The Runaway by Martina Cole

face, trying to calm her down. Trying to make sense of what had happened to her and to himself.
    As she cried he realised he had taken from her something that was hers alone. He knew that instantly, even in his drink-fuddled mind. And that she would never really forgive him for it.
    Finally he picked her up and took her into her bedroom where he placed her gently on her bed.
    ‘Cathy, please stop crying, darlin’. I’m sorry, love, all right? I’m really sorry. I don’t know what happened, I’ve had such a great day . . .’ He was gabbling and he knew it. ‘I got the job today, Cathy, look.’
    Pulling the remainder of the money Dixon had given him from his pockets, he laid it on the bed. ‘You have it. Look, there’s over fifty quid there. You have it, Cathy, get yourself something nice . . .’
    Body heaving with sobs, she pushed the money from the bed. ‘Get out, Eamonn. Just get out, please. Leave me alone.’
    Her eyes were red and swollen now, her face blotchy, even her hair looked lifeless. Her lips, swollen and bruised from his kisses, looked deformed. She looked ugly for once, and he knew that he was responsible. He had made his little Cathy ugly inside and outside.
    ‘I just want to be alone. Please leave me alone.’
    He belted his trousers and began picking up the money from the floor. Wiping a hand across his face, he saw blood on the back of it and felt a moment’s irritation. When he looked in the mirror he saw the four long red welts on his skin and cursed under his breath.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Cathy, it ain’t like we don’t know one another, is it? I said I was sorry, girl. What more do you want?’ He knew it was just bravado, knew he was trying to justify his actions to himself as much as to her, and still he heard his voice carrying on. ‘It’ll be better next time, love, you’ll know what to expect. It’s always hard on the bird the first time, but you’ll get used to it . . .’
    His voice trailed off. ‘Please, Cathy. Please . . .’
    He could no longer pretend. He had done something unforgivable, had hurt Cathy. But she must forgive him, she had to, or all his triumph counted for nothing. Without her, he was a beaten and neglected child all over again.
    ‘I don’t know what to do, Cathy. Please, darlin’, tell me what to do?’ Kneeling by the side of the bed, he began to cry. He pressed his face into the covers as tears bubbled out of his eyes and into the musty bedding.
    Finally, after what seemed an age, she put one hand on his head. Looking up into her white face he was amazed to hear her say, ‘Don’t cry, Eamonn. Just go home.’
    She had touched him. He was halfway to getting her back, they both knew that. As his arm went around her waist and he lay beside her, holding her to him tightly, he cried with her. When both her arms eventually went around him and she held on to him as tightly he knew a moment’s intense relief.
    They lay entwined, tears eventually ceasing, and only the beating of their hearts and the soft sounds of their breathing broke the silence of the room. As the shadows deepened on the walls, still they lay together.
    They had crossed a bridge that night, and a further bond had been formed between them. Two broken children, they were both well aware that all they had ever really had was each other.
    Cathy would forgive him anything, Eamonn knew that now. As he held her to him, he felt the excitement of a man who owned another person wholly.
    Like Dixon owned him, he owned Cathy. Lock, stock and barrel.

Chapter Six
    ‘Are you sure you’re all right, love?’
    Madge’s voice was low and husky-sounding from too many cigarettes and too much booze when she came into her daughter’s room later that night.
    Cathy nodded, closing her eyes against the harsh light and the sound of the radio playing loudly in the front room. She could hear men’s voices too, and sighed. ‘Mum, go back to your punter. I’m fine. Really.’
    Madge stared down into her