Hope's Vengeance (20 page)

“I think it’s quite nice, leaves you to think more when your senses are dulled. Anyway, candles are a bad subject at the moment after Christmas day!” Hope chuffed, but without humour.

“Oh, why’s that?” Dawn was imagining them being linked with the memory of the candles at the midnight mass, so was pleasantly stunted by the reply.

She was laughing with the memory. “Keith knocked one over at Christmas dinner, and it set the whole table alight. We controlled it without needing to call the fire service, but it was scary! Amazing how quickly things caught, I was stunned.”

“You’re joking! Was the meal ruined?” Concern was written across Dawn’s face, but Hope was still grinning.

“No, luckily we’d finished. He’d had a bit much to drink, well, that’s an understatement, he was pissed, and he was messing about. Charity had a right go at him after, but she’s a fine one to talk, she’s got a reputation as a bit of an arsonist herself!”

The familiar sardonic chuckle, light and tinkling, with an overcoat of darkness rang through the room, and Dawn nodded, prompting without words, absorbed. “She must have been about fourteen, I guess, she was in her bedroom, and Mum had gone out, probably to get more booze, she was in her alcoholic stage at the time. Anyway, Charity was setting up some candles, she never told us why properly, but it was for some kind of ritual or something. It was the same thing, she knocked one over, the room caught alight.”

Dawn was enwrapped, sensing the underlying anger, whilst Hope slowly shook her head as the memories reappeared. “She didn’t want anyone to know, she felt stupid, so instead of screaming so we knew to get out, she pissed about trying to put it out herself with her bedside rug. So bloody irresponsible, she was then, and is now.” A deep sigh. “By the time she got out of the room, and by now the fire was out of control, her throat was too sore to shout. Luckily Mum came home and smelt the smoke, she screamed for us to get out. I grabbed Honesty from her cot, she was woozy from smoke inhalation. It was scary.”

“I bet! Fire’s so dangerous, people don’t realise.” Both women leaned back in their seats, comfortable in each other’s presence. Dawn the counsellor, Hope her client. Hope the strong leader, Dawn the submissive slave. Friends?

“We had to move out for a month while the landlord did the repairs. The council put us in emergency accommodation. The whole of the first floor was burnt to black, the furniture ruined. Our personal things, the boxed stuff, you know, memories, first drawings, school reports, special gifts and notes, Mum kept it all in the loft, and they were ruined. Even after a month, and all the plastering and decorating that had gone on, it always smelt of burning up there after that, just lodged in the back of your nostrils every time you passed the fifth step on the staircase.”

Dawn set her elbow on the armrest, leaning over, chin onto her hand, contemplative. “Dynamics, Hope? Charity was, in your own words, the ‘favourite’, Mum and Dad thought she could do no wrong. And here she is messing with fire, destroying your house and personal belongings, even risking the lives of her siblings by not being sensible. Did the episode change the dynamics within the family, the way your parents viewed her, or you?”

Hope snorted, adopting the resigned manner that always came to the fore when she spoke of her childhood at home. “Rewards, that’s what she got. She went to live with Dad and Sandra. Mum didn’t kick her out, he just decided she needed more attention than she was getting. He put her in private school, had an extension built on his house so she could have not just her own bedroom, but an en-suite and lounge area too.”

Dawn’s jaw had dropped, an incredulous smile painted across her face. “You are joking this time, right?”

Hope shook her head dramatically, hammering the truth in her words home. “Sadly not. That’s what Charity gets if she does wrong. Rewards. Keith’s the same with her. If she behaves out of line he treats her to things, excuses her social gaffs using depression, or miscarriage, or leukaemia, or the time of day, or the fact there’s only one cloud in the sky rather than two!”

“F…shit, sorry! I forgot where I was for a second!” Dawn’s eyes dipped, ashamed, remembering her role.

Now her chuckle was genuine. “Hey, don’t worry, I’ve got a filthy mouth, why shouldn’t you join in!”

They both sniggered for a short while, neither a laugh, nor a proper smile. Just an acknowledgement at a mediocre stab at humour. Dawn crossed her legs, drawing in a deep breath, ready to launch her skills. “I’m getting a huge sense of resentment from you, and it appears to be completely deserved, but at the end of the day it’s dragging you down, you need to accept and let go if you want to progress.”

Hope cupped her hands around the hot mug, the soup remaining untouched, although her hands were warming. “Psychobabble, Dawn! Progress where? Where exactly am I progressing?”

Dawn took a deep sigh, and being honest with herself, she was spouting rubbish. A few moments passed as she tried to work out the best way to dig herself out of this rut. “Okay, I’ll try and rephrase to make sense. At the moment you are putting a lot of emotional energy into both being jealous, and…”

“I’m not jealous! Why should I be? I’ve got a successful career, I’m wealthy in my own right, I’ve got three gorgeous children, friends, hell, I’ve even shifted time-honoured barriers when it comes to domestic violence and bullying.”

Another sigh, Hope could be hard work. “I know what you’ve got. But what you don’t have is your parent’s approval, their pride and support.”

Hope’s teeth gritted, eyes watering, fists clenched, she choked on her breath, unable to speak should it open the dam for the tears to pass. She rose stiffly and strolled to the window, shoulders back, retaining her dignity. Dawn guessed she’d hit the nail home, and that this moment was the start of her client accepting the way her parents are, her sister, the family set up. She felt sympathy for Hope, dealing with so much at the same time, emotionally. She’d not, as far as Dawn knew, reported Griffin to the police yet, so that was still an inner torment, and it appeared that her parents were a major cause of the troubles that not just Hope, but her siblings too, had to comprehend and come to terms with.

“Truth is, I hate her. I hate her snobbery, her conservatism, her lack of empathy and compassion. She’s the most selfish person I’ve ever known, always has been. When she was pregnant with Ava I thought ‘this is it, this is where she starts thinking about someone else rather than just herself’ and there it was, Ava was born, and, even though Charity’s home all day, they got a live in nanny.

Neither Keith, nor Charity, bathe her, or feed her, they wouldn’t change her nappies, they don’t put her to bed, read to her, they hardly see her. When she got leukaemia, they saw it as an irritation. Dawn, Ava wants for nothing materially, she has everything she ever wants. If she wants a doll they buy it, a horse, they buy it, hell, if she wanted an apartment they’d go on out and buy one to her specification. But love, time, cuddles. No way. And now they want another baby!”

The subject was a fiery one for Hope to contend with, she gesticulated her arms, impacting the words, impacting her irritation. “When they visit, my kids, they’re always coming for hugs, we snuggle, kiss cheeks, foreheads. You know, when they visit, Ava just looks at us when that happens, as if we’re aliens. She has no concept of physical love.”

Dawn had joined Hope at the window, they both gazed through the glass, absorbing the leaden, charcoal sky, eyes following the thousands of puffy snowflakes as they danced from the clouds, drifting this way and that, before settling on the freezing pavement and road. “From what you’ve told me about your childhood, I imagine that the real problem with Ava and her situation is that you can empathise with her from your own personal experience.”

Hope regarded Dawn, her thickset jaw, strong nose, hazel eyes that swooped between green and brown depending on the light, and she felt admiration for the woman’s perception, her insight. “Go on.”

Now Dawn faced Hope, and it was she who emphasised her words with gesticulating hands. “Just look at it. You were all but ignored when you were a kid, if it wasn’t rejection by your father, then it was the alcohol taking your Mum away. You brought yourself up, and had a major hand in bringing your sister up. Now, most parents, when they have a baby, if they wanted for anything in their own childhood, they want to ensure the child never goes without, it’s a common syndrome, and quite understandable.”

“Yes, you’re right there, so I give my kids lots of attention, cuddles and love because I wanted for them when I was young.”

“You’ve got it. But obviously you love your niece, you want the best for her too, and you can see her not getting the things you crave yourself, the things you insist your children have. It burns you up.”

They strolled back to the chairs, the darkness about them like a shroud, regardless of the upbeat, productive conversation. “So how do I get rid of the resentment then, just accept things, not let them bug me any more.”

Sitting heavily, crossing her long, lean legs, the well-worn denim-elastane stretching easily over the knees. And a sigh. “That’s just it, Hope, that’s what you need to do. Accept it. I can’t tell you how to do that, only you can do it. You need to look at each part, break it down into manageable chunks, then accept each chunk, bit by bit. It’ll take some hard work on your part, and you’ll have to want it, or it won’t happen.”

They sat, the oppressive darkness isolating them from the world, from each other, both lost in their own thoughts, the silence even purer now the white noise of the electricity buzzing was absent. Eventually, minutes having passed with no verbalisation, expressions, or eye contact, Hope’s mouth began to contort, words wanting to escape, but unsure of the order they should come out in. Finally. “I can do that. I want it enough. I can do it. But it’ll take time.”

“Good, we can keep talking about it over the weeks if you think that will help.”

Shaking her head, decisive. “No. You’ve told me what needs to be done, I’ll find a way and do it. Charity, resentment, jealousy. You won’t hear them from me again.”

Dawn was intrigued at the orderly and resolute dismissal of a life-long problem, she wanted to question the disciplined surety but that wouldn’t have benefitted the roles they were playing. Hope’s mouth was working again, her eyes focusing on the coffee table, the full mug of cooling soup, carrot pieces and soggy croutons bobbing on the surface. “The one thing I can’t drop is Ava. In fact I’m going to work harder with her. She’s a dear little thing, tiny. Charity’s a big girl, tall, not fat, big boned, we look nothing like each other, I’m the runt of the family.”

Dawn grimaced, she’d heard Hope belittle herself by saying that before, and it didn’t sit well with the strong woman who sat before her. “Keith’s about six two, built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Yet Ava was a weed when she was born. Charity went full term with her, she was just a tiny baby.”

“How much did she weigh? Can you remember?” Dawn admitted to herself that whatever Hope’s answer, it wouldn’t mean anything to her, her inability to have children had meant she’d never become au-fait with the terminology.

“Five pound something, eight or nine, thereabouts. She had the dinkiest feet and hands. Tiny fingernails, teeny toes. She’s a pretty little thing too, got her father’s looks. Charity’s attractive, but she’s not pretty, but Keith’s drop-dead gorgeous, well, until he opens his mouth and the pompous shit comes out. No, I’m going to concentrate on Ava, include her in our family trips, show her physical love, show her interactive fun, not lonely playing.”

Dawn was nodding lightly, pride flying from her eyes. “Hope, you’re a genuinely kind person, aren’t you? If you let the hatred and anger go, you could change the world, the position you’re in.”

Even in the dimmed room, Dawn noticed the ocean blue turn to steely grey, and the determined Hope was reborn. “I know. And that’s what I intend to do.”

After such a resolute statement, no words seemed appropriate, so, in the unnatural silence, the unspoken goodbyes were taken for granted, and Hope collected her things together, slipping the coat onto her shoulders, hat, gloves, scarf, wrapping herself away like a present.

As Hope stepped from the room, Dawn thought she heard a murmured ‘thanks’, and a satisfied smile slipped over her lips. Real progress had been made today, she was proud of herself, proud of her client. She couldn’t wait until the next session.

Dorothy Takes Matters into Her Own Hands

Dorothy busied herself in the sizeable, homely kitchen, the kettle was on boil, toast in the toaster, bacon frying in the pan, teapot ready to brew, and the table was neatly laden with cereals and marmalades. She was keeping life normal, but Griffin had fallen apart. He trudged through the door, dressing gown hanging loosely either side, unbothered with the belt, and slumped into his usual pine chair.

Dorothy poured the boiling water into the teapot, mashing the bag with a spoon, squeezing out the strong Yorkshire flavour. She hastened it to the table, filling Griffin’s cup, careful not to dribble any onto the saucer, topping the golden liquid with milk from an earthenware jug.

“Are you planning on working today?” A simple question that caused severe turmoil for Griffin, his face contorted, wrinkles deepening, until he was left with a distasteful sneer.

“How can I! You’ve heard the gossips, they’ve hung, drawn and quartered me, it doesn’t matter that I’m innocent to them, they’re vultures.” His fist slamming against the cracked polish of the table emphasised his bitterness.

Dorothy took the toast, placing it in the silver toast rack, a tarnished present left over from their wedding day twenty three years before, she placed the butter dish on the table, opening it for Griffin’s benefit. “Griff, you can’t carry on like this, avoiding everyone. You have a job to do, you’re the Reverend, your parish needs you to take control.”

He was standing, anger propelling him. “Those people have been too quick to judge me, Dot. They haven’t given me a chance.”