These Delicate Creatures
Five
The next twelve hours pass as though Michael is skipping through them on an Instagram story.
He doesn’t even attempt to sleep. He knows he won’t. He finishes writing his article on the Ian Daley case and sends it without proof reading. Then he books a cab to the airport and ignores the cabdrivers every question to him.
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Swipe.
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He books a flight on the way there. The five-thirty is the earliest available. It may be all the money he physically has left, but it doesn’t even stop to consider that. He does not book a return. He’ll sort that out with Anna once everything else has been dealt with.
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Swipe.
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He arrives at the airport just as darkness is settling over the London skyline. He moves from the cold, empty evening air into the brilliant light of the airport check-in foyer, and experiences that rather unique placelessness that every airport contains. He could be anywhere, but also, nowhere. It’s mostly deserted. A family are seated by the check in desk. A mother whose eyes slowly close, almost giving in to sleep, and her husband, who stands smiling at his two boys who make truck noises as they crash into each other. A teenage girl, possibly a daughter, looks as though she’s trying to distance herself from them. She texts indefatigably on her phone, her feet coiled up on the worn airport seating.
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He’s done the calculations. He’d arrive at eight-thirty LA time. He didn’t fully know how he planned to find Anna from that point on, he just new that he would. There would be nothing that would stop him from finding her. He knew this as a point of absolute certainty.
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Swipe.
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He is unable to smile at woman at the check in counter as she offered a smile to him. He handed over his passport and answered her questions as briefly as possible. Her eyes seemed to burn holes in the side of his head. He could almost feel her heat. Her lips curled flirtatiously as he thanked her. The engagement ring glinted on her finger as she reached for the ticket as it printed.
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As though to distract himself, the words from the podcast he’d been listening to flare up in his mind like a fever.
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Fidelity man. The American voice intones passionately. A preacher delivering a sermon. You know on average, 68 per cent of Americans don’t even know the meaning of the word anymore?
Is that right, dude? Fuck.
Almost every American – no man this is absolutely – like, pretty much every American understands the phrase “There was infidelity in our relationship”. Like everyone just – even if they don’t understand the word, they assume that to mean there’s been cheating, right?
Yeah, right of course – so you’re saying –
But, if an American hears the phrase “Fidelity is the most important thing to me in a relationship”, the majority will respond by saying “What does that mean?”
Shit, dude.
I mean, no wonder men are sinking in their mental health right now, losing themselves to alcohol, or gambling, right? I mean, if every chick out there can make a million bucks by selling herself online in a year, what value does she have in putting any time into a relationship.
Yeah, dude. And every guy feels that, right? Like, who do they even put their trust in?
Trust, man. Exactly. The foundations of a good relationship.
And, you know, I’m obviously not condoning ownership right, because you know, slavery is bad –
Of course, of course.
Yeah – but, when marriage was physically about ownership? Most of them were happy, dude There’s a security in ownership. Like, if you had a laptop that was yours, but pretty much everyone could use it whenever they wanted, and you could never say, ‘Hey, that’s my laptop.’
Yeah man, that would suck.
Right?
Right.
Swipe.
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When Michael arrives by the gate, there is a small newsagent next to the row of chairs. He wanders absent-mindedly along the magazine and newspaper rack.
It’s still too early for any new articles about the Ian Daley case, and Scope magazine won’t be released until the end of the week, but he picks up the latest copy of the Times, drawn to Ian Daley’s mug shot, and a photo of one of victims giving testimony. Her face is blurred. It must’ve been yesterday’s edition. The headline reads:
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“SOULLESS EYES” – Alleged Rape Victim takes the stand and recounts the moment Ian Daley morphed from man to monster.
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Ian’s mug shot gazed back at him. Inquisitive but unassuming. He bought the paper, along with the latest Ian Rankin thriller, and sat back in the lounge. The article began;
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After two weeks of various testimonies from further alleged victims, Ian Daley’s wife has finally taken the stand.
Daley’s wife, currently choosing to remain anonymous, has so far refused to give evidence, despite her 999 call and police statement being the two most formative pieces of evidence, and the reason Daley was arrested to begin with.
The claims against Daley. 39, are numerous, but many of Daley’s victims were also married themselves, and were therefore reluctant to come forward to press charges. He is accused of three counts of rape, two of which against Venessa Penison, 27, the longest of Daley’s affairs. He is also suspected of engaging in many relationships with women as young as 19, and of coercively controlling them, but many of these, according to Penison, are also refusing to come forward, either out of fear or misplaced love for Daley.
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Daley was arrested early last March, after a 999 call was received from Daley’s wife, claiming that she had spent 4 days locked in Daley’s basement, after his numerous affairs were discovered. Despite the numerous, grievous bodily wounds that Daley’s wife was being treated for, and her detailed police account, she has been refusing to give evidence herself, for fear of being in the same room as Daley.
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After some push back from the defence, the Judge has accepted the request from the Key Witness, and Daley was forced not to attend his wife’s testimony.
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“It isn’t ideal,” stated Fatima Burman, one of the two defence lawyers representing Daley’s wife, “Really we want Daley there. His reactions to my client’s testimony can prove influential in the Jury’s opinion. But ultimately, our client has suffered some of the most brutal treatment by the man who was supposed to protect her. Giving her testimony is traumatic enough for any victim, so the easier we can make it for her the better.”
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Michael hears the boarding call and files slowly towards the gate. The queue traces round along the window, where the airport apron stretches out towards a blurred, glistening runway. The rain traces arcs down the pain, splitting and dividing like rivers. Michael watches his faint reflection twist and contort as the water distorts the sharp jutting of his cheekbones and the coifed arch of his mousy hair. He continues to read as the queue crawls forward, skipping ahead over the case details he’s already familiar with.
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A key question that continues to arise in this case is how someone seemingly so beloved in the eyes of those who knew him, a devoted husband and aspiring entrepreneur, can so violently and suddenly turn on his own wife. When questioned on what angle the prosecution would take on this, Burman responded, “We are reluctant to make further comment before Daley himself has taken the stand, but all I will say is that it is not a case of what Daley is or isn’t – the behaviour of abusers can often be linked to their own sense of right and wrong.”
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Michael hands out his ticket to the flight attendant and waits for it to beep.
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“We believe that Daley did what he did because he believed he was being robbed of something that was his. Unfortunately, men are driven by a sense of territorial protectiveness that sometimes confuses itself with passionate love.”
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He continues to read as he makes his way onto the plane. The rain is beginning to pour more heavily on the roof of the boarding tunnel, rattling the iron roof like a thunderous applause. He squints as a beam of light from the rising sun streaks through the tunnel window. He pulls out his phone as he takes his seat. The applause grows louder. He scrolls back through his messages with Anna, not really knowing what he’s looking for. His thumb stops at a section of conversation he doesn’t even remember having.
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YOU: You really are incredible, you know.
Anna: Oh stop. You’re so sweet.
YOU: Every time I see a picture of yours… with those eyes, your lips, that smile… It feels like you might as well have plunged your heart into my chest and squeezed it.
Anna: Wow, babe. I’m honestly speechless. You have such a way with words – you should be a writer!
YOU: I am a writer, babe. :’)
Anna: No, I know. But like, novels and stuff!
YOU: Maybe, one day. Once you and I have settled down?
Anna: Oh? You’re quite the romantic aren’t you.
YOU: I wasn’t before you.
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He puts the phone away, not able to read anymore. He feels a kind of empty feeling in his chest and a clawing sensation in his throat. He wonders if he might cry on the plane then. That would be quite a look. He wonders how hard he’d have to cry for someone to escort him off the plane. He puts the phone in his pocket, ignoring the picture of Anna looking up at him from his wallpaper. Ignoring her eyes, and her lips. He continues reading the newspaper.
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“Once you have that level of so called protectiveness, you can believe anything you’re doing is the right thing,” Burman continues, “Murder, rape, false imprisonment. We believe Daley was so deluded in his ‘love’ for his wife, he believed, wholeheartedly, that his only option was to lock her in the basement, like you might with a valuable commodity you need to protect. That’s what she was to him; not a wife, not a successful model- an asset that needed to be protected and controlled.”
The plane hummed, and Michael leant back with the motion, and thought only of Anna, and the man in her glasses.