Naive Retribution

by Dawson, H A

‘Like what?’

  ‘Why you don’t like talking about the past for a start.’

  Jade bit her lip.

  ‘So what happened?’ Kath asked. ‘Did you forget everything?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  Jade placed her knuckle to her mouth as her memories swirled, from her earliest anxieties after the initial discovery, to her most recent recollection and her mother’s death. It was horrid feeling as though part of her life had disappeared, and whether the memories were good or bad, there were times when she simply wanted to remember. She looked to Kath with an unusual longing. Her sister had assisted with their mother’s suicide and had been able to come to terms with her actions; Jade had never had that luxury, and almost twenty years on, she was still lived with the same nightmare.

  Familiar questions repeated. What was so terrible that it was better that she forgot? She couldn’t have committed a crime, since the fire and the suicide had been accounted for, so what was it? What had she done?

  ‘But you knew me, and you know who you are,’ Kath said.

  ‘My lost memories are selective . . . relating just to the fire and Mum.’

  ‘Selective? I didn’t think it worked like that.’

  ‘Well it does.’

  Kath passed her a sceptical glance.

  ‘Why don’t you believe me?’ Jade asked.

  ‘I never said I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t need to, it’s obvious.’

  ‘You’re always so antagonistic,’ Kath said, ‘you never used to be like that, in fact it might surprise you, but I used to look up to you.’

  Jade clenched her jaw.

  ‘I was envious of the relationship you had with Mum and I wanted to help, but . . .’ Her voice trailed, her face scrunched.

  ‘You could have. I would have let you.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. You didn’t even like it when Dad came home. You’d got it into your head she was your responsibility.’

  Jade tensed and fought her retaliation. Their mother was her responsibility; there was no doubt. What would have happened if she hadn’t helped her? Regardless of what Kath thought now, she wouldn’t have stepped in back then. Their mother would have screamed at her own uselessness and then cried endless tears. It was a familiar sight; witnessed too many times.

  ‘I did what I had to do,’ Jade said.

  ‘You did too much. She lost her independence, her hope.’

  ‘No.’ Jade jumped from her seat. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You’ve already admitted you only have selective memories, so how do you know?’

  ‘I remember that.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’

  Jade ran her hand across her face. Nancy’s good days may have been few, but they did exist. She had laughed and she had shared her dreams, although right now Jade could not remember any specific examples.

  ‘There were times she was happy,’ Jade said in a whine. ‘She still had dreams. I know she did.’

  ‘No, she was depressed. And you didn’t help.’

  ‘You’re blaming me for her need to end it all?’ Jade said.

  Kath’s expression was stern.

  ‘You’re the one that helped her die.’

  Kath stared at the floor, clenching her hands tight across her stomach. After a few moments, she looked up but then hesitated to speak. Hidden in her eyes was a desperate sorrow. ‘I should go,’ she said. She moved to the door in short tight steps, seemingly determined to leave without giving a reason, but then, at the doorway, she stopped and turned around. ‘Is this amnesia of yours for real?’

  ‘Of course it is. Why do you think I’d lie?’

  ‘Because it’s convenient.’

  Kath opened the outer door and hurried into the darkness.

  ‘Kath . . . wait.’

  Pensive, she stared at the fading figure.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. ‘The first time was never going to be easy,’ William said.

  He guided her to the kitchen.

  ‘She thinks Mum was suicidal because of me. She told me so.’

  ‘She’s hurting. You both are. I doubt she meant it.’

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me how she felt years ago? Why now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something must have happened to bring it all back.’

  William poured the vegetables into the skillet and switched on the heat. He started to stir.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Jade’s expression turned serious. ‘She can’t be the stalker . . . can she?’

  ‘I really don’t know, but if she is then her agony runs deeper than we are led to believe.’

  Jade leapt to her feet, catching her feet and toppling the stool in the process. ‘The brown envelope,’ she yelled, disappearing along the hallway.

  She fumbled through the papers in the drawer.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Somewhere near the bottom.’

  It was there, wedged between two bills.

  Shaking and uncoordinated, she struggled to pull it free.

  Then it released.

  Chapter 13

  Joe opened his satchel, pulled out a wodge of essays, and reached to the bottom for a printout of the comments that had been placed on Facebook. It had been handed to him by one of the more likeable pupils, and even though he was grateful, it was something he would have preferred not to see since it stirred his already raggedy emotions. He was forever telling Dylan that words spoken by others were harmless and should be ignored. In practise, it was not easy to do.

  He studied the sheet. The rumours regarding his sexuality were rife and he wanted to see its end. He didn’t feel he could defend himself, either verbally or physically, as given his position as a teacher he was expected to display tolerance and control at all times. His only option was to swallow his fury and hope the pupils grew bored of their new game. For the moment it was not working.

  He screwed the sheet into a ball and held it tight in his fist. Given the fact that one of the boys father’s had a connection to his past he feared there was likely to be far more on the Internet. There could be all sorts floating around out there, things he should have kept private in the first place. He muttered under his breathe. It was too late for regrets.

  Thoughts of his youthful revenge with Dawn softened the blow, but then he started to think of the consequences and his actions. What if someone knew of his and Dawn’s so-called prank, their secret? What if Dylan found out? He was not going to act favourably. Staring blindly at the television and listening to the gentle drone, he searched for a solution.

  ‘You still moping over those messages?’ Dawn asked.

  He looked to her, glassy-eyed. She was leaning back into the fabric sofa with her legs on the table and her arms folded across her plump middle.

  ‘I don’t know why it bothers you so much. You can’t tell me you didn’t think the kids would be talking about you online.’

  ‘That’s not what bothers me.’

  ‘Really? You’ve had a monk on ever since you got home last night . . . stomping around like a little kid. You’re worse than that little deviant.’

  He tightened his lips. If she were in his position, she would be far worse. The world would be paying, for sure.

  ‘It’s not as if you’ve time to burn with your moping,’ she continued, ‘this house is a bloody state. Have you fixed the lock on the bathroom door yet?’

  ‘Give me chance.’

  ‘How long do you want? It’s been like that for weeks. Problem is you’re lazy. You can’t be bothered getting off your backside and making yourself useful. You expect everyone else to do everything for you.’

  He shoved the essays back into his bag, grabbed the crumpled sheet of paper and inserted it at the top. Then he stomped to the doorway. She was in a mood for ranting. It was better to get out of the way.

  ‘Have you put out the bin yet?’ Dawn asked.

  ‘I’ll do it now.’

  ‘You’d better. It’s bin day. And d
on’t forget to do the vacuuming. I did it last week. I’ll not have you all treating me like I’m your maid.’

  Joe exited the room and walked straight into Dylan. Once he had apologised, he placed his bag in a cupboard under the stairs and retrieved the vacuum cleaner. He carried it upstairs and placed it on the landing. Dylan had already returned to his room.

  ‘You should stand up to her,’ Dylan said.

  Joe bit his lip.

  ‘She does nothing all day, then expects you to come home and work like a slave.’

  ‘Don’t talk about your mother like that,’ he said in a half-hearted tone.

  ‘Why? It’s true.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ He started to unravel the vacuum cleaner cord.

  ‘She spends all day gassing with her friends. I’ve seen her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just have,’ he said.

  Joe stood inside the doorway. ‘Have you been skipping school again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dylan?’

  ‘I said no. Don’t you start! Just because Mum nags you doesn’t mean you have to nag me.’

  ‘I’m not nagging you.’

  ‘So what do you call it? You’d be doing us both a favour if you just stood up to her.’

  Joe sighed and stared at Dylan. His son was arranging several torn sheets of paper back into their original positions, ready to stick them together.

  ‘What’s happened to your work?’

  ‘She didn’t approve of it.’

  ‘Mum did that?’

  Dylan gritted his teeth and scowled.

  ‘She must have had a good reason. Is it school work?’

  ‘No . . . just something I’ve been working on. She doesn’t need a reason, she hates me.’ He cut off a piece of sticky tape, ‘the bitch.’

  ‘Dylan,’ Joe said, his tone exasperated. ‘Don’t be nasty.’

  ‘Why’s it matter? You’re forever telling me words are meaningless. Sticks and stones and all that.’

  ‘It doesn’t give you a right to say what you like.’

  ‘If you think what I say is bad, you should see . . .’ He turned away, hiding a smirk.

  Joe’s muscles tensed. ‘Have you seen the Facebook comments?’

  Silence.

  ‘Can you show me what’s been said about me?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Can you do it or not?’

  ‘I’m not one of their friends.’

  ‘So you can’t?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Then how? If you’re not connected to their account . . .’

  ‘It’s not that hard,’ Dylan said, ‘you just have to know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I hope you’re not doing anything illegal. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

  Dylan started to type. ‘I’ll print it off. Hang on.’

  Joe slumped onto the edge of the bed. ‘I hope you realise that what you see is not necessarily true.’

  His son’s failure to respond enhanced the dread that was growing in his stomach. He shouldn’t be concerned about the comments spoken by the pupils but he couldn’t help it. He had been the focal point of the gossip once too often, and the agony remained, easily igniting.

  The printer started to whirr. Looking to the emerging sheet, he tried to quell his anxieties. He could not move, fearful of what was written, and remained rigid and helpless. Dylan passed it across. There was a glint in his eye.

  The pupils spoke of Joe’s relationship with his father, and how he had held his hand in hot water as punishment. They mocked his weakness. They said they should try something similar.

  ‘Is this all you’ve found?’ Joe asked.

  Dylan grinned. ‘One of the kids has a blog under a false name. He writes about you too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m not telling.’

  ‘Did he tell you about it?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Dylan said. ‘I don’t even go to that school.’

  ‘Then how did you find it?’

  ‘I have my ways.’

  Joe narrowed his gaze. He seemed very capable. It was worrying.

  ‘I’ll print off the important bits.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Can I get on now?’ Dylan said.

  ‘I want you to print off everyone you find, got it?’

  Looking smug, he nodded his head.

  Despite his son’s not-so-convincing response, Joe left the room closing the door. He had just witnessed a worrying incite into Dylan’s capabilities and feared nothing within his past would remain secret for long. With his trepidation welling in his stomach, he thought through the so-called prank, but ultimately decided his and Dawn’s secret was safe. No one else had known about it; no one had even raised any suspicions, either back then or during the intervening years. In addition, no one had been hurt, not really.

  Even so, he must remain on alert especially given a meeting with Jade was not far off. Only planned statements could slip out, nothing more.

  Dawn screeching voice awoke him from his thoughts. She was yelling at him for not putting out the bin. He ran downstairs and hurried outside. It was too late; the refuse collector had just passed by. It was going to be a difficult day.

  As a means of calming her, Joe suggested they go to the pub for lunch. Upon arriving, the noise was a quiet mumble of happy voices, comprising mainly of family groups. They left the food order at the bar and received the drinks. Then Joe presented Dawn with her glass. She was reaching in her handbag.

  ‘Take my drink, will you?’ she said to Dylan, ‘there’s a good boy.’

  He did as he was instructed and led the way into the garden, moving in a reluctant shuffle. It was a spacious setting, with tables and benches along one side and an extensive play area with swings on the other. Around the edge was a shrubbery border, concealing the tall, unsightly wall. Interspersed, were lights within lanterns set upon stainless steel posts and ornamental plants in pots.

  Dylan chose a table on the edge of the play area and placed Dawn’s drink on the opposite side. He kept is head low and his arms across his middle. After a few moments, Dawn interrupted the silence.

  ‘You two are good to me,’ she said.

  Joe forced back his surprise.

  ‘You especially Dylan. You’re a good lad. I don’t give you anywhere enough credit.’

  He looked to her with scepticism and confusion.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.

  Satisfied, she turned away, looking to a group of children playing on climbing frame. Dawn’s behaviour was puzzling, especially considering the fowl mood she had been in earlier, and he wondered what had triggered the change. Rather than pondering something to which there was no answer, he decided to enjoy the moment.

  The food arrived. Dylan and Dawn had opted for steak pie and chips, and he had roasted chicken. The aroma of cooked meat rose to his nostrils, watering his mouth. He tucked in.

  ‘We don’t do this nearly often enough,’ Dawn said.

  ‘It means we appreciate it more.’

  ‘No . . . I resent it. It reminds me of what I am missing.’

  She was off again, Joe thought, and broke free a juicy piece of chicken and placed it in his mouth.

  ‘When was the last time we went out?’ she continued, ‘it must be weeks ago.’

  ‘It’s not just down to me to decide what we do.’

  ‘No, if it was we’d never do anything. Carl gives chocolates or flowers to Jackie at least once a week. And he takes her away for weekends once a month.’

  ‘Then he’s guilty of something.’

  ‘Guilty? He’s treating her as he should.’

  Joe stifled his annoyance and looked to his food. Dylan was staring, and his earlier comments regarding an inability to stand up to her formed in Joe’s head. He could do it if he wanted to, but right now, he wanted to eat his meal in peace and did not wish to partake in another pr
olonged and unnecessary argument. Maybe when Dylan was older he would realise that a confrontation was not always the correct course of action.

  To Joe’s gratitude, the moment passed and Dawn did not pursue the matter. Harmony was restored, and once they had finished eating, she informed Joe she wanted another drink. Obliging, he headed indoors.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light level, then, as he waited to be served, he scanned the room. There were fewer people present than when they had arrived with the majority having moved outside to enjoy the pleasant spring weather. One person, though, caught his attention. Sonya, a school friend of Dylan’s, was with her parents.

  Joe had seen Dylan speaking to her a few weeks previous, when he had met his son outside the school gates. She was a pretty girl with soft skin, delicate features and long dark-brown hair bunched at the rear. According to Dylan, she was not into fashion or status, yet she dressed immaculately, wearing a pristine outfit that would have looked good on any slim, sixteen year old girl. She certainly was not a trashy sort, nor would not have looked out of place with the popular crowd, and according to Dylan, enjoyed serious conversations rather than talking about the frivolous. Joe was sure he had witnessed a glint in his son’s eye, but when he had asked him if a closer relationship was imminent, Dylan had denied it with vehemence.

  Joe carried the drinks outside, squinting as he met with the bright light. Pausing to allow two youngsters to race across the pathway, he headed the table. Dawn was perusing her phone and Dylan had his head slumped in his hands, looking as bored as he always did when in their company. He placed the three drinks onto the table.

  ‘There’s one of your school mates inside,’ Joe said.

  ‘Who?’

  He glanced at Dawn, who paid little attention. ‘Can’t remember the name.’

  Dylan looked to the doorway, searching, wondering.

  ‘Why don’t you go say hello?’

  He climbed over the bench and squeezed through a tight gap between two benches, and upon reaching the paving stone path started to stride away.

  ‘Don’t forget your drink,’ Joe called.

  Dylan stopped, grabbed it, and continued indoors. Wanting to see his son’s reaction, Joe observed his movements. However, as soon as Dylan passed through the door he disappeared from view, fading into the relative darkness.