Clean Slate

by Andrea Bramhall

  “Don’t swear.”

  “I didn’t! Arse isn’t a swear word.”

  “It’s still not nice.”

  “But it’s not a swear.”

  “You made your point. Now mine, use better English. You’re a clever boy. Don’t hide it under crass language.”

  He rolled his eyes again. “So, Colin landed on his bum after trying a jump shot. Twisted his ankle pretty badly and looks like he’s not going to play for a couple of weeks. His mum was going to take him for an x-ray to make sure he hadn’t broken anything.”

  “Oh God, that sounds awful. Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Nope, but it means I’m going to play point guard in the next game.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I texted him before, but he’s not answered yet. He might still be at the hospital or something. I’m going to get a shower and go to bed.” He kissed her cheek, a sure sign he was concerned about her. She smiled and patted his back.

  “Do you want me to bring you a drink up?”

  “Nah, I’m cool. Night, Mum.”

  “Night, honey.”

  She watched him go before she locked up and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

  She sat on her bed, pulled the envelope for her pocket, and unfolded the pages again. Two pages. One orange, one white. She picked up the orange page, the official stamp of Strangeways Prison glaring at her. The form held blank spaces where names, address details, and various other personal information was required to fill in the blank boxes. A visiting order. He wanted to see her. Why now? After all these years, why now?

  She unfolded the white page:

  Morgan,

  I know that I’m probably the last person you ever expected to hear from again. I didn’t exactly expect to be writing this. I made my mistakes and those are mine to live with. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I never did, girl. But there are some things I need to tell you and I think they’re best said face-to-face.

  I’ve arranged a visiting order for you. You have to phone the number to book an appointment and they talk you through the rest of it.

  You’re probably thinking why the bloody hell should I go and see the old bastard. I don’t blame you. I’d be the same if I were in your shoes. But there are things you and me need to discuss. Things I should have told you back then, things I regret not telling you.

  There’s things I’m sorry for saying to you. Things I wish I could take back, but I’ll never be able to do that, and I’m not a young man anymore. I don’t want to die with so many regrets on my soul. Lord knows, I’ve enough blackening it already. It’s important that I see you, and I think you’d rather it was here than after I get out.

  Yeah, that’s right. I’m getting out. They don’t tend to keep old fellers in when they’re “no longer a threat.” Sounds like they’re putting me out to pasture, hey, girl? Well, there’s still life in the old dog. Now, you come and see me, and we can get everything squared away once and for all. If not, I’ll come and see you, on the out, as we say in here.

  I expect you don’t want your old man turning up on your doorstep, what with that pretty family you got there. Probably not even told them about me, have you? Well, I wouldn’t blame you. I didn’t tell the boys in here I had a dyke for a daughter. Probably would have gotten me more attention than I wanted, if you know what I mean. Pretty girl you got there. Very pretty. And kids too. That took me by surprise, I’ve gotta say. Good-looking kids. A man likes to see his kids do well for themselves. And I think you’ve done very well, Morgan.

  I’ll see you soon.

  Dad.

  She dropped the page as though she’d been bitten, staring at it with unseeing eyes. Twenty years and then that. I don’t know if it’s an apology or a threat. I should have paid more attention earlier. I should have really read it.

  So many pieces fell into place and the tears came again. Morgan had been right. She had no idea how another woman fit into the picture, but it was so easy to understand why this letter affected Morgan the way it did. Was he threatening her? The kids? Was he threatening them at all? Or saying he was proud of her in a roundabout kind of way? She didn’t know. But Morgan had clearly been terrified of him. She’d seen him angry and out of control, then watched the life flow from her mother’s body, each beat of her heart pushing more blood between Morgan’s fingers.

  The look on Morgan’s face when she had refused to speak about her father was etched into her memory, the pain so acute it had been crippling to see. She understood that it was this fear that had driven Morgan from them. What Morgan had seen was a horror embedded so deep into her psyche that it was always going to haunt her, and the damage had been done before they ever met. She finally understood. And now it was too late.

  The blonde’s face haunted her, and the image of Morgan touching another woman, burned in her imagination. She twisted in the inferno of jealousy as she tossed and turned in her bed—their bed. Had she slept with someone else there, between these sheets? She knew her imagination was running away with her, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. She clambered out of the bed, stripping the sheets and covers, throwing them into the laundry basket. She grasped clean linen, determined to put all thoughts from her mind and rest. She had work in the morning. She needed to sleep. She flicked the sheet across the bed.

  The plum colored sheets that they had picked out together. Morgan had smiled at her the whole day, and later made love to her on these sheets. She couldn’t cry anymore. There were no tears left. She curled herself into a ball beside the bed, unable to convince herself that she needed to get in it. She wrapped the sheet around her body, and waited for the morning to come.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Come in.” Morgan turned to the door as Amy poked her head inside.

  “Erin’s downstairs. She’d like to talk to you.”

  Morgan knew she was grinning as she pushed herself off the bed. She hadn’t expected to hear from Erin after the way they had left everything the night before. Erin had been clear that she didn’t want anything to do with Morgan. Yet here she was. And all Morgan could hope for was a chance to put things right.

  Erin was sitting in the chair by the fire, one leg crossed over the other, and her hands clutched the crumpled envelope in her lap. Morgan’s heart sank.

  “Good morning. Were you still asleep?” Erin asked.

  “No. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Erin cocked her head to the side in silent question.

  “Too many things on my mind.”

  Erin uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Me too.” She held the letter out to Morgan. “This being one of the main things.” She waved it when Morgan still hadn’t taken it from her outstretched hand. “You need to read it.”

  “Why? You said it didn’t explain anything.”

  “I think I was wrong.” She urged Morgan to take it. “I’m hoping I was wrong. Please.”

  Morgan took it between her fingers, handling it as though it was toxic. She turned it over and peeled the flap open.

  It felt strange to see her father’s handwriting. She couldn’t recall ever having seen it before. But seeing her name written by his hand caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. Her heart raced and her palms were sweaty as she read each word over and over. She couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs and the bold black ink on the page swam before her eyes. Everything in the room receded and she was back in her childhood home, the stench of ale and fear permeating everything in there. She could see her father sitting in his chair. The chair no one else was allowed to go near. She could hear sniffing from behind her and knew it was her mother; cowering for a nonexistent sin, and already smarting from the first of the night’s blows.

  He was picking at his teeth as he drank, laughing along to the TV sitcom. Laughing. His coal black eyes were as dark as his soul, and the smile that twisted his lips a sneering parody of true happiness.

  “Morgan.”

  Hands
shook her shoulders as she was yanked from her memories. She looked up to see Erin standing over her, a frown marring her beautiful face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I…yeah. I think so.”

  “You looked like you were having a panic attack or something.” Erin sat on the sofa beside her and placed the back of her hand to Morgan’s forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Morgan smiled gently. “Yeah.” She waved the letter. “Just brought up some bad memories.”

  “You’re getting memories back?” Erin looked hopeful and Morgan shook her head sadly.

  “No, I don’t think so. This was from when I was about twelve or thirteen. My dad sitting watching TV and my mum already nursing a busted lip. He’d come home and his dinner wasn’t quite ready so he hit her.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That was pretty common. Anything that wasn’t right, that he didn’t like, he’d take out on us. Mostly Mum, but not just her. But I’m sure you know all this. Sorry to go over old ground.”

  “You aren’t.”

  Morgan frowned at her.

  “You never talked about it. It hurt too much. I knew he was violent because of the way your mum died, and I knew he had hit you on occasion, but you never spoke about it. You never told me details like that.”

  Morgan smiled sadly. “Maybe that’s why you thought nothing of this then.” She indicated the letter still in her hand. “I’m sorry. This is him threatening you and the kids if I don’t do as I’m told.”

  “It reads like an apology.”

  “At the start it does. But everyone tells me I’ve had no contact with him since he went to prison. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how does he know about you and the kids?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Exactly. This was posted to our address. Our home address.”

  “He knows where we live.”

  Morgan knew that it was the shock of realization that had Erin stating the obvious. “Yes. I can see why this would make me feel I had no option but to leave.”

  “It’s called running away, Morgan.”

  “No. Not running. Protecting you all.”

  “How the hell do you figure that when you just pointed out he knows who we are and where we live?”

  “Right now my instinct is to put as much distance between you all and me so that he doesn’t think you matter enough to hurt me.”

  “You know that’s backward, don’t you?” The crease between Erin’s brows deepened.

  Morgan laughed. “Yes. But that’s how I feel now. I know what he did and I grew up there. He scares the crap out of me. But before I lived it all. I lived that night, and the trial, and everything else. I can only imagine the kind of fear this instilled in me then.”

  “I wish I knew more of what was going on in your head then.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything else to tell you.”

  “I know.” Erin sighed.

  “Wait. I might have something.” She stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs. I might have something that could help.”

  Morgan quickly retrieved the transcript and held the file out for Erin.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s the transcript of my father’s trial. The evidence I gave against him. It’s all in there.” Morgan sat down again and ran her hands over her face.

  “Becky?”

  “Yes. She ordered it for me. I haven’t read it. In truth, I wasn’t going to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to leave it all behind me as much as I possibly could. To try and live my life not…tainted by all that.”

  “And now?”

  “I still wish I didn’t need to know what’s in there. But I think I do.” She looked at Erin. “I think we both do.”

  Erin opened the cover and looked down.

  “Before we do, there’s just one thing.”

  Erin looked back at her. “What?”

  “I’m scared that in learning the things in that file I’ll become her again. The old Morgan. And I don’t want to be her again.”

  “She wasn’t all bad.” Erin smiled sadly. “For the most part I thought she was wonderful. I even loved her.”

  “I want to be better. I wanted a chance to put everything right.” She sidled closer to Erin. “Before we read this and everything changes again, I have to tell you that I love you.” She took hold of Erin’s hand and raised it to her lips.

  “You don’t know me.” Erin’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Yes, I do.” Morgan pressed their joined hands over her heart. “This is yours.” Tears filled Erin’s eyes and slowly inched their way down her cheeks. Morgan wiped them away and leaned closer. “I really want to kiss you right now. But I won’t.” She could see the shock in Erin’s eyes. “I won’t kiss you again unless you ask me to.” She brought Erin’s hand to her lips again. “But I want to with all my heart.”

  Erin slowly pulled her hand away and cleared her throat. “We should look at this.” She pointed to the folio.

  “Do you have time to do this now, or do you have to go?”

  “I’m fine. I’m not working today, Tristan’s at soccer camp for the day, and Maddie’s at her Brownie day thing.”

  “Okay,”

  “Want me to read stuff first then pass it over if it’s not too bad?” Erin asked.

  “Yes, but no. Thanks for asking, but I think if I’m going to do this, I’ve got to do it all the way.” She took a deep breath and looked down at the first page, her eyes struggling to focus.

  “You’ll need your glasses.” Erin laughed.

  “Yeah, right. I keep forgetting.”

  They pored over page after page of legalese, evidence, testimony, and dry, hard facts painting a picture of an abusive man who had terrorized his wife and daughter for the duration of their marriage. His defense protested his innocence to the very end, pointing the finger at his daughter despite every piece of evidence indicating that he was the murderer, including the ten-inch scar on Morgan’s back.

  Morgan’s hands shook as she read her own testimony. She had to read it over and over. The words didn’t make sense. They swam about her head and formed their own sentences, their meaning lost as she struggled to comprehend everything she had been through, everything she had seen. But she couldn’t. There was no way to see it through the eyes of the teenager she had been and she let the tears fall as Erin read the final page out to her. Her father’s final tirade as he was sentenced to life in prison. She could hear the anger of his words despite the soft tones of Erin’s voice. In her mind she could see him banging his hands against the glass partition around the dock.

  “I will make you pay for what you’ve done, girl. You’ll be sorry you crossed me, you filthy fucking pervert. You’ve taken everything from me. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. But I’ll be there, Moggie. When you least expect it, I’ll be there to make you pay. You and anyone you ever care about. You’re mine, Moggie. Mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  Those were his last words before he was wrestled from the dock and incarcerated.

  Erin wrapped her arms around Morgan’s shoulders and held her as they both cried.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Morgan held Maddie’s hand as they walked, smiling and keeping up with her non-stop chatter. She kept looking over her shoulder, watching Tristan lag behind, his girlfriend hanging on to his arm. He managed to look both smug and embarrassed at the same time. Maddie was right. She was pretty, with long blond hair, blue eyes, and the look of the desperately smitten written all over her face. She’d yet to say anything other than “hello” and “thank you” to anyone other than Tristan, but she was here with him, and that said everything Morgan needed to know. I think.

  The car park was packed, and she knew the indoor ski slope the kids had insisted they visit was going to be heaving with people. She also couldn’t remember how to ski. Appare
ntly, it was something she and Erin had learned together on holiday one year, and then taught the children when they had been old enough. Both had promised to teach her in return, though she now suspected that Maddie would be her instructor for the afternoon. She didn’t mind; she was just happy to be with them both.

  Thirty minutes later, they all stepped onto the slope, skis in hand and the world’s most uncomfortable boots on their feet. I enjoyed this? Jesus, I was a masochist. Her ankles and calves were complaining at the unnatural position as Maddie showed her how to clip into her skis and start to move around in them a little. Tristan and Isabelle waved as they hopped onto the draglift to the short nursery slope to warm up. Maddie led her up a small rise, showing her how to walk sideways so she didn’t slip straight down the hill. She proved to be a patient teacher, demonstrating the technical “pizza” and “chips” positions of the skis before she made Morgan take her first five-foot slide down the fake snow.

  “Now go to pizza to stop.” The smile in Maddie’s voice told Morgan she was proud of her student’s progress. “That’s it, now come back up and try it again.”

  Morgan started to turn but got her skis tangled and ended up on her backside. She laughed as Maddie appeared at her side.

  “Are you okay, Mum?”

  “I’m fine, kiddo. How do I get up?”

  Maddie grinned and unclipped her skis for her. “I’ll show you later how you can do it yourself, but I’ll help you this time.” She dropped the skis back on the ground as she reached for Morgan’s hand.

  Tristan stopped next to them, showering them with snow in an impressive display. “Mum, are you hurt?” He clipped his boots out of his skis and knelt beside her.

  Morgan smiled at him. “I’m fine. Just a little fall. I expect I’ll end up down here most of the time today.”

  “You never used to fall.” He shook his head and started to stand up again.

  She caught his hand. “Thanks for coming to make sure I was okay.”

  He nodded and then headed back to Isabelle waiting for him at the foot of the button lift up the main slope.