Hope's Vengeance (27 page)

A knock on the door removed their smiles, nervous eyes glancing, knowing this could be the make or break visitor. Rick mustered his courage, sweeping to the door with the lumbering gait Dawn had also inherited, and he dragged it wide, exposing a group of people, fronted by a stunning, very sexy, Hope. “Hi everyone, great show tonight.” She gestured to her sister, the pride apparent. “This is Happiness, lead singer with the chart-topping Vivity, and her band mate Tony.” Hand moving from the acne suffering teen, heavy make up not concealing the numerous mounds on his young face, to the smart, composed man beside her. “This is Barry Powell, he’s a scout for Powell and Associates, they find bands for many of the larger labels.”

Dawn’s mouth dropped open in a half-gasp, half-smile. Hope dragged a plump girl from behind her, hugging the chubby shoulders protectively, and she was oblivious to Rick’s recoil. He lit a cigarette, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ signs that adorned the walls, reminding people of the change in the law. “This is my eldest daughter, Penny.”

Hope was ignorant to the vicious glare Penny was throwing at Rick, but Dawn noticed, worriedly snatching between the couple, wondering what was going on. The proud mother continued with her innocent introductions. “And this is Dawn, my good friend, Rick, my boyfriend, Ed, LeMan, and…” Hope surveyed Steve, her brow furrowed.

He took the bait and introduced himself, egotism swelling. “Steve Pickard. I’m not one of the band, but I can be.” His fat lips splayed over his bristly cheeks as he dropped a self-confident smile, the arrogance giving Dawn goose-bumps.

Barry shrugged his overcoat from his shoulders, marching into the room purposefully. He pointed a manicured hand at Steve, the yellowing between his fingers betraying his twenty a day habit. “I want you.” The waft of tobacco was stale as he moved his hand to Rick. “I want you.” LeMan was the next member to be selected. “You. You make me laugh, you’re a right character, you’re a nutter. You’re in.”

LeMan punched the air. “Good choice, my son, good choice. You won’t regret it.”

Barry chuckled, his tone refined, the long, black ponytail that flowed down his back swaying. “I’m sure I won’t.” His hand moved to Ed. “I want to try you, but you’re going to have to crazy up your act a bit. I’ll do a one month contract with you, if you don’t perk up, you’re out.”

Dawn’s heart was beating heavily against her ribs, her hands were shaking lightly, hope, anticipation, terror, nerves, hammering through her. She felt light-headed as the hand moved in her direction, and she held her breath, unable to continue living until she heard his decision. “Look, you’re a fine looking girl, I mean, I’d have you, and your voice is great, there’s a lot of power in there.” He patted her sternum, uninvited, and Dawn could feel ants crawling over her skin, her dry mouth grimacing. “But you’re old. You’re just old. We need hot tottie fronting a band, not a has been.”

Eyes wide with shock, Dawn opened and closed her mouth glibly, his sexism bringing bile to her throat. “I’m the youngest one in the band!” She was incredulous, the comment confused rather than informational.

“Sorry, love, you’re past it. But if you’ve got a foxy mate who can take your place, let me know. She doesn’t have to be able to sing, we can speed her voice in if necessary. She just needs to look pretty, dance sexy, and be a natural flirt.” Barry handed his business card to the four selected band members, each uncomfortable with Dawn’s rejection yet celebrating their own success, and he span on his Berluti brogues, heading back to his car, back to his hotel for the night.

Hope, distraught at her counsellor’s plight, the insults she’d just received, the sense of loss, the abandonment, reached out for Dawn’s arm, but Dawn, glaring with anger, snatched it away. Grabbing her jacket and bag in one swoop, she squeezed through the embarrassed visitors at the door, trotting along the corridor, desperate for air. Outside she leant against the bricks, doubling over, and bitterness forced copious tears to flow.

Moments of raw agony passed, deep, tremulous sobs as Dawn forced herself to accept that her dream career was never going to happen. She was going to be a counsellor for the rest of her boring life. Eventually the tears dried, and the racking, quiet howling subsided. Dawn became aware of a presence, keeping her head low with disinterest. “I’m sorry.”

Dawn’s fierce glare, full of hopeless sorrow alongside the anger, was met with compassionate eyes. “Really, Dawn, I had no idea that was going to happen. I’m so sorry.”

The harsh expression softened, the displaced rage subsiding. Hope took her hand. “Look, Barry is an acquaintance of mine, I’ve known him a few years. He can be tough in business, but he also has a heart of gold. Let me talk to him. Don’t give up hope yet, okay?”

Dawn shrugged, unable to speak in case the tears returned, and suddenly the presence had gone, she knew Hope had returned to her sister, her daughter, her boyfriend. To the celebration she was no part of.

The Celebration

Word of their impending record contract had spread instantly, and the landlord of the Horse and Crown was quick to send his congratulations in the form of his best house Champagne. LeMan, reckless as ever, gave the bottle a shake before letting the pressure inside fire the cork, the eager liquid spraying the delighted revellers, copious bubbles tumbling down the green glass until they were swiftly directed to the waiting glasses.

Cheering and self-congratulating, the group sipped their drinks, the sparkle tickling their nostrils, and Hope cheerfully glanced at her daughter, her smile dropping when she saw Penny was glaring unwaveringly at her boyfriend. Rick was gorgeous, a real catch, he was kind, considerate, a gentleman, and attentive in bed. She was tempted to hope there may be a future for them, the thought of Rick’s burgeoning career no threat due to her own success, fame, and wealth. But there was an unexplained, and, as far as she could tell, unwarranted, tension between him and her daughter. She would have to investigate, eavesdrop a little over the next few days. Not tonight, though, she had revenge to plan.

Griffin Gets Excited

Unable to sleep, Griffin sat up in the darkness, his eyes adjusting gradually until he could just about make out Dorothy’s huge body, rising and falling rhythmically in her slumber. He tugged the covers back and slipped his legs down, the carpet soft underfoot as he located his slippers. He needed a drink.

Shoulders hunched as they always were nowadays, his tall frame moved silently across the room, feeling for the door handle. He tiptoed down the creaking stairs, old floorboards objecting to his meagre weight, and switched the kitchen light on. Mindlessly boiling the water left over in the kettle, he could feel temptation in the form of the brandy bottle in the cupboard. He glanced at the door to ensure his wife hadn’t followed him, snatched a fruit juice tumbler from the cupboard, and filled it nearly to the brim with the warming juice. A deep slug, and the fire burned down his throat, settling in the centre of his abdomen, heating him from within.

An uncommon noise halted his next gulp, and he strolled nervously to the doorway, peering into the black corridor with trepidation. The light of the moon shining through the frosted glass panels in the solid front door highlighted the envelope laying temptingly on the mat, and Griffin, forgetting the cold and his lack of a dressing gown, raced to the handle, spinning the key and tugging the door wide. Now unconcerned about disturbing his wife, he shouted, desperate. “Eva? Eva? Come back, I need to see you. Eva?”

The clump of Dorothy’s footsteps on the stairs restored his sanity immediately, he slammed the door and swooped down for the envelope, folding it and tucking it into his pocket hastily. He turned to face the huge woman he’d married, the woman who adored him, cosseted him, mothered him, and guilt shone from his eyes.

“What’s going on?” The words mingled with the yawn.

“Um, nothing.” Griffin remembered the brandy and began to edge towards the kitchen. “I came down for a drink, um, I’ve just boiled the kettle for a cocoa.” Her hands settled on her cumbersome love handles, head cocked, she could see he was struggling for words, and she knew his nervousness had something to do with the bimbo he was seeing behind her back. Griffin had reached the comparatively bright kitchen, the light making him squint momentarily. “I was making the cocoa and I heard a noise by the front door. I thought intruders were trying to break in, so I went and shouted after them.”

She was following his path, immediately spotting the alcohol on the side, a subconscious tut reprimanding her husband. Hands still on wide hips, determined to eek out the truth, she fixed her stare on Griffin and he winced, suddenly five years old again, about to be belted by his drunken father. “And you just happened to know the intruder was called Eva?”

“I, I, I…” His brain calculated desperately, searching for a believable lie. “I wasn’t shouting Eva, you silly woman, I said ‘come here’. I was angry, how dare they try and break into a man of the cloth’s house. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

“Griff, you know very well you’re lying, and there’s no point tipping that away behind your back, I’ve already seen it and it’s shameful. Save it. You’re going to need it by the time I’ve finished with you.” Griff righted the glass, saving the remaining brandy, submissive, and wishing he could find the courage to down it in front of her. “Let me feel your pockets.”

He couldn’t let Dorothy see the letter, she would go crazy, and years of bullying, of being ordered about, of reprimands and scolding, of unmet sexual desire, caught up with him. Something inside him snapped, he was sick of her controlling his every move, and the punching was instantaneous, unplanned, and he was out of control. He could see her face reddening, blood trickling from her nose as she recoiled against the wall. Every bit of sense told him to stop, but he was relishing her pain, her punishment. Suddenly he was back, he stopped lashing out, and the shocked woman doubled over, deep, oxygen filled breaths inflating her lungs, in fear and disbelief. She, for the first time in their marriage, was lost for words, unable to decide if this were truth or a nightmare. Her instinct told her to get back to bed, and, terrified, bruised eyes giving him a final glance, she scurried away, back to her slumber, back to the world she knew.

Slumping into a chair by the worn table, years of fatty meals on sturdy earthenware having scraped the varnish, Griffin rested his weary head in his hands, unable to believe he’d actually laid a finger on his wife. What was happening to him? It was all that bloody Hope Brown’s fault. She was destroying him, taking his life blood, making him misbehave. And then he remembered the letter, his whole body sagging as the tension melted. He grasped at his pocket, the comforting crackle reminding him that he had an ally in the furious war for the truth.

The letter had been sprayed with a gentle perfume, the aroma warming him, of times to be had when he finally met the evasive Eva. His hand moved between his legs, eager to read the words his imaginary lover had written with her dainty hand. When he got to the part where she promised to meet up with him, his imagination exploded, spilling his juice over the cotton underpants.

With his ardour quelled, Griffin continued reading the letter, and his jaw dropped when he saw that Eva had a condition to them meeting up. He read the same words again, reading, re-reading, unsure if he could fulfil the task she wanted him to do before she’d arrange a date. Then he remembered his anger minutes before. And why he’d felt so angry. A new strength and determination came from deep inside.

Dorothy Rethinks Her Life

The light of the moon flowed through the gap in the curtains, the stark, relentless cold emanating from the core of her bones. She tugged the eiderdown over her battered face, the pins of the blue rollers in her thinning hair resting on the pillow, ends digging into her scalp uncomfortably.

She wanted to cry, but the tears stayed hidden away, the disbelief still forefront. Had her husband of nearly a quarter of a century really just beaten her? Her husband, the Reverend of Potton. Did it actually happen? Or was it just a bad dream?

The answer happened too quickly for a reaction, she could smell the freshness of the new pillow as it held her breath in, the pulsing in her head reaching a crescendo as she struggled for air, for life.

Griffin kept the pillow tight over his wife’s face for minutes after the body stopped resisting, after it sagged, colossal, a beached whale on the virgin bed. Eventually he lifted his hold, studying the bruised face that had been in his life for so long, the early years wondering how he could make her have sex with him, the latter years full of resentment at having to remain in a passionless marriage.

With a sense of wonderment, of power and curiosity, he pulled the quilt to her feet, the stupendous form stirring his genitals. There was a vagina in there, and he wanted to be in it. Desire flooded, she couldn’t resist this time, twenty three years of marriage and he was finally about to see her lips. He grasped at the nightdress, heavy breaths, eager, and tugged at the oversized knickers. One finger in, two, he could feel her virginity breaking, and he took his pulsing penis, thrusting it into the parted forbidden. It took him moments to orgasm, and he laid on the slowly cooling body, waiting for his erection to return. He’d come once more, then call the police, tell them his wife had been murdered. He could muster some tears from somewhere.

Hope’s Interrogation

Her body was cold, the oversized shots of whisky not having reached the skin except for her flushed cheeks and nose. She’d been busy all evening, scheming and planning her onslaught, and she was too exhausted to sleep. The deep yawn taunted her tiredness. Rick was snoring gently, a comforting lullaby, and she snuggled up close, bathing in his warmth. He stirred, turning in towards her. “Where have you been, babe, I hate sleeping without you by my side.” The words were sticky, sleep filled.