Hope's Vengeance (9 page)

The tears had stopped flowing. Whatever inner barrier Hope used to stop her memories from hurting her had sprung back into place. Dawn studied the quiet mouse sitting before her. No timidity this time, no crossed arms or hugged knees. Just that resigned nothingness again. She knew that Hope was reliving the rape in her head, and there was nothing she could reach out to her with. Nobody in the world could make the recollection less painful, all anyone could do was sit and listen, reassure her that it wasn’t her fault.

“It took ages. Ages. When he finished, he said ‘Thanks for that’, got out of the car, zipped himself away, lifted his arms and flexed his biceps. He said ‘Do you like my muscles?’ Then he got back into the driver’s seat. I righted my skirt, and got in the front.”

“You got back in the car with him!” Dawn’s eyes were wide.

She shrugged. “I was in the middle of a deserted island, miles from home. Penny was coming home in six hours. What else could I do?”

Dawn shook her head slowly. “Did you report it?”

That ironic laugh, and a brief flash of blue anger. “Fuck off! I was wearing a leather mini skirt, high heels, and I was pissed as a fart.”

Dawn leaned forward. “The police always take these accusations seriously…”

The fire silenced her, and once more her insides were being burned as Hope’s anger flamed furiously, growling, menacing. “Fine. I go to a police station. My words are slurring, I can’t walk in a straight fucking line. I’m dressed like a fucking prostitute and I tell them I’ve been raped. You getting the picture here? Huh? So they take the slut seriously, they dump her on a trolley, shove more things inside just to make the pain a bit more unbearable. They get the evidence they need, because there was plenty of that there, with the bites, the bruises, the shedload of semen.”

“So there you are, you’ve got evidence, you’ve got a case.” They both recoiled, stunned that Dawn had shouted.

Her jaw got tenser, the teeth clenched together, the words an ominous, bitter snarl. “And then it comes to court. Single parent. Not so much prejudice now, but there was in those days. Bad track record, I did my time sleeping around, I was a right tart, I shagged loads of guys. Wouldn’t take the defence long to tarnish me, would it?”

“So you let him get away with it then, maybe to do it again to some other girl. Maybe he’s still doing it.” Rarely did Dawn lose her temper, but today her anger was blood red, shooting from both barrels.

Hope jumped up, grabbing her bag. “I don’t have to fucking take this. I didn’t let him get away with it, Dawn, why can’t you understand that. Society let him get away with it. If people took rape as seriously as it should be taken, then it wouldn’t matter if I was drunk, or wearing a mini skirt, or a single mum, or promiscuous. The fact I’d been viciously violated should have been the only consideration. But the law isn’t always fair, and we have to accept that the law is real life.”

Dawn held her hands up, apologetic, shaking her head. “Hope, you’re right. I know you’re right, and I’m sorry. Sit down, let’s get through this.” She snatched a glance at her watch, time was up but there were still the promised extra five minutes. “Look, I get as rattled as you about rape, and it hurts me to hear how dreadfully you’ve been treated. I didn’t become a counsellor by accident, I don’t have a hard heart, and I’m still human. But I want to help you through this.”

Hope sat slowly, clutching her bag to her chest, the physical barriers back in place. “I never wore a mini skirt again, Dawn. It made me grow up. It made me realise that if I was sexy, and flirty, and giggly, it made me realise that they could easily take more than I wanted to give. I hate being vulnerable. It doesn’t matter how famous I am, how much my words make a difference, how dowdily I dress, how quiet I am. I’m a victim of my size. If they want it, they can have it, because they can always overpower me.”

Dawn sighed. “That’s a heavy burden to live with, Hope, it’s a paranoid way of looking at things.”

“I’ve been Pollyanna in my time, Dawn. I’ve been naïve, hopeful, optimistic, upbeat. The same shit happens to you whether you anticipate it or not. But if you anticipate it, it doesn’t hurt as much, because you’ve already prepared yourself mentally for it.”

“So you’re saying nothing can hurt you now because you expect the worst?”

“Exactly that.”

The Last Chance

Dawn leaned over the table, she unwrapped foil from the cheese salad sandwich she’d prepared hastily that morning, holding one triangle in her hand as she examined it, wondering where her hunger had gone. It was no good, there was no appetite at all, and she dropped the sandwich back onto its wrapper, pushing it aside. “There’s a cheese sandwich here if anyone’s hungry.”

A few murmured replies rippled through the room, and the sandwich remained uneaten. Dawn wriggled down the chair, slumping into the back, her mind full of Hope, as it always seemed to be nowadays. She closed her eyes, imagining herself in Hope’s place, how terrified she must have been. Or was she, did she already have barriers up at that age. Who knows?

She was jolted awake by a wisp of silken skin on her arm, and crouching uncomfortably by her side was her boss. “Dawn, can I see you for a moment in my office please, dear.”

Dawn followed Pat along the corridor, she knew something was wrong, else Pat would have happily spoken in the staff room. Once inside the office, Pat sat behind her desk, the copious folds of her dress floating down with the same elegance of their model. She motioned for Dawn to sit, and rested her elbows on the desk, plump fingertips pressing together. “I heard you shouting.”

It was what she’d expected, she was prepared. “I hadn’t lost control.” Lying didn’t come easily and Dawn hoped the heat she felt on her face didn’t show.

“It didn’t sound that way. I want you to pass Hope over.” The soft words danced across the desk, the gentleness unaware of the trepidation Dawn felt as they hit her.

Forceful, a flick-knife springing into danger, Dawn was standing, angry, shouting, and it was completely out of character. Dawn was a calm person, it was her greatest quality, the serenity of her manner. And here she was shouting her defence, fabricating that it was the only way to stir Hope into talking, that they’d made breakthroughs by the dozen, that if Pat moved Hope to another counsellor now she would see it as rejection, it would make matters worse. And there it was. That was the truth.

Pat’s ever-ready smile on her chubby face remained constant throughout the torrent, her body erect and unmoving. When Dawn had finally finished the tirade, she debated, fingertips now tapping a rhythm together. “Okay, you obviously feel strongly about this. We’ll try another solution. I want you to write a report on this client, I want to know everything, what’s been covered, her progress, if any, her mental state, how you see your form of counselling progressing and helping her. You have two days. Once I’ve read the report, I’ll base my decision of whether to move her or not on the content.”

Dawn’s body sagged with relief, she still had a chance to stay with Hope. “Thanks Pat, I’ll start it this evening.” She would have to call the boys and cancel the gig they had lined up at The Pig and Whistle, but somehow this was more important.

From the moment she and her brother, Rick, had set up Reveal, she’d not once missed band practice before, let alone a gig. Dawn shrugged the uncomfortable realisation away.

Session Eight

Dawn had an impeccable track record as a counsellor, and she knew she’d risked professional suicide when she’d belittled the intensity between her and Hope on the report, but she knew if she’d have put the truth down, she wouldn’t be here waiting for Hope now. Pat sat in the corner, blending into the walls like a mountainous piece of furniture, insistent on listening in on the session. Dawn had had no choice in the decision, and it made her nervous, aware she had to be in complete control. She didn’t like being in control with Hope, it worked better if she let herself go, if Hope let herself go. Her client walked in, bringing a warmth to the dullness that petered through the window, the window that shielded them from the unusually high winds.

At first Hope didn’t notice Pat, her obese form clad head to toe in beige, a monumental shadow on the enamelled walls, but Dawn was quick to motion towards her, as if in warning, begging Hope to behave herself. “This is my next in line, Pat Hinds, she wants to sit in on the session, if that’s okay with you.”

Hope shrugged indifferently, but Dawn could feel the hidden ambivalence. Hope was as perturbed by the intrusion as she was, and this was clarified further when her client sat on a different chair to normal, ensuring her back was towards Pat. Dawn suppressed an insolent smile, as Pat jotted the slight on her notebook.

“So, Hope, how are you?” The woman before her was unusually smart, a quality navy suit bulking her tiny body, hair neatly tamed, albeit a few stragglers that had escaped in the wind, and her face was painted prettily.

Hope crossed her legs, dainty ankles tapering into the high patent courts. “Good thanks, much better after discussing things with you last week.” Hope winked, and Dawn realised Hope was about to play a game with her, purely for Pat’s benefit. She grinned widely, eagerly awaiting this week’s roller coaster.

“Have you thought about what you want to talk about this week?”

Hope carefully turned half circle, her eyes bored into Pat, making the serene woman flinch. “I have now.” Her words were slow, calculated. “I want to talk about being fat.” Pat’s jaw dropped open, hanging lamely from her chubby cheeks, creating a further chin. Hope turned her concentration back to her counsellor.

Dawn struggled to find some words to fill the uncomfortable silence, her client now the only content person in the room. Eventually Hope helped her out. “I was first diagnosed as anorexic when I was thirteen.”

She exhaled a grateful gush. “That’s very young.”

“I was very troubled. I was a skinny kid anyway, so it wasn’t difficult for not eating to become a problem.”

“How did it start? Do you know, or did it just happen?” Dawn stretched her legs in front of her, long, lean, knowing that every word Hope was uttering was staged.

“Mum and my father had a friend I remembered from Exeter, but he’d met a woman called Eileen and moved to a place called Frensham in Surrey. I don’t know why they picked me, but just after my thirteenth birthday, Gordon came and picked me up, just me, not my sisters, and took me away to Frensham. Mum said I was having a holiday. I’d never met Eileen before, but I was stunned when she opened the door as we pulled into the driveway.” Once more, Hope fixed her glare on Pat. “She was the, well, almost now, the fattest woman I’d ever seen.”

Pat’s cheeks reddened, she hastily slipped a tissue from her pocket and removed the sweet from her mouth, swallowing hard, eyes on the floor. Dawn had never witnessed anything like it, and suddenly she had complete compassion for her shamed boss.

Hope remained composed, returning her stare to Dawn. “She was nice, Eileen. She was so friendly, she bought me a dress, maroon, it was, and some new shoes. I didn’t see much of Gordon, just Eileen. She taught me how to make rue sauce. When we arrived it was evening, and dinner was ready. She got these massive plates from the cupboard, and served up three extra long sausages for me, plus a mound of mash, and three different types of vegetable. She drenched them in gravy. I took my plate through and sat at the dining table. Dinner looked and smelled gorgeous.

I waited until Gordon and Eileen had sat down, and started eating. The mash was gorgeous, creamy, rich and it almost melted into the gravy. Then something weird happened. I looked up, and there was this huge blob in front of me, she wasn’t even chewing, just shovelling piles of food into her face. Her arms wobbled as she moved the fork back and forth, and she wasn’t tasting the food, just piling it in as if there was no tomorrow. I felt sick, it made me sick just watching her, her blubber, her greed.

After half a plate she noticed I wasn’t eating, she got concerned, asking if I wasn’t hungry. I said no, told her I’d eaten before I came. The next couple of days I noticed that she never stopped eating. And it was a stupid game, too, the sort of ‘ooh, I shouldn’t do, but I’ll just have one little cake, one won’t hurt.’ But she’d finish that one and start on something else. Crisps. Chocolate. Cake. Cheese. Crackers. Sandwiches. Biscuits. You name it, it went into that big, flabby gob.”

“So your reaction to this woman’s problem was to deny yourself food?” Dawn now had her elbows on her knees, leaning forward, eager to control the vicious attack on her boss.

“I didn’t eat. I pretended to. Put food in my mouth when they were watching, then took it out and threw it when they weren’t. Once I got home it was easy. Mum was in full alcoholic mode by this time, she never cooked us a meal, so I told the school I was eating at home, and they just accepted it. It was fine. I was in control, and I vowed I’d never get fat.”

Hope stood, she stretched, and ran her hands down her tiny body as if smoothing the suit, but the action enhanced her slimness, and Dawn knew she was still jibing Pat. She strolled to the window, calm and confident, and gazed through. “It’s easy, not eating. You just tell yourself how disgusting it is.” Again she was focusing on Pat. “You just need self control. I have good self-control. You tell yourself how disgusting that food is, how it goes through your body and ends up as shit. My Mum was fat then, too. Not as gross as Eileen, or others I’ve seen, but fat. After I’d stayed with Eileen I noticed that when Mum had one biscuit, she always finished the packet, same with chocolate bars, she just ate and ate and ate. Fat people make me sick.”

Pat could feel the eyes burning into her, she could see what Hope was trying to do, and it rattled her. “It’s interesting that you find larger people indistinguishable, dear, as if they lose their identity.” Dawn fired Pat a glare, sitting in on a counselling session should not mean joining in, and she didn’t like her toes being trodden on.