A Form of Justice

by Dawn Marsanne

They waited for the Pelican crossing to change to green. Traffic was still heavy with people leaving the city after the working day.

  ‘I love historic cities,’ said Will, as they made their way through the Westgate Towers and continued up the High Street.

  Despite Canterbury being a reasonably affluent city, it wasn’t devoid of its share of social problems, and a rough sleeper was beginning to claim the doorway of a shop, now closed for the day. The sight of someone so desperate and destitute took the edge off Gina’s buoyant mood. It wasn’t just the cost of housing which could sentence people to a life on the streets, addiction to drink or drugs was an even more powerful curse which ensnared the vulnerable.

  ‘Spare any change?’ the man shouted as Gina and Will passed by.

  It was hard to walk by the disadvantaged, but Gina knew that money could easily be spent on drink or drugs and the best way to support the homeless was by donating to charity.

  ‘Oh, I see the Army Careers Centre is still here,’ said Will.

  ‘Yes, fancy joining up?’ asked Gina.

  ‘I think I’d struggle to pass the physical training. I’m a coward too. Those guys have my utmost admiration.’

  ‘And girls,’ added Gina. ‘The glossy posters look good though.’

  ‘Canterbury’s not changed hugely,’ said Will, as they continued their way up St Peter’s Street.

  ‘No, but the shops have. There are so many coffee shops now, it’s a bit sad.’

  ‘Oh, I recognise the library and museum,’ he said looking to the left.

  ‘It’s had a major refurbishment inside, it’s really modern now, I like it.’

  ‘Well it’s a step change away from Manchester, that’s for sure. I really can’t believe that crime is as much as a problem here?’

  ‘Well, hopefully, we won’t find out, despite what the reports say.’

  ‘Here we are,’ she said as they approached the Abode hotel.

  ‘Didn’t this used to be the County Hotel?’

  ‘Well remembered. Let’s drop your bag, and then go and get some dinner, I’m starving!’

  ‘I’m starving but not for food!’ joked Will.

  The weekend had started well, and there was so much to catch up on. Tomorrow was a day just for themselves, before driving out on Sunday to the coast to see her mother. She just hoped that the visit wouldn’t prove to be too difficult for both of them.

  **

  ‘Hi, Trish, Tom, nice to see you,’ said Derek Sheldon, as he kissed Trish and shook hands with her husband. ‘Come through, Beth is just in the kitchen.’

  ‘Won’t be a minute,’ called Beth, as the Websters went through the house and out into the garden.

  ‘God, it’s hot,’ said Derek, ‘but it’s reasonable in the shade of the house. We can move the parasol over a bit as well. Take a seat, and I’ll get you a drink. Wine? Beer? What do you fancy?’

  ‘Lager, please,’ replied Tom.

  ‘White wine, please,’ said Trish.

  ‘Coming up.’

  Tom stretched out and grimaced.

  ‘Legs a bit stiff?’ asked his wife.

  ‘I’m OK, I think it was the heat yesterday.’

  ‘Well, you did very well, quite a few people didn’t finish.’

  Derek returned with the drinks.

  ‘Hi, Percy!’ he shouted towards his neighbour who was on a ladder, ostensibly pruning a shrub but in fact, was using the opportunity to look over the fence to observe proceedings. ‘Nice day for it!’

  ‘No sign of this heat fading, is there?’ called Percy.

  ‘I see your neighbour is as nosey as ever,’ said Trish, sotto voce.

  ‘He’ll never change, I suppose he’s a bit lonely. It’s about time he cut down some of his shrubs, the place is a complete tip.’

  ‘We did notice that his garden is the worst in the road,’ said Trish.

  ‘I know, it’s a shame because everyone else keeps their properties in good shape. The windows need replacing too. He doesn’t seem to care.’

  ‘Not much you can do about it is there?’ said Tom.

  ‘No, that’s right. Our best hope is that he decides to move and someone buys it and does it up. Mind you, they’ll have their work cut out, particularly in the back garden, it’s like a jungle in there.’

  ‘Lions roaming around, are there?’ joked Tom.

  ‘I wish there were, then they would see off all the squirrels which keep digging up my bulbs.’

  ‘Strangely enough, there was a dead one on our path the other morning,’ said Tom.

  ‘Oh, that was a nice present! I remember once, a hedgehog got hit by a car and I decided to scoop it up before it got completely squashed. The blood dribbled out of it as I put it in the bin bag, ughh, horrible.’

  Tom pulled a face at the description, ‘Gross.’

  ‘The garden’s looking great,’ said Trish, quickly changing the subject. ‘It’s a real struggle with the lack of rain, the thunderstorms the other morning hardly made any difference. Our water butt was empty weeks ago and now I’m rationing the water or we’ll have a huge bill this year.’

  ‘Those blanket flowers are amazing, they’ve grown into such a large clump.’

  ‘They are one of the best plants I’ve ever bought, Gaillardia grandiflora, they come up year after year, the bees love them too. And what’s even better, they are drought resistant.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. And your foxgloves are doing well, I love those too. Which variety are they?’

  ‘No idea,’ shrugged Derek. ‘Pink ones!’

  ‘I’m trying a new variety this year, Digitalis purpurea, ‘Pam’s Choice, I think it’s called. They are white with dark pink inside each separate flower head.’

  ‘It’s like being on Gardener’s World,’ said Tom. ‘I feel a bit left out.’

  ‘You could learn if you spent a bit of time in the garden with me,’ admonished Trish.

  ‘Only joking,’ replied Tom, tactfully, winking at Derek who sensed some tension between his guests.

  Beth appeared and listened to the horticultural conversation, ‘Yes, the lawn is having to fend for itself,’ she added. ‘But it will no doubt be raining soon enough, and we’ll all be complaining as usual. It’s good to see you.’ She kissed them both and sat down, pouring herself a glass of wine. Trish noticed her friend's hand trembling as she poured and the wine bottle collided with the glass, causing Beth to grab at the base to stop it toppling over.

  ‘Shit,’ she cursed. ‘Sorry, I’m a bag of nerves at the moment.’

  ‘Well, it’s not surprising, is it?’ said Tom. ‘I’d be the same, knowing what was coming up tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you want to chat about things later, just the two of us?’ asked Trish.

  ‘No, it’s kind of you. I’m OK, honest. I’m so grateful to you for agreeing to accompany me to the inquiry.’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I’m not going to be with you all the time, how long do you think it will last?’

  ‘At least a month, possibly longer. It’s just the first few days, once I get used to the set-up and things I’ll be able to cope. The support group are a great bunch of people, but I’ve not known them very long.’

  Trish smiled and sipped her wine.

  ‘I just feel I have to make conversation with them all the time though. Whereas with you, I can just sit and have you next to me, it’s not as much of a strain.’

  ‘What’s that beeping?’ asked Derek.

  ‘Oh, goodness, it’s the oven timer,’ replied Beth, jumping up from her seat and losing a sandal as she rushed off to the kitchen.

  ‘Is she really OK?’ Trish asked Derek.

  ‘It’s hard to say. She’s having bad dreams and wakes up shouting some nights. She looks tired and drawn, don’t you think?’

  Trish shrugged. ‘Possibly, she doesn’t look that bad. She’s lost weight though, I can tell.’

  ‘I’ll just be glad once it’s over, then we can rebuild our lives. We can never
bring her mother back, but perhaps Beth will stop blaming herself. There’s no way we could have known how bad it was when we chose that nursing home. Being neglected was bad enough but then there was the abuse on top of that.’

  ‘It was unbelievably shocking,’ said Trish. ‘It’s good you were able to get the evidence.’

  ‘That’s true. I’m sure this sort of thing has been going on for years, and people weren’t able to prove it.’

  ‘Bullies are very clever in the way they cover their actions,’ added Tom.

  ‘They certainly are,’ murmured Trish as her eyes focused on the garden.

  ‘And to think what we paid each week, nearly nine hundred pounds. It’s a disgrace.’

  Derek quickly stopped speaking, as he spotted his wife returning from the kitchen.

  ‘Everything OK, love?’

  ‘Fine. Are you all hungry? We can eat now.’

  ‘Great stuff,’ said Tom. ‘Ow, my back,’ he moaned, as he pulled himself up from the garden chair.

  ‘You’re getting too old for that malarkey. It’s time you developed middle-aged spread like me,’ replied Derek, patting his ample stomach.

  ‘Don’t! You sound like Trish. She’d have me sitting around playing dominoes and sitting with my feet up!’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t! Cheeky. I just don’t want you to knacker your knees,’ said Trish, looking rather annoyed.

  ‘I think we should eat and agree to differ,’ said Derek tactfully. He looked over to the fence and rushed across, clapping his hands to shoo away a squirrel. ‘Blasted things. You are allowed to kill them, you know.’

  ‘You have to catch them first,’ said Tom. ‘Quick little blighters.’

  ‘I’d like to poison them but knowing me I’d end up killing next door’s cat. Then I’d be in trouble.’

  The two guests went in to join Beth, who was carrying a side of salmon into the dining room. All talk of pests and poison was forgotten, as they loaded their plates with the extensive selection of dishes on offer.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Er, no, thanks, Izzy, I don’t feel very well today. I’ll have to give it a miss,’ said Melanie into her mobile.

  ‘You could just come for a drink, see how you feel?’

  ‘No, really, I’m still in bed, my throat is really sore, and I don’t want to pass anything on to you all.’

  ‘OK, well, text me later. Let me know how you are and if you need anything, just let me know. I can easily pop around.’

  ‘I will, thanks. Enjoy the party.’

  ‘Bye, take care,’ said Izzy as she ended the call.

  Melanie lived in a third floor flat, part of a house conversion on the Old Dover Road, to the south of the city centre. The owner had never lived in it himself but had bought it as an investment to rent out. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk from where she worked at the NatWest Bank, on the High Street. Melanie tossed her phone on to the sofa. Physically she was fine, but she was in no state for socialising. Since being contacted by Jessica from her old school, she’d been in a fragile mental state, and after the session with her counsellor, she’d actually felt worse than before. Despite trying to practise some of her breathing and relaxation techniques, images from the past were starting to consume her every waking hour. In order to get some sleep, she’d drunk far too much the previous night and had collapsed on the sofa in a drunken stupor, unable to make it to bed. For a few hours she must have slept but then on waking had felt dreadful and had spent a good part of the early hours vomiting and feeling faint.

  Instead of going out and trying to distract herself, she’d spent the morning creating an account to access the school’s alumni network, browsing articles and trying to recognise as many ex-pupils as possible. It had now become an obsession, and she was living in the past decade. Images of her abusers were never absent, and their voices rang through her head as if they were in the same room. She had no idea how she would be able to compartmentalise them and return to her present day existence.

  She put her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks, some dripping on to her linen shirt, some running down her neck and soaking the collar. The walls of her flat appeared to be closing in on her. A heavy weight was pressing down on her head, crushing it and preventing her brain cells from functioning. Even her vision was distorted. Edges of objects looked curved instead of straight. Her whole world was being altered and contorted as if stretched by some unknown force and it pained her body in an indescribable way.

  Melanie had been in this familiar dark place before, playing host to the feelings which had now returned. Previous experience had demonstrated that she had to release them before they totally destroyed her from within. Once they had grown to such proportions, they refused to listen to reason. Now she could feel the tentacles encompassing her, a familiar sensation which presaged a loss of consciousness. A miasma of foetid odour surrounded her, totally imaginary but no less disquieting.

  Slowly she shuffled her leaden limbs to the kitchen. Opening the cutlery drawer, she surveyed the contents which glinted at her invitingly. The half moon chopping tool for herbs looked like a smiling face. Were the knives trembling with anticipation or was she the one who was moving? Slowly her hand reached into the drawer and selected one from a pair recently purchased in a promotion. The ergonomically designed handles being the deciding factor which made them comfortable to hold and perfectly balanced for chopping and paring but today another purpose awaited them.

  Now was the moment. There was no turning back. She turned through ninety degrees to face the welcoming sink, which beckoned her coquettishly. Taking the knife in her right hand, she opened her left arm in supplication, ready to receive the gift. The previously healed scars danced before her eyes as if to urge her to add another to the collection. Very carefully she drew the knife across the skin. A gasp escaped from her mouth as the epidermis was severed and blood spouted from the cut. Droplets at first and then the whole length became a vibrant red colour. Melanie waited. Her arm stung and ached, but this was necessary as it allowed her to focus on the pain. Her body had been opened allowing her anxiety to collect in that left arm. Slowly the blood dripped into the sink. Each drop took away a fraction of her agony. Tears flowed simultaneously, diluting the vibrant colour. Melanie waited with her eyes closed tightly. She counted to a hundred then peered at the result. The whole of the base of the sink was now covered in blood, and it had started to travel towards the drain. Adrenalin which had coursed through her veins was beginning to subside, and she felt spent but calmer. The question was, how long would the feeling last before she was summoned by her inner demons to repeat the act of devotion at the altar of self-harm?

  **

  ‘Here we are,’ said Gina as she pulled on to the driveway of her mother’s bungalow.

  ‘We got here quickly,’ said Will.

  ‘Yes, well that’s because it’s Sunday. Sometimes it can take ages to get out of the city. The ring road is solid at rush hour.’

  ‘I can smell the sea air,’ he replied.

  ‘I never know whether that’s really true,’ replied Gina. ‘Although you can smell the seaweed at times when it builds up on the beach, and that’s horrible.’

  Will stood and surveyed the front garden and the row of bungalows as Gina opened the front door with her key, simultaneously calling to her mother.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ replied Gwen as she appeared from the lounge. ‘What are you doing at this time of night?’

  ‘Hello, Mum, what do you mean? It’s morning.’ Gina and Will kissed Gwen.

  ‘I’m just getting ready for bed,’ replied Gwen. ‘I’ve been waiting all day for you, but when you didn’t appear, I assumed you weren’t coming.’

  Even though the carer had been that morning to get Gwen up and washed and dressed, she must have undressed and put her nightdress back on.

  ‘Come and sit down, Mum. Let me explain.’

  ‘Oh, alright,’ she sighed, ‘but I’m tired
and ready for bed.’

  ‘Look, it’s half-past ten. See the clock?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s bedtime. You youngsters, I don’t know, you stay up so late.’

  ‘It’s not, it’s light outside and the sun is shining. We are going to take you out for lunch.’

  ‘At this time, goodness me, I don’t want to eat so near to bedtime.’

  ‘Go and look through the window, look at the sunshine, that means it’s daytime,’ persisted Gina.

  Gwen shuffled over to the window and gazed out for a few minutes.

  ‘That’s Mrs Emery over there. I think her husband’s left her. I’ve not seen him for ages.’

  ‘He died last year, Mum.’

  ‘No, he can’t have, he was only young.’

  ‘Come and sit down again,’ said Gina, realising that the day ahead was going to be very challenging. During the next half hour, a confusing dialogue ensued whilst Gina and Will tried to persuade Gwen that it was mid-morning. Both managed to refrain from raising their voices despite Gwen’s continued rebuttals. Eventually, they managed to break through her delusion and succeeded in getting her dressed again and into the car to take her to a restaurant for lunch. There, she had picked at her food and declared it tasteless and overcooked. Much to their embarrassment, she had shared her opinion in a loud voice to the other patrons. She had then demanded the manager come to their table, whereupon she instructed him in the correct way to cook sea bass, despite having chosen grilled plaice for her meal. Gina explained the confusion and the manager was very understanding even though he had received quite a dressing down.

  After that incident, they quickly asked for the bill and declined desserts and coffee, deciding a walk along the seafront was a better prospect. Out in the fresh air, her mother perked up slightly and chatted about places in the town quite lucidly. Once back home, they found themselves on a downward spiral again, and Gwen started to query why her husband wasn’t present.

  ‘Mum, Dad died years ago. He doesn’t live here.’

  ‘Died? No, I spoke to him yesterday, and he told me he was away for a few days, he works so hard. But he should be back now.’

  ‘He died ten years ago. He had a heart attack and was in hospital. I came down from Manchester to stay with you. You must remember?’