The Memory of Midnight by Pamela Hartshorne

baby, who was crying in earnest now. Not knowing what to deal with first. Taking the easy way out. Agreeing with him. Telling herself she
would stand up to him next time.
    It always ended the same way. Martin would retreat into a monumental sulk, until she couldn’t stand it any longer and cajoled him out of it, at which point he would beg for her forgiveness
in a voice choked with emotion.
    ‘It’s just because I love you so much, Theresa. You know that, don’t you?’
    After a while, it was easier not to go out in case he rang. Easier to give in when he suggested ordering online so that she didn’t need to go to the supermarket at all. Easier to make sure
Oscar was in bed before he came home.
    Easier to lose contact with her own friends rather than have to make excuses about why Martin didn’t want to socialize with them. Once or twice she had made the effort to go out on her
own, but she had spent the whole time worrying about whether she would get home on time, and after Oscar’s birth it had been clear that insisting on going out and leaving Martin alone with a
baby after he had been at work all day would be monumentally selfish and irresponsible.
    Easier to make her life smaller and smaller until it had almost disappeared.
    Tess had never told anyone what it had been like. She was too ashamed.
    ‘It’s not as if Martin hit you or anything awful like that,’ her mother said.
    ‘No,’ Tess agreed dully. ‘He never hit me.’
    He never had. Not physically. It was no use trying to explain to her mother, though. Sue saw Martin as the rest of the world saw him, as Tess herself had seen him at first: bright, articulate,
successful, good-looking, oozing charm and confidence. When he looked at you, you felt you were the only person in the world he was interested in, that nobody else mattered.
    It had been flattering at first. To be so wanted, so loved. To be the absolute centre of someone’s world. Lonely and overwhelmed by London, Tess had been dazzled by him. Somewhere along
the line, though, the flattering had become bullying, and the centre of Martin’s world a more and more uneasy place to be.
    Tess took a breath, tried to push back the headache grinding behind her eyes. ‘What exactly did you tell Martin, Mum?’
    Sue puffed out an offended sigh. ‘I said Oscar was fine, and that you just needed a little time.’
    ‘You didn’t give him my new address or phone number?’
    ‘No, and I didn’t give him your new mobile number either, because I don’t
know
it,’ Sue reminded her. Tess hadn’t wanted to give her mother any of her
contact details, but her lack of trust had led to such a scene that she had had to give in, able to keep only the mobile number to herself. Even that obviously rankled. ‘Satisfied?’
    ‘All right. I’m sorry, Mum, I just . . .’ Tess trailed off. What was the point of explaining? ‘Next time Martin gets in touch, can you please just tell him to contact me
through my solicitor?’
    The headache had her brain in a vice by the time she got back to Stonegate. Fumbling with the key, she could smell cut wood from the builders who were refurbishing the shop next door. It
reminded her of Mr Maskewe’s closet, and that hot afternoon when she had felt her way along the new wainscot and then turned to see the chest. Her stomach clenched at the memory.
    How could she have thought it was a good place to hide?
    Tess put a hand to her head as she leant against the stair wall, suddenly dizzy. That wasn’t
her
memory. She was remembering a memory in a dream. It wasn’t real.
    She just needed to lie down for a bit.
    Somehow she made it up the stairs and let herself into the flat. Inside, the air felt taut, trembly with anticipation, and there was an edge to the silence that made her nerves prickle.
    Not enough sleep, that was all.
    She’d woken that morning, stiff and uncomfortable, with her head on the desk by the laptop. Oscar had dragged his feet, wanting to stay with