A Form of Justice

by Dawn Marsanne

  ‘I do not blab, thank you,’ replied Patsy. ‘Anyway, why tell me half a story?’

  ‘So, how was school?’ asked Angela, tactfully changing the subject.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘That’s it? OK?’ said her mother. ‘Oh, how did your cakes turn out?

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘So can we see them?’

  ‘Er, no. I dropped them, and I had to throw them away, sorry.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame. I bet they looked lovely.’

  ‘Well, they did turn out well, thanks. I’ve got the fancy vegetables though.’

  ‘Isn’t that typical,’ said her father, shaking his head in disgust. ‘You are so clumsy. Good food wasted.’ He continued to tut. ‘I wish I had the money to waste like that. When I was your age we were grateful just to have anything to eat. We would have been more careful.’

  ‘Really? Now let me see, I think you’ve told me that before, yes, I’ve definitely heard about your tough upbringing,’ said Patsy.

  ‘Patsy! That’s enough,’ said her mother.

  ‘Less of your lip! See, I told you what she’s like, but you always defend her, Angela.’

  ‘I’ll go and get on with tea,’ said her mother, looking embarrassed and giving her daughter a stern look.

  ‘Perhaps I should dock your pocket money as you lost the cakes. That would teach you. We don’t have money to burn, you know.’

  Patsy looked up from the copy of the Radio Times which she had been reading. She stared at her father levelly. ‘But you do, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t I what?’

  ‘Have money to burn?’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Yes, you do! You spend loads on cigarettes, and you burn those. Therefore, you are burning the money as the money pays for the cigarettes!’ Patsy felt delighted with her logic.

  Her father looked like he was about to explode. His face flushed intensely, and his eyes widened. His whole body was trembling with rage, shown most markedly by his blond fringe which quivered nervously. She had never seen him so angry. What on earth had prompted her to say such a thing? Being emboldened against her tormentors in school was one thing, but she realised now she had overstepped the mark.

  ‘You cheeky bitch!’ he shouted, pushing himself up from the settee.

  ‘Roger! What’s going on?’ Her mother rushed in from the kitchen carrying a tea towel.

  ‘You will not speak to me like that!’ bellowed Roger. He strode over to Patsy who was cowering in the armchair, curling up in a ball to make herself as small as possible. He slapped at her legs, and she tried to draw them up under herself, using the magazine to shield herself. Roger grabbed the magazine and threw it across the room. ‘I will not stand for your insolence! I am the head of this family, the breadwinner and I demand your respect!’

  ‘Leave me alone!’ shrieked Patsy. She was crying and writhing about in the chair as her father took off his belt, wound it around his hand and lashed at her calves. Patsy howled even more.

  ‘Stop it! Roger! That’s enough!’ cried his wife. She tugged at his arm and flapped the tea towel at him, but he pushed her away and she stumbled backwards, tripping up over the pouffe and falling heavily on the carpet. Roger continued to thrash Patsy with his belt. She picked up the cushion and landed a blow in his face which stopped his assault for a moment. This was her chance. She sprung from the chair and headed for the door, slamming it behind her and racing upstairs to her room, where she wedged a chair under the handle and collapsed on her bed, sobbing into the pillow.

  **

  At 8 p.m. there was a knock on Patsy’s bedroom door.

  ‘I’ve brought you a sandwich, please open the door,’ said her mother.

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘Please, let me in, I want to talk to you.’

  Patsy slowly dragged herself off the bed and removed the chair so her mother could enter. Immediately she lay back down on the bed and turned away from her mother.

  ‘You should eat this. It’s a cheese sandwich and there’s some water. Then I think you should get undressed and go to bed.’

  ‘Look at my legs.’ Patsy showed her mother the red welts on her legs. ‘One of them has been bleeding. I should go to the police.’

  ‘You can’t do that, you mustn’t.’

  ‘But why do you stay with him? He’s such a bully. I hate him.’

  ‘He’s just got a bit of a temper, and you were rude to him. You mustn’t provoke him.’

  ‘But he hit me so hard. He had no right to do that.’

  ‘I know, and I’ve spoken to him. He’s under a lot of pressure at work.’

  ‘It’s no excuse.’

  ‘No, but he’s a proud man. He’s had a hard upbringing, and he’s set in his ways. Things were different when he was your age, you couldn’t get away with saying anything to your parents. You don’t realise the difference.’

  ‘Is he going to say sorry?’

  ‘No, but tomorrow, I want you to say sorry to him.’

  ‘Ha! No chance.’

  ‘Please? For me?’

  ‘But Mum, I don’t know why we can’t leave, move to another house, just you, me and Andrew. He’s horrible to you, I’ve heard him.’

  ‘Because we’d have no money. I don’t have any qualifications, I worked in a shop before I got married, and I’ve no money of my own. It wouldn’t be sensible. Besides, he needs me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look, he’s not been feeling very well, recently. I think that might have contributed to him getting so angry. I’m not supposed to tell you but he had some tests at the hospital, and he’s seeing the doctor tomorrow, for the results.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he give up smoking if he’s not feeling well?’

  ‘It’s not that easy. Look, promise me you won’t let on that I’ve told you that?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘He’s had to go to bed as he’s not feeling very well after what happened this evening.’

  ‘Well, I hope he thinks about the way he hit me.’

  ‘You just touched a nerve and he lashed out.’

  ‘Well, perhaps I did, but he shouldn’t have attacked me like that. I was really scared!’

  ‘I know. Look, he’s not all bad. Try to see his good points as well.’

  ‘I’ll try, but it’s hard sometimes. I just seem to annoy him.’

  ‘You don’t. Sometimes you just rub him up the wrong way.’

  ‘I love you, Mum,’ sobbed Patsy.

  They hugged.

  ‘I love you too,’ said her mother, her voice wavering. ‘And your Dad does too, even though he doesn’t always show it. He does love you, in his own way.’

  ‘Will he die?’

  ‘Patsy! Don’t say that! Well, he will, sometime but hopefully, not soon, he’s only fifty-two.’

  ‘But he might be seriously ill?’

  ‘They can give you tablets for most things. It might be a problem with his heart, and he will just get some pills to sort it out. Now, it’s getting late. Eat something and then go to sleep, you must be exhausted.’

  ‘OK, I’ll try.’

  ‘Goodnight. Things always seem better in the morning.’

  They kissed for one last time, and Patsy drank some water. She managed half her sandwich then got ready for bed. Tonight’s experience had been totally unnerving, and the memory of it would stay with her for a long time. Never again would she allow herself to become an object for her father’s gratuitous violence.

  Chapter 34

  The next morning, Patsy lingered upstairs until she heard the front door close at 7.30 a.m., which signalled her father’s usual early departure for work before the rush-hour traffic reached its peak. Sleep had proved elusive, only brief periods of slumber had been possible, as a result of her over-active mind replaying the horrific events of the evening and now she began the new day feeling drained and irritable. If she received any provocation at school, she would be able to vent her emotions on the gang of bulli
es.

  ‘How are you this morning?’ asked her mother.

  ‘OK, I suppose. thanks for coming in to see me last night.’

  Her mother smiled weakly.

  ‘I want to get Dad a present, to say sorry,’ said Patsy. ‘The thing is, I can’t buy tobacco as I’m too young. Could you get me a pack of the one he uses?’

  ‘Of course. You can give me the money when you get your next week’s allowance.’

  ‘I’m going to make him a card and wrap up the present for him. Do you think he’ll like that?’

  ‘I’m sure he will. Don’t expect too much praise from him but it will be a gesture. I’m going to the shops later.’

  ‘I realise I shouldn’t have said anything about smoking, it’s up to him really. After all, he earns the money so he can spend it how he wants.’

  ‘Well, that’s right. When you are older, you won’t like people commenting on what you choose to do.’

  ‘No, I suppose. I can’t wait until I’m older!’ said Patsy animatedly. ‘I’ll be able to stay out late and go where I want.’

  ‘Not too late, not whilst you are still living here,’ added her mother. ‘Don’t get carried away with ideas like that.’

  Patsy poured some cereal in a bowl and ate her breakfast in silence, whilst her mother tidied up in the kitchen and put a load of clothes in the washing machine.

  ‘I’m sorry I lost the plastic container from the cakes as well,’ said Patsy.

  ‘Where did you leave it?’

  ‘I must have left it in the domestic science room because I was in such a state when I dropped my cakes. I had to get a brush and then a cloth to clear up the mess,’ lied Patsy, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

  ‘Well, perhaps it’s still there. You could ask.’

  ‘OK, I will.’

  ‘Goodness, watch the time, you’ll miss your bus. It won’t wait for you!’

  ‘I’ll just brush my teeth and be on my way. See you tonight!’

  ‘Hope school is OK. Not long to go now until the end of term!’

  ‘Yippee!’ shouted Patsy as she ran upstairs.

  **

  The form stood as the teacher entered the room.

  ‘Sit down, girls,’ said the form teacher, Miss Fletcher. She scanned the register which the form captain had filled in as the girls arrived. ‘So, two missing. Has anyone heard about Eugenia or Harriet today?’

  Nobody replied. Patsy had noted their absence and relief had suffused her whole body. Today would be a day to savour, to enjoy and wallow in the feeling of safety. Sophie was still present, but alone she would be no trouble. She was the weakest member of the trio and unlikely to mount an assault single-handed.

  ‘Now, we have a few items to go through before assembly. Firstly, there is no Christian Union this lunchtime as it’s the last week of term. Next, I hope you’ve remembered that on Wednesday lunchtime, the third form is holding the summer fête so I hope you will all attend and help to raise money for charity.’

  There was a pause as Miss Fletcher flicked through her notepad. ‘Lastly, those of you who have domestic science with Mrs Moore will not be able to do any practical work as she is off sick today. Instead, you are to go to room 3BW where you will have some written work to do with another teacher. Sorry if you have brought in your ingredients, but it can’t be helped.’

  This latest announcement was met with a few groans.

  ‘That’s enough, teachers can’t help being ill sometimes,’ retorted the form teacher.

  In contrast, Patsy smiled, relaxed her shoulders and held her head up high. Her mood was as sunny as the July weather. Perhaps Mrs “More Food” would lose some weight if she wasn’t very well today, she cruelly thought. A rare feeling of satisfaction and supremacy flooded her veins. Last evening’s episode had made her realise that she was no longer going to be a doormat, it was time to take control of her life. Today marked the beginning of the fight back. Her own David versus Goliath battle had started, but unlike in the bible story, she had many disparate enemies. Slowly but surely she intended to chip away at their defences and subtlety would be her main weapon. Some wars were won by fighting many different stages, there would be setbacks along the way, but Patsy intended to reign triumphant.

  ‘Right, please make your way to the hall for assembly. In silence, please!’

  **

  ‘How’s your Mum?’ Patsy asked her friend Susan as they ambled through the park, heading home the long way round after alighting from the bus.

  ‘She’s starting some treatment next week. It’s going to be awful though. It makes you very sick and you can lose all your hair. She’s no choice though.’

  ‘I feel so sorry for her. I like your Mum, she’s sweet.’

  ‘The thing is, I’ll have to look after her quite a bit over the summer holidays, so I won’t be able to see you as much.’

  ‘I can come to your house, can’t I?’

  ‘It depends how Mum is. She might not want other people around. I’m just warning you.’

  ‘OK, well, let’s hope she isn’t too ill with the treatment. By the way, my Dad isn’t feeling very well, he’s going to the doctor after work.’

  ‘Oh, what’s wrong?’

  ‘No idea but I wish they could give him something to stop him getting so angry.’

  ‘Right, I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Susan as they had now arrived at her house.

  ‘Bye!’ called Patsy as she partly skipped along the pavement. As it was the last week of term, they hadn’t been given any homework so she could relax that evening. It was such nice weather she could sit outside in the garden, reading or just lazing on the grass. Her mother had been so nice to her last night that she planned to repay her by doing all the washing up and offering to do some ironing for her. She deserved a break from being a full-time housekeeper. As she turned the corner she could see her father’s car on the driveway so presumably, he was back from his doctor’s appointment. She hoped that he wouldn’t be too grumpy as he hated taking advice or instruction from any medical person, or anyone in general Patsy thought. This evening it would be best to keep a low profile. Hopefully, if he had been given tablets, they would soon start to take effect, and his mood would improve.

  Chapter 35

  It was the penultimate day of term. Lessons were still operating on the normal timetable, but many of the teachers had organised some less rigorous activities, perhaps a quiz, games or a light-hearted topic and everyone was feeling more relaxed. However, Patsy couldn’t fully relax as she had to keep her wits about her. She had taken care to avoid being isolated as Harriet and Eugenia were now back in school, taking every opportunity to suggest that it had been her cakes that had made them ill.

  ‘Shitty cakes, shitty cakes!’ they chanted as she passed them in the corridor with her friends. ‘Put a turd in them did you?’

  ‘I wish I had! Then you would have ended up in hospital!’ shouted Patsy back to them.

  ‘We could go to the police, have you arrested,’ shouted Eugenia.

  ‘Piss off. It’s not my fault that you ate so many! You are greedy pigs,’ she said to them with her face right up to Harriet’s, making snorting pig noises just before ducking into the classroom where the teacher was already present.

  Patsy had popped into the cloakroom at morning break and found that “kick me” had been scribbled all over her blazer in chalk. She’d tried to wash the worst of it off but had found it hard to remove much of it. Her parents would be furious as school uniform was expensive and there was no guarantee that dry cleaning would remove the marks. She was in a foul mood and longed to teach Eugenia and her crew a lesson.

  Patsy took her place at one of the desks about midway in the classroom, in front of two timid girls who weren’t a threat. However, to her horror when she turned around, Harriet and Eugenia must have forced them to move as she found herself and Susan sitting right in front of her two arch enemies.

  Miss Pugh was calling the form to order, ‘Salvete puel
lae!’ she customarily greeted them.

  ‘Salve magistra,’ they replied, almost in unison. The lesson was about to start, so it was too late to start changing desks, she would just have to soldier on.

  **

  ‘Angela, I’m fine,’ said Roger into his desk phone. ‘Yes, I got here OK, I didn’t feel dizzy, and I’m managing at work perfectly well.’ He tutted to himself and cast his eyes heavenward. His wife had wanted him to take the day off as he was getting used to the tablets for his heart arrhythmia, but he was reluctant to do so as he wanted to make a good impression in view of his impending promotion. He was conscious of the need to work on some sort of cost-saving initiative, but currently, any inspiration for the task was woefully lacking. Roger was good at fine-tuning a plan and had an eye for detail but he lacked a creative spark to suggest innovations or to think laterally. Some had described him as a plodder, a safe pair of hands but hampered by a lack of originality.

  ‘No, I won’t forget to take my next tablet. I’m due to take the next one before lunch. Look, I’ve got to go, I’m very busy.’

  Roger replaced the phone in its cradle rather harshly, bemoaning his wife’s tendency to fuss. He had hoped that at work, at least, he would be able to concentrate on something other than his heart. The focus on his medication was making him even more stressed, and that wasn’t good for him, it was a vicious circle. The doctor had questioned him about his lifestyle, drinking and smoking habits and he had lied about both, dismissing them as occasional pleasures which he would have no trouble forgoing, should he so choose. Once back home, he had promised Angela that he would seriously try to reduce his smoking habit but with his impending promotion, that was likely to be even more difficult than under normal circumstances.

  Earlier in his career, working as a technician in the laboratory, his vice was limited to break times but now he enjoyed the luxury of his own office, he constantly had to resist the temptation to light up. Working at his desk, it was so easy to smoke one cigarette after another, so he had vowed only to smoke at breaks and lunchtime during the working week.

  He looked at the paperwork for a completed batch of material which was due to go off-site that afternoon. All looked to be in order but the figures and data before him started to swim in front of his eyes and he felt the beginnings of a headache. His heart felt like it had missed a beat which caused him to panic slightly. He pressed his fingers to the pulse in his neck and counted carefully. Was that an irregular beat? He realised he was now holding his breath and that was making the situation worse. Now that he had received a proper diagnosis of a heart arrhythmia, his attention was drawn to it even more and at times he felt himself counting his heartbeats. Hopefully, once the tablets had reached their full effectiveness, the strange feelings in his chest would subside.