Sticks and Stones (42 page)

At the podium, the brunette reached forward to adjust the microphone. As if this was a cue, the
Welcome!
sign on the giant screen behind was suddenly and shockingly replaced by the side-on image of a battered woman. And although everyone present knew why they were here, and what they were about to hear, the picture still drew gasps. A cloud of dark brown hair had been pulled back to better depict the livid bruise that began at the eye and then continued on down the curve of the cheek. Shades of peacock blue, with just a trace of dirty yellow fraying the edges.

The woman waited for a few moments as everybody took in the picture and realised, slowly, that it was her. After about a minute the picture imploded, so that the last segment to crumple was the bruise itself. And another picture unfurled across the screen, like a flag, almost as shocking as the first but only because of the difference. Because this one shone with happiness. It showed the woman again, but this time she was uninjured and laughing and it was almost like a whole other person. Close beside her in the picture, and grinning also, was a rather good-looking young man, around twenty years old. With just enough resemblance to suggest that he might be her son. Awkwardly stretched across both their laps, getting his tummy scratched, was a blue roan cocker spaniel with an undocked tail, tongue lolling across black lips and candy-pink gums.

Rebecca stared at the picture, drinking it in. Only when it began to ripple did she transfer her attention back to the speaker. Who was looking steadily around the room, her gaze lingering slightly every now and again. As the glance flicked in her direction, settled for a moment, Rebecca hunched herself into her chair, feeling a surge of both embarrassment and warmth.

And finally the brunette leant forward towards the microphone. ‘Good afternoon and thank you all so very much for coming. My name is Maddie McCourt and I'm a survivor . . .'