, hidden somewhere deep inside. Alice recognised it at oncelike recognising a kindred soul in a crowd of strangers.
When his turn arrived, Alice heard her voice tremble, betraying her.
Hello, she said, and her tone was softer than shed intended.
Evening, he answered. His voice was low and steady, with a hint of hoarseness.
He placed the bare minimum on the conveyor: a bottle of water, a packet of oats, and a litre of milk. The bachelors basics. Or perhaps someone who didnt care what they ate. Alice noticed a ring on the third finger of his right handnot a wedding ring, but a thick, plain, steel band. Odd, she thought, but showed nothing.
Thats four eighty, she said.
He handed over a note, and for a heartbeat their fingers touched. His hand radiated a dry warmth. Alice snatched her arm away, as though burned. A strange, forbidden feeling clenched inside her.
Keep the change, he said, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips.
If youre sure, she nodded, her eyes following him as he walked away.
He left, and the shop seemed suddenly darker. Alice shook her head, trying to banish the spell. Steve. She needed to think about Steve. About how, again tonight, shed have to keep out of the way of his heavy fists, listen to his drunken rants about what an ungrateful cow she was. But the stranger stayed lodged in her mind. He started coming in more often. Sometimes every day. Sometimes he was gone for a few days, and those days felt colourless, empty.
She learned his name was Andrew. She overheard Mrs Riley, the old lady from next door, call out to him once: Andy, darling, how are you? Andrew. A lovely, strong name. It suited him.
Every visit was a little play. Alice tried to appear brisk and businesslike, but when he approached, she couldnt help smoothing her hair or tugging at her apron. He looked at hernot like a cashier, but like a person. Interested, present. Once, as he paid, he softly asked:
Rough day?
It was so unexpected, so out of place, that Alice was taken aback. No customer had ever asked after her.
Oh, you know, just the usual, she stammered, a lump rising in her throat. She wanted badly to say, My days are always rough. Because tonight I might have a split lip again. Instead, she forced a false grin.
Andrew didnt press. He nodded and left.
That evening, Steve was in a foul mood. Hed been drinking, not with his mates, but with some dodgy sorts whod left behind piles of cigarette ends and empty cans. When Alice returned, after hours on her feet, she found him slumped at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on a speck on the wall.
There you are, he spat. All work, and this place is still a dump. Nowt to eat either.
Alice kept silent. Silence was both weapon and shield. Sometimes it made him go away faster.
What, you deaf as well as daft? Im talking to you! Steve stood up, swaying, his bulk blocking the doorway. No respect for your husband?
She tried to slip past to her room, but he grabbed her by the elbow, his fingers biting into her skin.
Let go, Steve, she said quietly.
Or what? His twisted face, stinking of lager, leered close. What are you going to do? Without me, youre nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!
She pulled free and locked herself in the bathroom, the tap blasting to drown out his hollering and fists on the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she stared at her hands. There were no new bruises nowher skin had toughened. But inside, her soul was nothing but bruises.
The next morning she found a dark purple mark blooming on her elbow and put on a long-sleeved jumper, even though it was sweltering in the shop.
Scanning groceries, Alice saw Andrew in his usual spot. Her heart skipped, but fear chased away any joy: would he notice her awkward movements? Would he guess?
No bag, thanks, he said, handing her a card. His gaze dropped to her arm. Her sleeve had ridden up as she took his card, and the edge of the bruise was just visible dark and ugly on pale skin.
Andrews eyes changed. The sorrow shifted to something cold, steely, dangerous. He looked at Alice; there was no pity, only rage. Ice-cold, volcanic rage, quickly hidden by calm.
Thank you, he said, taking his shopping. He was gone.
Alice felt unsettled. It wasnt Steve that frightened her now, but this mans reaction. Something in those eyes sent a chill down her spine.
Later, after closing up and heading through the park, Alice heard familiar footsteps. Andrew. He had been waiting just out of sight.
Alice, can I have a word? he asked. His voice carried gentle, unyielding insistence.
What do you want? she asked, wary, finding herself with him for the first time outside the shop. In the dusk, he seemed more of a stranger than ever.
Ill walk you home, he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
No need, I live just round the corner, she protested, but he was already walking beside her.
I know. I know all about you, Alice, Andrew said quietly, and her breath caught. I know where you live, I know your husbands name. I know he hits you.
Alice stopped dead. Her heart hammered.
Im the one who can help you.
I dont need help! she nearly shouted, her voice faltering. You dont know anything! Leave me alone!
I do know, he said again. Because I was the same. Once.
The truth in his simple words floored her. She froze, looking at him. He wasnt lying; she could see it the same deep pain shed noticed from the first.
My stepdad killed my mum, Andrew said flatly, his voice more like a narration than a confession. I was twelve. I heard her screaming in the hallway. Then he came out, wiped his hands, and told me: Put the kettle on. I did nothing. I was small. Weak. A scared little pup. So, I made him tea.
Alice couldnt move. The very air seemed to thicken around them.
From that day, I made myself a promise, Andrew continued, eyes level. If I ever saw this again, Id intervene. Every time. I have no right to look away. Its not your fault, Alice. But it isnt just your burden now. Let me share it, please.
She saw, not just a man, but a wounded boy whod carried this nightmare his whole life. The steel ring on his finger was like a vow.
And the ring? she asked softly. Why do you wear it?
It was my stepdads, he replied, voice suddenly harsher. I took it off his hand when they locked him up. To remind myself what people can do. To remember that silence kills.
A tear slid down Alices cheek. She didnt know if she was crying from fear, for him, or from the strange sense of belonging, of finally not being alone.
Lets go, he said gently, offering his hand. Ill walk you to your door. I wont come in, unless you want. But tonight, you dont go home alone.
They reached the block of flats. Alice felt trembling, yet warmed by something new. At her door, she looked back. Andrew stood in the shadows.
Thank you, she whispered.
Ill be out here every night, he said. If he as much as touches you shout. Shout as loud as you can. Ill come.
Alice entered the flat. Steve was sober, and somehow nastier for it, glued to the football on telly.
Whereve you been? he barked, not turning round.
At work, Alice replied, and, for the first time in years, went straight to the kitchen without waiting for permission.
Steves head jerked up in surprise, but he said nothing.
So began their secret war and her secret friendship. Andrew walked her home every evening. Their silences were more eloquent than any conversation. Sometimes, over a takeaway cuppa in the park, she talked of fragile dreamssomeday leaving, starting fresh, opening a tiny bakery. He listened, always nodding, always believing.
Youll make it, hed tell her.
And you? Alice asked once. Do you have anyone?
Andrew shook his head. I dont let anyone close. Afraid I cant protect them. Not again.
The storm broke suddenly one Saturday. Steve, lately aware of his wifes sullen defiance, discovered her stash. Over three thousand poundstwo years’ savings. He sat at the kitchen table, the notes fanned out before him, face twisted in hatred.
When Alice saw it, the floor seemed to vanish beneath her feet.
Whats this? Steve hissed, standing. Saving for a rainy day? Or a one-way train ticket?
Give it back, Alice said, barely able to speak. Its not yours.
Not mine? he bellowed. Youre my wife! Whats yours is mine! Get in the other room, now!
He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her. Alice screamed, but the sound was muffled. Then, in a flash, she remembered. Andrews words: Just shout. Shout loud.
She screamed. As loud as she could, pouring all her pain and terror into it.
Help! Andrew!
Steve froze. Moments later, the front door shuddered with heavy blows. Again, and again. The cheap wood splintered. Andrew stood in the doorway, steel ring clenched in his fist like a knuckle-duster.
Steve dropped Alice and lunged. He was bigger but slowAndrew moved with a boxers speed and precision, raining blows. Steve crashed to the ground, howling when Andrews fist, ring gleaming, slammed into his jaw.
Dont you dare touch her, Andrew breathed, looming over him. Come near her againnext time you wont get up. I swear on my mums grave.
Alice pressed against the wall, shaking. Andrew turned to her, composed, but his eyes were blazing.
Come on, he said, hand reaching out. Take only what you need. Well get the rest.
And she went. In her dressing gown, barefoot, trembling but free.
Alice moved in with Andrew. His flat was odd: scrubbed spotless, almost empty. Just some psychology books, a battered punching bag in one corner, and a photo of a graceful woman on the shelf.
My mum, Andrew explained.
Alice didnt pry. She simply started living anew. She learned to sleep without fear, to wake without dread. Andrew was gentle, but distant. He slept on the sofa, gave her the bedroom. He made breakfast, saw her off to work, welcomed her home every evening.
Four weeks later, she found a letter in his desk, yellowed with age, the handwriting wobbly and childish.
Mummy, Im so sorry I didnt protect you. When I grow up, Ill be strong. Ill protect anyone weaker than me. Ill never let bad people hurt good people. Your son, Andrew.
Tears sprang to Alices eyes. She understood at lastthis was a man whose soul had bled for years, yet hed turned his pain into a shield for others.
They married half a year later, once the divorce came through (Steve didnt even bother with court). The wedding was quieta registry office, tea and cake with Mrs Riley and a couple of Alices work friends.
Next day, they visited his mothers grave. Andrew took off his steel ring and set it on the headstone.
I kept my promise, Mum, he said softly. I learned to protect. And I learned to love.
Alice stood beside him, a bouquet of wildflowers in her arms. Sunlight filtered through the old oak trees, painting gold on the grass.
