Shadows Of Regret

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Shadows Of Regret Page 17

by Greenwood, Ross


  When he started to fill a flask for work, even three wasn’t enough. The strange fact was that he hated the taste. He’d grimace with each sip. It’d make him mean. Some nights, he passed out quickly and snored in the chair which had become his pulpit. Other times he riled me playfully. I could tolerate being called a loser. But as his mood sickened, he’d start on blaming me for everything that had gone wrong since I arrived.

  I found it was better to go in the room with him and listen and nod my head when he reached that point. Then he might not shout. It was my fault his wife had died. He blamed me for the boys not keeping in touch. I’d lost him his job that night, too.

  Without whisky to medicate him that evening, he stayed awake. I remember watching him as he worked himself up. He hadn’t mentioned the night at the barn before. I hoped he hadn’t because there was still something left of the man Erin loved. Since she’d gone, it was as if he’d been infected by a parasite which slowly consumed all that was good in him. It must have run out of stuff to eat because this time he didn’t hold back.

  ‘The way you were dressed tonight shows what sort of a girl you are.’

  I nodded as usual.

  ‘You’re a whore. I bet you came from a whore.’

  I think I’ve always had a dark vengeful side. It is the survivor in me. There’s a demon in the dark who takes only so much. It’s the moment when I fight back. I decided that night to let it free.

  ‘Screw you. Look at what you’ve become. A cruel monster who bullies an eighteen-year-old girl. You think I’m worthless, but you’re beneath me. I am glad we have to leave this place because I can’t stand to be in the presence of your rotting soul.’

  I’m not sure where I got that last line. It summed him up perfectly. I believe he knew it too, and that’s why he said what he did.

  ‘What kind of woman does what you did? One man not enough for you? What did they pay you, or did you enjoy it so much you did it for free?’

  Time was softening my memory of what had happened in the barn, like each day was a fresh bandage enabling me to heal a little bit more. I didn’t realise until that day that underneath I remained raw. Wounds like that don’t heal. His comments exposed me completely, and that night, he didn’t stop.

  ‘Yeah, I saw. I watched for a while.’

  I screamed at him. ‘Why didn’t you stop them?’

  Without emotion, he replied. ‘You loved it.’

  I staggered from the room, his jeers ringing in my ears, and then he bellowed after me.

  ‘We should take you down the docks. We’d make a killing. They always say do something you love and you’ll never have to work a day. There’s business here, too, seeing as we’re not related.’

  My memory plays tricks after that. I stumbled as my mind went blank. And then it was as if I became two people; both walking side-by-side. I watched myself grab a knife from the drawer and return to the lounge. There was no reaction, not even shock on either of our faces. Ted didn’t move. He didn’t even put up a hand to stop me.

  They found him in that seat an hour after I rang for an ambulance. I don’t know why I didn’t ask for the police because medical intervention was futile. Twenty-five stabs had got the job done. I recall the paramedics staring at the body and then looking at me wilting on the sofa. They saw the bloody handprints on the wall and the knife on the table. Together they backed out, and closed the door.

  I heard one shouting in his phone for the police, social services and the Coroners Officer. All I remember after is the arrival of many people. And then nothing. They said I went wild and had to be sedated. There were a few strange days with warped dreams in hospital and then they took me to court. I didn’t know what to say. What is there to say after doing something like that?

  The magistrates sent me to prison to await my trial. And that’s where I stayed, for sixteen years.

  48

  Unfinished Business

  There’s no shock on their faces, only sadness. I realise Radic knew but wanted to hear my side. Sofiya’s expression crumpled in the telling. She strides over and gently holds me with such compassion. After a few seconds, I collapse onto her.

  It takes a good ten minutes before I’m ready to untangle myself from her. Smudged make-up covers her face and my top. Radic looks confused.

  ‘How come they sent you down for so long? What is the phrase? Extenuating circumstances? He provoked you.’

  ‘That depends on your point of view. I pleaded guilty to manslaughter, but they made me go to trial for murder. My barrister tried, but I gave him no help. He dredged up my entire childhood. It was hard enough listening to that. He suspected there was something else in the background but I couldn’t bring myself to mention it.’

  ‘You didn’t tell them about the rape? My God, why not?’

  ‘I didn’t want anyone to know. I still felt it was my fault. There was no way I could repeat what happened in front of all those people. I kind of detached myself from the whole experience. The judge called me unfeeling and cold-hearted.’

  ‘Katie, you say whatever it takes to get the best deal.’

  ‘Enough of that,’ Sofiya cuts in. ‘It still seems harsh for a young girl that’s had a terrible upbringing.’

  ‘Without the rape, it was just name-calling. He never hit me. I wasn’t in danger. I should have done any number of different things except kill him. The judge described it as a frenzied attack. I had to leave the room and fetch the weapon. You could argue that I’ve been lucky as he could have given me a minimum term of twenty-five years instead of sixteen.’

  ‘Yes, but if you’d told them what those men did to you, it would have been much less.’

  ‘I know. Manslaughter might have been five years. It’s hard to remember now but I recall wanting to be punished. I lost my reason and gave up. I never planned to serve the sentence anyway. It’s mind-blowing to realise you’re capable of murder. I’d killed someone for no good reason. Do you know what that feels like?’

  Radic’s impassive face meant I was saying that to the wrong person. Sofiya’s sorrow shows she understands.

  ‘There was a final part I had to sort out,’ I add. ‘But as soon as that was done, it was time to die.’

  ‘You were going to kill yourself?’ says a shocked Sofiya.

  ‘Yes. I couldn’t live with what I did.’

  ‘What stopped you?’ Radic receives a dirty look from Sofiya, but she realises she wants to hear the answer too.

  ‘I came close. I acquired the pills once and flushed them at the last minute. A few weeks after that, I got hold of an officer’s porcelain mug. After smashing it, the jagged edge did the trick, but I paused after the first nick. As I said, since I was young I’ve kept a part of me behind. It’s the piece that stops me folding when fate rips the carpet away. I’d been wronged. Somehow, it convinced me I still had a purpose.’

  Radic clicks his fingers. ‘It is revenge. You must take your revenge.’

  ‘Don’t put thoughts in her head, Radic.’

  ‘No, can’t you see? It all stems back to the people who did that evil thing to you. If they hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have dropped out of school. You could have moved out of home, or at the very least, he wouldn’t have been able to call you the things he did which made you snap.’

  He’s put into words the truth of what’s been lurking at the back of my mind.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ I ask his wife.

  ‘Let it go, Katie,’ said Sofiya. ‘Nothing good can come from it. Start again and build new memories.’

  Radic interrupts. ‘They ruined your life. As the Chinese saying goes, it’s only polite to reciprocate.’

  49

  Lost Heart

  The pretence of helping Sofiya is over. Radic informs Tony outside that he’ll drive me home instead, and we get into a smart sports car. Sofiya stands at the front door, waves, and gives Radic a warning look as we leave. He’s quiet as he drives. Finally, when we hit the parkway, he says
what’s on his mind.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  There is something else. It’s awful. I swore I would never think about it again and I managed that inside prison. It will kill me to drag the memory from the quietest part of me.

  ‘Yes.’

  He doesn’t comment further. I’m thankful for that. I want Irina there when I say the words that could destroy me. Radic stops outside the flats and turns off the engine. I place my hand on his and stare out the window. My jaw clenches.

  ‘You better come in.’

  We walk up the steps to Irina’s and knock. She’s just out the shower, and laughs at the fact she’s naked behind the door. The smile falls from her face as she sees our’s. She steps aside and we enter. Irina pulls on a dressing gown.

  ‘Do you want a drink, Katie?’

  ‘No. I need a clear head.’

  Irina hears the account I gave Radic and Sofiya. She isn’t surprised as she met me in jail. Radic decides he needs a whisky and Irina joins him. They sit on the sofa, which makes it look full. It would have amused me any other day.

  My stomach arrives in my mouth and I wonder if I can do this. I must. I stand in front of them. They regard me with trepidation, and I reveal my deepest secret.

  ‘There is one more memory. I was mopping the floor when they arrived to remove my heart.’

  50

  The Thirteenth Memory - Age Nineteen

  I had desperately tried to keep busy that morning. Anything but think about what was going to occur.

  ‘Katie. They’ve arrived. Off you go.’

  Two officers from the visits hall waited at the gate. My wing officer took the mop off me. She was usually a joker. It was her way of dealing with the madness of prison life. There were no smiles that day. She put her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Be strong, Katie. I’ll be here when you return.’

  I nodded. They’d have eyes on me the moment I walked back.

  ‘Don’t forget your ID card.’

  I rummaged in my pockets. The stress of the situation became evident as I began to panic.

  ‘Calm down. It’s around your neck.’

  My eyes flittered and my mouth opened to gasp in relief.

  ‘Katie. You must get a hold of yourself. You will remember this meeting for the rest of your life. Try to enjoy it in some way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I wasn’t listening but guessed I should say something.

  The officers at the gate watched me warily as they let me out. A shout of, ‘Good luck,’ echoed around the landing. By the faces I saw, it seemed everyone knew my business. Many were interested in how I’d react. The sad expressions and tears of others betrayed similar life-altering experiences. They were the ones who’d help me through the aftermath. I wasn’t the first and I wouldn’t be the last. Life goes on.

  An old con said I’d remember today as if they had etched it along my spine. I might forget at times, but it would always be there until I died. I can still hear the squeak of the officer’s shoes on the polished floor. The smell of soggy fish and chips from the kitchens wafting along the main prison corridor could be in the room now.

  I fiddled with shirt buttons and ran my fingers through my hair. Anything to stop me focusing on what was about to happen.

  I proceeded to the desk and signed in. Senior Officer Blakes, a tall black woman who took no shit whatsoever, managed visits that day. An arm directed me into a cubicle and I received the most thorough pat-down search I’d had since I arrived. She would have felt what I had for breakfast if I hadn’t been too nervous to eat anything.

  Another prisoner came out of the solicitor booths. She looked defeated. With a gesture to the air, and to no one in particular, she laughed.

  ‘No chance of an appeal. Told me to serve my time.’

  She and I had never got on. She received three months when I received my sixteen years and had been sent back again. Career criminals such as her preyed on the new arrivals. She’d tried to bully me. Little did she know I had nothing to lose. You only barge your way into someone’s cell once if they have no fear.

  Our eyes meet. I didn’t expect to see sympathy.

  ‘You can do it, Katie. Good luck.’

  Tears stung. I hauled in air.

  ‘The hall is empty now,’ Blakes said. ‘The final legal has gone, so you have the place to yourself. You have an hour, please use every second.’

  They opened the first door and through the glass window of the next I could see the social workers and the prison support staff. Then, as I entered the room, Chloe toddled into view. I staggered a few steps. The weight of my choices instantly became too much for me to bear. I screamed; a strangled sound echoed in the high ceiling. It was me even though it sounded like an animal caught in a trap.

  My daughter flinched and ran for the safety of the other adults, falling twice on the way. She either didn’t recognise me, or I scared her. My common sense told me she was only eighteen months old, but I engulfed those thoughts in another roar of despair from I know not where. Strong arms dragged me from the room. A firm smack across my face brought me back to life. Blakes loomed large in front of me.

  ‘You only get one more chance at this. If you break down like that again we’ll have to take you to the wing. This is the last opportunity for you to see her.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind, I can’t do it. She’s mine.’

  I couldn’t breathe. My head thrashed from side-to-side. They lowered me to the floor where I wept without restraint. The prison worker who I’d dealt with this matter arrived, and, with help, she gently helped me to a seat.

  ‘We know this is difficult, Katie. You made the right decision. Adoption gives her a hope of a normal childhood. We’ve found fantastic parents for her. I understand it’s hard to say goodbye, but you are in here for another fifteen years. She’ll practically be an adult by the time you’re released.’

  I was aware of all of that. But my senses fused the second I saw her again. I sobbed my answer. ‘Send me back to the wings. Take her away.’

  I looked up into caring eyes. Surprisingly, Blake crouched to my level. Her tone was soft.

  ‘Once she’s gone, that will be it. They won’t return tomorrow. There are no re-runs. You have fifty minutes to be a mother. Have some sweets or a cake. Play with the toys and smell her hair. You might think it will be for the final time and she won’t remember, but your daughter might come looking for you when she’s old enough to ask about her past. You’ll need to tell Chloe what happened today.’

  I wondered later how she knew what to say. Perhaps I was only a number and her words were just chance. Whatever, they gave me the strength to stand. I stepped to the door and wiped my eyes with a sleeve. I coughed the phlegm from my throat and squared my jaw. ‘I’m ready.’

  The following hour became my mind’s contents for the following year. I don’t understand how I managed to be normal. We played and laughed after I coaxed her out of their arms. I’m sure she remembered me. Or at least I told myself that. They allowed me more than an hour, but each passing second chipped another piece off my heart. And then it was time.

  Who was that lady who calmly kissed her forehead and cuddled her close? I don’t recognise the woman who waved her off with a smile. Yet I understood sniffing that little girl’s hair in the hope of storing the scent and moment forever. When Chloe was gone, that person vanished. Only a creature remained. A wretched one that they had to peel from the floor.

  I sickened afterwards. When they took her away, they left me with memories and time; neither of which I wanted. Nothing but fifteen years to think about what I’d done. Not eating or sleeping. Professionals talked to me but what could they do? There was no cure. Finally, my sense of survival kicked in. I knew what I had to do. There were few physical mementoes; only a jumper and a couple of photographs. However, the smell in that prison and the looks on others’ faces constantly reminded me, and I asked for a transfer. I bagged up those things, and they remai
ned in my cell when I left.

  Time doesn’t cure all ills, but I did I learn to forget. My refusal to acknowledge that day, and most of the ones before it, got me through that sentence. I couldn’t reminisce because it weakened me.

  Recently, I have recognised the need to understand my past so I can plan my future. The memory of my daughter was always supposed to be off-limits. I thought that way I could move on. They were the foolish ideas of a terrified, young, exhausted girl. I can’t rest until I find answers.

  In the end, I survived, but any joy and innocence in me had gone forever.

  51

  The Truth

  I was vaguely aware of Irina’s sobs as I told my story. She shakes her head at the end and cries out.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘It was a way of protecting myself.’

  Radic looks dazed. ‘The men in the barn…’

  ‘Yes. Not exactly an immaculate conception.’

  ‘How can you joke? How could you let it go?’ His face reddens with rage. ‘After everything that happened, they forced you to have your child adopted.’

  ‘It was a lifetime ago. I’ve ignored it for so long now it doesn’t feel real. There was nothing I could do about it in prison. It was already too late. And they didn’t force me to sign those papers. It was the sensible option. I had no relatives to take over. There weren’t any enthusiastic aunts or uncles, no keen grandparents. They could have probably forced the adoption if they wanted, I’m not sure. But I chose to give her a chance that never came my way. She needed a family.’

 

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