Hope's Vengeance (24 page)

Dawn noticed Hope’s hand raise to her chest, splaying over the sternum, protecting her heart from the obviously shocking memory. “I felt so happy for her, the only thing I noticed, and more so in retrospect, was that the groom normally reaches the altar first. I had no idea my Mum was the ‘groom’. Now I know that she’s the dominant of the two, it makes sense, but back then I felt my heart lurch from my chest…” her hand balled into a fist, tapping lightly on her chest in expression “…when I saw another bride. I’d never even met Belinda before, well, not properly. I’d seen her at the Christmas do, she was, as far as we knew, one of the refuge’s women. She also looked beautiful, but I couldn’t take it all in. Charity couldn’t handle it, she walked out, Faith and me, we kept looking at each other, stunned. The ‘wedding’ went on, but I couldn’t take it in, any of it. All my head kept screaming was ‘My Mum’s a lesbian, she’s marrying her lesbian lover who we’ve never been introduced to. Right now!’ I just couldn’t get to grips with it.”

Dawn leaned forward, concerned. “Hope, can I get Gayle to bring you a drink in, your throat sounds very dry.”

Hope coughed lightly, cracking, bone dry, and nodded. Dawn commanded some refreshments into the phone, replacing the receiver, and Hope revisited the story. “The meal was fantastic, the band they laid on, it seemed like everybody was having a wonderful time. Charity had gone home in disgust, but that would hardly ruin a day, she’s always off in a huff about something or other, living on her bloody high horse. But Faith, me, just looking at each other, both in disbelief.”

“Happiness seemed to take it in her stride, from what you say.”

Hope nodded vigorously. “Yes, she had a fantastic time, she was up dancing, did a stint on the karaoke. Hell, Dawn, she’s got a lovely voice.”

Dawn smiled a half smile, eyes rueful. “I’ve heard, Vivity are on the radio non-stop.”

Hope’s eyes widened, the blue guilty. “Oh my God, Dawn, I’m sorry! I was going to get her to check out your band, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so busy, there’s so much going on…”

Dawn raised her hand to stilt the torrent, the half smile spreading until it reached her eyes. “Hope, don’t worry, don’t worry!”

She expelled the air from her pent chest, the sigh calming her. “Look, I’ll be seeing Happiness at the anniversary, I’ll have a word with her then if I haven’t had a chance to before. Have you got a demo I could take her, or something?”

“I’ll collect a few bits together for your session next week.” Dawn snatched a glance at the clock. “Anyway, we’ve got ten minutes left, fill me in on how the wedding felt to you.”

Hope shrugged. “Well, that was it. A beautiful, stylish occasion, a massive shock. I think that if I’d known she was a lesbian it would have been no problem. It was the shock.”

Dawn drummed her fingers against her lips, contemplative. “The shock. Hope, has it ever occurred to you that the shock was deliberate?”

“In what way?”

“I remember you mentioning, ages ago now, that you and Al got married to shock people, maybe that’s what your Mum was doing to you. She seems fairly competitive towards you.” Hope searched for a follow on, but her mouth remained still. “I wonder, it seems that your family, except for Faith, I’ve never heard you include her in any of the deeper conversations we’ve had about your family, it just seems to me that everybody is attention grabbing in their own little way. Charity with her snobbishness, you with the writing, Honesty with her recording, Happiness with hers. Mum wants to be a lesbian. She wants to make you all notice her. What better way of doing it than a surprise wedding, the surprise not being the wedding.”

Hope mused, words still avoiding her, she could appreciate what Dawn was saying, but was unsure how it fitted into the scenario. Did it fit? Were they all sad little attention grabbers? Was she? She didn’t feel like she was, but maybe? “I might need some time to think about that one, I can see your reasoning, I just need to mull it over for a while. I’ve never considered that scenario.”

Dawn raised a hand, effectively halting the session for the week. “Do that, think about it, and let me know what you think next week.” Dawn stood, her towering frame belittling Hope as she rose to join her. They shared goodbyes, wishing each other well, Hope donning her winter garments, ready to face the harshness outside, and she made to leave. Dawn was already reaching into her large bag for her bar of chocolate. As if in afterthought, Hope stopped at the door, eyes quizzical, the following statement almost a question, as if she was voicing her inner queries. “I want to hurt him. I want him to suffer.”

Dawn stood abruptly, facing the emptiness where she’d heard the tiny wisp that may or may not have been Hope speaking. She was certain she’d just heard a voice, but nobody was there, maybe it was just her imagination running too freely. Was it? And who was it she wanted to hurt? Was it Rick? Her heart pumped, adrenaline coursing, and she was terrified for her brother. Maybe she was being silly, maybe she meant Griffin. What was going on? Dawn knew she idolised Hope’s strength, but she also knew that the woman terrified her, well, not the woman. Just what she was capable of.

Another Night Out

Penny was sprawled along the length of the cream sofa, packet of biscuits in hand, eating them without chewing, swallowing chunks in desperation to cram the next one in. The television chattered away to itself in the corner, nobody watching, nobody listening, blending into the sounds of the household as just another element of white noise. Olive was curled neatly into the recliner chair, a book way beyond her years gripping her in its horror. Bern, yawning, pyjamas and dressing gown on, played with his cars on the carpet, the beige weave transformed into a small town in his imagination.

In the kitchen, condensation running down the windows resulting from the afternoon’s baking session, Hope removed the final metal sheet from the oven, turning the heat off. She wiped her hands on the cloth, fussing, irritated that the babysitter was late.

Quarter of an hour past the arranged time, Kirsty knocked on the front door, and Hope made her way into the hall, beaten to the target by her small son who shot from the living room at full speed. He dragged the door wide, on tiptoes to reach the catch, and sneered when he saw the fifteen year old blonde, eyes heavily blackened, hair overly straight, clothes fashionably tight. “Not you again!” Bern let go of the door, shoulders slumping, making no attempt to stifle a yawn, and smooched back to his carpet kingdom.

“Come in, Kirsty, make yourself at home.” In an apparently single movement, Hope had closed the door, shrugged on her jacket, slipped a scarf, hat, and pair of gloves on, and picked up her handbag and car keys. Penny traipsed into the hall, her baggy T-shirt straining in places from the recent excessive weight gain. Her whole demeanour was miserable, and concern tinged Hope yet again.

Penny sagged lazily against the wall, acknowledging the senior girl from her school with a light nod, not daring to talk to her as the two years difference in age made speech un-cool. “Why are you going out again, Mum?”

Hope had almost disappeared under the layers. “I have to, I’ll be back about midnight, maybe.”

Penny’s eyes rolled from one side of her face to the other, the pained adolescent act in full flow. “But Mum, you’re always going out now. It’s not fair. We never see you any more.”

Hope tugged at Penny’s top, dislodging a shelf of biscuit crumbs. “I have important things to do at the moment, I’m busy, and it can’t be avoided, sweetheart. Look, Penny…” the young girl’s bottom lip jutted defiantly, “try not to eat any more today.”

Penny crossed her arms, indignant, her head cocked in challenge. “Not that again.”

Hope sighed with motherly resignation, wishing she could instil her common sense into the child. “Penny, I know it’s hard, I know you’re hungry, and you’re growing, it’s natural. But in the past few months you must have put on over a stone, maybe even two. I’m worried.” Eyes locked on her mother, a rebellious glare, Penny sidled slowly into the kitchen, taking a hot sausage roll from the tray. She exaggeratedly put it to her mouth, savouring the first bite, the second, and Hope shook her head, breaking the obstinate exchange.

With a passive sigh, she nodded her farewell to Kirsty, and headed for the car, switching the engine on and turning the blowers on full blast to clear the windows of the thick ice on the outside and the condensation on the inside. She took the scraper, bitterness biting the ends of her fingers, and rubbed at the warming frost, sheets of warmed ice trickling off the windows. Eventually the car was clear enough to drive, and Hope sat in the driver’s seat, grateful to finally be in the warmth, and eager to begin her journey.

Dorothy is Suspicious

Dorothy’s hefty form, battered sheepskin slippers scraping the carpet with her sluggishness, wandered along the hall, watching the pile of post drop through the letterbox. Her housecoat was barely keeping her warm, winter was in full swing and the old cottage struggled to be homely away from the open fires central to the house. She crouched stiffly to pick up the letters, aiming for the one at the bottom, certain she had seen it there briefly before the postman began feeding the rest of the envelopes through the letterbox onto it. She scanned the envelope for clues, curious that there was no stamp, no franking. The letter had been hand delivered, and was addressed to her husband. The writing was female, without a doubt, and Dorothy’s jaw clenched jealously. A new urgency in her step, she marched through to the kitchen, standing the letter against the salt pot, ready for Griffin, and her ensuing questions, when she had set the table for breakfast. She poured some oil into the unwashed frying pan, the salty bacon smell wafting as soon as the heat hit the layers of lard left from day to day.

The routine had been played so often, Dorothy didn’t need to think, the tasks, the humdrum start to the day unfolding on autopilot. Twenty minutes later Griffin loomed into the kitchen, snug in his threadbare woollen dressing gown, dragging the chair back and slumping down, not acknowledging his wife. She’d become used to his manner over the years, it didn’t bother her. What did bother her was that he was ignoring the envelope, and she was desperate to see what it held. She turned back to the Aga, ready to dish the bacon and eggs.

Griffin grunted as his wife placed the steaming food before him, grease glistening in the stark light that beamed over the table, and her next mundane task was to pour the tea. It was when she leaned forward to take the pot that she noticed the letter was gone, and her heart lurched, stomach churning, gripping, because now she realised her suspicions had a foundation. Griffin was in touch with another woman, and it was clandestine. She choked, a mixture between a cough and a retch, and hurriedly excused herself, from the guttural noise, from the table, the room. Griffin’s eyes followed the direction she’d scampered in, unconcerned, unaware of her torment, and he fingered the envelope in his pocket, desperate to finish breakfast so he could retreat to his study to read Eva’s words.

Stirrings

He read the letter for the third time, savouring each tempting word, fingertips stroking the paper, knowing her hands had been resting on it the day before, and, as usual now, was unable to stop the stirring in his groin. It had been many years since he’d felt such affection for a woman, in fact he wasn’t sure he ever had. Dorothy was his wife, and he loved her for that, but they’d never been sexually close, not even once to consummate the marriage. They had excused their childlessness to their concerned parishioners with bad luck rather than the truth.

Griffin’s hand wandered inside his gown, reaching for himself, and, once more he read the words, planning his reply mentally as he played his forbidden game. It didn’t take long before his hand was back on the desk, poised, pen in hand, and the words were tumbling onto his own personalised paper:

“Dearest Eva, thank you again for your letter, I’m really enjoying our friendship, and I’m so pleased we’ve been getting closer and more trusting over the past couple of weeks. I have imagined you time over, wandering what you look like, sound like, feel like. Eva, I want to meet you, after all, you know who I am, I have no idea who you are.

I don’t know if this is going to appear out of line, but I suspect I’m falling just a little bit for you. You stir me in ways no other woman has. I feel like a naughty schoolboy sometimes, but I cannot deny that my heart’s yearning for you. Please can we meet, and soon. Yours, with fond affection, Griff.”

He took an envelope, shifting his reading glasses to focus on the address of the hotel Eva was currently staying at, copying it neatly. In his mind Eva was going to receive the letter, she’d profess undying love to him, they’d meet up and have a torrid, passionate affair, providing him with enough sexual memories to see him through the rest of his mundane life, before she toddled back to America, back to her life, leaving him to grow old with Dorothy in their comfortable way.

He felt the familiar stirring, it brought a proud smile to his face. After all, he was the wrong side of fifty, but age hadn’t dented his drive in the slightest. He dropped the pen and reached inside once more, preferring to play, eyes closed, imagination sexually wild, than to work.

The Unexpected

Claudia clicked the video off with the remote control, pressing rewind, and stretched her long, thickset legs out in front of the leather chair, leaning firmly on the back to recline it as far as it would go, and letting out a deep breath. Until yesterday it looked likely that the Reverend Griffin Hall was going to sweep the nasty accusations against him under the carpet, remain virtuous to his flock, the public, the world, the bulk of the evidence against him being circumstantial. But not now. Not now another woman had come forward claiming he sexually abused her at an early age.

Eager to prise the details from her, Claudia rushed a video interview, cramming it in first thing in the morning, almost scared to book it the usual week ahead in case the mystery woman disappeared in a puff of smoke, a figment of her imagination, of her wishes. But Eva Brunel was very real. And a pretty little thing too.