The Supposed Truth

i)

“It’s not what you do, but what you’re seen to do that’s important.” She quipped with a wink. Paul looked at his soon-to-be-mother-in-law with contempt. The comment had been said with an innocent enough smile, amongst the applause, in a voice that she knew only he could hear. He so wanted to push her on to the stage or trip her, but he knew that he’d be the ultimate loser. He knew that Lesley would milk it for all it was worth and he’d also lose whatever support he still had from Jane, his fiancée. So he let inch her way, painfully into the centre of the stage and accept the award for “Fundraising personality of the year” –even though it was Jane who had done all the work. There’s never a precariously placed bucket of blood around when you really want one, he thought.

To hear Lesley tell her story she was a survivor; and there were certain facts that attested to that, but there was a lot to be said about how those facts were interpreted. Leo, her long suffering husband, used to beat her and she had the bruises to prove it. 

People were shocked when they first heard what had happened for Lesley and Leo had been the archetypal happy couple; a storybook romance if ever there was one. If any acting had been involved on either part then it was Oscar worthy for sure.

Nothing happened for the first ten years and then Lesley, who had never seemed vain or insecure, started wearing heavy make-up. No one said anything to start with, but after a few months the bruises started to appear on her arms and legs, and she wore long sleeves and trousers, even in summer.

It didn’t take long before the “truth” came out. Lesley was at the forefront of women’s lib in the ‘80’s and went back to work, succeeding in a male dominated office; and it was there that the truth surfaced.

The truth that Leo had been beating her…. But even when it was common knowledge it still took a year before she eventually left him. It wasn’t until she was hospitalised through a severely damaged spine that the police stepped in. Leo had kicked her mercilessly in the back…. At the time no one could understand what could possibly have provoked him, and no one really cared. All eyes were on Lesley. She still loved him though and attested to it being her fault, but eventually left him; knowing it to be traumatic for Jane, she had to strike it out on her own.

Her story became the talk of the village and all rallied around her. Leo barely managed to make it out of the village with his life; he was damn near lynched the moment he was released from police custody. Lesley couldn’t bear to press charges, she still maintained that it was her fault; that somehow she had provoked him.

Years later Paul found out the truth….

ii)

“You’ve got to believe me; there’s so much more to the story than what you know; what you’ve been told.” Leo was close to tears; ten years afterwards, nursing his beer as if it only happened yesterday; the events still leeching the life from him. This was no longer a man but a spent casing.

Paul was 17, had just started work at the local supermarket in the next town. He’d was also going out with Jane and was now well versed in the story, or so he thought. Who in the village hadn’t been? It was legend, but he’d been given a fresh re-telling just the week before; straight from the Lesley’s mouth; exactly two weeks after they’d gotten engaged. Even then it seemed a bizarre thing to do; to relive it in such detail and with Jane being an avid listener. Maybe to Jane it was now just a macabre fairy tale akin to those about the trepidations of adulthood and the dangers of marriage. Paul wondered if that was why he was being told; to serve as some kind of warning?

There was something in that retelling, though, that just didn’t ring true to him. He had grown up with Leo and had respected him as an authority figure. It was important for Paul now to hear the other side of the story from Leo himself. After all, Lesley was going to be his mother-in-law, and if there were any dangers it was better to be forewarned.

When Paul first saw Leo in the staff canteen he sat down and started talking to him as if nothing had happened. No one else ever sat next to him and Leo looked at him with fear and trepidation. He would have been aware of the gossip surrounding Paul’s proposal to Jane, guessed that Lesley had told him the story and, naturally, thought the worst. He seemed relieved when Paul asked him for a drink; someone was taking an interest in his side of the story. Obviously Paul never told Jane they were meeting up.

That night, dinner and a pint at the local pub next to the supermarket.

“So… tell me, Leo; I’ve met Lesley. She’s a nightmare an all..”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He interrupted and looked down into his pint; haggard and worn as the pub itself. He breathed deep, coughing against the deep cloud of smoke that hung in the air, permeating the conversations around. “I’ve not told another person, Paul. I doubt they’d believe me.”

“Try me…”

“To hear Lesley tell it I used to beat her incessantly; the bastard husband and she was the dutiful, sorrowful wife. But would you believe that what I did was out of self-defence? Desperation?”

“Oh, come on now… I’ve heard of excuses, but…”

“What about this then? Excuse this.” Leo pulled up his jumper and t-shirt. Even though the alcove where they sat was dimly lit Paul could still see the wound; as if Leo had been struck with something but the flesh was badly scarred. “A poker… clichéd as it sounds, red hot.  That was done the last night I saw her, when I was already on the floor. She’d already hit me two or three times and there was no way for me to escape. I dunno, something inside me snapped then. I knew I had to fight back. That’s when I lost control; it started out as self-defence.”

Paul was stunned. If anyone else had told him then would he have believed them? Even now, with the evidence right in front of him it seemed improbable; frightening even. But it was the sheer desperation in Leo’s eyes, the desperation to be believed.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“You think I didn’t try? Do you honestly think it was the first time I’d tried going to the police? They didn’t believe me – a big strong man? I mean, you didn’t even believe me!”

“I don’t know, Leo.. I really don’t know what to say.” And Paul didn’t. He wasn’t one to be speechless but there were too many things that rung true. Leo could be trying to win back some sympathy, but why now after all these years? What would be the point?

“You could start by listening to what I’ve got to say.”

iii)

“Beware of Lesley.” Leo said as an opener. “She’s a skilled manipulator; it’s a learned behaviour as her mother was the Queen. I nicknamed her ‘Livia’ after the character in ‘I, Claudius’, except her poison was of a different kind but just as lethal.” Leo explained further. “Lesley learned her lessons well…and her sense of timing?” He shook his head and drank from the emptying beer glass in front of him. “For the first few years things were great; well, except for Livia trying to break the two of us up, but Lesley wouldn’t have it. She fought her tooth and claw and could get pretty nasty sometimes. Part of me actually felt sorry for her mum, y’know?

“You know, it hurts more now knowing it was just a part she was playing; that she was just biding her time until I could give her what she always wanted.”

Paul looked at Leo askew, unsure of what he meant. He had an idea but it was too monstrous to contemplate, Leo continued.

“Even when Jane was born things went well. Lesley was the loving mother; a little over-protective, possibly, but nothing major. I mean, with a mother like hers you could understand, y’know?

“Looking back on it now I can see what was happening; I was slowly being pushed to the back of the family unit. Work was becoming harder and we needed the money, so I saw less and less of them both. As time passed and Jane started school the snide comments started; gradual at first, then increasing in intensity and regularity. Jane was of an age now to bear witness to it all; I did what I could to make amends, tried to juggle work and home more but we were struggling financially. Even with all the hours I worked we were barely scraping by.

“When Jane finally started secondary school Lesley put forward the idea of working herself; bringing in another lot of money, fitting in her hours around the school day. I know that she’s made out that I was against it from the start but that couldn’t be further from the truth.” He shook his head again, reliving it all over again.

Paul saw this as a chance for a breather; it was becoming more intense than he’d imagined.

“I’m going to get another pint. Want one?”

“That’d be nice, Paul… Isn’t it my turn to get one in?”

“Just sit there, mate. You look as if you need it.” Leo just nodded.

Ordering the pint Paul just shook his head; it all sounded so fantastic. If it had been told to him by anyone else, or about anyone else he would have said that it deserved to be in a soap opera. But there were too many things that rang true for Paul to dismiss out of hand. He had gotten to know Lesley too well himself and had started making his own comparisons with how she’d behaved to him.

He’d known her most of his life, growing up in the village she’d always been more of a surrogate aunt to him; but since dating Jane their relationship seemed to have changed. Barbs had started to appear; serrated edges to some of the comments she’d make in passing.

iv)

Sitting down with Leo again they sipped their pints, almost afraid of what was coming next. “Things turned nasty the night I woke up handcuffed to the bed. She’d never shown any signs of being into that kind of stuff before, and at first I have to admit that it turned me on. We hadn’t had sex in a while so it was almost a welcome relief, but it showed another side to her that I hadn’t seen before. She seemed to relish being in control and, for my part I just laid back and enjoyed it… initially.”

Paul tried his best not to picture the scene; it was the last thing he wanted to imagine Lesley doing.

“It happened a few more times.” Leo continued, “Always unexpectedly and at first it was fun; arousing even… but then she started exercising more control, not letting me cum. I was already suffering because of stress at work and this didn’t help me at all. It got frightening sometimes, I don’t mind admitting to you, Paul. She ignored my protests and then denied any knowledge of what was going on when I tried to talk about it later.”

“It was just a game for her, then?”

“Oh yeah; for sure – one sick game.”

“Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf…” Paul muttered.

“Worse; much worse at least their game was through willing participation. I was never willing!”

“What happened next?”

“She seemed to grow tired of me just lying there and she’d really try to provoke me. Push me into hitting back… but I wouldn’t… just couldn’t do it.

“Then one morning she came downstairs into the kitchen with a black eye. I was horrified and asked her how she got it. She seemed terrified of me and backed away; begged me not to touch her again.”

“But…”

“No. I never laid a hand on her, Paul. Seriously.”

“I want to believe you, Leo. Really I do. But what you’re telling me sounds too fantastic.”

“I couldn’t have hurt her; not like that –I know only too well what it feels like. My father, God rot his soul, used to take it out on both mam and myself. It’s a wonder I’m still here after some of the beatings he used to dish out.”

“I didn’t know that, Leo… I’m sorry… but you did hurt Lesley later…”

“It was either her or me. Things had spiralled too far… I’ll get to that in a bit. I know this makes for unpleasant listening, Paul, but you have to understand.” Paul nodded at Leo to continue. “Lesley knew about my mum & dad, but she was trying her best to find where I’d finally draw the line.”

“What about the black eye?”

“I don’t know… truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out. That leaves two possibilities –make up or she did it to herself. I don’t know which troubled me more…. Of course, she’d apply more foundation to the area when she went to work and did her best to hide it. This was all for my benefit at that stage; she wanted the torture to be psychological rather than just physical. She created this whole… abuse fantasy, that I was deliberately hurting her and nothing I said made any difference. She insisted that we slept in separate beds, which I was only too happy about.”

“So why didn’t you try to leave her?”

“And say what? What possible reasons could I give for wanting to leave her? She was so clever about it all… and then there was Jane to think about. I couldn’t let Lesley get custody of her; but I didn’t bank on what Lesley was telling her behind my back…

“I remember one night; actually the night when everything came to a head, Lesley had gone on a night out with her friends from work. I picked them up from the pub… I can just picture it now: she’d probably been bad-mouthing me the whole night. When they got in the car I could feel their stares and one of the even whispered ‘bastard’ at me when they left.

“Lesley was extremely drunk and all her inhibitions were gone. As soon as she closed the front door she was on at me. Slapping me across the face with such venom. That was the last straw –I’d had enough; I wanted out.” Leo took another sip and shuddered. “What I should have done was just walk out the door and maybe things would have ended different.

“But I didn’t… I went upstairs to pack.  I didn’t see Lesley go to the fireplace; pick up the poker that had been lying there all night. It was only when I felt the pain that I realised what she’d hit me with.

“She was behind me on the stairs –can you picture it?  So I must have fallen and taken her with me, but it was all a calculated risk. Each bruise she had she could blame on me.

“She was on her feet before I’d even stopped falling, and just started hitting me with the poker, again and again. She hit me in the same place, over and over so it wouldn’t show.

“I finally came to my senses after hitting my head on the way down, but I’d had enough. I managed to knock the poker out of her hands and then just kicked her legs from under her. I got up and she was just lying there, looking at me. The maliciousness in her eyes is a sight I’ll take to my grave; the sheer hatred that she directed at me.

“’She’s not yours and never will be.’ She said; her final words to me. I finally snapped and just lashed out; kicked her repeatedly where she lie. I just couldn’t think straight –it had been months of torture and I couldn’t take it anymore…

“But it was then that I heard Jane sobbing. I just broke down myself and cried. There was no going back from this; she’d been meticulous in her planning and when the police finally arrived she played her part beautifully.”

“Who called the police?” Paul asked.

“Jane… she must have been scared out of her wits… Even when the police came she wouldn’t even look at me. I failed her…The police didn’t care about my side of the story; and if I was in their place maybe I would’ve done the same. This is exactly how Lesley had planned it and she played to it perfectly; begging me to forgive her. I found it so difficult not to lose my temper again but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I’d lost enough already.”

v)

Paul just let the conversation stall. It would have been far easier to just disbelieve everything Leo had told him. He’d had plenty of time to make something up, after all, but to see his wound, hear the emotion in his voice.

But what was worse; he could picture Lesley saying all those things and, if anything, she had become more manipulative. She was the Queen of emotional blackmail and thrived on getting people to do things for her.

Somehow she had become an ambassador for a local children’s charity. She arranged drop off’s and pick-up’s (which Jane organised and undertook) and day-trips for the children, and organised cake sales (which Jane baked for and ran).

Jane didn’t seem to mind; she doted on her mother –the whole village seemed to; commended her on the work that she did so selflessly; especially when she came from such a background. (one might wonder why she didn’t volunteer or raise money for a battered wives charity… ) Eventually she was nominated, and won, their coveted Fundraiser of the Year award. Of course, Lesley lapped it all up with great humility.

She used that night to tell Paul exactly what she thought of him: “She’s not yours to have, you know; regardless of what you think. She’ll never be yours, but I’m going to let her come to that conclusion on her own.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Well… I guess I’ll have to nudge her a bit. It won’t take much… After all, it’s not what you do but what you’re seen to do that’s important. To her I’ll always be the loving mother.”

Paul let it stew for a while. The more he thought about what Leo had told him the more he realised what was at stake. Lesley had already laid down the law to him; regardless of what he wanted she wasn’t going to let him in. Yet why was she biding her time? Why not just force him out now?

He thought back to what Leo had told him and suddenly he realised… but it seemed so monstrous. It was the only thing that made sense though: she wanted a grandchild. He was being used, little more than a stud and when he had performed his part then he would be just cast aside.

Paul had to figure out what his options were. The obvious one was to just cut and run; have nothing more to do with either of them. It would certainly be easier, call the whole relationship off. … but he loved Jane; had done for years and was pretty sure that she felt the same.

Course, she had never been put into the situation where she had to choose between the two of them, which was another option, to be sure… but not one where Paul fancied his chances. The only other option was to confront her with the truth.

vi)

Which didn’t go down too well at all. Almost as soon as he dropped the ‘bombshell’ about seeing Leo things went from bad to worse.

“I know.” The exact last thing he expected her to say… 
Jane then summarised their entire conversation as if she had been there. “You really think that mum wouldn’t have found out? And then told me?”

So that was it, Paul thought, Lesley must have been told about his meeting Leo in the staff canteen (he hadn’t exactly been subtle, but it hadn’t occurred to him that there was any reason to be secretive) and then pre-empted the conversation with Jane and put her own spin on it –the supposed truth.

“And I expect you believe him?” Jane challenged.

“Well, I found it hard not to, baby.”

“Don’t call me that anymore.” She snapped. “I honestly thought you’d be different; that you’d see things as they really were rather than take the easy way out”

“I hardly see it as the easy way out, babe.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“You weren’t there; you didn’t hear what Leo said to me; the wound on his side… see the pain on his face when he told the story.”

“The wound on his side could have been make-up…”

“That’s exactly what he said about your mum’s bruises in the early days.”

“His story is right though, Paul. You weren’t there…” she snapped. “You weren’t there when he was kicking seven shades of shit out of her. He beat her, Paul!”

“You weren’t there either, Jane.”

“You bastard. How dare you?” I thought I’d really overstepped the mark then. That was the first time they’d ever had a real argument; he’d always stuck up for her before then and there had been no reason for her to doubt his love, despite what Lesley may have said.

“Listen to me, pet; please. I wouldn’t lie to you –especially over something like this.”

They talked for hours. It was like walking across a minefield for Paul; he was very aware that he could easily say the wrong thing at any time and was careful not to point the finger or make any spurious claim against Lesley, despite every fibre of his being wanting to do opposite. He knew that this was make or break time for them as a couple; there was no going back now.

He wanted Jane to keep an open mind; to see if there might be any grain of truth to what Leo had said. Nothing would be done with Lesley until a situation presented itself; Paul wanted so desperately for Lesley to hang herself.. and, as luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait long.

viii)

It was a holiday he had been looking forward to for some weeks. Initially it was just going to be the pair of them; a romantic weekend away, but when Lesley got wind of it she played her sympathy card and emotionally blackmailed Jane into bringing her along.

At this stage Jane was starting to believe what Paul had been saying. She had noticed little things: the way Lesley constantly tried undermining him; and it had definitely gotten worse since he had seen Leo.

Jane wanted to confront her mum then –she had been looking forward to the holiday herself. Lesley had become more ‘frail’ over the last few weeks; constantly needing attention. She had cancerous growths on her legs which seemed to flare up at all the wrong moments. Jane couldn’t help but feel resentment over the way she was treated, but then felt guilty despite herself. Part of her wondered whether the flare-ups were psychosomatic? There was a third alternative though.

Paul was against confronting Lesley until the time was right. He casually remarked that the whole holiday debacle would sort itself out. Chances are it would be cancelled last minute anyway.

In fact, the night before the trip…. Lesley rang up in the most dreadful pain and Paul seized his opportunity. This was the night of reckoning. The journey over was in complete silence. They both knew what had to be done.

“I’m so sorry”. Lesley said when they walked through the door.

“Bullshit”.

“Paul –that’s my mum, you’re talking to. I won’t have it any more; I really won’t! Not after what she’s been through.”

“After what? Don’t make me laugh! She’s a fucking menace!”

“I told you this would happen, Jane.” Lesley played her part perfectly. She was out to milk this, but Jane was having none of it either.

“Oh, shut up, mum. I’ve had enough. All I hear is your moaning; putting him down; the hardships… everyone else at fault except yourself… well, I’m sick of that as well!”

Even Paul was taken back by this, Jane was really laying into her mum. “I was really looking forward to this holiday and now you’ve ruined it!”

Almost on queue Lesley collapsed, her legs just giving way.

“Mum!” Jane cried out, catching her. They both carried Lesley to the sofa and sat her down carefully.

“I’m so sorry, Jane –I really am. I know how much you were looking forward to the holiday. I didn’t want you to know how much pain I was really in, but it was too much; I just don’t want to spoil it for you. You both should go without me.”

“I can’t just go without you, mum. I’m so sorry for doubting you. Let me have a look at them.” Lesley lifted up her dress so they could see the red scabbed welts on her legs. Lesley had done a damn good job on them; they looked so realistic.

Now was his chance.

“I’ve had enough. I’m calling your bluff, Lesley. I’m not having this anymore.” He got down on his knees before they could do anything about it. He picked an area on her legs that looked particularly fake and rubbed it with his handkerchief, hard. Lesley screamed out in pain and kicked him away with all her might.

To his horror the scab was real and rivulets of blood started to flow from the wound. There was a glint of triumph in Lesley’s eye but only Paul could see it. Jane slapped him hard and ran for the first aid kit.

“You’ve done it now, Paul. Thank you… I couldn’t have planned it better myself.” She said, a rictus of triumph across her face.

“I was so sure….”

“Thank God you chose the left leg, Paul. The trick is showing people what they expect to see, remember. The right leg had the make-up done…. It’s over now.”

“How right you are, mum.” Jane replied from the doorway. “For you it is over.”

Illusions

Dad always asked why I never wrote any comedy. He thought that our family would have made perfect sitcom material, but it’s a fine line between tragedy and comedy.

I’ve been looking at an old photo that I recently unearthed from the attic, stuffed and creased in a box of mixed papers; bereft and forgotten.

It’s got that faded, almost sepia look typical to old polaroid’s and it’s a family scene; another forgotten childhood snapshot. A pantomime of hollow smiles and lying eyes; and as I tracked through the estranged and easily forgotten members of my family I came across one person who had been cut out, erased from history; the scissored line clinical and tight to the edge. This wasn’t done out of rage but an anger that goes far beyond. What’s more I can’t quite place who it might have been.

I’m intrigued but unfortunately there’s no one I can ask about it now. My parents are no longer –both passed away within months of each other, perhaps the only truly loving couple I’ve ever known.

It’s taken me months to pluck up the courage to come back to their home; let alone clear it out, which is why I started in the loft –it has the least memories attached to it.

I took the photo downstairs to see it in the daylight and, whilst making myself a cup of tea I look around and it feels like mum and dad are still with me.

I don’t see the house as it is now, but as it was when I was a child. In the dining room there used to be an old gas fire; wooden boxed, metal grated, whose top served as a small shelf come Christmas time. I would create a little nativity scene with cotton wool, angel hair and cheap plastic models of the manger and shepherds. The fire has gone and plastered over and a large painting of sunflowers is mounted in its place.

In the lounge I sit on the nearest sofa which seems more uncomfortable now that they’re both gone –almost as if the house is telling me that I’m no longer wanted there. I stare at the photo, trying to remember who each of the characters in it were; hopefully through a process of elimination I can figure out who was ignobly cut out.

Uncle Jerry and Aunt Jane, kneeling together, faux smiles plastered on their faces. For Jerry, a rare moment of sobriety. Out of all his siblings he could have actually made something of his life. He had a special knack when it came to playing cricket, both as a batsman and a bowler. He had total command when batting; no one could bowl him out unless he wanted them to… (or later, if he was drunk enough). He was a demon bowler as well and had the nickname of the sniper.

But drink became his only friend, the only support in his life. Aunt Jane could never see what was so important about his gift and moaned at him constantly to give it up. Uncle Jerry drank to drown her out; his biggest fear was that maybe she was right; maybe cricket was the only thing in his life. His sense of self-esteem was more tenuous than what we thought….

About a year after the photo was taken he was involved in a nasty car accident, thankfully he was fully sober and was a passenger besides, but he had to have his foot amputated; it had been crushed in the wreckage. Both he and Jane survived otherwise but it meant that he could never play cricket again.

On the outside it was impossible to tell whether this was a problem and to the rest of us it seemed as if he was getting better, and had even changed his outlook. He had quit drinking and even Jane nagged at him less.

How wrong we all were. He waited until Jane had gone round her mother’s and bought himself the most expensive bottle of whiskey he could afford. He took an overdose of pain killers and drank the whole bottle. Jane was inconsolable and never recovered from his death; she blamed herself for the accident and in the end inherited her husband’s mantle and became an alcoholic herself. She was found dead one evening, clutching a photo of Jerry in his cricketing whites, grinning at the camera for all it was worth.

Next to Jerry and Jane in the photo, on one of the badly made dining chairs , sat the grand matriarch herself, Doris –my Great Grandmother. Every inch the Victorian schemer, the ultimate puppeteer. Born poor, she worked hard for her money and had been known to do anything for it when she moved down South. Of course, one never questioned what that might have entailed…. Indeed, as I grew so did my understanding of its ramifications.

She died about five years after the photo had been taken, her body had given up although her mind and tongue were still just as sharp, may she rot in hell for all the pain she inflicted on others.

When I was a child she seemed a jovial but brusque woman always cracking cheap jokes, often at other’s expense, but also very quick to turn if given a chance.

As an adult I found that she had been a manipulative bitch often playing one daughter against each other. Often changing alliances, making each compete against each other for the paltry rations of her love (which was never worth that much in the first place).

In the photo Doris has an almost triumphant glint in her eye, her hands folded neatly in her lap as if to say “job well done”. Behind her stands Auntie Ann, her hand claw like grasping Doris’s shoulder; pain so evident in her eyes despite the glassy smile. At that time she was the most hated member of the family. No one liked her much except for mum, who somehow saw the good in everyone. Anne had always been good to mum, despite being held in such contempt by the others; and it was mum who invited her to that Christmas party. It was the last time we were all together like that. Doris had made Anne out to be a money-grabbing whore and had spun such tales of spite and venom that it was difficult not to believe her.

After Doris’s death it came to light that she had been doing the same to Anne; saying that all her sisters were insanely jealous of her and that none of them liked her. Anne never forgave her for that but neither could she reconcile with her sisters; the hurt ran too deep. The only person she ever kept in touch with was mum, and even left her a sizeable chunk of money in her will when she died.

At the other side of the kitchen table stood Uncle Geoff and Auntie Victoria, almost embracing; eyes seemingly only for each other. Sitting in front of them were their children Jack and Rose. Geoff and Victoria were the model couple and seemed straight out of Hello magazine. He was a minister of a popular congregation and Victoria was the faithful, dutiful wife.

“Why can’t you be more like Geoff and Victoria” was Doris’s favourite retort to mum and dad who led very unorthodox lives –well, at least, to her.

On the surface their marriage was the picture of bliss: a cottage, two cars, two dogs and two healthy, happy children. But looking at the photo again with the bonus of hindsight I saw that there were cracks starting to show even then.

Rose was sitting in a very uncomfortable position, almost perched on her knees trying to lean on Jack who looked at her askew with something more than brotherly concern. He was older than Rose by four years and could now look after himself.

Victoria always wore lots of make-up, dark blouses with full sleeves and high neck lines. It could be said that, being a preachers wife, she was modest; but what we didn’t know then was that Geoff had not only been beating her but had also been abusing Rose for many years in the worst ways imaginable.

It was no surprise when John moved out as soon as he could and even married an Australian lass he met on holiday; he emigrated as soon as he could. Rose had a string of abusive relationships growing up and is now seeking her own path as a preacher. Is she trying to atone for her father’s mistakes?

Victoria was always the enigma though. None of the sisters knew their father and it had affected them in many ways; ways that they never reconciled. For Victoria, Geoff had become the father she had never known. His love was straight from God after all. There’s only one thing that I still wonder: did she know about the abuse on Rose or not? In my more generous minutes I pray that she didn’t –on her own she could be sweet and thoughtful; an archetypal auntie. I would hate to think that she knew about it and allowed it to happen.

Sitting on a couple of chairs in front of the dining table were my nan and granddad; an unlikely pair. Granddad, salt of the earth; a worker off the land and nan; a beauty pageant winner with a heart of gold and low self-esteem to match. Nan was Doris’s favourite target and became the subject of countless ridicule and scorn but this only fuelled her attempts to better herself,  in an attempt to win back the maternal love she felt she was missing, much to granddad’s disbelief.

I have no doubt that granddad loved nan but he could never show it; it was totally alien to him. In his own way he was just as emotionally stunted as her; I know that he did find it hard keeping up with her whimsy. He was happiest walking his dog, Maz, whom he doted on. Maz’s love was safe and he could understand her; but when Maz passed away the light in his eyes died too.

I’m still too close to nan and granddad to really understand them properly, or to see them in a truly adult way. There are some illusions that I want to keep hold of.

The same applies to mum and dad. It was very rare to see mum in a photo, she was normally behind the camera; she inherited nan’s lack of self-confidence (which has now been passed on to me). Dad stood to the far side in the photo, a sheepish smile and a knowing look.

Dad was my rock, one who I looked up to; a compass – there were so many times where I thought I’d lost my way, but he could always steer me straight. In some way I owe it to him to find my way through this current crisis I find myself in.

In between Geoff and Dad stood Leonard and… well, that must mean it was Gina who had been cut out of the photo!

Leonard was a decent bloke and doted on Gina, who was stunning (even in that photo). She had been a model before they met and she quickly adopted to a corporate life after that as his secretary; but she never lost her looks. I confess to having several fantasies revolving around her whilst growing up. It always made me especially embarrassed when I met her, often blushing which was, luckily, put down to being a shy child.

Gina was so health obsessed though that she was actually OCD before it became fashionable. Her sofa’s all had plastic covers over them; slippers had to be worn at all times in the house and she constantly washed her hands. The house itself was cleaned daily; top to tail; and one can only wonder how Leonard put up with it all. They had two children, Pete and Dawn, and it always seemed strange to think that Gina would have allowed Leonard that near her, let alone have any kind of physical congress with him.

But none of that explains why she would be missing from the photo like that. There was no real love lost between any of the sisters… strangely Gina is the only one of them still alive and, if it really mattered, I suppose I could always drive over and ask her…  but I dread to think what kind of crap I’d be dredging up.  Some things are best left undiscovered.

One cynical thought occurs though: as Gina was so disgustingly clinical in her approach to life maybe she even cut herself out of the photo!

Past saving

“You were never like this thirty years ago.” And that was true; thirty years was a long time.

“Well, congratulation; you’ve finally found the real me. You always said there had to be more to me, and now you know you’re right. Just like you used to be.”

Spend enough time anywhere, Len always maintained, and even Heaven would feel like Hell, especially if it was with the wrong person. The thing is, it didn’t start out like this.. or did it?

“What do you mean, used to be?” He snapped. It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon; a trip to the seaside; a walk down memory lane before they demolished the pier and eradicated the last of their happy memories.

“Well, you used to be right. Or, at least, you used to pretend you were right, and I suppose that I used to pretend as well.” Dot had taken some persuading, the news of the pier being demolished had hit her harder than he had realised. He was saddened by it, certainly, but she seemed almost inconsolable; nor did she want to talk about it; or indeed anything, which was very unlike her.

“Anything for a quiet life, I suppose.” He muttered. “How ironic.”

“What did you say?” She snapped suddenly.

“Steady on, old girl. What’s the matter?”

“Go to hell!”  I can’t, he thought, already there.. and what was worse, he knew that she felt the same. Neither of them wanted to end up this way, but it had still happened; slowly, inexorably: minute by damned minute. This trip might well have been a mistake, but what was one more? Unless this was the final one.

“Seriously, Dot, what’s wrong? You know I don’t mean it.”

There were still times when Len’s truth surprised her, where his real caring nature shone through, like it always used to. Not only did it make it easier to love him, but she knew that she could tell him anything, well.. almost. Now is where she would put it to the test.

“Do you remember Justin? He used to work at Wentworth’s with me for a while.”

Len shifted a little, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had suddenly turned.

“Yes, I vaguely remember him –or at least you mentioning him.” He lied.

“I found out that he passed away a couple of days ago. On Facebook, I mean… I found out that on Facebook that he passed. The funeral was yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I went.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It wasn’t that she had gone without him; he had never stopped her living her own life. He had tried to make her happy, even if it meant that she did things on her own; but it was the fact that she hadn’t even told him. She’d never had any reason to be secretive before.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know whether I could go through with it myself, to be honest. I didn’t know… what I felt.”

“What do you mean, Dorothy?”

“Why is it that you only call me Dorothy in that tone of voice? You used to whisper my name during love making.”

“Don’t change the subject, what else haven’t you been telling me?”

“But I’m not changing the subject, don’t you see? As above, so below; one of your favourite sayings. Look at the detail to see the root of the bigger problem. We’re growing apart, Leonard. We’re not talking anymore, not like we used to. We bicker, but not talk… Justin and I.. well, we had an affair.. of sorts.”

“For God’s sake, why tell me now?”

“Don’t blaspheme!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, your timing is as impeccable as ever.”

“Please, Leonard, don’t blaspheme.”

“Leonard, eh? Touché, old girl, touché. You know, I’ve often wondered why you got more religious the longer we’ve been together. What am I, the anti-christ?”

“Hardly… you’ve always encouraged me to find my own truth; the same way you have. You’ve never told me what to believe, and I suppose I’m grateful. But where you’ve found solace and truth and peace of mind, I’ve seen only emptiness.”

“You never did understand that life is what you make it; you only get out what you put it. You’ve never invested in your Self.”

“Well, neither did you…”

“I gave you your freedom. I’ve allowed you to be what you wanted; to have what you wanted.”

“Have you..”

“well… except that.”

“At least the church gives me a sense of purpose, tells me who I am.”

“I’m sorry that you need such a scaffold; I had hoped that you’d find the strength to do that on your own.”

“I must be a great disappointment to you.” Dot turned to look out at sea.

“Do you have to be so daft? I married you, didn’t I? Despite not believing in it; doesn’t that count for something? I’m still with you… I still love you; doesn’t that say something?”

“I don’t know any more.” She replied.

He took a deep breath, watched the gulls cawl and hackle at each other. “Are you going to tell me about him then?” He asked. “About what happened?”

“He was only there as a temp; six months. He was ten years younger than me but always looked at me with.. I don’t know… there was a wistfulness  in his gaze; something alive for me. I wasn’t unhappy, you mustn’t think that. At least, I don’t think so. You’ve always been distant… I know that you always loved me; but I don’t think you’ve ever been in love with me. You don’t put as much effort into the relationship anymore.”

“It’s always been about what you want, though Dot.” He interjected. “And I’ve never denied you anything; but, equally, I learned long ago that you’d never be completely satisfied. Early on you defined our relationship as being best because of the way I made you feel; not about me per se; but it was always about what you got out of it, or what I did for you. So I supposed he was different then.”

“He courted me, would you believe? Gently though, allowed me to time to make up my own mind. Strangely he didn’t want anything from me, just to give me love, and loving. We were together only for four months; on and off.. mostly off.”

“I know.” The silence struck her, it was as if the sea itself had stood still. She had never dreamed that he knew. All that time. “Well… obviously, I didn’t know the details, but I certainly suspected.”

“But why did you never say anything? Oh.. of course.”

She was quiet for a bit. The world carried on as normal; the sun played hide and seek with the clouds as children ran along the pier behind them. The smells of candyfloss, donuts and fish & chips would soon be nothing more than a tidal memory; an eddy on the minds of the lucky few who would remember.

“It wasn’t love that we felt.” She finally said. “At least I don’t think it was. We loved each other in the moment and then went our separate ways. The irony was that he was married as well; happily too, as I was led to believe, and with two daughters; and that was where the real rub was. He knew what I so desperately wanted and that was probably why he never slept with me. We enjoyed each other but never went all the way; even with him I was denied.

“What made it worse was the way he spoke about you… I mean, obviously we talked, but the more I explained about you and us, the more admiration he showed for you. How you’d given me flow; freedom and choice. And I suppose that’s true, otherwise I would never have met him.

“Of course, he moved away when his contract was up. We knew that we’d never keep in contact, and our last meeting was very much the same as our first… I swore that I’d never tell you; that I’d keep our secret to the grave.”

“And you have, pet.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

“And what do you feel now?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I never wanted to hurt you. I guess I felt empty when he left. It was about that time when you were researching hermeticism and I picked up the Bible, and just thought ‘why not?’ At least someone will love me.” She sobbed now, gently, like a lost soul might weep.

“I’ve always loved you, but –in hindsight- maybe not the way that you needed it. You want love like a child; constant attention. The only reason you want a baby so much is so it can take you away from the emptiness you’ve always felt. But it’s only ever a passing felling; you have to do that yourself.”

“But why? You’ve never really told me why you don’t want children. You must tell me, Len, I can’t go on not knowing. I can’t have them now anyway; please tell me.”

He looked at her then, his eyes full of compassion. Part of him wanted to say no, but that would have been unbearably cruel. He sighed.

“Once, when I was a boy of no more than thirteen, I went to a ghastly wedding.” He said, looking out to sea again. “It was with a bunch of family I didn’t know or care for; cousins, distant something or rathers. The reception was being held at some awful, run-down hotel when they didn’t seem to care about customer service or value for money. It was dingy and expensive.

“Anyway, I was claustrophobic –even back then- so I went outside. There was a veranda overlooking the Downs and a few younger children were playing, making lots of noise. I didn’t take too much notice; the view was so stunning.

“One of the children had a kind of motorised bird that flapped its wings when you threw it. This boy was deaf and had some form of mental retardation; I don’t know what kind –we were more ignorant about that kind of thing, back then. I was taller than most of the other kids, and he wanted me to throw this damnable bird, this flappy toy, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept tugging at my sleeve.

“My cousin, Bobby, was there and he was enjoying it; really winding me up; so I picked up this bloody bird and threw it as hard as I could out of spite, see? I never wanted to get involved but he wouldn’t leave me alone!” He could feel the tears now, a memory he’d hoped was forgotten was still just as painful. “The wind… I didn’t bank on the bloody wind taking it, did I? I mean, how could I have known?” My God, it was still so raw, it could have happened yesterday. Was it still happening now?

“What happened, Len? Please tell me, it’s ok. Let it out, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Oh.. and how do you know? You want to know what happened? I killed that poor lad, just as if I’d put a gun to his head; it was my fault. I threw that bird, that fucking bird.” People were staring at him; look at the old fool blubbing, well.. let them! “That bird, flew so very high on to the roof. I bet it had never flown that high in its life, and now it was stuck out of reach, never to fly again. There was no way I could get to it, nor did I have any inclination to, but the boy was having none of it. He wanted me to go and get it; after all, I was the one who had lost it. But there was no way I was getting involved; I hadn’t wanted to throw it in the first place, had i? So I tried walking away, but he wouldn’t let me; he tried stopping me… kids… we can be so cruel; all he wanted was his damn bird… He tried to grab me, tried dragging me back; he didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t want to know…  but he soon did though.”

“What did you do? What did you do to that poor boy?”

“See; you’re just the same. The poor boy…he was a menace. What I want to know, and what I’ve often wondered about afterwards, is where were his fucking parents? Why weren’t they looking after him? They were probably enjoying the free booze, getting pissed.”

“What did you do?” She persisted, quietly.

“Nothing.. pushed him away; that’s all.. and then walked away. Thankfully he didn’t follow. He fell to the ground, but I didn’t bother going to help him; to me the matter was over, but for him it had only just begun.

“I wanted food; I was hungry. Even back then I comfort ate, and by the time I’d laden up my plate I’d almost forgotten about it all… almost.  Then Bobby ran over to me, distraught. The boy.. he kept saying; The boy.. sobbing. I ran out with him. The boy hadn’t forgotten about that damned bird, after all. Seems it was his favourite toy and he wanted it back, so he tried climbing up the side of the building. Those old hotels; they all have the fancy walls with lots of hand-holds, and this boy tried scaling them. Obviously he fell; no one looking after him, no one caring and he paid the price.

“He didn’t fall far but the way his little body was twisted he must have snapped his neck. At least it was quick… But then, like the ultimate irony, that fucking bird came flapping back down because of a stray gust of wind. It landed on his body but he would never play with it again. That poor, poor boy.”

“But it wasn’t your fault, Len. How can you continue to blame yourself?”

“No one blamed me. Not even his parents. All the witnesses saw him hassle me, none of them remembered me pushing him down, but all saw me try to reason with him. The parents looked almost relieved that their torment was over. What they must have endured over the years, and the one time they turned their back something happened.

“I was inconsolable for weeks afterwards; I still saw his face accusing me. The parents let me keep the bird, they didn’t ask why; perhaps they understood.”

“No..; that’s.. you mean, that’s why you keep that mangy toy in the corner? I thought it might have been your favourite toy as a child; I never dreamed..”

“I swore that I would never put myself in that position again. I despised those parents; all the parents that turned a blind eye to that poor child. I despised myself for the same, and I knew that I could never bring a child into such a life.”

“But you wouldn’t have done. You would have been different. Oh, Len.”

“Really? I caused the death of that boy; I was the catalyst. I don’t know whether I could’ve gotten that bird or talked the boy down from getting it; but I didn’t want to know. I hated children, Dot… don’t you see? I despised them. Now? I don’t know; I pity them; they don’t stand a chance and things have gotten so much worse.

“Don’t you see? Our child.. had we… it wouldn’t have stood a chance. Between us, you would’ve smothered it before it could even get out of the crib and I would have abandoned it. Together I’m sure that we make a whole, but I couldn’t have subjected an innocent soul to that kind of torment. Far better to bear it myself.”

“But you haven’t, have you? I’ve had to bear it as well. This is why you’re always so distant.. why you’ve striven so hard to find meaning; and you’re just as empty as me. Oh, you put on these graces, tart it up in language to dazzle me but you’re still the same thirteen year old boy.”

“Yes.. yes..” He nodded, ashamed, but also relieved to finally have disclosed what he felt. “You’re right, of course.”

Dot smiled despite everything, or perhaps because of everything. Despite the pain, the recriminations, she actually laughed.

“That must be the first time you’ve ever said that… and meant it.” She said, still smiling.

“Do you think people can change, Dot? Do you think that we can? Or are we like this damn pier; just a skeleton; we weather the storms and high tides until its deemed we’re too unsafe and have no functional value. What do you think? Are we still of value to each other?”

“Justin dying has made sense of a few things, clarified them. I don’t think either of us have ever lived for the moment. We’ve both sought sanctuary elsewhere; escaping what we think is the inevitability of other peoples failings; but it needn’t be that way. What have we got to be scared of anymore? We’ve been scared to love because of what we might have to lose, but what have we really gained?

“I want more, Leonard. I want more from you, damn you. I want more love from you; I want to love you more.”

“Ha – that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear, m’love. Maybe there’s hope for you yet…For us. Do you think that we can change?”

“I fucking well hope so.”