by Dawson, H A
She did not confront Verity at the time, but listened to the chirpy sound of her voice, obviously loving every minute of her pain. Remaining on guard throughout the day, she watched Verity scamper around the guests, encouraging vulgar comments and rowdy behaviour from members of their family. In comparison, she sunk lower down her chair as Ron's crowd gave them discriminating glances, her shame nearing the end of her tolerance.
She smoothed out her dress, glanced one more time in the mirror, and prepared herself for further embarrassment. A jaunty track was playing, encouraging her back into the room. She took a breath and opened the door.
Her mother and Verity were on the dance floor moving raunchily and swinging their breasts and hips while making crude gestures with their hands. Close by, leaning against a pillar, her father and uncle jeered. It seemed like fun, and for a second, Saskia considered joining in, but when she saw the shame on some faces, she pulled away and headed to the outer door for some fresh air, away from the stench of the smoke and the oppressive atmosphere. Outside the rain was pulsating. She stood in the doorway and enjoyed the refreshing spray.
Ron appeared by her side. 'Enjoying yourself?'
She nodded and smiled.
'Everyone else seems to be. Why don't you join in?'
'Because I feel like crap . . . sorry.'
He wrapped his arm around her back. 'Anything I can do?'
‘No. 'I just need a bit of fresh air.'
'Try not to let it spoil the day. You only get married once you know.'
She shuffled to one side to let three men pass through the door and caught sight of her youngest brother and sister racing around the dance floor. 'I wish my family would tone it down a bit.'
'They're just enjoying themselves . . . no harm in that.'
'I don't think your family agrees. Have you seen the way they're staring?'
'They're just amused. They have led sheltered lives.'
'Hardly, look at the way your aunt's frowning.'
'I think she's wishing she could loosen up a bit.'
Saskia raised an eyebrow.
'It's true, she's envious. They dream of being like us.' He clenched her hand. 'Come on, there must have been times when you wished you could let your hair down a bit more. For instance, I'll bet you've thought about sharing a bed with two men.'
'How do you know I haven't?'
'No. Definitely not. You're far too nice.'
'Have you?'
'Shared a bed with two men?'
She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes.
'Now that would be telling.'
'You have!'
He smirked and then kissed her on the cheek. 'You are a beautiful woman Mrs Maddison. I love you very much.'
'Stop changing the subject.'
He grinned. 'Fancy a dance?'
Saskia stared at Ron, bemused by his desperate attempt at avoidance, and then caught sight of Verity as she scampered across the dance floor and headed towards them.
'Come on you two.' She grabbed their hands. 'Join in.'
Saskia wriggled free. Her bowels were churning and she had no will to move about.
'You go,' she said to Ron.
'You sure?'
She nodded and watched Verity take her new husband to the dance floor. Even though the tempo was fast, she thrust herself into him. Her hands wandered near to his crotch, and then she took one of his hands and pressed it to her breast. They both were laughing, unashamedly exhibiting their lust. The audacity was striking.
Having lifted her dress so as not to trail it upon the floor, Saskia strode to a table that her brothers and sisters occupied. The music blared and the beat echoed through her body. Oblivious to the mutterings that surrounded her, she followed the highs and lows of the track with her mind.
Across the room, there was a loud crash. She spun around just in time to witness her father punch her uncle. A seat overturned and glasses shattered into tiny pieces as her uncle's body stumbled backward. He was quick to stand up and returned the strike. There were shrieks and cries and there were half-hearted attempts to separate them, but her father, who was in a red-hot rage, did not appreciate their efforts and forced them aside causing another collision. Moments later a bouncer intervened, and once he had recovered from a punch to his face, he assisted his colleague in guiding both her father and uncle outside.
Noticing her unease, Ron appeared by Saskia's side, offering his sympathies.
'It doesn't matter about them,' he said, 'today is about us. We love each other, right?'
'Right.'
'I like your folks. I've heard that they have an open marriage.'
She gawked. 'An open marriage? Who told you that?'
'Just something I heard. So it's not true?'
'No. It's not. My parents might be a bit lively, but they are faithful to each other.'
Across the room, a bartender was cleaning the glass from the floor and re-erecting the chairs, and alongside there was the quite murmur of disapproval.
'It wouldn't do any harm, though, would it?' he said, 'so long as you both agreed and knew that the sex with anyone else was meaningless.'
'What are you saying?'
He squeezed her hand. 'Nothing. It's not for me. I never want to sleep with anyone else again. You're adorable.'
He dropped a big sloppy kiss upon her check, waited for her to turn and grimace, and then gazed at the recovering scene. For a couple of seconds, she held her focus and gazed at a birthmark upon his neck and the fine hairs on the back of his head. Was he fishing? Was he still sleeping around? Maybe he still saw Verity. She scanned the room, searching for her sister, and imagined the two of them in bed together. She had hoped that a tad of jealousy would emerge, but it did not, and she felt disappointed.
Preparing a meal was easy when there was the choice of food, and Saskia allowed herself the luxury of using three vegetables, potatoes, and a select joint of meat. She inhaled the tantalising aroma that emerged from the oven and hummed to the music from the radio. The kitchen was different to her family's home, and even now, several months on from her wedding day, she still took the time to appreciate it.
Cabinets and drawers occupied the walls and there was a small rectangular table in the centre. There were accessories everywhere, but what impressed her was the freezer. It was stacked with frozen foods, and even contained items such as raspberries that were out of season. It was such a novelty that she could not help but peer inside.
She stared at the chunks of meat, frozen chips, and ice cream that were near the door. It seemed wrong that she had so much food when her brothers and sisters were always hungry, and to have such luxuries too. Life was unfair, but so what? She had been enterprising.
Smiling to herself, she peeled the potatoes, removed the outer leaves from the cabbage and flung them into the bin. Such waste. Such satisfaction. Then she reached for the broccoli and admired the symmetrical head and tight buds, then imagined her delight as she ate. She would eat until her stomach could expand no further; she would eat until she felt sick.
Her life was good. There were no brawling children to blank out, no laundry to do, no food to painstakingly portion out. She had space, solitude, and most of all money, and she could spend her day drawing and painting rather being a skivvy. However, something was lacking, and her mind wandered to a recent night out.
She had accompanied Ron to the Cow and Calf Inn when a couple joined them at the table. Darren and Susan hadn’t been together long, yet they appeared to be in love. They had sat together, chairs and bodies touching, hands entwined, and pupils dilated. Saskia recalled trying to make conversation, but it was a futile attempt, as neither of them could maintain focus away from each other for more than a couple of seconds. Darren twirled her hair with his fingers; Susan wiped away a droplet of beer from his chin. They cuddled and they kissed.
She felt nauseous with jealousy. Ron was besotted with her as he acted in a similar way, but in return, she felt little, and his unrele
nting attention was draining her goodwill. He peered into his eyes, touched her face, groped her breasts and mumbled dirty comments into her ear. Rather than feeling appreciative, she wanted to free herself of his presence, yet at the same time craved the life he provided. Then, a man, a stranger entered the room.
Her heart surged and their eyes locked. He had short hair, small pale lips, and large ear lobes. Her pulse quickened, her adrenaline surged, and her heat rose. She watched his elongated stride as he progressed to the bar, moving in slow motion.
'Everything all right? Ron had asked.
She turned to him and her bubble burst. She was a married woman. She would not lower herself to such a level. Ron was a good man, deserving of her entire attention.
Her memories faded. Saskia left the kitchen and progressed upstairs to her art room, willing herself to forget the stranger. She gazed through the window at the neat lawn, the shrubs, and the trees, and she studied the water residue resting on the spindly branches. Her mind was restless and her mouth dry. She thought about the ice cream, a luxury she never thought she could have, and she took a pencil and held it near the blank canvas.
She could find no inspiration, and her body grew heavy as her disappointment mounted. She craved love and longed for excitement. She even missed Verity, as difficult as it was to admit. After the prank with the laxative, their relationship had reached a new low and they barely spoke. If they did, it was strewn with cutting remarks, the more hurtful the better. She could not stop herself, and neither could Verity.
The wedding day had turned into a disaster, and now another family event was imminent. Against his better judgement, Ron had invited her immediate family to his cousin, Catherine's eighteenth birthday party. He even offered to buy her family small gifts to give to Catherine, if the money was an issue. Not amused by his gesture, she reprimanded him for his comment and told him that they would attend with presents.
Now she regretted it. It would be embarrassing. Verity would do what she could to cause trouble, flaunting her body, starting disputes within the family, and spreading untrue rumours. She might even make her ill again, an act to ease away her jealousy.
A thought struck her. She knew what to do to prevent her family from attending the function, and strode to the window, gazing blindly at the gloomy scene, and considered her plan.
Returning to the family home after weeks of being away was both rewarding and distressing. The house seemed smaller than before - dirtier, more cluttered, and shabbier - and there was a curious stench in the air, possibly smoke combined with dampness. The furniture was stained and the dust coated the mantelpiece. On the positive side, her brothers and sisters screamed out their pleasure, speaking at once and wanting to show her or tell her something. Phoebe clung to her legs, Camilla thrust a picture into her face, and Darren danced around her, pulling her skirt and arms.
It was impossible to hide her pleasure.
'So,' her father said, 'we're good enough for you today.'
His arms stretched across his stomach and he maintained a fixed stare on the television and offered neither a passing glimpse nor a smile.
'It's not my fault that I've landed on my feet.'
He huffed. 'Some of us have to work for a living. That bloody family think they are so much better than us, and I doubt any of them have done a day’s work in their lives.'
'They work hard.'
'Likely story! Had it handed on a plate if you ask me!'
'You should be pleased for me. Didn’t you hope I’d find a good man?'
He pushed his arm into his stomach, held his breath, and contorted his face. 'You've married above yourself. It'll never last.'
'Ron treats me well. He loves me.'
'Feels sorry for you more like. The only reason he wants us there tomorrow is to make himself feel better.'
She clenched her fingers into a fist. 'He thought you'd like to go.'
'Yes, so they can flash their money around and feel sorry for us. I'm not stupid.'
She’d heard enough and stomped to the kitchen. 'If you don't want to go you don't have to.'
She stepped into the small square space, thrust the door shut, and muttered under her breath.
Verity was waiting, her expression smug. 'He has a point. You have married above yourself.'
'You'd have snapped Ron up any day of the week.'
'I loved him.'
'And I don't? I married him didn't I?'
'You married him for the money. One day he'll realise and you'll be out on the street.'
'Good. I'll get some decent money if we divorce.'
Verity thrust her arms into her and flung her against the worktop. A tin wobbled and clattered to the ground. Incandescent with rage, Saskia gripped her sister’s arms, but she was unable to stop her from tugging at her hair and yelped in pain. They tussled, fury gripping their bodies and reddening their faces. Another tin toppled, rolling along the surface before crashing to the ground. It caught Verity's lower leg. She howled in agony.
Saskia pulled away, studied her pained expression, and allowed her anger to dissipate. 'Sorry,' she said. 'I do love Ron.'
There was disbelief in Verity's face. 'Let's get on with this. Then you can go home.'
Verity glanced at the door, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small packet. 'I mixed something else into the Senna, something to make them vomit.'
'What is it?'
'I don't know. Grandma recommended it.'
She gasped. 'You told her what you were doing?'
'Don't be stupid. I pretended I was taking up herbalism.’ She chuckled. 'She believed me, stupid old hag . . . ranted on about how she'd teach me everything she knows.'
'Sucker.'
'Sucker.' Verity replaced the packet into her pocket. 'Now, help me prepare a stew. I'm not taking all the responsibility. You must have your share of the pleasure as well.'
The next day Saskia walked down the staircase and drifted into the kitchen, wearing her nightdress and dressing gown. She listened to the silence and looked through the window to the main road. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. It was going to be a good day.
She imagined the distress at her family home. They would be fighting for access to the toilet and searching for buckets and bowls to catch vomit. There would be tears and torment, and cries of pain. Then, when they decided to abandon the party, she would have achieved her aim.
Smiling to herself, she switched on the kettle and stepped to the freezer. After looking at the selection of frozen fruit, she decided to have raspberries for breakfast. Disregarding a sense of extravagance, she searched for the tub of ice cream to accompany it. After poking around, with the chilling air wrapping around her, her confusion grew. There had been some left, and Ron wouldn't have had it as he wasn't keen. So where was it? There wasn’t even an empty container in the bin. It was decidedly strange.
A frantic hammering sound on the door alleviated her of her puzzling thoughts. Believing it would be Verity telling her that their plan had succeeded, she ambled to the door.
Verity's face was patchy red and her arms flailed. ‘Dad's dead!'
Saskia staggered back to the wall and gawked.
'We killed him! What are we going to do?' Panic-stricken, she paced the hallway. 'I forgot he was ill . . . he seemed okay.'
'He was ill?'
'He had a heart problem, and he had developed colitis. Mum told me a while ago, but I . . .'
'You stupid, irresponsible bitch! How can you forget something like that?'
Her legs crumpled and she slipped to the floor, holding her face in her hands and quivering. 'It's not my fault.'
'You always have your head in the bloody clouds. I'm not covering for you this time.'
'But if anyone finds out we . . . we could go to prison.'
'You'll go to prison. I don't live there, remember.'
'We are both just as guilty. It's not just my fault.'
'I didn't know about Dad's condition, you did.
'
A strong voice sounded from behind. 'No one's going to find out what happened,' Ron said, 'I won't let them.'
'So what are we going to do?' Saskia said.
He wrapped his arm around her waist. 'I don't know, but we'll think of something.'
'Mum knows. She found the powder,' Verity said.
'What?'
'I . . . I forgot about it . . . left it in the kitchen.'
Saskia peeled herself from Ron and headed into the living room. What had they done? She glanced up at a wedding photograph on the wall. At least she had Ron. Verity had no one, and she had to face the family every single day.
Chapter 23
Megan looked at her drawing, searching for inspiration. The woman in the image had a sallow complexion and gaunt features and wore a nightgown and scarf. A trail of smoke left her mouth and drifted towards an open door, towards a young man with an amputated leg slumped in a wheelchair. Megan had wanted to depict the lack of value the woman was placing on her health, but the scene did not clarify her thoughts and she turned over the sheet, preparing to start again.
She pondered something new, something she had seen on a television documentary. The man, a soldier, had slipped into a depression after an incident in Afghanistan had left him blind and without a leg. The surgery had given his eyes a chance to repair, but he struggled to remain positive. His life away from the army - his friends, the action, and the pride it engendered - was unbearable. He was twenty-three years old.
Where was the justice? Those who wanted to do something with their lives suffered, and the ones that appeared not to care, did not. She wondered if that was how it had been for Saskia. She had been a talented artist, and if she had lived, she would have made something of herself. Instead, she had found herself at odds with her sister, and had taken part in a malicious act. Had their actions been the start of the end? Had someone wanted revenge?
