Hope's Vengeance (3 page)

“So what stops you from cleaning yourself up, do you think you’re punishing yourself?”

Hope hadn’t expected the sudden analysis; she hastily withdrew, mulling the words for a minute, her brow furrowed. “Maybe. You’d have to understand the low I got to. The first week in prison, maybe two, maybe three, I tried to keep clean, I was sure the injustice would be sorted out quickly. I had hope then. But as the days passed it dawned on me that the nightmare wasn’t going to just go away, there was a real potential that I could be locked away for the next twenty years, surrounded by squalor and filth.” She clasped her hand to her chest, bearing honesty. “You see, I’m a good person, I have a good heart, and I care, I always have, but life’s treated me badly, horribly. The shit that’s happened to me the past few years has just piled in, hard and fast, you wouldn’t believe some of the things that have happened.”

Dawn realised she was being challenged, but she had no idea what the question Hope wanted her to ask was. She deflected diplomatically to keep the conversation flowing. “Try me.”

“Rape. Twice.”

“That must have been awful for you.”

“Of course it was bloody awful.” For the first time this session the white knuckles were back, anger flashed from Hope’s eyes, fierce, deadly blue flames, and Dawn had to physically stop herself from wincing. “Especially the second one, that was more than awful, it was horrific.”

Unexpectedly, an unplaced maternal instinct smothered Dawn, she wanted to lean over and hug the pain out of the woman, and it took her by surprise. She swallowed the urge, crossing her legs, laying her hands neatly in her lap. “Do you want to tell me?”

Hope inadvertently rolled her left sleeve up, reminding Dawn of the previous week, of the long scars that littered her arms, some healed and silvery, some angry and purple, scars from the sharpest blades to release the sharpest, hidden inner pain. For the second time a suspicion that Hope’s anguish lay deeper than she was admitting occurred to her. Dawn watched as the long, un-manicured nails dug into the flesh. “It was just after Christmas, coming up two years ago. I was in my office; I use one of the bedrooms as an office. It was evening, the kids were in bed, and I was working on Women and Violence, doing the second re-write. Al was downstairs. He was my third husband, we’re divorced now. I tell you, he was a bastard, he stole more than half of my inheritance money from Honesty. But I guess that’s another story for another day!”

Hope shuddered involuntary, the memory obviously painful. She lifted the plastic cup, replacing it on the table when she saw it was empty. “Do you want some more water?” Eager to keep the revelation from dissipating, Dawn needlessly indicated the water cooler beside the door.

Hope shook her head. Her nails returned to her arm, and gripped the paltry excess flesh roughly. She crossed her legs, wrapping her foot right around her calf, shielding herself from the violation. “It was late. I heard a noise at the window, a tapping, scratching.” Dawn winced as a nail pierced the skin, releasing a tiny speck of blood. “I was curious, thought it might be a bird, so I went over and pulled the curtain aside. It was so quick, I didn’t know what was happening, there was a bang and glass was everywhere. A man was there, scrabbling through, black clothes, balaclava. He’d cut himself on the glass, but didn’t seem to care, he was in. It suddenly occurred to me to scream, shout for Al, but when I tried, no noise came out. Then he had me, hand over my mouth, I was struggling to breathe. I tried to bite, I was fighting, but he was big, his grip on me tightened and I was trapped.”

Hope put her fist to her mouth, she bit down, the tooth imprints remaining when she returned the nails to the bleeding arm. “He was strong, had me on the floor easily, and his hand was in my trousers, tearing them off, my knickers. He forced his dick inside, it ripped, every movement he made felt like it was tearing me in two, and it felt like forever. Every time he pushed it in the pain was awful, but something weird happened, because I felt like I knew him, he felt familiar. Then it dawned on me that I knew his smell, but I was too terrified to place where from. Then he came. He’d clearly enjoyed it, the noise he made was animal, and then he pulled out.” Her tone died, the pain too explored to be hurtful any more. “He was gone in seconds, through the door, down the stairs, I heard him slam the front door.”

The session was now ten minutes over, the next client would be arriving soon, and Dawn knew she had to find a closure somewhere. “I lay there, crying, just lay there. For ages. I couldn’t understand it. Why Al hadn’t stopped him when he ran downstairs. It didn’t make sense. I felt him trickle out of my body. I felt his fucking sperm trickle out.

Then Al came in, his hair was all over the place, and I remember thinking that was odd. He came over, he hugged me, held me tightly, and I was choked, I couldn’t say a word. I even felt angry at him, because he didn’t protect me, but then I noticed his erection. Seeing me, half undressed, crying and vulnerable, it’d turned him on. And that’s when I placed the smell. The smell of the rapist. The smell of my husband.”

The claws now grasped at Hope’s cheek, digging in, imprints expressing her bitterness, and Dawn’s face contorted as she realised what Hope was recalling. “I screamed. Running. Running. Away from the house, away from him, just away.” The anger flashed again, her steel eyes glaring at Dawn, mouth twisted into a sneer. The words came slowly, deliberately, drilling into Dawn’s memory, ensuring she’d never forget the horror, and her tone was challenging. “You see. I’ve been through things that you can never understand.”

Movement flowed through Hope swiftly, barely seconds passed as she collected her things, and she was gone from the room, no further words spoken. The receptionist’s head bobbed through the open door, she mouthed that the next client had arrived. Mouth gaping, Dawn acknowledged with a nod, but she still hadn’t released the deep breath she’d taken with Hope’s finishing words. In her nine years as a counsellor, she’d never experienced such a burning rage, such depth, so many layers. It was important she composed herself before she could continue her day.

Session Three

Dawn was nervous, she didn’t want to see her client, and she hated that. Over the past week she’d mulled Hope’s anger, the scars on her arm, the bitterness, and she’d concluded that, although the rape was vicious and significant, there was a longer-term problem to dig out. Dawn knew she was professionally capable of bringing Hope out of the depths, but she wasn’t sure if she was emotionally able to tolerate the vitriolic rage that pulsed from her veins. It had occurred to her several times to ask Hope to find another counsellor, but a small voice urged her not to, telling her the rejection might send her over the edge.

She bustled around the room, aware that she was fussing needlessly, longing the next hour to pass swiftly. The receptionist announced Hope’s arrival, and Dawn could feel a heavy presence in the atmosphere, a dark veil that clouded and repressed. Hope entered the room, her demeanour timid, yet strangely overwhelming. Dawn motioned the seat pointlessly. They both sat in silence, minds busy, grasping for an opening.

Dawn started. “What you told me last week was a terrible experience for you. Do you want to explore it in here?” The words were tinged with guilt, she’d shown an adverse reaction and that was something a good counsellor should never do.

“I was unfair to you Dawn, I wanted to shock you, I was angry. I’ve dealt with it, it was easy, because he destroyed any love I had for him that day, and I knew I hadn’t deserved that mistreatment. Obviously I reported it at the time, there was plenty of evidence, and he was arrested. I mean, at first I couldn’t understand why, I went through our relationship, mulling it over, looking for signs, and yes, I had to admit that he’d had sadistic tendencies that I guess I excused him for. If I’d said no before, he’d always respected that.

I was relieved when he was arrested, at least in custody he couldn’t get me again, and my solicitor also got an injunction so he couldn’t come anywhere near me. I just concentrated on the kids, on the book, on marketing myself, getting an agent. I just kept busy. It was what happened next that really knocked me for six, I didn’t see it coming at all. In fact, I must be so bloody naïve, the amount of shit I miss.”

“Go on.” Dawn braced herself, she could see the bitterness returning, and she was beginning to realise that the anger always preceded a shock statement. At least she now had a warning device in order to keep her own emotions in check.

But the anger subsided very quickly, expelled in a huge sigh. A sip of water, and a gulp. “My accountant asked me for a meeting, it was a week or so after the rape. Well, when he came round, he showed me my business statements for the previous month.”

“Business?”

“I was an independent financial advisor before I began writing, I ran a successful business. Only gave it up when I heard Woman and Violence was going to be published.”

“Right.” Dawn crossed her legs, leaning back. When Hope did the same, she knew they were in tune, and the trepidation she’d felt before the session began to melt away.

“There was just over eight hundred thousand missing from my account.”

Dawn couldn’t withhold the gasp, she was going to have to stop having these reactions, it was unprofessional. “That’s a lot of money.”

“My sister Honesty was a rich lady when she died, she’d made a fortune from her music and investments. She’d divided her estate between Mum, Charity, Faith, Happiness, and me, and I inherited just under a million pounds. I have always seen it as blood money, so I never touched a penny, but Al clearly didn’t share my values.”

“Al? Your husband? The one who raped you?”

“Nice character, huh!” Hope swallowed hard, a little cough. She took a sip, surprising Dawn by not following with a gulp. “He hadn’t even bothered to cover his tracks, the transfers were all made to his personal account.”

“You must have been distraught.”

“I was a fool, I’d let myself love him. That’s what happens when you love people, they hurt you.”

“Only bad people, Hope, there are good people too.”

Dawn wished her words back when she saw the fire had returned in Hope’s eyes. “I did love him, though, everything about him, and sometimes I struggle to tally what he did to me with the man I thought he was, the one I loved. When we got together, it seemed the sun shined more, the sky was bluer, and it was such a beautiful, whirlwind affair.” The flames had died, and a light smile tweaked the edges of her mouth as she recalled the love story. “I’d been single for years, and I didn’t want to be, nor did Frank, my first husband. Penny’s father. We sort of came to an agreement, we’d get married again, but as companions, not lovers. We’d been planning the wedding for the best part of a year.” Dawn realised this revelation was pivotal to Hope’s character, that she would deliberately deny herself an important aspect of matrimony, that in itself was a punishment. This was a clear symptom of sexual dysfunction, and Dawn was eager to discover the cause.

“I don’t know what happened, but over the months things sort of went stale. Frank’s a very stubborn man, he can be childish, and he started having what I can only describe as tantrums. It grated on me, silliness irritates me. And I guess the more I pulled away, the worse he got.”

“So it was attention seeking, then, his behaviour.” Dawn tapped the pen on the pad, and scribbled a quick note.

“I suppose. It must have been late February, early March, because my plaster cast had just come off.”

“Oh?”

“A silly accident, I’d fallen down the stairs after a few too many one night, and I broke my leg.” She patted her lower thigh. “It was embarrassing, really. Anyway, me and Frank, we went to see a band we liked in London, the Hamsters. They’re not one of the biggies, but a touring pub band, they do rock covers, Hendrix, Gary Moore, ZZ Top, that type of thing. They’re good fun.”

“They sound it, I like rock.” Dawn’s compassionate smile had returned.

“I guessed that, you wear some wicked clothes!” Hope was surveying the taupe velvet waistcoat, the ripped drainpipe jeans that enhanced Dawn’s athletic, masculine figure, tucked neatly into knee high boots.

“Thanks. I didn’t think clothes were your thing, I’m surprised you noticed.”

Hope smiled shyly, her eyes dropped to the floor. “I used to dress very similarly. Until, well…” Her hand clawed unwittingly at the baggy leggings that fell from her skinny frame.

She was retreating, Dawn knew she needed to snap her back. “So, you’d gone to London.”

“Yes, we were watching the band, but there was a guy there, he was really drunk, really bad. He kept shoving me from behind, then, when I moved, he stood in front of me, waving his arms around, dancing about. Totally wrecked. He was really pissing me off, so when the band stopped for a break, Frank and I got talking to Al because the guy was pissing him off too.

Well, I thought nothing more of it, we went home, rare night out over. Over the next month Frank was getting to me with his tantrums, and I got to the stage where I realised I couldn’t go through with marrying him again, I wanted to call it off, but I didn’t know how.

We had plans to go back to London, we were seeing the band again, but when we got there, Frank threw the mother of all paddies, and he stormed off. I was in a dilemma, did I stay and watch, or take the train back home, I was a bit scared to tell the truth, I’m not good in crowds on my own.”

Dawn scribbled the possibly relevant snippet on her pad discreetly while Hope sipped, and gulped. “Then I saw Al, not that I knew his name then, and decided to go and say hi. Well, I was stunned, he went all goofy, sort of flustered, like guys do when they fancy a girl. I was wearing tight jeans and a sexy top, heels, I guess I looked the business. So I took his number when he offered it, that was that, I thought, it was just an ego boost to be chatted up.

I did a lot of thinking on the way home. It’s a long journey, as I’m sure you know, three hours or so by train, and it gave me ample time to weigh things up. By the time I arrived back I’d decided I was going to call the wedding off, it would just be a mistake to go through with it.”