When the door clicked shut, she looked for the first time at her surroundings. The room was beautiful, with pale blue walls, a stripped wooden floor and a pretty rug. There was a small Victorian fireplace with two comfy chairs in front of it and a little table. The chairs and bed were covered in white cotton with the tiniest sprigs of green flowers sewn onto it, like something out of a magazine. Tanya had never seen anything like it. It was lovely.
The bathroom was similarly perfect, with large white fluffy towels and a thick towelling dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. Tanya could not help but compare it to the bathroom of her childhood. When she blinked she could see the image tattooed on the inside of her eyelids, a constant reminder. It was the room that most symbolised the deprivation in which she had lived and it would stay with her forever. The tiny, cramped room, maybe six foot by eleven. It had a plastic bath with a jagged crack along the side panel and two greenish white streaks like the residue from tiny waterfalls snaking from the tap down to the rusted plug hole. The frosted window was small and high up on the wall, too high to reach and open with ease. In lieu of a curtain, her mum had tacked up a child’s striped pyjama top. Tanya didn’t know where it came from, it wasn’t one of hers. It hung like washing trying to dry, suspended with drawing pins and sagging forlornly in the middle. The loo was filthy and the whole room stank of urine and damp.
The exposed concrete floor was curiously daubed with blobs of yellow and lilac paint, though Tanya had no recollection of any decorating ever having been done, and there was certainly no evidence of it anywhere in the flat. Looking back, Tanya decided that if yellow and lilac were the chosen colours, it was a good job they hadn’t been used. In every corner of the bathroom, gathered behind the pipes and along the side of the bath, were piles of short black curly hair, matted with a curious grey fluff that seemed only to gather in this one room. The wall next to the loo was streaked with long brown tears, sticky droplets of old urine where a drunken cock had misfired. A medicine cupboard that had long ago lost its door hung above the sink, crammed with objects that made her tummy flip, adult things, forbidden things. Tampons, condoms, gels and potions, items that when she glimpsed them made her feel vulnerable and inexplicably queasy. The taps of the sink were relics of the 1970s and dripped constantly, adding to the brown pool that stained the bowl.
Tanya decided that she would like taking a bath in her beautiful new bathroom with its shiny taps and she looked forward to feeling the soft fabric of the dressing gown against her skin and the woolly rug beneath her feet. In prison, everything had been thin: the hard carpet tiles, the watery food, the bars of soap, the worn sheets, the napless towels and communal clothes. All thin, barely grippable between her fingers; frail and insubstantial. She had been cold when clothed, and wet long after her bath as the towels didn’t dry her skin. The bed sheets had been so shabby that she would feel the stitching of the mattress against her cold, goose-prickled skin as she tried to sleep.
Here it was different; things were luxurious and voluminous, downy, soft and inviting. She had never slept in an environment like this, had never even been in a room like this. A bubble of excitement snuffed out the wariness and nerves that had dogged her since she had stepped from the train. Was she really going to sleep in here? Was this really her room to live and spend time in as she pleased?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Fear leapt in her throat. She didn’t move and said nothing.
‘Tanya, can I come in?’
‘Yeah,’ she managed, after a pause.
Kate entered slowly, balancing a tray with sandwiches, a large slice of Victoria sponge and a pot of tea with just the one cup. She knew that Tanya would need to acclimatise alone.
‘Here we go. Room service!’ Kate joked. Looking up, she was dismayed by Tanya’s tears that fell thick and fast.
‘Oh, lovey, please don’t cry. Here, let me get you a tissue.’
Kate deposited the tray on the table by the fire and walked over to the bedside table, where a box of scented tissues had been placed.
‘I’m sure that it’s all a bit strange, but I promise that you will get used to it here and you’ll love it! We are so glad to have you here, Tanya, really I—’
‘It’s not that.’ Tanya interrupted her.
‘Oh.’ Kate was trying to think of what might be ailing her. Missing someone? Feeling lonely? Something else? She didn’t have to guess much longer.
‘No one has ever knocked on a door and asked if they could come in, never, ever, anywhere. Not in my whole life. It’s been as if I was invisible, as if I didn’t count.’
Her tears once again fell unchecked. Kate put her arm round the girl’s shoulders. She knew what it felt like to be invisible.
‘Well, Tanya, that is house rule number one: to treat everyone with respect and to give them privacy when they want it. Your room is your sanctuary, your own private space.’
‘My own private space.’
Tanya repeated the words out loud, trying to comprehend what they meant and thinking that if she said them aloud, it might just make them true.
* * *
The study door was closed, a sign to all not to disturb the occupants.
Stacey pushed stray strands of hair behind her ears; her ponytail was pulled back tightly to reveal her forehead, which was peppered with tiny spots. Her fingers gently touched the four gold hoops of differing sizes that hung from each earlobe, before yanking her jersey sleeves over her hands. She pulled her knees up under her chin and curled her frame more snugly into the wing-back chair facing the desk.
Kate was extremely fond of Stacey, who was fighting her way back to strength after a violent rape. Prospect House was giving her the breathing space to get back on track, in a place where memories of her assault weren’t lurking around every corner.
‘How you doing, missus?’
‘Okay, I think. Bit better.’ Stacey’s voice was quiet as usual.
‘Good! Are you okay to talk, Stace?’
The girl shrugged her shoulders; on some days, even the most basic decision was too tough.
‘I’ve been thinking about going home…’ This she delivered with her eyes averted, as though it were in some way disloyal, rude.
‘Well, that’s a good thing. Only you will know when you are ready. You can of course stay as long as you want to.’
‘I know.’ Stacey gave a small smile of gratitude.
‘Sometimes it’s a good idea to write down your thoughts: reasons to stay a while and why you want to go home. It might help.’
‘I don’t have to write it down, Kate. I know I have to go back to my mum’s at some point, but East Ham’s not that big. Everyone knows…’
‘Stacey, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were the victim, don’t ever forget that.’
‘Yeah, I know that too, but it doesn’t really matter how or why when people are pointing at me. It still feels really shit.’
‘I can imagine, love. It will take enormous courage.’ Kate swallowed the hypocrisy, knowing it was courage she herself didn’t possess. She would never return to Mountbriers Academy. ‘And you do have a lot of support. You’ve got your mum and your brother, and from what you’ve told me you and Nathan are very close.’
‘Yeah, we are; he’s brilliant. We were on our own a lot when we were little, my mum always worked and he was more like my mum in some ways, looking after me and stuff. But it’s not been the same since this happened to me. Mum doesn’t know what to say to make it better, so we just avoid the subject, both making out everything is okay. And Nathan’s life hasn’t really changed, he’s still working at the care home, getting too involved with the old dears that he looks after and trying to find a new boyfriend. It’s not like it was when we were little, when we were always together and he could make things better for me just by making me laugh. He’s still my very best friend, but things are different.’
‘What you’ve been through won’t change how he feels about you, St
acey.’
‘I know, and I know Nathan loves me, but he’s busy. He copes with bad things by distracting himself. None of us are very good at talking about anything that matters. One of his old ladies that he really loved died – Dorothea, I think she was called – and he was gutted, but I only found out by accident. We hide things in our house, make out everything’s all right. It’s like we can’t cope if we’re not laughing, but it makes me feel panicky to think of being at home and having to laugh and joke when I’m broken inside.’
Kate nodded, understanding this too well.
‘I know your mum wants you back and that is only natural, but you are the one who must decide when the time is right to go home, and there is no rush, Stacey.’
‘I guess so.’
Stacey’s mouth moved to form words that were a struggle to sound. She dug deep, found her courage.
‘It’s not really about my mum or Nathan, though; it’s more about people I haven’t met yet…’
Kate tried to anticipate her concern.
‘You don’t have to tell anyone unless you are comfortable doing so, Stacey. What you went through doesn’t define you; it’s just a small part of you that feels like a big part right now. But its hold on you and its domination of your thoughts and actions will diminish with time. I promise you.’
‘I…’ Stacey tried and failed to reveal her thoughts.
‘What is it, love?’
‘I don’t know how anyone will love me and I don’t think I will be able to love anyone, not now I know how bloody awful people can be, and that makes me so sad. It’s like my life has finished before it’s started. I’m glad for my mates whose lives are moving on, they’re having babies and stuff, but I feel a little bit jealous sometimes, that that will never be me. I can’t see me ever getting married, being someone’s wife, not now.’
Stacey snatched at the buttons on her cardigan.
Kate reached across the desk and took the girl’s hand inside her own.
‘Love, Stacey, is a weird and wonderful thing. I thought I had found love when I was not much older than you and it turned out to be the exact opposite of love, because love means freedom and acceptance and I had neither of those things. Then I felt more love than I ever knew possible when I became a mum and this too is now tested to the limit; to have that love taken away from you is another form of torture. But one thing I do know is that when love comes along, it doesn’t judge and it doesn’t condemn, it simply accepts you for who you are, all of you.’ For some reason, Kate saw an image of Simon, his open smile, his beautiful skin, slicked with seawater. ‘And this will be what it’s like for you, Stacey, I promise. Just you wait and see.’
‘I guess so.’ Stacey tried out a small smile.
‘I know so,’ Kate replied. ‘And when the time comes for you to go home and rebuild your life, I’ll put you in touch with people who can support you at home. Janeece would come and see you, I’m sure.’
‘I’d like that, Kate. I just want to go back to how I was before. I want the old me back. I used to laugh all the time, I used to sing a lot and I thought everything was funny. I enjoyed every single day. I never had much, always skint, but always happy.’
‘You will be like that again.’
‘I hope so, cos I’m sick of feeling this low, this scared.’
Kate squeezed the girl’s hand inside her own.
‘You won’t always feel this way. With each day that passes you will get a little bit stronger until eventually you’ll rediscover the person that you used to be. Look at how far you’ve come in the eight months since you arrived! You didn’t want to leave your room at first, remember? And now look at you, out and about on the beach, talking. It’s wonderful; you are doing so well.’
Stacey nodded, not daring to believe that it was true because the disappointment of discovering otherwise would be too much to bear.
‘How are you getting on with Tanya?’ It mattered to Kate that there was harmony.
‘All right, yeah. She’s from North London though, a different world, Kate. I never thought I’d be living with an Arsenal fan!’
They both laughed.
Kate considered the importance Stacey placed on being married. It was touchingly old-fashioned and echoed how her own generation had felt at that age. She wondered if Lydia had a boyfriend. The thought of Lydia marrying without her being present was something Kate just couldn’t contemplate. The very idea of her little girl taking her last steps as a single woman and betrothing her love to another without her mum there to witness the momentous act of transition was incomprehensible. She wanted to be there to support her, hand her over, add in any way possible to her special day. She wanted to fluff her train, blot her lipstick and arrange her posy just so.
Kate had pictured it over and over since Lydia had appeared one day, at the age of seven, clad in an old net curtain and carrying a plant pot up and down the hallway whilst humming the tune of ‘Here comes the bride’, trying not to wobble off the sparkly heels that she had found in her mother’s wardrobe.
Kate thought of her own wedding. In recent years she had many a time replayed the day in her head, rewriting history at the bit when the vicar spoke. In her new, rewritten version of events, she would run from the altar as fast as her white stockinged legs would carry her, holding her bouquet aloft as she wrenched the antique veil from her head and disappeared down the steps into a waiting car being driven by Pierce Brosnan. Well, why not? It was her fantasy after all.
Her actual wedding had not been nearly so dramatic, although there was a moment when it threatened something similar. She and Mark were standing inches apart, facing the vicar, whose arms were spread wide. As the familiar words were cast around the rafters, there was the faintest hesitation on her part. She knew the lines, had unwittingly been rehearsing them in a deep crevice of her mind since she was a little girl, and yet at that exact moment, with friends and family stood in their finery, waiting, she nearly failed. It had been a simple enough question, not a complicated maths equation or something equally taxing that would have sent her into a nervous spluttering of mumbo-jumbo; it had been clear and concise.
‘Do you, Kathryn Gavier, take Mark Brooker to be your lawful wedded husband?’
With breath drawn, tongue poised and words ready, it was as if an unseen force had placed magic on her lips. She had to fight to say it, struggle to get the response out that the vicar, Mark and the assembled congregation had waited her whole life to hear… If only she had let the magic do its work and not fought so strongly to utter the two syllables that would alter the course of her life forever.
Stacey left for her daily stroll on the beach and Kate sauntered into the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ Natasha stood at the countertop and raised the cafetière in the direction of her friend.
‘Mmmn… Please.’
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Worrying about the future and starting to think about going home.’
‘Well, those are good signs, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. When she’s ready. I don’t want her to rush into anything.’
‘You’ll miss her, won’t you?’
Kate nodded. Yes she would, she would miss her greatly. She smiled at her mate, acknowledging the unspoken words, the dangers of getting too close.
Kate understood the bond between Stacey and Nathan as those who are fortunate to know the love of a trusted sibling or best friend do. Kate knew that no matter how much time passed, she would always dearly love her best friend. The day Natasha had turned up unannounced at the prison was one she would never forget. The memory would, however, always be tinged with the bitter disappointment that her unexpected visitor hadn’t been one of the kids…
‘Oi! Daydreamer!’
Natasha’s shout pulled her back into the present.
‘I was saying that I’m struggling a bit with Tanya. A great girl, really open to my suggestions and seems happy enough, but I kind of get the feeling that she is going through
the motions and saying what she thinks will please me, but not truly opening up. Classic closed-in state of the abused.’
‘What can I do to help?’
Kate was as usual looking for a way to ease the path of her latest charge.
‘Oh, nothing different. She’ll open up when she’s ready. I mean, look at Stacey. It took her months. And of course she’s a different kettle of fish, a victim and not a perpetrator, plus she has a brilliant network of support, which means in the long term her prospects of full recovery are good. With Tanya it’s different; we have to be careful. She’s fragile, Kate, more than most. I’m not fooled for one second by that sunny smile or the indifferent shrug; there’s a lot going on in that pretty head.’
‘I know what you mean, Tash. We should pick it up with Janeece.’
‘Good idea.’ Tash nodded.
‘Does she ever mention her mother?’
‘Couple of times, but no real revelation. She occasionally drops her name in passing, usually associated with a memory. I find she wants to talk more about the sea; she’s fascinated by it. Her pictures are quite dark and nearly always with some water theme – the sea or just blocks of black and blue.’
Both noted the bruise analogy.
‘I can’t work out if it’s just because the ocean is new and exciting or whether she is subconsciously looking for a way to escape, sail off into the sunset, quite literally. There’s a piece she is working on that I find a little unsettling…’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the sea again, but with a skeleton arm coming up and breaking the surface. Lots of black as is usual in her work but it’s almost Gothic, with horror undertones. I don’t think her memories or associations with water are good.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it. What will you do?’
No Greater Love - Box Set Page 54
