Hope's Vengeance (30 page)

There was an uncommon bitterness to Dawn, and she surprised Hope by not commenting on the latest news. She glanced at her counsellor, now concerned. “You’re still mad about the record contract, aren’t you?”

Dawn’s pursed lips were enough to confirm Hope’s question. She’d been dreading the next hour for the past week, ever since the harsh rejection, the unfair sexism. The lads had stopped their usual constant contact with her, texts and emails throughout the day, and that hurt more than Barry Powell’s disgraceful rebuke. A small part of her blamed Hope, and she knew it was misplaced, but the feeling kept burgeoning. The irritation was clear. “Well, I take it you didn’t talk to that Barry about me being included in the contract.”

The remorse in the blueness was palpable, and Dawn’s challenging stare was avoided, Hope’s focus un-moving on the carpet. “Dawn, I did. He’s a stubborn man, Dawn. He’s not about to give in. I’m so sorry, I had no idea this would happen, and I feel like I’ve let you down.”

Dawn sat straight, her long back displaying her height. “I have to get this off my chest, Hope, and if it hurts you, I’m sorry. But, yes, I think what that man did was disgusting, and yes, I’m angry with you at putting me in that situation. I also hate the fact you’re dating my brother, I hate that, it feels wrong. And I know you only got with him to piss me off.”

Hope took the water filled plastic cup from the coffee table, sipping, trying to disguise her sheepishness. “That’s not true, but all the same, our relationship is over. He won’t be seeing me any more after this weekend. He won’t be seeing anyone.” A chill hung in the overheated room, and a shiver ran down Dawn’s spine. They exchanged no words as the minutes ticked by, each lost in their own consciousness.

Finally Dawn broke the spell. “What do you mean by that?”

Her behaviour was flippant, casting away Dawn’s brother with no emotion. “Nothing. Just I’ve heard some stuff about him and it’s sort of put me off.”

Dawn’s lips were still taut and a surge of protectiveness washed over her. “What have you heard?” Hope remained silent, and Dawn could feel the anger rising along with her voice. “This is my brother you’re talking about, if there are rumours going around I want to know what they are!” Her irascibility was now fierce, and Hope felt timid suddenly, unused to the tables of their counselling turning. “Tell me, Hope, I want to know.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, if you insist. He fucked my daughter last year. She was only twelve. Good enough for you!”

Dawn was up on her feet, marching the room, the frantic pacing causing Hope to hold her breath with uncertainty. The seconds longer than the hours as the time-bomb ticked away furiously, beating fear into both women. When she had finished walking away the emotion, Dawn’s common sense returned. “What are you going to do?” Now she realised her brother could be facing a jail term, and bilious fear rose in her throat.

“Nothing. Penny doesn’t want to prosecute. But it goes without saying I can’t see him any more.”

Rick’s misbehaviour had floored her, but the relief she suddenly felt was overwhelming. That he wouldn’t be going to prison. That he wouldn’t be influenced by Hope’s wickedness any more. Dawn’s jaw fell at the thought. Wickedness? Where did that come from? Hope was a victim, both as a child and now as an adult for her own child. She wasn’t wicked? The tingling trepidation scared her, it came from the gut, and Dawn couldn’t place the source of her suspicions. But for some unexplained reason, Dawn felt fear once more on her brother’s behalf. She mulled for a moment, knowing she had to be word perfect to get a result. “Are you willing to tell me what happened, I mean, it must be a terrible revelation for you to hear.”

With jerking breaths throughout the more uncomfortable revelations, Hope spent the next fifteen minutes relating the story her daughter had told. Every now and then her hand clasped the top of her left arm, leading Dawn to realise her client, the one she hated yet loved in a motherly way simultaneously, hadn’t consulted the doctor as she’d begged her to a few weeks before. She’d mentioned it a few times, but Hope had shrugged her concerns away, insisting she was fine, it was just heartburn and she hadn’t brought the Gaviscon tablets Dawn could often see in her handbag.

A ringing halted the conversation instantly, Hope searching her pockets, stopping only when Dawn, apologetic, answered her mobile. “Rick! I’ve told you not to call me at work! I’m in the middle of a session.” Listening carefully, her face paling, a frown developing rapidly, Dawn cut the call, ending it without a word. She sat, stony faced, focusing on the window, on nothing.

“What’s going on?”

Yet another silent minute passed, Dawn’s jaw tense and gurning with fury. “Those fucking bastards. We were supposed to be rehearsing this afternoon, they promised me they wouldn’t sign anything unless I was included on the contract. Bastards. They’ve found a new singer, she’s taking my place.”

“You’re joking!” The comment was redundant, Dawn was anything but comical.

Rick’s Ambitions

Chaz had worked really hard to stay sober, but Barry refused absolutely to include him in the band. Distraught but understanding, he wanted to remain a part of the excitement, and offered his services as a sound technician, with a sombre promise to lay off the whisky. He watched, forlorn, as Steve Pickard tuned his guitar, expertly relying on his ear rather than a pitch pipe, following the indulgent show with an elaborate riff to ensure everybody was aware of his prowess.

The cacophony of instruments rang through the room, warming, practising, perfecting, gradually meeting each other for a spontaneous jam while they awaited the new band member. She rushed in, red and puffing, ten minutes late. A severe coat shrouded her tiny frame, but not the exciting aura that surrounded her. She shrugged it off to reveal a black PVC mini, and a breast spilling, long-sleeved lacy top that enhanced her perfect figure. The lean legs covered with fishnet tights were shapely, the high patent leather boots enhancing the seductive outfit. Each member of Reveal’s new line-up couldn’t help but be entranced by the normally straight and plain woman, transformed into an erotic goddess purely by mussing up her harsh bob, removing the unflattering glasses, and replacing the severe day clothes with the revealing and suggestive outfit she now flaunted.

Barry Powell leaned smugly against the plain brick wall, neatly trimmed fingernails raking through his enviable locks, free today, the hair tie abandoned, eagerly watching the new band member perform. LeMan beat the song in, tapping his sticks together, and the music began. As soon as Eva stepped up to the microphone Barry was transfixed, her impeccable voice was a bonus. Not as strong as Dawn’s, nor as harsh, gravelly. It had a unique softness, a haunting quality, echoing, taunting their instruments as they accompanied her, commanding the performance. Aside from the voice, she had an amazing ambience emanating from her, a bright colour that ensured eyes stayed with her only. The lads were white noise, she was the star.

Dawn stood in the doorway, crushed and abandoned. She could see the quality of the woman on the stage, a woman whose voice was clearer, looks were neater, whose seductiveness was unprecedented, and Dawn’s mind drilled her failure deeper, Reveal’s impending success, her replacement’s superiority.

Entranced, Dawn watched the entire rehearsal, her heart aching with loss, but strangely unable to tear herself away so she could go home to drown her sorrow. The crescendo rose before ceasing abruptly, the final song performed, and the five musicians took an unnecessary bow, leading to Barry standing straight, clapping loudly, smoke billowing from the cigar he had trapped between his lips. He shook his fist in the air before taking the Ramon Allones Cuban in his hand, and his voice rang out, proud, excited, and greedy. “Eva Brunel, you are so in this band!”

Dawn’s heart hammered. Eva Brunel? Hadn’t she heard that name before? That name was important. Fuck it, where did she know it from? She turned, racking her brains, walking away from the band, from the music she’d helped to pen, from her dreams.

Eva stepped backstage, ignoring the clapping that hadn’t ceased, and when the lads followed her footsteps, they found she’d left already. It surprised them, she hadn’t said a word to anybody the whole time she’d been there, and the conversation that ensued was solely about the mysterious, hot babe.

Ten minutes, eight cans of Carling, and four cigarettes later, the four randy rock stars in-the-making had discussed every surface and every orifice of the gorgeous Eva Brunel, each one intent on shagging her at some stage. Gradually the conversation turned back to music, to the recording contract, to the fact they’d be officially signing the deal next week, and they cracked open another lager each to celebrate.

Hope Receives a Call

Claudia was nervous, the conversation earlier that day had been uncomfortable, she knew she’d been unprofessional and destroyed Hope’s expectations of Griffin’s arrest in the process. Now she had some good news, but she still felt trepidation as she dialled the number. “Hope, it’s Claudia again.”

“Oh.”

The curt reply wasn’t questioning as Claudia had hoped for, it was banal, indifferent, and suddenly her tongue felt too large for her mouth. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “We have another witness, a really good one. A school friend of the other accuser is willing to testify in court to actually witnessing her assault on two occasions.” Hope smiled at the welcome words. “He also said…”

“He?”

Claudia could hear the confusion. “Yes, he was a friend of hers at junior and senior school. He’s also stated that Griffin touched him inappropriately on both occasions, so now there’s three of you. Mind you, the man was adamant he doesn’t want to prosecute for himself, just be a witness to the investigations.”

Hope’s next question was immediate. “So what happens now? Have you said anything to Griffin about it?”

“I’ve been to his house, yet again. He denies it, of course, and denies having ever heard the man’s name, but, to be honest with you, I’ve become hardened to his pleadings of innocence, three accusers are more than coincidence.” Claudia hoped the unbelievably positive news would clear the air between them, there was something about Hope that compelled her, but the silence was relentless, and she could feel Hope’s anger through the receiver. She persevered, keeping her deep voice bright. “The man’s coming in to do a video statement on Monday, and if it’s as strong as the story he told me on the phone, I’ll be able to arrest Griffin Monday afternoon.”

“Yeah, whatever!” The line went dead, and Claudia held the phone away from her ear, staring at it, incredulous. The final line span through her head, repeating, repeating, until it was driving her crazy, and eventually she came to the conclusion that she deserved the abruptness: this was a difficult time for Hope, the law wasn’t on her side.

Tired Hope

Hope had fitted a huge amount of tasks into one day, she was exhausted, but her mind refused to switch off. Rick lay beside her, she was biding her time with him, intent that her revenge, the retribution she had planned for both herself and her daughter, was going to be timely, intense, hurtful, and terrifying. But she needed him to help her out first. Periodically he snorted a chuckle, the Bill Bryson novel tickling him. She laid her book on the bedside table, it hadn’t gripped her in the same way, and she couldn’t concentrate on the words any more, the single malt now affecting her focus. She rubbed her face, bored, too tired, fed up, and settled into the warm bed.

Regardless of her closed eyes and relaxed body, thoughts refused to stop whirring through her brain, memories, conversations, revengeful plotting, and the self-diagnosed heartburn that was occurring more and more often griped her chest and shoulder. Hope rolled onto her side, annoyed at her sleeplessness, irritated by Rick’s intermittent sniggering.

With an impatient sigh, she shifted up the bed slightly, and, taking the tumbler from her bedside cabinet, she downed the remaining whisky in one, her throat burning as it slipped down.

Gradually the effects of the additional alcohol flowed into her head, her eyes, her brain, and intoxicated sleep lulled over her, her breathing rhythmic, the ‘off’ switch finally found. Rick laid his book down, rolling onto his side, his elbow supporting him, and he watched, swelling with love, as his intended dreamt. He had never been so sure about anything before, he adored Hope, she was amazing, different. And tomorrow night he would have her all to himself, no feeding kids, bathing them, putting them to bed, telling them to be quiet. Just Hope and him, alone.

A Final Resting Place

He’d not managed to get any work done, his mind unable to concentrate on life’s tedium whilst his dead wife lay in the larder. He had spent a good deal of the day pacing, racking his brains to think of a suitable place to leave her body. The decision to remove her from the house under the darkness of night was an obvious one, but the problem of her fifteen stone weight, creating a bulky load, was another matter. How would he lift her into the boot of his car, especially with the need to keep the process silent lest a curious neighbour should decide to investigate.

It hadn’t taken long to decide on the location to lay her to rest, the nearby village of Beeston had a perfect area along the bank of the River Trent. It was remote, not overlooked easily, and the beauty paid tribute to the fondness he’d felt for the woman. He’d reasoned to himself that her weight alone would hold her under the water, so he had no cause to attach any heavy objects to weigh her body down.

It was three in the morning, the dawn chorus of the hardy birds who didn’t fly south for winter hadn’t yet begun, the only apparent sound being the periodic mating calls between two owls. Having cleared the space earlier, he’d driven his Vectra, normally left outside for ease, into the integral garage earlier in the day, the connecting door to the kitchen being the closest to the larder. He’d laid some black plastic bags on the carpet of the deep boot, not wanting any unnecessary traces of her left in his car.