Hope's Vengeance (2 page)

With years of pent up anguish welling inwardly, the sigh of relief was almost visible, and the whiteness left Hope’s knuckles, she leaned back in the chair. Dawn repressed her own relief, knowing she needed to stay in the role of protector if Hope was to continue to relax. A full five minutes of silence passed, Dawn bided her time, guessing that Hope was preparing a landslide.

Eventually it came. “Lucy came to stay on the Friday, we had a drink, had a laugh in the evening, it was fun. We got up early on the Saturday, had a long, lazy breakfast, fruit, meats, cheeses. Bucks fizz!” Her chuckle was gentle, tinged with childish embarrassment. “We had a good laugh, you know. After breakfast we went upstairs to my suite for a full-on pampering session. We had hairdressers, a make-up lady, and I’d bought loads of new products, expensive stuff, so we could all feel beautiful. It was fun, special.” She sighed remorsefully.

“I’d hired a couple of Daimlers so we could arrive at the church in style, people stopped and stared as we went past, it must have looked impressive, the ribbons, the flowers.” Dawn shifted in her seat, eagerly listening to the tale she’d already studied in the tabloids.

“Lucy’s eldest, Callum, gave her away, he looked so smart in his suit. We followed them down the aisle, and I was so proud of her, her elegance, her beauty, my best friend. It makes me sick now to think of it.” Hope’s voice cracked, her knuckles whitening once more, and she swallowed heavily, choking back the tears she refused to cry.

“At the reception Lee seemed so genuine. He kept thanking me, over and over, in fact it became quite embarrassing in the end. I’d arranged for some silver service waiting staff, and they presented the guests with Champagne, then saw to our every need whilst we ate. The food was commendable, the chefs certainly knew how to feed the five thousand with style.”

Dawn leant forward in her chair, fingers entwined, face quizzical. “Let me get this right, you paid for all of this?”

“It was my wedding present to them, Lucy meant a lot to me.” Hope shrugged nonchalantly, oblivious that she’d tugged up her sleeve to scratch her arm, revealing thick scars of self-harm. Dawn mentally noted them, realising there was more to Hope’s troubles than a spell in prison or a twisted friend. “The day was perfect, special. Everyone who came said they had a fantastic time, there was lots of laughter, hugs, pleasantries. I was really proud, of Lee and Lucy, of Callum, of my kids.”

“What about you? You arranged it all.”

Another deep sigh. “I guess I was proud of me. No, fuck that, I’ll be honest. I was jealous, no, that’s too strong. Envious then. Is that selfish?”

“Because she got to be princess for the day?” Dawn relished the admission. This was truth, this was feeling, emotion. She was cracking through the shell.

“No, I’m not the type to be a princess, I prefer the spotlight to stay off me. I was envious, and I still am, more so after what’s happened, I was envious that nobody has ever lavished that sort of attention on me, made me feel special and worthwhile. It makes me feel selfish saying that.”

“You arranged and paid for a dream wedding for your friend. I doubt anyone could describe you as selfish.”

Tugging her sleeve back into place Hope leaned forward, she grasped the plastic cup of water from the table, taking a sip before gulping it down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her delicate hand. Her answer dismissed the compliment. “After the wedding I felt as if I was in a void. Lee and Lucy had gone to Rio on honeymoon, and back to Reading afterwards, my book had been accepted, I had nothing to do, nothing important, except bum around the house, being a mum, being a housewife. That’s never been enough for me. I’d been toying with the idea of writing a book on conspiracy theories for years, so I played about researching bits on the net, but my heart wasn’t in it. So when I got a call from Lee in May telling me they were going back to Rio as they’d enjoyed the honeymoon so much, I jumped at the chance of joining them. That was a big mistake.”

“Fill me in here, I need some background. Did you pay for the initial trip?”

“No, Lee did. And he paid for this one, me as well. Board, flights. I objected at first, but Lucy pleaded, said they wanted to thank me for the wedding, and that they could afford it because Lee had been given a massive bonus at work. It all seemed believable, never occurred to me there’d be a hidden agenda.”

“No, why would it!” Dawn recalled the opposite slant the papers had taken, and it still made her stomach turn, hearing it from the victim, hearing the words through clenched teeth, raw with anger. “So you went?”

“Yes. End of June. Faith looked after the kids.” Dawn’s eyes asked the question. “My sister.”

“Are there just the two of you?”

The ironic laugh tinkled again. “No. Charity’s the eldest, then Faith, me, and Happiness is sixteen. We had another sister, Honesty, you’ve probably read about her. She died on New Year’s Eve, be five years ago in December. She was shot in the head, close range.”

Momentarily unprofessional, Dawn couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping. “You mean Little Honesty. The singer. Killed by a stalker.”

“The very same.” White knuckles, grating voice, but this time they were joined by an involuntary shudder, which Dawn couldn’t help but share.

“Have you ever talked that through with a counsellor? That must have been a tremendous loss, she was only young.”

“Twenty.”

“And such a violent death.” Dawn could remember the disbelief that had swept the country as if it were yesterday, everybody had loved Little Honesty. There was nothing not to love.

“The bastard. She was the nicest, sweetest person that ever walked this earth. He should have taken me, not her, anyone, but not her. Not my Honesty.”

“I can see that you were close.”

“I idolised her, she was my angel. I adored that girl.” Hope shifted her weight in the seat, crossing her arms in self-defence. “Look. Can we change the subject, I’m finding this hard?”

Dawn checked her watch; she laid the pad she’d been scribbling notes in, and the pen on the coffee table. “Of course.” Astonished with the speed the hour had passed in, Hope noted the finality and pulled a chequebook from her bag, opening it, pen hovering. “Is the same time next week okay for you?”

Hope nodded, scribbling the payment in her wayward handwriting. “I’m paying you upfront for ten sessions, okay?” Grabbing her coat, her bag from the floor, Hope passed the cheque over before scurrying from the room.

Dawn shuddered as the felt the air clear, the heavy greyness that had choked her for the past hour, and realised she was relieved Hope had gone. There were so many unanswered questions, there was so much depth to the woman, and she was intrigued to hear the full story. But still, her overwhelming sensation was relief. Dawn drew a deep breath; she had just enough time for a quick coffee before the next client.

Session Two

They’d shared a few basic words, settled into their seats, and Dawn was struggling to conceal the shock she felt over Hope’s condition: she was a mess. The bare face that had been neatly made up the week before was reddened, eyes swollen yet strangely sunken. Her dark waves were unkempt, scraped shabbily back, and the clothes were unfitted, crumpled and scruffy. Her entire manner shielded her, belittled her into a corner, hiding from the world, hiding from herself. “Hope?”

The anger that had dominated the previous week’s session was gone, Hope’s knuckles weren’t white, the snarl was gone, and her eyes were forlorn rather than challenging. Dawn’s immediate task was to decipher whether a new tragedy had happened, or if this was a result of dredging up the past the week before. But if Hope didn’t talk, neither of them could progress. “What’s happened?”

Sounds of life drifted through the sealed window, a drill boring through the tarmac on the road outside, children merrily shouting in the playground of the school nearby, impatient cars shooting by, but Hope’s demeanour was flatline. She was in a void, her words shielded by a steely resolve not to cry. Twenty minutes passed, every tear restrained, every sob swallowed bravely. She emitted no explanation, not even a sigh, and now doubts were arising in Dawn’s mind to Hope’s mental state: maybe she needed more than a counsellor? Perhaps she should refer her to a psychiatrist? Dawn doodled nonchalantly on her pad, whilst Hope’s inner torment struggled to find the right words.

Twenty-five minutes. A sip of water, followed by a gulp. That was it, a breakthrough. The simple act had revealed so much about the woman, and Dawn could now understand that Hope always tested the water before continuing, literally, and hypothetically, and the ensuing sigh proved her right. “I’ve made an appointment to visit Lucy at Eastwood Park Prison.”

The statement was unexpected, and Dawn swallowed to control a response. She’d suspected difficulties in dealing with Honesty’s untimely death, or unexplored memories of the hell in Rio, anything, but such a generous statement. “Why?”

“I need closure. I need to forgive her before I can move on. I’m paying you to help me move on, but I can’t do that without forgiving her.”

“Astute, that’s very astute.” The intrigue Dawn felt for her client deepened, and the surge of respect was unplanned, unprecedented.

“You know, the holiday in Rio was heavenly. It’s a beautiful city, the sights are tremendous, awesome, and the people are generous and kind. The hotel was dreamlike, the food, the company, the staff. The holiday was wonderful. Lee and Lucy, there was no indication, no signs that I missed. I’ve mulled through it all, I had the time to, stuck in that prison day in day out, two months of my life, wasted, missing my kids. I was innocent, but they treated me like a criminal. At the airport, Galeao, they were all smiles, right to the end, Lucy and Lee. They had it planned to perfection. We were about to board, and Lee spotted, that’s the word he used, a friend, a Brazilian guy, so he asked me to take his and Lucy’s hand luggage onto the plane, said they’d meet me on board in a few minutes.

I mean, we’d been through customs, passport control, everything, I had no reason to think anything untoward at all, I was happy to help out while they said their goodbyes. But I guess they must have already heard alarm bells, because as soon as I picked up the bags security was there, big guys, scary, talking, ranting, babbling and I couldn’t understand them. They wrenched the bags away, dragging me from the departure lounge. I was terrified. I looked at Lucy, at Lee, but they just watched, they said nothing. Lucy smiled, and that’s when I knew.”

“You knew?”

“I’d been set up. It was cocaine, inner linings in both bags. You know, they almost got away with it, getting through customs, but they must have known there were suspicions. So they let me take the rap. The legal system in Brazil has zero tolerance to drug trafficking, you’re caught with drugs, you’re locked up, simple as that.”

Hope drew a deep breath; she stood slowly, and wandered to the window, gazing through sightlessly. Rays of stark sun shining through the branches of a tree danced on her pale skin, highlighting the greys that tinged her scruffily trapped hair. She was a tiny woman, small boned, skinny. Her features were delicate, yet distinctive, her jaw powerful with tension. With the protection of crossed arms, she was alone in the room, she was talking to nobody, not even herself, the words were just part of the atmosphere, haunting. “It took the British Embassy two months to prove my innocence.”

Dawn was undecided. Prompt or not. The decision was taken from her. “Prison conditions were everything you read about in the magazines. Filthy, pungent, dirty. Cockroaches everywhere, unpalatable food, the stench of shit pervading constantly, urine, body odour, filth.” A light chuckle, the irony palpable. “Best diet I’ve ever done.” Hope was grabbing at the skin underneath her ribs, there was no fat anywhere, her body sinew and bones, and then she began scratching at her chest, her arms, her legs, the actions involuntary. “Lying on the mattress, a stupid piece of piss stained foam on the floor, I’ll never forget the feeling of cockroaches crawling over my skin at night, too many to swat away. I was innocent, Dawn, innocent.” Her voice cracked, and she became tiny again, folding into the chair, crossed arms shielding her from the world.

Dawn struggled now, what words could pacify an experience like that? She remained silent until Hope’s voice broke the silence once more. “It sounds contrived, but I missed the kids more than anything. Missed their arms around me, hearing their voices, being part of their lives. They all grew up while I was away. I missed a chunk of their lives, and I can never get that back.”

“Who looked after them during all this?”

The sip of water, followed by the gulp, and the plastic cup was drained. “Faith and Adam.”

“Adam?”

“Her husband, my sister’s husband. They stayed on after I was due back, Faith was instrumental in getting me freed. I owe her everything.”

Dawn shook her head. “You don’t owe anyone, Hope, this happened to you, you’re the victim.”

The end of the session was nearing; the silence at the beginning having wasted precious time, but Dawn was loath to let it stop, her client being in such a turmoil. She decided to extend the session for a short while, let natural progression decide when it ended. She’d deal with the recriminations from her boss later.

“You know, when my lawyer told me I was free, I couldn’t even raise a smile. It was like all my emotion had gone. No tears, no laughing, no punching the air. They gave me some clothes; I changed out of the jumpsuit, put them on. But I didn’t give a shit about washing, make up, brushing my hair. I just slobbed out of that hell with a complete disregard to things that mattered before.”

“You’ve got self respect back, though, you were beautifully turned out last week.” Dawn realised she had just inadvertently insulted Hope, and she swore inwardly.

“I had an interview with a journalist after the session last week.” Hope tugged at the scruffy leggings. “This garbage is me now.” Her dainty fingers raked through the greasy hair, releasing more tendrils to frame the distraught face. “This garbage, this is me. I’m fucking disgusting.”