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!

Open Invitation

“I can not thank you enough for opening yourselves up to me; its been such a long time since I've feasted like this.”

“It's my… our pleasure! I must admit, we… well, he was a bit wary when we opted to take part in the AhGristo campaign to help the elderly.” Janet was actually overjoyed for her wish had finally come true; a proper family gathering. Three generations; so what if the son's were John's from another marriage and this lady was just a stranger.. one made do.

“Now, hang on a minute, Janet.” John interceded. “We were both anxious about who would be knocking on our door.”

“Shush, John.” John was a typical head-of-the-household husband and, although Janet didn't always agree (and actually felt stifled by it all now), she did choose him, and with open eyes this time. Once bitten, twice shy. “We've got to be welcoming to… oh, I'm sorry, I never asked you for your name. That must seem terribly rude.”

“Not at all, please call me Lill.” The name suited her, thought John, who still wasn't warm to the idea of inviting a complete stranger into their home. There was no telling who this woman was. She seemed the rotund granny type, to be sure, but there was a sickness behind the eyes that he couldn't place.

“Lill…That's a nice old fashioned name.” Janet replied, simpering. And it was the simpering, second only to the dejected, forlorn puppy act that John despised. When he'd initially said no to the gravyboat campaign Janet played that card to the hilt. It was either give into her or smack her, and he'd vowed never to hit another woman again.

“Oh.. it's the oldest of names, my dear.” Lill chuckled.

“Edward… Morrie – you must call her Granny Lill, if that's ok, Lill.” Janet continued simpering.

“Thank you, dear. I'm awfully touched.”

“Now, hang on a minute, love.” John interceded again. “Now, that 's not on. You'll not go making them sort of decisions; they're not your kids, remember.”

“But please, dad.” Edward pleaded.

“Yes, dad. Please let us call her Granny Lill.” Morrie agreed.

“See, John. They've never known the love of a grandparent before; it can only do them good.”

John could feel something inside him start to seethe. If it was going to be like this all night then he would have to start drinking again. Lill had kept very quiet, very still; just a funny semi-smile on her lips.

John agreed, what else could he do? But it set the pace for the rest of the evening.Lill played the perfect guest, complimenting Janet on the food, which was -as usual- passable, at best.

“Thank you, Lill. I know it's not much and I know that John barely puts up with it, so it's so nice to hear that you like it… even if it is a lie.”

“A lie?” Lill seemed shocked. “Oh, I don't lie, my dear. I have no need to lie. Only cowards and cheats lie, wouldn't you agree John?” John blanched at this and was about to retort but a look from Janet stopped him.Edward and Morrie sniggered at this. “Well, you two can go to bed.” John snapped, needing to take it out on somebody.

“They can stay, John. They're not tired yet.” Lill replied and Janet agreed.

John stood up, shocked by what he had just heard. “Excuse me, who the hell do you think you are telling me what to do with my children?”

“Oh, shush now John, and sit down.” Janet said simply. “You're embarrassing Lill.. and me. The kids can stay down for a little longer.”

He didn't know what was going on, but this wasn't like Janet and he didn't like it at all.

“Anyway dear.” Lill continued. “I don't need to lie, I speak my mind.”

“Yes, we'd noticed.”

“John, shut up!” Janet snapped. “Go and dish up dessert.”

“It doesn't matter to me, Janet dear. But thank you all the same. Yes, I'm opinionated, but when you've lived as long as I have you don't care as much. People take you any way they can anyway. I enjoyed your cooking and appreciate all that you've done for me.” John had had enough of all the girl bonding and walked out into the kitchen as instructed. As he left he could hear Lill say, “but I think it's time that you were appreciated a bit more by others.”

When he walked back into the dining room he was shocked to find Janet in tears.

“What the hell have you been saying, you vicious old crone?”

“Don't you dare talk to her like that!” Janet snapped back. “She's actually opened my eyes to what you're really like. I can't believe I've been such a fool all these years.”

There was a look in her eyes that John had never seen before. An intent and a flicker of something else. As she spoke her voice became louder when she'd always been so quiet and meek before.

“You have never given a shit about me before, John, just as long as I cooked and cleaned without getting under your feet. As long as the meals are cooked and you can leave your mess about then you don't even think about me.” John was still standing by the door, he hadn't moved. He didn't know what to do, there was no telling how Janet might act in this state. But there was something else, he was worried about what the kids would think, how they might react.. but he couldn't see them.

Janet continued, shouting now. “And the kids are no better; all they see me as is a food dispenser. Nothing but a bloody brood-mare, and you never help me. You all make a mess, expect me to clean up after you. Feed you, entertain you. The only love you show me, once a week for five minutes; if you can manage that! And for that I slog my guts out.. for twenty years! Twenty sodding years! Well, no more John. No more!”

“Where are the kids, Janet?” He was concerned, apart from Janet's rants the dining room was quiet and he couldn't see them.He took a step forward.

Lill was still sitting next to Janet, not moving; looking at Janet serenely.He took another step forward.

“Damnit John! You're not listening to me!” She slammed her fists down on the table and he now saw the kitchen knife, grasped tightly. Her knuckles white, the blade crimson. There was blood on her hand, her arm and the floor was slick with blood.

“No… oh no.. what have you done?” Was all he could say, all he could see as he made a dash for the table.

He never saw Janet swing the knife at him, only felt it slice into his flesh. He turned in sheer disbelief; disbelieving even as she stabbed him hard and deep; unrelenting, one blow for each year of torment.

It was a rare opportunity to walk the mortal realm, but one that Lillith still savoured. It was even rarer to be offered such a meal, but even she had to agree that indeed, everything tasted better with AhGristro!