Free I Will Not Run by Elizabeth Preston Page B

what I wanted. He liked to show me who was boss. I’d said enough. I should have left it there, but I just couldn’t.
    “You’re taunting her, why?” I followed him into the lounge. “You as good as said you’ll buy her a car. Why would you promise her that? You know she can’t ever have one.”
    “Watch your mouth,” he growled.
    My heart was hammering, thump, thump, thump , but I needed to hear him say it: No car for Buttercup .
    “Promise me that you’ll never buy her a car.”
    He waved me away, turning his back, his eyes skirting around searching for the remote. I stood behind him, hating him more than ever, hate layered on top of hate. I wanted to rush up and hack out his eyes. I fantasised about pulling his monster hunting knife off the wall and ramming it through his heart. Maybe I could grab his baseball bat from the wardrobe cupboard and wack him across the knees, just like they did in the movies. But, despite my raging, howling desire to maim or kill him, I managed to haul myself back into line.
    “I’ll make you a deal,” I said, surprising myself, sounding like someone else. I didn’t make deals with Bruno and he certainly didn’t make them with me, his lowly wife.
    I had his attention and it wasn’t comfortable. His snake eyes were on me, and I’ll admit it, I was having second thoughts, but too late. I had to come up with a deal now, right away. The words were out and there was no taking them back. Bruno would never let up now, he’d insist on hearing a deal, any deal, and if necessary he’d beat one out of me. He’d want to know what the hell I have to offer. What could I give that he couldn’t simply take?
    “Here’s the deal. Don’t buy her that darn car and I won’t ever mention the hidden photos I found. I’ll pretend I know nothing about them.” I got up off the couch and headed to our bedroom where he’d hidden a bundle of his own photos. I never looked back, didn’t risk looking at his face lest my legs stopped working.
    “What bloody photos?” he yelled out after me. “What are you on about, woman?”
    They were in our bedroom, in his chest of drawers, or more accurately behind his bottom drawer. I had to pull his drawer right out of the chest and place it on the carpet to reach the packet.
    I walked back into the living room carrying the bundle. My stomach was lunging up, threatening to spill into my mouth. It felt like I had a giant tape worm inside me, and I had to swallow hard to keep its head down.
    He watched me dump the pile of snaps on the coffee table, then spread them out. Instead of studying the photos, all his attention was focussed on me, like he was seeing a version of his wife he hadn’t seen before.
    Was I really doing this? I waved my arm around, inviting him to look then stepped away.
    He didn’t look, so it was clear he was very familiar with those snaps.
    They were photos of schoolgirls: the same three girls in each photo. The girls were around twelve or fourteen, all in school uniform, or more accurately, in school straw hats, gloves, long socks, school ties, and not a stitch more. Two of the girls faced the camera. The young things were not smiling, in fact they looked downright miserable. One of the girls was faced away from the camera and stood further in the distance just showing her back so it was impossible to tell her age but the girls staring down the lenses were not eighteen. Not by a long way.
    “This is child pornography.” My voice was wobbly, like a child on the verge of tears. I coughed to hide my fear. “I think the police would call these ‘primary source.’”
    His teeth ground together. “You better not have shown them to anyone.” He scooped the bundle up and stuffed them into his pocket.
    “Oh, just so we’re clear,” I said, becoming that brave other person again, the one that stood up to Bruno, the one that definitely wasn’t me, “I’ve got the original prints stashed away where you’ll never find them. Those