by Dawson, H A
‘You should have come to see her. Her last words were for you.’
‘What?’
‘It wasn’t right . . . the funeral wasn’t the same. We all waited . . . expected to see you there.’
She raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and her colour fading. Her gaze flitted to Eric, a desolate hunched figure on a worn-out fabric armchair, and then to her brother, hoping that one of them would admit to the cruel joke.
There was an oppressive silence and her chest tightened, and her legs shook. She tried to speak to offer her apologies, yet stared open-mouthed, unable to comprehend the crushing news. Her mother had gone, died during the intervening years. It was a devastating blow.
Craving freedom and privacy, Janet hurried out of the room and to the outer door. A burst of sunlight tightened her eyes. She shivered, cold to the bone, and started to run. Her mother was dead, gone forever. Tears dripped onto her cheeks.
After an indeterminable amount of time spent processing her thoughts, she felt a presence at her rear and turned her head. Patrick was walking towards her. He joined her on the bench.
‘I didn’t know,’ Janet said.
‘We sent letters.’
‘But I never got them.’
Silence.
‘Was it cancer?’
‘You know it was.’
She gave him a stern look. ‘It was a guess.’
His expression told her he didn’t believe her, but she felt too emotional to fight, and could not evacuate horrendous images of her sick mother dying slowly and painfully in her bed in a shabby London house.
‘How long was she ill?’
‘A couple of years. It was far spread when they discovered it.’
‘When did they find out?’
‘1942.’
‘After we were evacuated?’
He nodded, ‘About a year after.’
‘At least she didn’t have to worry about looking after us.’
Patrick gawked. ‘She was devastated that you never returned.’ His hands made a fist and his face coloured. ‘It’s all she talked about. “Where’s Janet?” she would say. We had to lie for you. Hell Janet. Why wouldn’t you come?’
Her body quivered, her voice lost. She shook her head, the image brutally relentless.
His stare was persistent.
‘I never knew,’ she said weakly.
‘You didn’t want to part from your cushy life more likely.’
‘That’s not true. I would have come if I had known. Of course, I would.’
He flung a dark, intense glare filled with hatred and pain, one that told her he did not believe her, not even for a second, and her nagging doubts emerged. Maybe she had been so livid with her parents for not reading her letters that in a moment’s fury, she had torn up one of theirs. She racked her brain for an answer.
It was difficult to accept, and in her defence, she formed an alternative. Her father may never have told her. He had hated her desire to learn and despised her for wanting to improve her lifestyle. Could it have been punishment? It seemed fitting although also a little unlikely. Nonetheless, she had never really known him, nor had she been aware of what he had been capable of, and so she had to accept it as a possibility.
She turned to her brother. ‘Do you have any idea how it felt to learn they never read my letters? When I returned home the first time, I found them in their bedroom. They were all unopened.’
‘Dad said you’d changed and had forgotten about your upbringing.’
‘I wanted to learn. I don’t know why he was so dead-set against it. He should have been proud.’
‘You always looked down your nose at him.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did so! You still do. I saw the look you gave us just now.’
‘I wanted an education and didn’t want to live my entire life in a hovel. What’s so terrible about that? I set myself a few standards, that’s all.’
‘So that’s how you see us. We’re nothing more than gutter rats!’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it!’
‘I might not be as clever as you, but I’m far from stupid, and at least we fend for ourselves.’
‘Roy works. We pay our way too. Nothing’s gifted to us.’
‘Do you pay rent too?’
Swallowing, she looked at her feet.
‘You’re nothing like us. I was willing to give you a second chance, but . . .’ he stood up.
‘But what?’
‘Dad’s right. We’re too different. It was a mistake coming here. I should have listened to him.’
He strode away.
‘Patrick?’
‘I think we should stay out of each other’s way.’
Ignoring her instincts that were telling her to grab him and force him to listen, she watched him leave, noticing his shapeless jacket, tatty shoes and the broken hem seam. Nevertheless, he was her brother and she loved him.
Her emptiness swelled.
Chapter 21
1965
Janet placed the scrunched up cleaning cloth by the sink, puffed out, and dropped her weary body onto a chair next to the table. Except for the throbbing beat of drums bellowing from Karen’s room coming from the room above, there was silence. Gerry and Ann had departed to their designated part of the house, Roy was across the hall watching television, and Fiona had wandered to another part of the house. Now it was Janet’s opportunity to relax, the week of teaching teenagers sapping her energies.
There had been a time when she took immense pleasure from her job, but as the years past, her attitude changed, and her earlier exuberance now seemed naïve and misplaced. Some of the kids were a delight to teach - always eager, always full of positive comment, always willing to learn. However, other pupils despised every moment and talked throughout the class, cracked jokes at every opportunity, and put in no effort whatsoever. She had tried a firm hand, gentle cajoling, and speaking in their language, yet it made no difference. Some pupils were there against their will and only wanted to pass time.
The thought of having a peaceful weekend with the family was her reward and she pondered her choice of activities. She could take a walk with Roy. She could potter in the garden. She could go to the shopping centre with Ann. Alternatively, she might choose to spend time with Fiona, whose preferred choice of activity was to visit museums and historical sites. It was a strange passion for someone of fourteen years, but she did not intend to discourage it, and it filled her with pride. She turned off the light and drifted along the hallway.
Fiona was alone in the room. Her legs were to her chest, her shoes on the floor and her eyes engrossed in the pages of a book. Smiling, Janet sauntered through the doorway and peered at the text. It looked as though it was a non-fiction, although she could not see what it was.
‘What are you reading?’
Fiona flipped over the cover. It was a local history book. ‘It’s for a geography assignment.’
‘You should take some time out for yourself. Relax a bit.’
Janet wandered across the room to Karen’s jacket laid skewed on a chair. As she lifted it, she sensed a slight lump from within the pocket and reached inside. Instinctively, she believed it was drugs, a realisation causing a surge of panic. With trembling hands, she scurried the packet into her skirt pocket and replaced the jacket onto the back of the chair.
She didn’t know what to do, and flopped onto a seat, clutching it through the fabric and stared blindly into space. Needing clarity to her thoughts, she considered a mounting list of questions crisscrossing her mind, although primarily, she tried to find the most suitable approach to talking it through with her daughter. Karen was hot headed at the best of times, meaning that an outright accusation would be unproductive.
Fiona broke the silence. ‘Oh, I forget to ask. There’s a show on next Wednesday at the theatre and a few of the girls are going. Can I go? It’ll be a late finish.’
Footsteps pounded the steps, causing a br
ief distraction. ‘Fine. Do you need a lift?’
Karen burst into the room. ‘You never let me go out!’
‘You go out all the time.’
‘I have to be back by nine-thirty.’
‘You never are.’
Karen held a determined pose; her legs were apart, her arms stiff by her side, and her head back. ‘Have you any idea how humiliating it is having you come looking for me?’
Janet tensed. ‘I wouldn’t have to if you came back at a reasonable hour.’
‘We can’t all be little-miss-perfect.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘I have a life . . . friends.’
‘If you came back when you should, we’d give you more leeway.’
‘If you respected me more, I would do as you say. I’m not a child.’
‘You certainly act like one.’
‘Why? Just because I like boys, music and sex. I’m normal. I’m doing what teenagers should do.’
‘Karen!’
‘What? You don’t like to hear that I sleep around? You’re such a prig. I bet I’ve seen more willys than you.’
‘Where are your morals you cheap little tart?’
‘You’re just jealous.’
She snatched her jacket and ran from the room, heading along the hallway to the outer door. Moments later she returned, her face red with anger.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Janet said, displaying the packet.
Karen raced towards her and their locked eyes. Janet placed her hand around her back, causing her daughter a moment of hesitation.
‘Suit yourself,’ Karen said, spinning around. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
The door slammed.
Their conversation continued to batter her head, the silence offering no distraction. She looked to Fiona, who stared into a book, seemingly tense and waiting for tranquillity to prevail.
‘Do you know where she’s getting it?’ Janet asked eventually.
Fiona raised her head. She did not speak but her expression displayed her anxiety causing Janet to conclude that she knew the answer. Refusing to flinch, refusing to give her daughter an opt-out, she maintained a hardened stared. Fiona looked everywhere but at her. She shifted her legs from under her body and repositioned herself on the chair. She scratched her nose. She smoothed out her hair.
Maybe it was unfair to ask one daughter to tell on the other, and for a moment, Janet considered withdrawing her question. The bond between the two girls had never been that great, and she sensed that this could be perceived to be the ultimate betrayal. But what choice did she have? Karen was in real danger and she could not let it lie.
‘Please Fiona. If you know something you must tell me.’
Her mouth opened and shut. ‘But Mum . . .’
‘Do you understand how serious this is? This is dangerous stuff. Unchecked, it will do untold damage.’
‘I do know! I’m not stupid.’
But your sister might not be so wise, Janet thought. ‘I know you’re not, and I wasn’t accusing you of anything. However, I’m not sure Karen is aware. She needs our help. You have to work with me on this.’
Flustered and with her skin red, Fiona hurried to her feet, still clutching her book, and rushed to the door. ‘It was Uncle Patrick,’ she said, and then she ran.
It took a while for Janet’s mood to revert to a gentle simmer. Ever since her family had arrived in the village, their lives had been inundated with differences, yet none more so than what she faced now. No matter how she tried, she could not see any reason why her brother would want to do such a wicked thing. He had children of his own. He should be acting more responsibly.
This time, Patrick could not offer excuses. It was more serious than when he was encouraging alcohol and when he claimed he was teaching Karen to respect it. It was more serious than when he was encouraging her to have multiple boyfriends, saying it would help her stay faithful to a husband in future years. It was more serious than when he told her that a good education was overrated.
No matter what Janet and Roy had said to Karen, she had still refused to listen. She was enamoured with her uncle, loving his liberating values and exciting lifestyle, and was besotted with his every word. It was infuriating. Her daughter showed the Smith family far more respect than she ever showed them, and her personality and behaviour changed when in their presence. She was polite, easy to get on with and helpful, the exact opposite of how she was with her, Roy, Gerry and Ann.
Janet dropped her head into her hands, exasperated. She had to pull Karen into line and stop Patrick from influencing her, yet it seemed that their link would not be broken. Despite all the years that passed, she wasn’t certain where his affections lay, and wondered if he had ever forgiven her for failing to visit their mother when she was dying. Ever since his arrival in the village, and at every opportunity he had flung verbal abuse at the Coombs’, taunting them for their wealth, their position in the community, and their obvious good manners. They had all tried to rise above it, but so often, it proved difficult.
Once, a while ago, Patrick spread rumours about the poor quality of the produce on the farm, causing a massive drop in business. He stole from their property. He slaughtered some of the livestock. He ruined crops. Of course, he was too clever to be caught and they were all forced to suffer in silence.
Janet had tried to repair their tattered relationship, feeling justifiably guilty for the suffering she had caused to Gerry and Ann. Her attempts were futile. The mere sound of her voice, the mere glance at her clothes, caused Patrick’s skin to crawl. He had one aim in life and that was to cause her pain.
Patrick denied he was out to punish her, never more so than when Karen was around. Smiles replaced the hatred, and a tender understanding voice replaced a harsh and cruel tone. She was the perfect niece. He was the perfect uncle. They understood each other like no other.
Still clutching the drugs, Janet knew she had to take action and sauntered upstairs, visited the bathroom and peered into Fiona’s bedroom.
‘I’m off out for a while,’ Janet said.
Fiona jolted, fear written into her eyes. ‘What, now?’
‘Yes, don’t worry darling, I’ll be back soon.’
Her eyes darted to the corridor at Janet’s rear. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Downstairs, why?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I’m sorry but I have to do this alone. I won’t be long.’
Fiona scurried past Janet and rushed to the bathroom. The door slammed.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ she called, ignoring her daughter’s strange behaviour.
She rushed downstairs, informed Roy she was going to see her brother, and hurried out of the house, allowing no time for explanations or second thoughts. She had to confront him and win Karen back. She had to protect her from the possible dangers she may be about to face.
The walk was soothing. It was a starry night with a near-full moon, and there was a gentle breeze. She stepped along the path, enjoying the rhythmical sound of her footsteps, and immersed herself in the swooping antics of the bats. It was a wonderful sensation, and she wished she had time to sit alone in the darkness and absorb the serenity. It was what she needed, something to calm.
She made a fist and banged on Patrick’s door. After a few seconds, a light flickered on and Janice emerged.
‘I need to see Patrick.’
‘He’s not here, he’s out drinking.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not his keeper!’
Janet stormed along the road, heading to the nearest public house a few streets away. Up ahead, in a darkened alley was a crowd of raucous men, and Janet hesitated. She was considering whether to progress when a woman’s squealing voice forced her decision. Karen’s voice was recognisable.
Elbowing her way to a vantage point, ignoring the disapproving comments, she confirmed her worst fears. Karen was performing her own, very public, striptease, and was standing in a sho
rt skirt and with her blouse open. Swiftly, and to the pleasure of the wolf-whistling men with hanging jaws and loose tongues, she removed her top. Her bra was lacy, and her curves and nipples danced. Hands reached out and cries of encouragement filled the air. Then Karen locked eyes with a man in the crowd and asked if she should remove her skirt. The cheer was deafening.
Janet could not believe what she was seeing, and could not move, horrified that her daughter, her flesh and blood, would do such a thing. The men continued to enjoy her now near-naked body, yet for some reason, they all held a respectable distance. Karen twisted and turned, jiggled and bent over, tantalizing and encouraging.
The moment Karen caught sight of Janet, the action stopped and both stared in disbelief. Within seconds, Karen donned her clothes, avoiding Janet’s stony gaze, and glanced into the crowd. She was looking at one individual, a man who was hurrying along the street. His gait was familiar. It was Patrick.
Janet was speechless. Her own brother had been encouraging such a disgraceful act. She grabbed Karen’s arm.
Karen yanked it free. ‘Get off me!’
‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’
‘What’s it look like?’
‘Patrick condones this?’
‘So?’
‘Don’t you have any self-respect?’
‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Anything could happen. You could get raped.’
‘I haven’t yet.’
‘You’ve done this before?’
She scowled and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness and leaving Janet motionless and bewildered and without the energy to make the chase. She decided she had been too soft and given her too much freedom, and it was time to take firm action. One way or another, she would win this battle. No daughter of hers was going to spend her life as a cheap little whore. It was degrading and humiliating and she would use whatever means necessary to achieve her aim. She felt a key inside her pocket and devised a plan to keep her under control. She may have lost the battle, but the war was far from over.
Chapter 22