I Know Your Every Move

by Diane Ezzard

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay Sophie, he’s probably upsetting some other poor soul now.” Joyce’s words reassured me and I promised not to get too hung up about it.

  Life moved on. I quickly settled into my new routine. I got accepted onto my counselling degree course and enjoyed the work. A lot of it was about self-discovery and interacting with others and I actually liked looking deep into myself, similar to what had been started in treatment. Finding out what made me tick and learning I didn’t have to be perfect was so enlightening for me. I slowly began to feel happy in my own skin. I accepted the part I played in the relationships I had. I no longer blamed everyone else for the way things turned out. I definitely grew as a person and matured emotionally throughout this phase of my life. I now thought it was okay spending time on my own getting to know and love myself.

  The course was great. We were a fairly small tight knit group that by the end of our time together dwindled down to twelve of us. I think the closeness we had, was due to the fact we had to open up to each other and allow our vulnerabilities to show. I never had the classic Uni experience as I didn’t often join the others when they went out drinking. It was tough though.

  There was one woman who I didn’t gel with, Tracey. Tracey was a mature student in her forties. She was married with a grown up family and she also worked part time managing a team of volunteers for a charity. Although she was always well dressed and had lovely shiny black hair styled in a bob that I thought suited her, she had a chip on her shoulder. Whatever her issues were, she didn’t let anyone in. She had the tongue of a viper and took any criticism personally. This made life difficult as we often had to critique each other whilst developing our counselling skills.

  Once a week we would have a feelings group where we were all encouraged to get real about our experiences. By this stage, Tracey had started picking on me ever since I gave her some negative feedback after one of her practical sessions. She tried to find fault in everything I did. Others in the group had already suffered at the backlash of her tongue and were sympathetic to my position but her behaviour began to affect my time there. Challenges with her made me anxious, and I had sleepless nights when I would lie there plotting on how best to deal with her. I decided it was time to tackle her head on. So at the next feelings group, I brought it up. We normally went around the room, and all got a chance to speak. I heard my heart pumping as my turn grew closer. Thump, thump, thump.

  “Sophie would you like to say anything?” my tutor asked.

  “Yes, I would. I’ve been feeling uncomfortable for some time now and there’s someone in this room that’s been at the root of my anxiety. I’ve allowed them to have power over me and it’s been affecting my sleep and my general well-being. I’ve made up my mind that it can’t carry on anymore so that’s why I’m opening up about it now.” The room was deadly silent. Each word felt harder to come out of my mouth. I had a lump in my throat and I kept swallowing whilst feeling the anxiety rising in my chest.

  I shook inside when I looked across at Tracey and said, “Tracey, you obviously don’t like criticism and you take things personally, which it’s not meant to be. You have been on a vendetta against me and it’s got to stop.”

  Tracey was restless. She squirmed in her chair and her face went red.

  “I don’t know what you mean. How dare you suggest that!” Her voice was raised. I was scared.

  “Don’t shout, Tracey. Your attitude’s not going to cut it anymore with me.”

  “I’m fed up of everyone picking on me.” Tracey pulled a face.

  “Tracey, no one’s picking on you. You behave like a tiger waiting to pounce, looking for the weak spots in your prey and then trying to bring them down. It’s as though by doing that, it will somehow make you feel better about yourself. I’ve been watching you Tracey and I can see exactly what you’re up to but I don’t intend to let you get away with it anymore. I’m fed up of playing the nice guy and saying nothing. From now on, I’m going to speak my mind. I think you’re a bully, Tracey and I’ve had enough of watching you at work.” The room remained silent. I had everyone’s full attention. I was ready for a verbal fight now and would take anything Tracey came back with, even though I still shook inside. I noticed Tracey was also shaking.

  “You’re the bully, Sophie.” She began to cry. I shook my head. She then got up and left the room. The tutor tried to call her back. We were meant to face up to uncomfortable emotions not run away from them. No one went out to Tracey. The tutor asked me how I felt now.

  “Better than I have in a while. I needed to do that to be true to myself.”

  When the group ended, two of the others went to see how Tracey was. She had gone to get herself a coffee. I stayed out of her sight. I wanted to give her time to mull over what I said. A few of my peers congratulated me on the courage I had shown saying they wouldn’t have been able to do the same. I told them it had taken a lot of pain and sleepless nights before I said anything. It paved the way for others to stand up to Tracey. It also created a shift in me in that I now knew I could stand up for myself.

  Tracey didn’t change, but she did change towards me. She no longer found fault with me. Whether it was because she felt respect at how I’d stood up to her or she realised she couldn’t bully me anymore, I wasn’t sure. I still kept an eye on how she treated others. In the last year, she left the course. She’d still had altercations with a number of my peers and they always ended in tears. If I was honest, though, I didn’t think she had the right skills to be a counsellor when she still held on to issues from her past she wasn’t prepared to let go of.

  My best friend on the course had been Damien. He was the best looking man I have ever seen in my life and he always looked immaculate. He had a boyfriend, Roger who was a paramedic. Roger’s job and the long hours he worked were a constant source of argument between the pair and Damien would discuss their arguments in great detail. Damien’s looks came from an Indian father and an Italian Catholic mother and he had also inherited his mother’s fiery temper and his father’s Asian charm. Damien was someone else who didn’t mind saying it how it was but he was able to use his sense of humour. He nicknamed Tracey, Cubie, which was really QB which he said stood for queen bitch.

  Before she left, he would often come out of a session with her with the back of his hand laid over his forehead and say, “Cubie’s been at it again. She’s reduced Holly to tears this time. I despair.” Damien was a real drama queen, but he worked hard, so it helped being friends with him because it would encourage me to put the work in and we would discuss assignments together. He could be naughty. As counsellors, we were supposed to be non-judgemental but Damien was fond of gossiping and pulling faces. It cracked me up. He also had a vulnerable side. He talked about feeling lost, not having a true identity or knowing which culture he belonged to but I liked the fact Damien was a unique individual and I would often tell him so. After we all qualified, Damien and his partner moved to London to work. I was sad when I had to say goodbye to them.

  Outside of university, life was full of ups and downs and I was tested. Mum and Dad got divorced. If I was honest, I suspected it had been on the cards for years. They had been separated now for some time. They didn’t seem able to patch things up and Mum had the new man in her life, Norman. Neither my sister Stephanie nor I had spoken to Mum since she left and it hurt that she didn’t want any contact with us. I had to learn to accept it and concentrate on my own life. At least without Mum there, there was none of the shouting at one another at the top of their voices between her and Dad. No bickering to listen to as they chipped away at each other.

  From then until the end of my course, I cooked and cleaned and looked after Dad, listening to his heartache, sometimes joining him in his tears. The divorce meant the house would have to be sold, so I decided once that happened I would spread my wings and move on. Dad actually talked me into going. He was the most selfless person I knew. I focused solely on my studies
but just before my final exams tragedy struck.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  THEN

  Even Mum’s sister, Auntie Anne hadn’t had any contact with Mum since she left. It was as though Mum felt too guilty to get in touch. She had cut off all ties but then someone approached Auntie Anne in the post office one day and told her they’d heard Mum was terminally ill with cancer. I couldn’t or wouldn’t believe it when Auntie Anne told me. We managed to track down where she lived. So my sister, Auntie Anne and I made arrangements to go and see her at her partner Norman’s house.

  It had taken a bit of detective work to find out where they lived but when Stephanie spoke to Norman, he confirmed she was ill and we could go round to see her. They lived near Stoke, so the journey down took us about ninety minutes to get there. Stephanie came up from London especially and we all set off together. None of us knew what to expect. Norman had told us Mum didn’t want to see Dad, but he reluctantly allowed us to borrow his car to go down. I did the driving. We found the house easily. It was an older style little semi down a road lined with mature trees. I eased my foot off the accelerator as we counted down the houses until we spotted number twenty-two. I turned off the ignition.

  “Well girls, it looks like we’re here.” I opened the car door and climbed out. Stephanie gave me a hug.

  “You’ll be okay, Sis,” she smiled. I wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.

  Norman opened the door to us. He didn’t smile and nor did we. His gaze was cold, and I took an immediate dislike to him. He beckoned us into the front room and we walked in. It looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the seventies. There was woodchip on the walls and a cream patterned velour sofa that was frayed and had seen better days.

  I looked all around and saw an old lady sitting in a chair. She didn’t get up when we entered the room so we all said hello. We stood waiting for my mum to come in. Norman had been gone for some time and I thought the lady sat in front of us was probably his mother. She didn’t seem keen on introducing herself so I decided to make the first move and so went to approach her.

  The silence in the room unnerved me. My sister and Auntie stood looking at me as I walked slowly towards the old lady. I held out an arm to shake her hand, but she didn’t move. She just sat there. I wondered what was going on. Why wasn’t Norman bringing Mum in? I took a closer look at the elderly woman and was stopped in my tracks. A shudder went through my whole body as I looked into her eyes and I saw the sadness.

  The deep blue eyes were watery, and I recognised them. We both began to cry. I couldn’t hold back. I bent down and gave her a hug. It had come as a complete shock that this elderly lady sat motionless was actually my fifty-year-old mother. I had a job keeping myself together. Cancer had taken her once glamorous looks and ravaged her. We all struggled to keep our composure. I knelt down beside her and spoke softly.

  “How are you, Mum?” The tears rolled down my face. She wrinkled her nose and with a closed mouth gave me a knowing expression of inevitability.

  “Not so good, love,” she answered. I held her hand. I felt her bones poking through. She had lost so much weight, there was hardly anything left of her yet her cheeks looked puffy from the steroids she took. She apologised for leaving us and I said it didn’t matter. It did but now wasn’t the time to say that.

  I put my other hand on her arm and a shiver went down my spine as I felt a solid block which she said was cancer.

  “I’m riddled with it love, it’s in my bones and my lungs.” I was frightened. I didn’t want to know anymore. I asked her stupid questions like how she liked living there. It was the first thing that came into my head to try to change the subject. She asked how we were all getting on so we were able to lighten the mood and update her on recent events. She told us we could come and visit again anytime. Going home in the car was sombre. No one spoke much. There were occasional tears from us all.

  Mum lived for two more weeks. I think the hardest part about her death was not being there with her at the end. Norman hadn’t got in touch to tell us how close to death she was. It hurt like hell. For all her faults, knowing I wouldn’t see her smiling face again devastated me. I wouldn’t be listening to her rich Salford accent again. I was going to miss her. I’d been missing her for some time but this was final now and I hadn’t got to say goodbye. I felt guilty about not being there enough for her and the only comfort I got was the realisation she was no longer in pain because I knew she had been suffering physically.

  At the funeral, I stayed away from Norman. I was so angry with him. I thought if I’d have gotten too close, I’d have told him what I thought of him. I wasn’t impressed with the selfish way he hadn’t allowed us to be there at the end. Walking out of the chapel, I almost bumped into him but Stephanie and Tim both took hold of each of my arms and steered me away.

  “Come on, Sophie. He’s not worth it.” She realised I was dying to give him a piece of my mind. Instead, the anger turned to sadness and grief and the tears flowed. Steph and I hugged and tried to console each other.

  I went into a dark period for some time. The doctor put me on anti-depressants to cope but I didn’t drink. I thought that would only make matters worse. I found it hard to climb out of that phase of my life. The rest of the family were grieving, and we all dealt with it in our own ways. I focused on my final exams but it was difficult to find the motivation. Occasionally I’d hit a wave of intense gloom and I stayed in it for days, not able to do much. A few months later I passed my degree. My dad and Auntie Anne came to the ceremony to see me receive my certificate. It was a very poignant moment, and I knew Mum would have been proud of me. She was always proud of me whatever I did but getting through this at the end, under the circumstances, I thought I really deserved the handshake I received and the pats on the back. I was even pleased to open and read the letter of congratulations I got from my MP.

  Throughout the last two years of my studies, I had been working on a voluntary basis doing counselling at a women’s centre. When I qualified they offered me a paid position which I was pleased about because I realised that counselling jobs were pretty hard to come by. I loved the work. Seeing women turn their lives around. Coaxing young girls with low self-esteem into women brimming with confidence was very satisfying. I had pulled myself out of the depths of despair so knew I could be a good role model for what could be done. I hadn’t counted on what life still had to throw at me.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  NOW

  Martin shook his head when he finished listening to my tale. He gave me a smile, and I made a move.

  “Keep in touch, Sophie.” We hugged.

  “I will. Goodnight Martin and thanks for everything.” I left the restaurant and walked to my car. Driving down the motorway to Angela’s, I thought about the weekend ahead. I loved spending time with her and Nick at their home in lovely leafy Cheshire.

  My best friend, Angela was a larger-than-life character. Her strawberry blonde hair set off her pretty face. Her large frame never seemed to bother her. She ate what she liked and enjoyed it. Like me, she too loved to cook and the pair of us often swapped new recipes. Angela had a great wit and diffused difficult situations with her sense of humour. That was why I always turned to her to get through tough times. She made light of everything in a way that wasn’t offensive and she still managed to bring out her caring side.

  I loved staying at Angela’s. Her home mirrored her personality. They owned a large house in Hale Barns. It could have been mistaken for a show home. It had the wow factor. Angela was house proud, and each room had been tastefully decorated and finished off as expertly as if they had brought in a top interior designer. Even down to the House Beautiful magazine on the coffee table, everything was positioned perfectly, and I enjoyed casting an eye over all the rooms with envy. Every time I went round, Angela had re-decorated another room so there was always something new to look at. There was a warmth to the home that was so inviting to me.

  I looked out of
the window and saw robins splashing away on the bird table. The garden stretched back a good way, and I noticed both the greenhouse and their new summer house. With the patio area dotted with troughs of plants leading through to a pond with a fountain, I thought the garden looked perfect. I turned around. Angela had been watching me. I saw the pride in her eyes.

  “Nick made the pond all by himself. Isn’t he clever?” Angela loved talking about Nick.

  “Gosh, yes, it looks fantastic,” and it did. I was green with envy at their idyllic lifestyle. Angela offered me a cup of tea and after sitting chatting for a while, I helped prepare the meal. We settled down to an evening of catching up, putting the world to rights as well as me off loading my troubles.

  I woke up the next morning feeling better than I had in a while. After a leisurely read of the Sunday papers, Angela and I went out for a relaxing walk whilst Nick stayed behind to make Sunday lunch.

  “You’ve got him well trained, Angela,” I said.

  “He likes to show off in front of guests so I let him. You’d think he was on Masterchef sometimes the way he messes with the carrots all fancy, but I don’t mind. It gives me a break,” Angela said, smiling back. I was glad I had made the decision to come away for the weekend and I loved to listen to Angela’s light-hearted banter. Nick was a lot more serious than Angela. He liked a laugh, but he was also straight-laced. A practising Christian, he was proud of his faith whereas Angela pooh-poohed religion. I was surprised the pair of them were compatible but somehow it seemed to work.

  I left Angela’s later that evening. The sky had already turned a dark shade of blue and I walked up and pressed my thumb on the ignition fob for my car. Looking up I thought the grey clouds looked ominous, and I didn’t need to be a gambler to bet on the fact rain was on the way. I waved goodbye to Angela and Nick and set off. Driving along, I felt content I’d discussed with Angela how I’d been feeling. She was of the opinion I should contact the police to discuss everything. Thankfully, she hadn’t been too pushy. The sky grew darker, and I knew a storm was brewing. I hated thunder and lightning. Storms unnerved me since being small when I used to hide behind the sofa whenever bad weather came along.