It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and Sarah sat at the kitchen table engrossed in her statement.  She became uneasily aware that someone was staring in at her through the open window.  She’d left it wide open for the smoke and smell of burnt sausages and toast to seep out, little realising that she might see an unwelcome, foreboding face peering in at her.

            “I’ve brought your mattresses back.”

            “Leave them there,” Sarah ordered nervously, while forcing herself not to give him the satisfaction of seeing any kind of emotion on her face.

            “I’ll go back now and get your other things,” the face offered.

            “No, don’t bother,” answered his weary victim; then feeling anger surging inside, she asserted, “You’ve got no intentions of bringing anything back that is of any value to me; you’d have done it by now.  You’re just playing games.  So, GO.... Go on.... And don’t come back.”

            But he didn’t budge.  He just stood there all glassy eyed, pale and forlorn-looking.  Then he burst into floods of tears and, just like a little boy lost, blabbed:

            “I don’t feel well.... I feel so bad.... My head hurts.... Can I have a glass of water?”

            He was welcome to a KETTLE of boiling water; in his fawny face, for all she cared.  But it was wishful thinking and she said nothing.

            “Then the tone changed to pleading words of:

            “Please don’t leave me Sarah.... I love you.... I need you.”  Followed by the usual threats of, “You won’t get away with this; bitch.  You’ve got no idea what or who you’re messing with.  But you soon will.  I warned you not to cross me or my family.  You’ll lose everything.  Just you watch.  You’ll end up locked up and your kids will be taken off you.”

            David noticed the predicament his mother was in and picked up the phone.  Within minutes a big, burly policeman was in Sarah’s back yard threatening Greg with arrest if he is caught anywhere near her, her house or her children again.  The officer wouldn’t listen to Greg’s protest of not being allowed to see his children and informed him that the situation would need to be settled by civil litigation.

            Greg’s parting words as he was escorted away were:

            “I promise I will not come anywhere near you again. You will not see me now until we meet in court.”

            She said nothing.  She just stood straight faced and stared at him.  She knew that that wouldn’t be the case.  And so did he.

Later that afternoon Sarah’s friend and neighbour Lorraine popped in to tell her that Greg had just this minute stopped her outside her house.  She said, genuinely concerned:

            “I’m so worried for you Sar; that ex of yours is a raving nutcase.  He’s dangerous.  He’s just been standing by my gate now all breezy and friendly and acting as if nothing has changed between you two.  God he’s such a charmer; such a deceiver.  He’s convinced that you’ve made it up and that you’re back together and that it was all just a silly lover’s tiff and.... You’re not back with him are you?”

            “Christ no,” replied Sarah venomously.

            “No I didn’t think so,” continued Lol.  “I knew you were serious about it this time; only that creepy bugger is trying to tell me that the reason you dumped him was cos you were having an affair; but now that it has all blown over between you and lover boy, you’ve gone back to him.”

            “What?  The despicable, lying scum bag,” spat Sarah.  “I wasn’t having an affair.  That vile grub made it all up.  He’s living in cloud cuckoo land.  And I certainly haven’t gone back to him.  God knows what I ever saw in him.  He makes my blood run cold.  I wish he’d go and crawl back into the gutter…  You’re a witness now; let me know if you see him hanging around here.  The police have told him to stay away.”

            Lorraine was a genuinely caring person.  She was a good neighbour and friend to have.  She always had an open door to all the waifs and strays in the neighbourhood, taking pity on them and offering them homely comforts, warmth and shelter since many of them came from uncaring, even cruel families.  A lot of the kids did take Lorraine for a bit of a mug though and would eat her out of her home, spend all her loose change and sit for hours watching her TV.  Some even stole from her but she didn’t mind and always insisted that they didn’t know any better and were just unloved, unhappy little mites, craving affection and attention.  Lol puts her charitable qualities to good use too where women like Sarah are concerned.  Having endured years of hardship and hell at the hands of the violent monster that she was married to, she now counsels other violated females at Women’s Aid.  As she turned to go home she made Sarah promise to call Women’s Aid immediately, the moment she feels scared or unsafe, no matter what time of day or night it is. 

            Sarah then paid another neighbour a visit - her pal Shaona from across the road – and asked her to remain vigilant and to tell her if she sees Greg loitering around near her house.  Shay was happy to help and informed Sarah that she’d already witnessed Greg driving at a snail’s pace past her house countless times and sauntering up and down the road and hanging around her gate.

In the evening Sarah’s mate Marie dropped by.  She hadn’t seen Marie for quite some time; their paths just didn’t cross all that often lately.  She came with the message that Greg had been in touch with her to say how worried he was about Sarah because she’d supposedly been acting ‘strange’ lately.

            “I was a bit surprised to get a call from him,” Marie began, “He said that you’d withdrawn into yourself because he’d ended the relationship.  He said that you won’t open the door to anyone and that you slop around all the time in your dressing gown and slippers, supping wine and popping sleeping pills.  I knew he was lying his head off.  I know that that’s the last thing you’d do.  You’re just not like that.  I’ve never seen you depressed.... Anyway I had to see for myself that you’re ok.  I’m glad you got rid of him.  Didn’t I warn you in the beginning?  Didn’t I say to you I’m not sure of him…. he looks shifty.  Anyone who wears dark glasses is hiding behind something and is not to be trusted.  Remember me saying that?”

            Sarah nodded whilst visualising clearly the night in the early months that she and Greg had smooched for hours at a party where Marie was singing.  She vividly recalled her mate’s observations that Greg seemed nice enough but that there was something about him that gave her the creeps.  It was the glasses.  She didn’t like the way Greg hid his eyes and she’d told Sarah that night that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul and that Greg was keeping his concealed for some reason.  Sarah remembered that on that night, Marie had visibly shuddered before whispering to her that Greg was a “prince of darkness”.  Later Marie had taken her to one side and had warned, “Watch out; he’s a king of deceit.”  Sarah had laughed it off at the time, thinking that Marie, forever the drama queen and entertainer, just loved looking for things that simply weren’t there.  Marie always did have spot-on intuition though and she had a thing about spirits, seances, tarot cards, astrology and fortune-tellers, which Sarah had taken with a huge dollop of salt.  But she was pretty accurate at sussing out people and how right she was where Greg was concerned!

The two women shared a bottle of cider and caught up on old times, local gossip and recent events.

            “You know.... I’ve had my share of rotten apples,” continued Marie, “But I reckon Greg is one of the worst types of men you can get.  You have to be ten steps ahead of him.  You’re gonna have real problems with him cos he just aint gonna let go and the trouble is that if people didn’t know you two they could easily believe every word he says cos he’s so plausible.  He told me that you’re a nervous wreck and have gone rapidly down hill of late and that you won’t see a doctor.  He says that you’ve been sleeping around lately and that you’d even tried to top yourself.  He says that it’s all because you’re convinced that he is seeing another girl.  He’s even said that the reason for his phone call is to ask if I’ll check up on Jason and Jess to make sure you haven’t harmed them.  He says Social Services don’t do their job properly.”

            Sarah listened wide-eyed and open-mouthed to Marie.

            “The unbelievable, revolting, bare-faced liar,” she gasped.  “He’s got some God-damned nerve.”

            “Yes, I know; I know,” Marie responded.

            Sarah stormed, “It is true that I am a walking wreck lately and worried sick and stressed to the hilt…. But who wouldn’t be?  It’s only cos that evil bastard is carrying vicious lies about me to the Authorities and is coming around here at all times of the day and night harassing me with slushy letters and gifts, and because he is making menacing threats to me and the kids.  He drives slowly past my house; God knows how many times of the day and night.  And he constantly walks up and down this road often stopping by my gate just to stare down my drive with a hollow, icy, expression on his face that spells REVENGE.  It’s enough to give anyone the jitters.  I’ve even had his bloody barmy family phoning me up to give me a right royal ear bashing.  I’ve hardly slept these past couple of weeks and when I do, I suffer really horrible nightmares of him breaking the door down and chopping us all up alive.... But a doctor can’t solve my problem.  What good is a bottle of pills?  That despicable little stick insect wants my kids in care and me in a nut house.  I really hate him.  Every time I see him I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.  He’s insane.... a Goddamn schizo.  I really had no idea he was this bad.  He’s really got it in for me now.  And there’s no protection.  I’m absolutely terror-stricken.  I try to be brave and I pretend to be coping.  I certainly can’t afford to let him see me cracking up; but the truth is it’s eating away inside me and I just don’t know what to do.  The police tell me to relax.  They say he isn’t a threat and that my imagination is running away with me.  I reckon it’s no wonder so many women end up missing, battered and dead.  The police refuse to take us seriously.  There again, they don’t take any kind of crime seriously; do they?  The law’s an ass and so are the top brass who are supposed to be enforcing it.”

            Despite her niggling reservations, Sarah tried hard to think positively and told Marie, “I’ve just got to trust that the people who matter will see Greg for what he really is - a lying, conniving, conspiring troublemaker and a danger to women and children; and that they’ll agree that for the protection and well being of Jason and Jessica, he should be denied all contact.  I’m fairly confident that justice will eventually be done in court and that whatever that sick, slime ball says will not be taken seriously.”

Marie flatly refused to share her friend’s optimism and remarked, “His type are

always a law unto themselves and they’re constantly getting away with things that other people don’t.  It makes me spit…. Listen, if you like, I could come and sit with you in the evenings; stay overnight maybe sometimes.”

            Sarah thanked her pal for the offer and although it was so tempting to say, “yes,” she decided to try and tough it out alone for a little longer.  This was her problem; it could ferment for ages; she had to find a way of dealing with it.

            The conversation gradually drifted onto lighter topics and the girls ended up giggling over the good old days.  Eventually Marie left. Sarah, feeling decidedly more cheerful and comfortably warm and relaxed as a result of the grog and light-hearted banter, decided to indulge in a fenjal luxury bath.  It was just what she needed before retiring for the night to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

            But as she lay there feeling safe, protected and positive-minded, something happened which knocked her for six.  A pebble pelted the bathroom window.  Sarah’s blood chilled.  She heard a petrified little voice insider her head screaming, ‘Oh no, oh no oh no....’ and she heard her heart booming so loud that she was sure it would explode.  A stone hit the glass, then another and another.... and then nothing.  Eerie silence.  She lay motionless, overwhelmed, shocked and confused.  She wished her mother was there, in her house, comforting her and telling her what to do but there was no one.  Then it started up again, but this time several stones came flying at the window.  Sarah was on tenterhooks, unable to think straight or do anything sensible to deal with the situation until finally she summoned all her courage together, slipped out of the bath and into her nightgown and crept tentatively into the bedroom next door.  She was in total darkness and it would have been impossible for anyone to see her fearful face peering from behind the net curtain.  But just as she appeared at the window, he looked straight up at it and fixed his big, black, baleful eyes on hers.  There was pure evil in his face.  She startled and then physically heaved.  Jerking involuntarily backwards into the black, empty abyss of her bedroom, she sat on the edge of her bed, gasping and trembling and struggling to re-gain her composure.  Then, sniffing uncontrollably and with tears stinging her eyes, she tiptoed her way back to the window.  He had gone.  There was no way he could’ve known she was there.  She hadn’t made a sound.  There was no light in the room.  The curtain was not nudged and she had not gone right up to the glass.  Yet he KNEW.  Greg could predict all Sarah’s movements.  Chillingly, he knew the way her mind worked, her weaknesses and her strengths and he fully intended to exploit that knowledge for all it was worth.  His aim was to punish her pitilessly.  Greg was on a mission and he fully and passionately intended to succeed.

Sarah crept under her quilt and remained curled up in a ball in the fetal position all night.  Sleep came sporadically and every time she dropped off, he was either hacking away at her front door with a sledgehammer or he was standing in her bedroom, his eyes flashing, penetrating; and he was brandishing a long, sharp bread knife.  Or he was tiptoeing out through her door with her babies tucked under his arms.  She didn’t know which was worse, the fearful vivid nightmares that were so real or the wakeful periods in-between when she trembled under the covers at every little sound that she heard; convinced that all the household creaks meant that he was creeping along her landing armed and looking steely-eyed and steadfast in his bid to exact his bloodthirsty revenge.

In the morning everything seemed ‘normal’, much to Sarah’s amazement.  She’d survived another thoroughly miserable night and, telling herself that Greg will soon tire of trying to scare her, began to feel a little perkier.  That was until she’d settled Jason in front of the TV, seen to Jessie’s needs and discovered that the teletubbies weren’t on the screen but that in their place was a mass of moving black and white dots and a horrible din.  She twigged immediately that the fault was in the lead to the aerial and she stormed out to investigate.  Sure enough the thing had been violently ripped apart.  But not only that; she found that her telephone wire had also been tugged out and that its intestines lay haphazardly strewn across her yard.  Sarah’s insides felt like they were about to explode.  She stood there and yelled unashamedly at the top of her voice:

            “You effing, effing, effing bastard.  Damn you Greg Potter, you lousy, ugly, no good son-of-a-bitch…. For Christsakes.”

            She blasted her way back in, hurriedly dressed her babies in their warm, quilted gear, plonked them in the pram and marched steadfastly to the call box.

            “Yes, I want to report harassment and criminal damage to my property, perpetrated by my ex-fiancé,” Sarah screamed down the line at the control room cop.

            “Calm down madam,” came the reply.  “We’ll send someone to see you now.”

            Next she spoke to a BT operator who informed her that an engineer would not be able to attend until the end of next week.

            “But.... this is urgent,” Sarah stammered.  “I can’t be without my phone.... I have a violent, vindictive nutcase of an ex who won’t leave me alone.... Please.... I’m so scared of him breaking in and attacking me.”

            “I’m sorry but we attend to lots of calls like yours all the time,” came the icy cold response.  “There has been an increase lately in the amount of calls we get from women like you complaining that their ex-partner has slashed their telephone wire and the only advice we can give is to alert your next door neighbour of your predicament and to bang on your adjoining wall for help if you are being hounded at home.”

            The police also gave a lukewarm response and enquired, “How do you know your ex is responsible? .... Were there any witnesses?”

            “Well.... no,” replied a confused and besieged Sarah.  “But it’s pretty obvious; he’s been coming around here bothering me, sending me notes and all sorts and hassling my friends.  He’s been spreading lies and slander around and to various officials and he’s threatened to get me back for years to come.  This sort of thing has never happened before.  It’s the police’s job to crack down on criminal behaviour, isn’t it?”

            “We can’t go racing round there and accuse him without firm evidence of his guilt,” came the unhelpful, official reply from the uniform.  Then the human being standing in it gave Sarah a bit of advice:

            “This sort of thing happens all the time.  The place is crawling with blokes like your creepy ex and we just can’t do anything about it.  Even if he is caught and witnessed, it probably won’t get to court and even if it does he’ll just get let off with a slapped wrist; again and again.  I’ve seen it happen.  Sure, some blokes do get done for harassment and end up doing three months in the nick; some poor sods even end up doing time for such mild cases such as driving past a few times, making a handful of phone calls and sending half-a-dozen begging letters.  But don’t ask me to explain why some get clobbered and why some don’t.  I reckon it’s all about who your friends are.  I’ve seen blokes go down for calling social services out on their ex-wives just two or three times.  The CPS have labelled it harassment.  Yet there was one poor woman that I know of who had to put up with her ex sending social workers to see her after he’d fed them a pack of lies about ten times.  And he virtually camped outside her door.  But was he ever charged?  Arrested even?  Was he hell.  That wasn’t harassment!  So don’t go relying on the law to protect you or uphold any sort of justice.  Your best bet is to get someone to duff him up bit.  Just make sure you cover your tracks and don’t get caught yourself.  Oh and by the way; we haven’t had this conversation.”

            “Oh well, thanks for being honest with me,” Sarah shrugged.  “My beef isn’t with you guys anyway.  It’s with your bosses; the ones who enjoy belonging to the rich man’s club and all the protection and privilege that it brings.  They don’t care about law and order and crime; they just want to protect their own cushy lifestyle and status.  There’s got to be corruption at the top when there’s so much crime.”

Sarah popped next door to see Gail, inform her of Greg’s recent antics and to ask if she’d kindly come to her aid in the event of Sarah frantically trying to claw and burrow her way through their adjoining wall to sanctuary since her lifeline with the outside world was temporarily severed.  Gail was happy to oblige, horrified at Greg’s malevolent revenge tactics and commented that she had noticed him and Kim hanging around near Sarah’s house.  Gail said she’d keep an eye out for him and if he was spotted in the vicinity she’d call police.

Sarah’s dad seriously wanted to send round the heavies to Greg’s until it was agreed that somehow that wasn’t a sensible option.

The next few days passed with Sarah suffering small, annoying night-time incidents of bedevilment such as spasmodic splattering of stones at her windows, irritating and alarming knocks on the glass and sporadic use of her doorbell; all at any time of night and early hours of the morning.  She and the kids also heard footsteps on the driveway, scraping noises on the walls, the gas fire flue being walloped and his car continually going past at all hours.  Sarah, David and Anna would peer out from time to time but saw nothing.  In the mornings she’d discover that her bins had been moved.  One was even found at the top of her road.  She found candles [of the type Greg used to be fond of] lined up on her wall, leering at her.  She saw that chippings had been scraped off her walls and even that some of the stones had been brushed up and scattered on top of her shed roof and Gail’s.  There were dead snails arranged on her kitchen window ledge so that they made up the words ‘I LOVE YOU’.  And she even noticed blobs of blue and burgundy paint smeared on her walls and shed door.  Also, she discovered her flue squashed.  Her neighbours found evidence that someone had been trespassing in their back gardens because Sheila [behind her] pointed out her recently flattened weeds and Mary [of the home next door] was livid to find two sets of footprints amongst her flower beds and that her blooms had been trampled down.  Yet despite the neighbourly vigilance, no one actually saw the culprits.

            The period was tense and trying.  The family were on tenterhooks.  Yet Sarah tried desperately hard to play the whole thing down in a bid to calm the kids.  She tried to convince David and Anna that Greg and Kim were much more scared of them than the other way around because Greg and Kim refuse to allow themselves to be seen.  She explained that the trespassers scurry like frightened rabbits and hide in dark bushes rather than risk being spotted, which is a sign of fear and cowardice.  Sarah wished she could convince herself with the same argument but the facts were that Greg was, so far, doing an excellent job of unnerving her, upsetting her, disrupting her sleep and making her fearful for the future.  She reasoned that if she appeared to pay no heed to his pathetic manic mission and his confounding capers, Greg would soon give up the ghost and leave her in peace.  Who was she trying to kid? 

A couple of days drifted by without significance and Sarah thought the worst was over until another unwelcome caller appeared at the door:

            “Hello Ms Hawthorne, I’m Eileen Berryman; senior social worker.  May I come in?” enquired the face.

            ‘Oh gawd not again,’ thought Sarah. ‘What does she want?’

            “Sure,” greeted Sarah, pretending to be cheerful while desperately trying to contain her true feelings.

            “Mr Potter has just been in to see us raising concerns about his children’s well being.  His main worry is that you go out every night dating different men and that you bring ‘all types’ home.  He says you leave all the children alone, that you drink excessively and that they all watch everything that goes on between you and your men-friends.  He’s also worried because he’s heard that you allow Jason to climb in bed with you and that he watches you having sex.”

            Sarah was so shocked that her jaw nearly hit the floor.

            “I don’t believe you people,” she seethed.  “You’re going to tell me this just another one of your jokes, right?  Cos this is so ridiculous, it’s a mockery of Social Services.”

            “We have to investigate all allegations, Ms Hawthorne.  Please understand that,” came the aloof reply.

            “For cryin’ out loud,” she boomed in return, “Why don’t you check your facts before coming around here all high and mighty and judgmental?  Why don’t you people plant yourselves on my doorstep for a week or two and just watch what goes on? You’ll be perfect witnesses for me.  You’ll find that I do NOT go out drinking or dating or having sex on street corners or anywhere else for that matter.  But you will find that Mr Gregory Potter DOES come around here EVERY night, spying, harassing, trespassing and damaging my property.  What are you going to do about that?  If HE is telling you that I go out on the town, partying, then he is admitting that he is watching my movements.  That’s HARASSMENT.  And if HE is telling you that I’m having sexual relations with various blokes in front of my son then that’s SLANDER.  Now are you going to back me up when I go to the police and DEMAND that they prosecute him for such?”

            “I’m sorry,” the social worker said snootily, “but we really don’t have the resources to do the public’s detective work.  Our job lies in the protection and welfare of children.”

            “Well, why don’t you start protecting the children then?” Sarah counter-blasted, “and go and target your enquiries and heavy handedness where it is needed - at the likes of Greg Potter and the multitudes of other child abusers, bullet-shooters and evildoers.  For heavens sakes, you’ll be coming here next telling me I’m engaging in prostitution!”  

No sooner had Ms Berryman made a swift exit than Sarah caught sight of her embittered and bothersome ex, of all people through her living room nets.  He was standing there right outside her house with his head shoved under his bonnet, spanners and spark plugs in one hand and an oily rag in the other.  Sarah could not believe Greg’s gall.  It was beyond belief.  She called the police, so sure that they’d actually catch him red-handed and that he’d definitely be arrested this time.  But time floated by and every time Sarah re-dialled, cops told her they were on their way.  Meanwhile her offensive ex had spent a leisurely half hour messing about on his car, manipulating this, fiddling about with that and taking time in between to stare odiously down her drive and at her house.

            Sarah sent David around to alert the neighbours so that she’d have witnesses to the whole sad spectacle but it was sod’s law that only the kids just happened to be at home at the time.  None of the adults were present.  The whole sorry saga ended with the sickening sight of Greg depositing his spent oil residue, several soiled cloths and bent rusty screwdrivers on top of her bin lid.

            The police duly arrived five minutes after Greg’s departure, to be greeted by a sneering Sarah:

            “You lot are so slow, you couldn’t catch a cold, never mind a criminal.  He was practically gift-wrapped for you.”

            “We can’t be everywhere at once,” retaliated Mr Law enforcer.  “There’s only two of us on at the moment.”

            “Well anyway,” snapped Sarah, “You can see he’s been here; look at all his dregs on my bin lid.”

            “Anyone could’ve done that.  We can’t use that as evidence against him.  It just wouldn’t stand up in court,” asserted the PC.

            “But what about fingerprints?  DNA testing?” questioned an incredulous Sarah.  “Surely that’ll reveal the truth; then you can charge him and he’ll stop all this mindless, senseless provocation.”

            “Sorry, we don’t have the staff or resources to go to those lengths.  We’re not exactly talking about a murder enquiry here, are we?” pipped the patronising PC.

            “No, not yet,” quipped a weary Sarah.

Later that evening the slime bucket had the brass neck to front up on her doorstep and fix his fat finger on her doorbell until she had no choice but to respond.  Sarah reached up to remove the batteries from the box under the bell but in the doing was sighted by the slippery, sly Greg, who began tormenting her through her letter box:

            “Oi, bitch.  I hope you’re satisfied now.  I’ve lost my job cos of you and your nasty lies,” snarled the snake.

            “Rubbish,” retorted Sarah.  “If you’ve had the boot, it’s your own fault.  Don’t go blaming me, you wimp.”  Sarah felt an equal mixture of fear, loathing and deep-seated roaring anger towards the aggressor on the other side of the door.

            “If they have got rid of you, GOOD.  Maybe now they’ll start doing the right thing and charge YOU with molestation,” yelled an assertive Sarah.  “Now, GET LOST.”

            “Not so hasty, sweetheart.  You still don’t get it; do you, bird brain?” he boomed back.  “I’m still one of them and working for them.  It’s just that I’m not in uniform.  I’m far more important than an ordinary constable.  Oh, and I practice judo with them too now…. in the elite class of course.”

            “Yeah, sure.... So much for the ‘incapacity’ fib, you social services swindler and benefit fraudster,” spat Sarah.

            “Hark whose talking, hair-brain,” continued the creep.  “The DSS know all about you.  They know you’re on the fiddle now too.  They’re watching your every move and they know you’ve got a bloke in there living with you.”

            “You’re a bloody nutter,” barked Sarah, beginning to back away from the door.

            “Not so fast my little angel,” goaded Greg.  “Guess who I’ve been talking to today…. Your long forgotten brother.  He told me everything…. all about your affairs when you were married to Glen and your lies and deceit.  I can see now why he can’t stand you and why he’s hated you all those years; you dirty trollop.  He said you’re just like your mother - a selfish little whore.  Just wait ‘till the court hears a few home truths about you, my sweet, then we’ll see who gets awarded custody of Jason and Jessica.  Social services have already told me that they’ve got grave doubts about you and your behaviour and your methods of raising kids.”

            “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead; it may come back to haunt you one day,” warned a sombre Sarah.

            “Oh no my petal, you’re the one who should be worried about death. You’ll be meeting your maker soon and you’ll have to answer to him for all your life’s sins.  He will judge you.  Oh I pity you,” teased her tormentor.

            “You’re the one that he’ll turn back at the pearly white gates Greg,” snapped Sarah.  “You’re such a loathsome, lying, bullet-shooting, con-artist that you’re the embodiment of the Devil himself.  Now sod off and slither back under your slimy stone.”

            “Oh don’t worry, I’m going.... for now.  But I haven’t finished with you yet my little honey bun.  Not by a long chalk.  You see Sarah, you crossed me and I warned you not to.  That’s a punishable offence. You have to die Sarah.  But first you have to suffer.  No one can save you.  Police are on my side.  I keep telling you that but you don’t believe me.  There are certain rules, you see, that you must obey.  But you didn’t, did you Sarah?  You were a disobedient girl and now you must pay.  You think you’ve already endured some hardship, don’t you darling?  Well you’ve seen nothing yet.  I’ll be back tonight with a vengeance that will make you weep.  I’ll be stepping up my campaign of chastisement and by the end of it all you’ll either end up in a loony bin or in jail or in your coffin.  Either way, you’ll be finished - dead in body and spirit.  Goodbye my Sarah.... for now.  I’ll see you later.”

            “Yeah!  You and who’s army?” she screamed back at him, desperate to convey the message that she was neither broken by him nor troubled by him.

But the truth was he had got to her.  He had scared the living daylights out of her and his threats plagued her.  She was terrified that he would actually succeed in destroying her totally and unequivocally.  Scrambling for the phone and overcome with confusion and despair she called Women’s Aid.

            Sarah spilled out her frustrations, fear and fury through floods of fast-flowing tears.  Her knees were knocking and her hands quivering as she described her errant, abusive and brutal ex-spouse and his psychopathic tendencies and malicious intent.  She was shaking so much and her heart racing so fast that she felt sure she was on the verge of a breakdown until Jane’s kind and soothing voice on the other end of the line had an instantaneous, welcoming, calming effect.  Jane advised Sarah to call the police every time she suspects Greg of hanging around outside her home or thinks he has done criminal damage to it.  She said it was necessary to make the police absolutely crystal clear about the severity of the situation and to get the point across that she is entitled to and expects police protection.  Jane pointed out that the more often women phone the police regarding Domestic Violence, the more likelihood there is of them actually doing something to protect women.  The way things stand at present; they are woefully inadequate.  She described women’s status in society as being second-class citizens as viewed by the police [a male-dominated institution] and government [also male-dominated.]  She then advised Sarah to invest in a portable high-pitched, burglar deterrent which she should activate in her ‘ex’s face if he approaches her in the street.  She suggested that it should be stored on Sarah’s bedside table at night time as it would make a rather comforting companion.  She urged Sarah not to give her tormentor the satisfaction of a reaction from her, simply by refusing to say anything to him.  This, explained Jane, sends the firm message that she is no longer available for manipulation.

Jane brought the conversation to a close by stressing to Sarah that if all else fails she is welcome to take up refuge with her children at one of their ‘battered women’ shelters for as long as she needs.  The thought, although attractive and comforting in one sense, was alarming in the other to Sarah because it would be a signal to Greg that he’d won and that was something that she simply couldn’t stomach.  What right did he have to bully her out of her own home?  She thanked Jane for the generous offer but vowed to stay put and fight for freedom for as long as possible.  Jane replied:

            “Good girl, stay positive and remember that we’ve all been there.  You are going through a tough time right now but you’re not alone and it won’t last forever.  Just hang in there and call us whenever you need to; whatever time it is.”

            Such encouragement and support gave her a tremendous boost and Sarah pledged that if Greg was planning to send her round the bend he’d have to jolly well work a lot harder at it because she had her kids to look after and her self-preservation to maintain.

Her newly acquired ebullient mood was abruptly deflated as she scoured the freezer looking for something tasty for tea.  This was because she suddenly became aware that virtually all of her meat compartment was unusually empty.  Greg had stolen her meat!  She clenched her fists, thumped the wall, stamped her feet and yelled:

            “Bloody, hateful, self-centred parasite.”

As the family tucked into fish fingers and mash, Sarah had a strong sense that there were ‘eyes’ upon her.  Her spine chilled and goose pimples formed all over her body.  She continued with the meal as if there was nothing untoward going on but after they’d all finished and had cleared up, she turned off the light and pretended to walk out.  But, instead, she crept back in to find him momentarily peeping in.  She then sneaked into the darkened living room and was gob-smacked to find Greg leering in the window there too.  Within seconds, and to Sarah’s horror, it became evident that he’d moved again from that position and was now hovering by her front door.  He’d thrust his hairy hand through her letterbox and was now clasping on to Jason’s tiny fingers.  Sarah sped instantaneously to her son’s aid, snatched him up into her arms, said nothing to the smirking monster behind her door and speedily scrambled upstairs to the sound of the snail snivelling:

            “I can’t bear to be without my little ones.  Thanks Sarah, for letting me have a few seconds with my son….  God he’s grown.  He’s not a baby anymore; he’s a little boy….  Oh I wish you’d let me hold him.  I miss him so much.”

            Then his tactics changed into loud sneers and taunts of:

            “You put on a lovely performance for me tonight.  I went crazy watching the sexy way you spooned your mashed potatoes, fish fingers and beans into your mouth and you had me drooling when you placed your provocative pink lips over that banana afterwards.  I tell you, I nearly died watching the way you sucked on that ice cream.  You’re deliberately teasing me, aren’t you Sarah, you naughty little girl?  You just love to get me lusting after you, don’t you?  Well, don’t worry; I’ll be around later to give you a good sorting.  I know you’re dying for it.”

            Sarah sat in silence at the top of the stairs, cringing at the sexual overtones.  As Jason played quietly in his bedroom with Anna, Sarah, silently and urgently prayed for her perverted prowler to slither away.  She also made a mental note to fix some drapes up at the kitchen window and to purchase a conference-style tape recorder and a hand-held burglar alarm. 

As he continued unabated, babbling on about what he was going to do with her later that evening, she called the police.  Typically though, they arrived seconds after the sleaze-bucket had sloped off.  It was as if they’d planned it that way.  It was impeccable timing from Greg’s point of view.

            The police officer began lecturing Sarah about crime prevention: keeping doors and windows locked, having a chain on the door and a secure five-lever mortise lock. He even informed her that he’d post her their latest pamphlets with government guidelines on domestic violence prevention and fighting crime; as if she was supposed to be so grateful for their much needed advice or something!

            “For cryin’ out loud,” Sarah snapped.  “I don’t need any more locks, chains or glossy brochures.  This place is like a fortress as it is.  Do you want me to board up my letterbox and my windows and barricade myself in until your type decide to make the world a safer place?  Sometimes I think that’s not such a bad idea!  What good is a pretty little leaflet against the likes of my spiteful, crazed ex?  A sledgehammer would be more useful!”

            The officer attempted to placate her with:

            “We’d love to be able to charge your ex-partner with harassment but we need firm evidence for the court.”

            “Well, why can’t you install a camera, just temporarily, and then you’ll have all the proof you need?”  Sarah questioned.

            “CCTV cameras cost too much.  We can’t put them on individual houses.”  The PC proclaimed.

            “No, there’s never any money for ordinary people who need PROTECTING but there’s always plenty of it in the pot for the hefty wage packets of those at the top and what is more insulting and downright disgusting is that they have the diabolical nerve to claim a golden handshake and a mighty pay off when they are sacked for being utter dismal failures and corrupt to the core.”  Sarah was firing on all cylinders now.  “It’s no wonder folk turn into hermits in their own homes,” she blasted.  “It’s the innocent, law-abiding good citizens who have to live like prisoners; not the damned crooks.  What am I supposed to do, put electric fencing all around my house?”

            “If anyone gets hurt on your property, you will be liable.  It is an offence to endanger people’s lives.  You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

            “Oh I’ve heard it all now,” she smirked.  “What about the offence of trespassing…. of harassing…. of criminal damage?  I used to live a prisoner’s existence when I was with Greg Potter; now it is one hundred times worse; just because I’ve attempted to break free of him!”

            The PC was definitely one of them.  He prattled on about the laws being there but that harassment cases are hard to bring because the courts demand indisputable substantiation.  He asked why Sarah wasn’t pressing charges for common assault if Greg was as violent and dangerous as she claimed.  She replied that it was because she’d had the freedom of binning him off and that at the time she’d stupidly chosen to stay with him.  Therefore it wouldn’t be right, in her opinion, to press charges under such circumstances.

Later, in bed, Sarah mulled over the ‘no evidence’ problem and wondered if she should have her own camera surveillance installed but realised that she simply couldn’t afford to and that she’d need at least two cameras anyway - one at the front and one at the back.  As she lay there, pondering, she heard the letterbox banging and clanging; then she heard Greg’s slurred words surging through:

            “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, open the door.... Come on love.... Let me in.... I just wanna talk to you.... That’s all....”

            He was as drunk as a lord.  Sarah then heard a horrible thud on the door.  It was Greg furiously venting his anger. He kicked and thumped the door with such increasing ferocity that Sarah felt sure he was about to knock it right off its hinges.  Crying and fumbling, she frantically dialled the police and screamed:

            “Please come quickly.... It’s my ex.... He’s tanked up and frenzied, like a man possessed.  He’s trying to break my door down.  He’s kicking and hitting it so hard I can hear the wood splintering.... Oh God, please hurry.... He’s going to kill me.... I’m t-terrified.... Please help me....”

            As she sat there praying and pleading for help, the ogre boomed:

            “Don’t