A Time to Tell

by Maria Savva

  About three months after they’d first started dating, Penelope and David were sitting in a park on the grass enjoying a lazy summer’s day…

  David took her by surprise when he asked: ‘Do you think I’m odd, Penny?’ His blue eyes squinted in the bright sun.

  ‘Odd?’ She laughed, then screwed up her nose. ‘In what way?’

  He picked at the corners of his nails in what appeared to be a nervous motion. ‘Different,’ he said, his gaze still fixed on his hands.

  ‘Well, yes, you are different, but that’s why I love you.’ She reached out to hug him, but he pulled away and she felt rejected.

  ‘If you knew the truth about my family, you’d run a mile.’ David laughed.

  His laughter seemed out of place and it unsettled her. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ She held a hand against her forehead to block out the sun so she could see him more clearly.

  He stared straight ahead. ‘Why are you with me, Penny?’

  ‘I ju-just said why: because I love you. Dave, you’re acting weird.’ It was the first time he’d spoken about his family; she realised she didn’t know much about him.

  ‘My family is different,’ he said cryptically.

  ‘In what way?’ she asked, now looking at her own hands, fearing that soon they’d have to discuss her family. She hadn’t seen her father since he fled the family home, over four years ago, thinking he’d killed her mother after another one of their fights.

  ‘My mum hates me,’ said David. ‘She says I’m like my dad.’

  ‘Oh, look at that dog over there.’ Penelope pointed, trying to change the subject. Flashbacks from the past assailed her mind, the dark secrets she kept locked inside.

  ‘Dog? What dog?’ He twisted around where he sat, looking behind him and then back at her. ‘I’m spilling my bloody guts here, and you’re more concerned about some fuckin’ poodle!’

  She’d never seen him angry. ‘S-sorry,’ she stuttered, finding it hard to meet his gaze as his deep blue eyes bore into her.

  ‘My mum used to hit me a lot,’ he stated. ‘Always did, as far as I can remember. She can’t now, though, because I’m too strong for her. She drinks too much.’

  Penelope ran her fingers through the grass to distract herself from the painful recollections triggered by his words.

  ‘Are you listening to me, Penny?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well? Aren’t you shocked?’

  ‘All families have their problems. There aren’t any perfect families,’ she murmured.

  ‘My dad’s usually in prison,’ he said, ‘but when he’s home, they fight a lot. He drinks too.’

  Everything slotted into place: the reason he was such a loner. It all made sense to Penelope and drew her closer to him. It had helped her to hear she was not the only one who had suffered.

  ‘I’d understand if you don’t want me as a boyfriend.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Dave, of course I want to be with you. I love you.’ A desire to protect him from any more hurt erupted in her heart. She punched him playfully on the arm.

  His reaction was to grab her arm and twist it hard. It was a spontaneous, almost defensive action. His eyes showed no emotion.

  ‘Dave!’ she screamed. ‘You’re hurting me!’

  Letting go, he turned away.

  Her arm felt sore as she instinctively rubbed it.

  He didn’t apologise.

  They left the park in silence.

  Penelope and David were married the following year.

  ‘We’re married!’ said Penelope, twirling in delight. It was the morning after their wedding day. ‘I’m Mrs Truman!’ Jumping onto the double bed, she grinned at him still lying there covered with the green duvet. ‘It’s great, isn’t it, Dave?’ Her smile faded slightly when she recognised a look in his eyes: one she’d seen before. His eyes darkened and his countenance became inscrutable. He’d last had that look when he first told her about his parents’ violent relationship.

  She gazed down at the gold ring on her finger and then touched it, as if in doing so she might somehow dispel this cloud of misery that hung over them.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, touching his hair softly.

  He sat up slowly, avoiding her eyes. ‘I suppose I find it weird, you being so happy.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ She sighed and slouched. ‘You looked happy enough yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Did he regret marrying her? Would he leave her? Tears formed in her eyes. She walked over to the wardrobe, pulling her dressing gown closer around her, a hollow feeling in her gut. Opening the wardrobe door, she moved a few hangers as though she were looking for something to wear, but it was just empty actions. She was distracted, waiting for him to speak again to make it all better; she couldn’t focus on anything else.

  Hearing a rustling of sheets, she turned to face him and watched as he walked quickly out of the room. The bathroom door slammed shut; the unexpected sound made her shudder. Hesitantly, she shuffled towards the bathroom. ‘D-Dave, are you all right?’

  ‘Yeeeessss!’ he roared.

  Retreating, Penelope made her way to the bedroom, absent-mindedly twisting her gold wedding ring with a trembling hand.

  Perplexed by his mood, she sat on the bed and thought back to the night before. He said he was tired when they arrived home, and went straight to bed. At the time, as she felt tired too, she was content to simply curl up next to him and sleep. Maybe she’d missed more signs of his regret. She blamed herself for being so caught up in the preparations for the big day: if only she’d paid more attention. A deep gloom pervaded her thoughts.

  Shortly, David returned and walked over to the wardrobe. He took out a pair of trousers and a shirt.

  ‘Dave, what’s wrong? Please tell me.’

  ‘Stop asking me that.’ He had his back to her, the sound of fury in his voice.

  ‘Why did you marry me if you didn’t want to?’ Her voice broke with emotion.

  ‘Stop going on about us being married!’ he said, turning to face her, anger searing his cheeks, colouring them red.

  Penelope’s mouth opened and closed, a silent scream, as tears slid down her cheeks.

  He dressed quickly, as if in a hurry to leave.

  ‘You regret it, don’t you? You regret marrying me.’ A sniffle followed the question.

  After buttoning up his shirt, he stood facing her. ‘Maybe I do.’

  She peered up at him.

  ‘It just feels strange, Penny, like we’ve stepped over into this new life, grown up and married.’ He sat on the bed.

  She took his hands in hers. ‘Nothing’s really changed. You’re still you and I’m still me.’

  ‘Everything’s changed,’ he moaned, pulling away. ‘I’m scared we’ll end up like my parents… Or your parents.’

  ‘Dave—’ She wiped her tears on the sleeves of her dressing gown.

  ‘History repeats itself.’ Rocking backwards and forwards as he spoke, he continued, ‘The abused becomes the abuser. Don’t you know that?’

  ‘We won’t end up like them.’ Penelope rubbed her hands together nervously, disturbed by his words and the glazed look in his eyes.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Before she could answer, David took her face in his hands and turned her head towards him, a bit too forcefully.

  ‘Ow! What did you do that for?’

  ‘It could easily happen.’ He glared at her, his eyes becoming darker.

  ‘You’re sc-scaring me.’ She stood up to release herself from his hold.

  He grabbed her arm and she recalled an incident not so long ago when he’d gripped her this way, hurting her. She trembled.

  ‘Sit down.’

  The force he used tugging at her arm compelled her to obey.

  ‘Don’t ever turn away from me when I’m talking to you!’

  He loosened his grip.

  She got to her feet and rubbed her arm where he’d twisted it. ‘Dave, what�
��s wrong with you? Why—’

  The next thing she knew, she’d landed on the bed, where he’d shoved her before walking out of the room. Although he was no longer there, an intense fear remained. The dark, hard stare of his blue eyes burned into her memory; a warning that had come too late.

  Over the years, she put up with the violence holding firm to the belief that she could change him. Sooner or later he’d see that what he was doing was wrong. Her love would help him overcome all the rage he held inside, she felt sure of it. Whenever he hit or punched her it still came as a shock, as if unexpected, almost as though she’d blanked out past incidents of violence. She always forgave him. It wasn’t his fault he behaved this way: his parents were to blame. However, the violence became more and more frequent. The courage and strength she’d found within herself at the start of their relationship was slowly dying. With every punch, every kick, she grew smaller and smaller inside. Her self-worth faded a little more whenever she allowed him to treat her that way. Gradually, her self-esteem was whittled away to nothing and she became unable to stand up for herself, losing the will to fight. This was now her way of life.

  The year before Cara moved in with them, Penelope became pregnant for the third time. David doted on their two sons, so she held out hope that another baby might help their marriage. She was overjoyed to learn from the hospital scan that the child would be a girl.

  David seemed pleased too.

  One evening, a few months into the pregnancy, he arrived home from work in a foul mood and began pushing her.

  ‘Stop it! You’ll hurt the baby,’ she’d pleaded. He smelt of alcohol.

  His response was to push her even harder.

  Tripping over the coffee table in the living room, Penelope fell onto the linoleum-covered floor, landing on her stomach. She heard David slam the front door on his way out of the house. The telephone was on a side table near the sofa, about three metres from where she’d fallen. It took all the strength she had to drag herself along the floor.

  As she phoned for an ambulance, she prayed the baby would be okay. The pain was unbearable.

  By the time she arrived at the hospital, having lost a lot of blood on the way, Penelope knew something was wrong. A black mood fell over her that wouldn’t shift for months. Her baby had died.

  When David heard the news, he cried. Penelope was amazed at how repentant he appeared to be. His personality switched; he changed so completely as to make him almost unrecognisable from the man who had abused her. ‘It was the drink,’ he’d say, tears streaming from his eyes, begging forgiveness. Penelope hated seeing him like that. He gave up alcohol, made a promise never to hurt her, remained teetotal for months.

  She felt torn between wanting to get as far away from him as possible and wanting to help him. She knew he grieved over the loss of their unborn daughter as much as she did.

  Shortly after this, she learnt that Cara’s multiple sclerosis had progressed. The family talked of putting her into a residential care home. Penelope offered to take care of her. It was a kind of blessing: she’d no longer have to live alone with David. There would be someone there to make sure he treated her right. But her plan failed.

  It wasn’t long before he reverted to his old ways, leaving Penelope in a constant state of anxiety always anticipating the next punch. To make matters worse, she had now committed to helping Cara; she had to stay there in that house, day after day, hoping David would leave. He never did.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cara switched off the television. As she settled down to sleep, she hoped Penelope and David had stopped arguing downstairs.

  It was late. Quiet. She prayed she would fall asleep without hearing another sound to disturb the silence.

  As she said a prayer for Penelope and the children, she also asked God to keep Benjamin safe, wherever he might be. He was always on her mind. Not knowing if he was alive or dead proved a terrible burden to bear. She still prayed for him every night, hopeful she would see him again one day. He hadn’t been perfect, but she loved him as a mother loves her child: unconditionally.

  Benjamin, Penelope’s father, had been missing for nearly sixteen years. On the night he disappeared, Cara and her husband, Billy, had rushed to the hospital to see Margaret, Benjamin’s wife. When they arrived she was wearing a neck brace. Penelope and her sister, Jemima, were sitting next to her bed, wearing coats over their pyjamas.

  Cara did not know why Margaret ended up in hospital, only that there had been a “domestic incident”.

  ‘Where’s Ben?’ she asked, looking at the two girls and then back at Margaret.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Margaret replied, closing her eyes for a second.

  ‘Gone? What do you mean?’ Could he be dead? Had they both been involved in a terrible accident?

  ‘Can you take the girls home with you tonight, Cara? I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘But where has Ben gone, dear?’

  Margaret let out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’ The redness in her cheeks betrayed her anger.

  Margaret’s eyes swivelled towards where the children were seated and she appeared to regret her sudden loss of control. She smiled at the girls and tried to turn her head to face them, but it seemed like an arduous task.

  ‘Penny, Jemima, you’ll be good girls for Nana and Granddad now, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jemima, who sat cradling an old black and white teddy bear. Cara recognised it as Benjamin’s childhood toy.

  Penelope only nodded, didn’t speak; her large brown eyes remained in a shocked, unblinking stare.

  ‘I’ll take the girls outside, leave you two alone for a while,’ said Billy.

  ‘Thanks, Bill,’ said Cara; perhaps now she would get a chance to find out the truth about what had happened.

  When Billy and the children left the room, Cara repeated her question: ‘Please tell me, dear, where has Ben gone?’

  Margaret broke down in tears and told Cara about the many beatings she’d suffered at the hands of a drunken Benjamin and how he often disappeared for weeks with no word. This time she doubted he’d be back: ‘He probably thinks I’m dead.’ She sniffed, wiping her eyes. ‘The fall from the stairs knocked me out. I can’t remember a thing after that. The nurse told me Penny called the ambulance.’

  ‘Oh dear, poor little Penny.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s gone,’ said Margaret, battling tears. ‘I hope he’s gone for good. I never want to set eyes on him again.’

  Margaret was paralysed from the waist down. The doctors were confident she would walk again, but the prognosis was years, rather than weeks or months, for her to regain all her motor skills.

  The children were still young, and Margaret thought it would be unfair for them to take on the responsibility of being her carers.

  Cara and Billy offered to take care of Margaret and the children. They were living alone in a four-bedroom house—much too big for only the two of them. Catherine, their daughter, had moved out the year before, and James, their younger son, lived in his own house with his wife, Emily, and their newborn son, William.

  When Cara first heard about Benjamin’s violence she didn’t want to believe it. Although she took Margaret and the girls in to live with her, she still had reservations and preferred to keep a distance. After all, she reasoned, Margaret could have exaggerated things.

  Gradually, she realised that her refusal to accept Margaret’s version of events stemmed from not wanting to face up to the possibility that her own son could have done such an abominable thing.

  After spending weeks and months with Margaret, her perspective slowly changed. She’d known Margaret as a bubbly teenager and here in front of her stood a withdrawn woman who carried a great burden. All the evidence pointed to Benjamin being the cause of that.

  Consequently, for a long time, Cara hated Benjamin for what he’d done to Margaret and more so for his cowardice in running away.

  As the years went by, however, with no word from
him, Cara became concerned. Margaret said he’d left home drunk that night. Did he have a drink problem? What if he’d been involved in an accident or even killed himself?

  Increasingly, Cara would find herself remembering him as a small boy: a loner who never joined in with his siblings’ games. He’d been silent and moody, forever getting into trouble at school.

  Whenever she remembered that side of his personality, she dearly wished she could talk to him and find out why he became such a bitter man.

  She felt responsible. If she’d instilled in him the morals he needed for life, if she hadn’t failed as a mother, he’d be here.

  Cara could think of only one possible reason why Benjamin should have grown up to be so different from her other children. She alone knew that she may have treated him differently from the others when they were growing up, not deliberately but perhaps subconsciously.

  He was different, after all.

  Had she spoilt him a little more than the other two because he reminded her of her old love? Had she shouted at him a bit too much when he misbehaved, taking out on him the anger and resentment she held against the man she’d loved and lost?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On the twelfth day of August 1952, eighteen-year-old Cara Hughes first set eyes on Frederick Johnson. Up until that date, she had not believed in love at first sight. She’d never imagined she would meet someone and immediately know she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  On the day in question, she was having lunch with her friend and work colleague, Annabelle. They were dining in The Horse and Dragon, a local public house. As chance would have it, Frederick had also decided to have lunch there.

  Cara noticed him as soon as he walked through the door, partly because Huddlesea was such a small town and she didn’t recognise him but mostly because he was tall, well built, with thick black hair and dark dreamy eyes. She could not help staring, in awe of his good looks. When his eyes met hers and he smiled broadly, she turned away blushing.