by T H Paul
“About yesterday, darling. I don’t know what you heard…” but he trailed off as if he didn’t know what more to say; as if thrown by the reaction on Penny’s face to the term darling coming from his lips. It had felt as foreign on his tongue as her expression had been one of confusion.
“It’s nothing. I didn’t hear what you were arguing about anyway,” Penny lied. Thomas knew the whole street probably heard it all, let alone his daughter. Today was not meant to be about that.
“I’m sorry, okay.” Penny took in a breath. He’d never said anything like that to her before, though a million things were racing through her young mind at that moment listing the things he for which he could be sorry.
“For what?” Her question caught him off guard. He apparently knew the list was long, too.
“I’m just sorry.” What compassion there had been moments before for him––very little, but some, which was a start––in Penny drained away as quickly as it had appeared.
“Oh, I get it, so you aren’t really sorry at all.” She turned to look out of the window, still no sign of her mother appearing again from the shop, which would surely signal the end to this sorrowful ordeal.
“Listen, today isn’t about all that. It’s about us as a family. Give it a go.”
“Give it a go? What, playing happy families? What exactly does that look like?”
Her father seemed rather taken aback. “I meant to give the day a chance, that’s all.” He couldn’t help but show his anger at the comment about playing happy families. There had been anything but happiness in his home for far too long, and the guilt that he felt for his role in that was more than he could bear at that moment or any moment after that.
Three minutes of silence followed, before Barbara emerged out through the doors again, a bag of shopping in her hand, as she came around to the boot. She dropped the bag in––for once the shopping didn't entirely consist of glass bottles of varying strength alcohol––and then she got back into the passenger seat. Without anything more spoken, Thomas turned on the engine, and they continued their journey, driving forty minutes to somewhere Penny hadn’t been to since she was five.
By three that afternoon, the picnic mostly finished, the food plentiful and the conversation reasonably encouraging, Penny could have pinched herself at the change that twenty-four hours could make. Maybe the fact Penny had finally told her mother the truth had changed something for them all? Even as those thoughts were there, she couldn’t help but recall her father’s words the day before, spoken in anger to her mother when they didn’t know Penny was listening, urging separation not togetherness, division not unity.
Not far from them was a river––a ford ran across it and for those drivers who trusted their cars, the three Black’s would watch as each car made the crossing, every time the car sending a small wave in both directions. Earlier, they had instead taken the little bridge that stood next to the ford, as most drivers did.
Before they left, her father suggested they hire a rowing boat from the nearby lake house, and the three of them climbed into the small wooden boat, as Thomas rowed them gently around the lake. Penny would recall this moment for years to come––sitting there as she was at one end––her father rowing, with what seemed like not a care in the world, her mother sitting behind, but engaged in them all. They were a family, at long last. Penny didn’t know what to do with the emotions that the moment was causing her to have. Happiness felt like a tourist in a country that only knew war.
As they later made the walk back to the car––Penny would spot her parents holding hands ever so briefly, but they soon seemed to catch themselves, her mother, in fact, the one to pull away. To anyone watching, they were just an average family, a close unit of three spending a pleasant day together.
Penny would never understand why, but everything would change by the end of the following day.
Penny was at school that Monday while Thomas and Barbara talked at home the next morning.
“For a moment yesterday I could have imagined us all working it out together, I could see us being maybe happy again,” Thomas had said as the conversation swiftly transitioned into no man’s land.
“Could have? You don’t see it being possible?” Barbara jumped in, picking up immediately on his changed tone, his careless phrasing.
“We can never be free, Barbara, not now we know the truth.”
“This is what you’ve wanted all along, an excuse to run off with that whore you’ve got stashed away!”
“This has nothing to do with anyone else,” Thomas said, though his eyes gave him away. “She could kill you; you know that, right?”
“Just because it’s happened before, doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”
“It’s how it always goes, sooner or later! And you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” She did. The truth was, Enchanti children with high powers always turned against the one who had passed them the gene––daughter against mother, son against father. Most were accidents, one thing or the other. Enchanti children couldn’t have control over their parent––though the father or mother no longer had the gift themselves, the fact they’d passed it onto their offspring somehow blocked its power from generally influencing them. There was one exception, and this was often happened upon by chance when the child would get more creative in their thoughts, wondering why nothing simple was working with their parents and getting more imaginative. Anything that killed would work; that was it. Parents had been crushed, squashed, drowned and burnt alive, all accidents, most of the time, all terrible tragedies that the children could do nothing about––this one curse, once enforced, could never be undone. In cases where parents had talked with the child, being open with them about the threat, the dangers, sooner or later they had taken the chance, anyway. Some wondered if it was just curiosity––if, in fact, they didn’t believe it would work, as nothing else had. Others speculated that there was something in the gene that caused the child, the recipient, to turn on the gift giver. There was no medical research to support any of this––such people were far from the public eye, most choosing to live and operate in normal life, as best they could.
“I’m scared,” she finally said, though tears were not going to be allowed, she’d vowed that much. Tom had long since lost the right to such an emotional display.
“So am I,” he added, the first sign that he’d ever really been afraid of what might happen to Barbara. “But it’s all fake, isn’t it? We can never be a real family, and especially not now.”
“Why not?” Barbara still couldn’t think of a reason why he’d just want to give up.
“Why not? Because we still have her living under our roof. I can’t live my life wondering when it’s going to happen, wondering if I’ll come home from work or wake up one morning and find you’ve simply gone.”
“Gone? I’m not leaving, Thomas.”
“Of course you’re not. I mean dead, okay. Dead.” The word bounced around the room for a moment, as if they were in a doctor’s office, told of a terminal condition.
“But we’ve had this knowledge ever since she was born. Nothings changed.”
“Everything’s changed, Barbara.”
“How?”
“We know for certain. Penny knows we are aware, too.” He stood up, pacing around the lounge for a few moments. “If you aren’t going to go, I’ll leave. I can’t live here just waiting for it to happen. You have no right to make me do that.”
“Make you do that? I’ve not made you do anything, ever. You’ve always done whatever you suited!” She stood up to confront him, though turned away as she got close. “I’m not abandoning her, Thomas.”
“But you have no choice.”
“I have every choice. So do you.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve made my choice,” and with that, Tom left the room. Barbara stayed in the spot she had been when he left the room, just listening. Listening as he climbed the stairs, listening as he paced around his bedroom, listenin
g as five minutes later Tom was coming back down the stairs, a thump thump thump of a case being dragged behind him as he made it to the front door telling her that he was leaving. Tom was out of the door before she’d left the lounge, which she did, running through the still open front door and calling after him.
“That’s it? You’re just going to walk away?” He paused, standing behind his car––the one family car––before opening the boot.
“I can’t live like this any longer.” He lifted the suitcase into the boot and shut it again. “I’ll sort out another car for you this week, I promise.” He walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” She said nothing to him as he drove away, leaving her alone on the doorstep. She’d later find the letter he’d left for her on her bed. She went to unpack the shopping. It hadn’t mattered what she’d said to him or what they’d felt, he’d already made up his mind to go before she had gone shopping, already started packing, no doubt. The letter proved he had planned to run away before she had ever seen him again. The coward. The bastard.
7
Arriving indoors that night after dance class, having been told by mum on the way home that he’d left was such a bitter moment. After all that we’d done the day before––the day proving nothing but false hope––to have him then just leave and without speaking again to me. It was wrong.
I blamed a lot of things on my father, for which he deserved, for sure. The thing that most hurt––his absence, the fact he wasn’t there for me, wasn’t protecting me in the way a dad was supposed to––was about to first rear its ugly head in my entirely innocent little world. My hatred for my father was put on hold. I hadn’t seen this disgusting excuse for a human being coming.
Penny’s mother’s drinking was suddenly no longer reserved to just nights, as she was on an around the clock drinking binge that seemed to have no end in sight. It had been one week since Thomas left her for good, and all Barbara could do to numb the pain was to drink. She tried, anyway. Nothing really could make any difference. And despite hearing Penny come and go, despite knowing her daughter could well be hurting too, Barbara couldn’t handle it, deciding instead to avoid all human contact for the foreseeable future.
Penny processed her feelings as best she could. She didn’t have alcohol as an escape, nor did she need it. She had her powers, and she had a whole school to try them on.
With all that was happening between her and Abbey at the same time, plus a growing number of the other girls in her class––including flat chested Kelly McCain––Penny soon lost herself in that world. She would make fools of several of them before the year was out.
Penny had wondered if Millie Turner’s healing abilities could deal with issues of the heart, and had pondered talking to her about it several times. She decided not to risk it––she didn’t want anything that would show Millie she had such a gift. She didn’t want to lose her friend.
During this time, they started hanging out more and more. Penny hadn’t told her, she hadn’t told anyone in fact, about her father leaving, nor that she had a now permanently drunk mother. She kept it all locked behind her, as if every time she left the house, closing her front door, those problems could be left behind too, locked away and awaiting her return. No one else need know.
After school that Monday, Penny was due to meet with Millie, and they would then walk to their dance class together, but Millie had received a message from her cousin. He worked as a junior officer in the police. Jenkins had just been arrested at his home. He wasn't meant to be telling anyone, as it was far from public knowledge. He warned his cousin to stay away from the studio as police would be arriving there later. When Millie asked her cousin about the arrest, he replied that Jenkins was charged with possessing indecent images of underage children. That was how the local news channel would announce the story later that same evening; both girls would be watching the television at Millie’s house.
Before that, Penny had got in touch with some of the other girls from the group, chat messages flying back and forth to multiple people. The word paedophile got used in several texts. Millie's cousin would then confirm that Jenkins' arrest at home followed complaints and a tip-off––he didn't have access to who had made a complaint––though there was no mention of the dance school. Penny had an idea.
“Let’s go to the studio anyway, see what we can find.” She was already beginning to dread what there might be, but he’d been such a strong character in her life, such a role model, that even these allegations––and she didn’t fully understand what they all meant––were hard for her to believe. It was all a big mistake.
“We can’t,” Millie said, still holding the phone that her cousin had been texting her on. “The police will be there soon, he said, and besides, it’ll be locked, won’t it?”
“Sometimes it’s not. Other groups use it too,” Penny said, which wasn’t true at all. Penny, however, had already thought that one through.
Twenty minutes later as they neared the building where the girls had spent the best part of ten years dancing, all the time with their beloved Mr Jenkins teaching them, Penny had no trouble getting her emotions flowing, her stomach racing, her gift unlocked. Make Millie able to open any door as if it was unlocked she thought, adding ten variants of the same thing to be doubly sure.
“Try the handle,” Penny said casually, having dropped a few steps back so that it was Millie who was first to reach the building. The door opened.
“Hello?” Millie called, stepping into the dark hallway. If anyone else was there, it certainly didn’t look like they were. There was no reply. Both girls walked to the main studio, but it was empty. They checked the changing rooms, Penny going through the motions for Millie’s sake, knowing full well no one was there. She was just glad there was no alarm––having been the last to leave many times, often with Mr Jenkins himself walking out as she did, she knew he never set the alarm.
“I guess he just forgot to lock up,” Penny added, once it was evident both changing rooms were empty, lights switched off. No one else was in the building. “Try his office.”
Penny, again, was deliberately ten steps away from Millie when they had approached their trainer’s office, so that it was natural for Millie to turn the handle herself, the previously locked door now just opening to her touch. Penny’s mind filled with all the ways she could use Millie’s latest talent to make lots of money. She shelved those thoughts for the time being, as they walked into his dark, empty office.
The walls were covered with photos of the groups he’d taught over the years, and both Millie and Penny gazed at themselves in all ten group photos they’d been in, starting when they were just five years old. Nothing on the walls seemed out of place; mind you, Penny had not expected anything to, either.
His desk drawers were locked as Penny tried them, Millie still standing looking at the photos on the wall, so that Millie hadn’t noticed Penny walk across the room and test the drawers. Penny moved to another wall, further enabling Millie with the gift of opening anything locked, as well as being able to guess a password, which Penny added for good measure, seeing the computer on the desk, and wanting Millie to be able to gain access.
“Try the desk,” Penny called over to Millie, who turned around and walked across to it. Penny heard the sound of the drawer opening and went to join Millie. She switched on the computer.
“What are you doing?” Millie asked.
“We need to find something that will help Mr Jenkins,” Penny said, not sure what else to say. She wasn’t sure what they were doing, but something inside her told her they would soon find what they needed to find. Inside the drawer, there was not much, though there was a stack of photos that hadn’t made the wall, mostly of girls on their own. Penny featured more than anyone else.
“The computer needs a password,” Millie said, as Penny was aimlessly flicking through the pile of photos she’d picked up.
“What do you think his password would b
e?” Penny said.
“How would I know? It could be anything!”
“Guess,” Penny said, still not turning around. Millie looked up at the wall above the desk, a large poster displaying a Russian based ballet dancer, the banner above the man’s head stating he was the best the Mariinsky had to offer. Millie took in the man’s name and typed it into the computer. Seconds later, it opened.
“I’m in. He used that man’s name,” Millie said, pointing up at the poster, excitedly.
Half an hour later both girls were walking back out of the studio, Penny having cleared everything up, pulling each door shut behind her. She heard the lock in each door click back into place each time, something missed by Millie and they moved in silence. There were no police cars there yet. What they’d discovered on that man’s computer would haunt them for weeks. His internet history told its own tail, but it was the folders on his desktop that were most concerning. Photos from inside the changing rooms, images of both Millie and Penny––amongst 1000s of others––getting dressed, standing there in their underwear. They both felt sick.
It was all true what they were saying about Mr Jenkins.
As best as she could remember, Penny undid the abilities she’d given Millie as they continued on their silent walk. Neither girl knew what to say, both having seen images and scenes they’d never known before, an element of their innocence taken from them suddenly, just as much as Mr Jenkins’ prying had robbed them of dignity. Penny removed Millie’s ability to open any locked door, to open any locked item and to know Mr Jenkins’ password––she had at least been specific with that one. For good measure, she thought; remove all abilities that I’ve given to Millie so that she is back to normal before adding; give Millie Turner capacity to heal me of any sickness, illness or wound. Millie had to retain that one, special gift.
Both girls went to a cafe in town, ordering a milkshake and sitting down facing one another, though neither girl could make eye contact with the other.