Fortunately just then I reached the front of the queue and so was spared from having to come up with a suitable reply. When I took the drinks back to our place, Katie sensed a change in my mood, but seemed to think it was just nerves about the coming speeches, and encouraged me not to worry.
Ian Jacobs soon banged on the table again, and the room fell silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you will be pleased to hear that my speech tonight will be brief.”
He paused while there was some cheering and applause, before going on. The first part of his speech reviewed the work of the club, and paid tribute to those who had helped to run the thing. There were a lot of jokes, many of them clearly referring to people or incidents that neither Katie or I had heard of but, judging by the loud guffaws around the room, they were much appreciated by the rest of the audience. After about ten minutes, Ian’s face turned serious.
“Of course, it’s a great privilege to be a member of the Executive Club. You are all here because you are at the very top of York society. All of you have succeeded in your chosen professions to the extent that you have a major influence on the society around you. That’s why a key part of what we do is to try and give something back to the city and area in which we have prospered. Whatever our religious beliefs, or lack of them, as we approach Christmas, it seems an especially apposite time to think of those in our community who aren’t faring so well. Some weeks ago, I became aware of a remarkable institution that works at the very heart of our city. So impressed was I by what they do, that I’ve invited some of them along this evening to share their experiences with you.”
He paused, and slowly gazed around the room. There was no doubt that he was an outstanding communicator; every eye was fixed on him.
“To begin their presentation, I would like to introduce to you Mr. George Bantry of the York Domestic Crisis Centre.”
As Ian sat down and George took his feet, there was polite applause. He gave them a quick overview of the history of the Crisis Centre, the work we did, and a summary of our current difficult financial position. All too soon, he reached his conclusion.
“Perhaps the best way for you to understand what the Centre does, is to hear it not from me, the fundraiser, but from the people actually doing the work. Two of our three counsellors are here tonight to try and do just that. Could I introduce you to Jack Bailey and Katie Dixon.”
We both stood as heads began to turn in our direction, and walked up to the top table. I looked at the expectant faces and, inevitably, the sceptical face of Michael Palmer caught my attention. Taking a deep breath, I began.
“We thought it might help to try and put a human face onto the work we do. So, I wanted to tell you about one of the most agonising cases I’ve faced in my time at the centre, but also the one which I’m most proud of. Obviously I won’t use the people’s real names.
“When Jane came into the Centre, I thought she must have just escaped from a car accident. Her face almost didn’t look human, it was so badly bruised and swollen. At first, she could hardly speak above a whisper, and all she would say was “I need you to help me”.
“I managed to persuade her to let me call a doctor. We have a friend who will come to the centre to give confidential help, so he’s quite used to dealing with distressing injuries. But even he could still be shocked. When he came out of the room after seeing Jane, his face was white and his hands were shaking.
“It would take too long to list all her injuries, so I’ll just pick out a few highlights for you. Apart from the bruising to her face, she had a broken jaw and nose. Several of her teeth were missing. Her upper body was also covered with bruises. Three of her fingers were deformed where they had been broken. She hadn’t gone to hospital on the night her husband broke them one by one, and the bones had not set properly. Various parts of her body were covered with scar patterns, which probably indicated cigarette burns inflicted over a period of months if not years. Later X-rays revealed a number of past broken bones. None of them had received medical treatment.”
Looking around the room, I suspected that I was managing to spoil an excellent meal by giving them all indigestion. However, Katie and I had agreed that there was no point in pulling punches at our one chance to convince these influential people that we needed their support.
“I’m sure some of you are asking the question why had she put up with it. Why didn’t she leave the first time her husband laid a finger on her? Without meaning to, people who ask that blame the woman for letting herself become a victim. Let me try and explain.
“One thing that helps is that in almost every case of domestic abuse, at the start the woman loves her husband a great deal. Men who have this sort of rage inside them are very often extremely charming and likeable the rest of the time. The first time it happens, they are always so genuinely apologetic afterwards, it’s hard not to forgive them. The woman sees it as an isolated, out of character, incident and blames the pressure he’s under or even herself for “making him so angry”.
“She doesn’t tell any of her friends about it because she feels ashamed. When it happens again – and it almost always does – she thinks that it’s her fault again. Besides, he’s so upset and so sorry that she has to try and help him. She convinces herself that the real man – the one she married – will come back if she tries hard enough. What starts as a silence of love, soon becomes a silence of fear. As the number and severity of the beatings increase, so her self-belief is systematically destroyed. She loses all confidence, and her only goal in life becomes to avoid provoking him, and to protect any children they have.
“She has no-one to turn to; she begins to cut off contact with her friends as soon as the violence starts so that she won’t have to explain the marks on her. After a year or so of this she is completely alone. She rarely even leaves the house any more. Normally the torture she receives isn’t as severe as Jane’s and many women endure it in silence all their lives.
“In Jane’s case, what broke the spell was her five year old daughter Susan. The previous night, she had committed the unforgivable crime of coming downstairs while her mother was in the shower to ask for a drink of water. Her father didn’t appreciate the interruption of his television watching. He picked her up and flung her across the room into a glass cabinet. Her back was badly cut, and our doctor later picked 15 slivers of glass out of it. Jane ran downstairs at the crash and her daughter watched as she was repeatedly punched in the face for “not teaching the brat to behave”. The next day she came to us.”
I paused for a moment. The retelling of this story always stirred up all the anger and disgust I had felt on that morning, and I didn’t want that to get in the way of communicating to these people how important the work we do is.
“What we had to work with was a woman whose spirit was even more broken than her body. Fixing the body was our first priority, though. I took her to hospital, accompanied by our GP. Her jaw was set, and her fingers rebroken and set properly. She didn’t even flinch as they did it.
“We found a space in a shelter for her and Susan rather than a house at first. I thought she needed the company and support of other women who could understand, at least in part, what she had been through. We had to sort out a new school for Susan so her father couldn’t try and snatch her. Next the centre paid for a dentist to rebuild her mouth and jaw. Then we started the much longer process of trying to help her rebuild the person who had been there.
“It took a long time. But now, over two years on, you would hardly recognise her. The external wounds have healed, and even the internal ones have scarred over a little. We’ve helped her through her divorce, and a successful prosecution of her husband. She and Susan live in a small house. She has her own business now, making craft items which she sells through a lot of local shops. Most important, their home is a place full of laughter and love, not fear and violence. Our doctor’s view is that the way the beatings had escalated she would probably have been dead in less than a year.
/> “We didn’t rebuild Jane’s life. She did that herself. She and Susan are truly remarkable women. What we could do was be there to help her start the process when she had nowhere else to turn. For Jane, and all the thousands of women like her, the Centre needs your support.”
I moved back, and let Katie take my place. As I turned, Ian Jacobs nodded approvingly at me. Katie began to speak in a calm and confident manner.
“Jack’s story has given you the main reason that you should support our work. There are hundreds of people who need the help the Centre provides. We have three counsellors, and I think I can speak for my colleagues when I say that none of us minds the long hours we work. But even so, we struggle to cope with all the need that there is. Very soon, without more support, we will have to go down to two or even just one of us. Being able to pay dentist or medical bills, or to help with accommodation costs will become impossible.
“I know most of you already support charities generously, and have many worthy causes begging you for help. I’m not trying to convince you that our need is worth more than starving children in Africa or orphans in former Eastern Europe. All I can do is promise you that every penny we get will go to help people like Jane rebuild their lives. People who live and work in your community. People who are your employees, your customers, your neighbours.
“They need our help. And we need yours. Please.”
As she stopped, every eye in the room was fixed on her. Part of that was undoubtedly her compelling beauty, but much was the impact of her words. If we’d been able to pass a collecting plate around at that exact minute, I suspect we’d have got enough to have funded the Centre for the next ten years.
Somewhere at the back, the solitary sound of a hand clap began. The sound grew and spread until it seemed that almost the whole room was applauding. Katie turned to me, her eyes shining, and taking my hand gave it a squeeze.
“I think we did OK.” She said.
“You were brilliant,” I replied.
The hesitant silence that followed was broken by the arrival of a delighted looking Ian Jacobs.
“Excellent, Jack,” he began. “You really managed to touch them, and with this audience that’s some achievement. And as for you Katie, all I can say is if you ever get tired of counselling, there will be no shortage of people wanting to take you onto their sales team.”
With that he swept off to say farewell to a group who were collecting their coats and preparing to leave. Katie looked at me, as if she was waiting for me to speak.
“I might get off home as well, if you’re sure that George can take you home,” I said.
We both glanced over to where George was standing, surrounded by a small group of people, talking animatedly with his diary open in his hands.
Katie smiled, “It looks like it may be a while before he’s ready, but yes I’ll be fine. You go.”
I had a sense of incompleteness, but could think of nothing else to say. “Goodnight then,” I managed.
Suddenly Katie’s head bobbed forwards and she kissed me on the cheek.
“Thanks for making it such a lovely evening, Jack.”
The walk home was bitterly cold, but I swear that the place where she kissed me was still tingling when I went to bed.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as I got into bed I realised that there wasn’t much chance of sleeping. Partly it was the adrenaline rush from the speeches but mostly it was because my head was buzzing with thoughts of Katie. It was perhaps the first time I realised fully just how much I had come to depend upon Jennifer to talk things through with. I was really going to miss her advice, and the way she would challenge my thoughts. By morning I hadn’t slept, but I had made two decisions.
The first was that Katie and I would go on as before, as work colleagues and nothing else. I was probably only imagining that there was any interest on her side anyway. Besides which, I had realised when Liz left that I was clearly incapable of maintaining any sort of deep relationship, and resolved that it was better for everyone if I settled into a relatively solitary state. Now, when I was feeling more fragile than I cared to admit, even to myself, was hardly the best time to change that position.
The second decision was rather less painful. I decided that it was time I went to see “Jane” again and perhaps I could take a Christmas present for “Susan”. Accordingly, I gave her a ring from work and arranged to see them on the following afternoon.
George arrived in the office just before midday, and was clearly still buzzing from the night before.
“What a success!” he enthused. “By the time I left last night, I already had five appointments arranged, and about a dozen others gave me their number so I could call to arrange a meeting. You and Katie were magnificent – I’ll have to use you both more often.”
“If all these meetings go well, you won’t need to.” I replied. “Just try and make sure you put aside some money so that we can have this place redecorated.”
George looked slightly sheepish. “It’s funny you should mention that.”
I had a feeling I was going to regret this, which was confirmed as he continued.
“Ian Jacobs was so thrilled with how it went last night, that he’s offered to buy all the materials we need to redecorate. He’s picking me up later on to go and choose paints and so on. The only drawback is that we’ll have to do the actual decorating ourselves.”
“And when did you have in mind?”
“Well, I thought it might be nice to have it all done in time for Christmas.” George said cheerily. “Which basically means we need to do it this weekend.”
I groaned. “You didn’t have any other plans for the weekend, did you?” He asked.
“Not particularly,” I admitted. “But spending two days in here with a paintbrush wouldn’t have exactly been at the top of my list. Still, I suppose that it will be worth it when we’re finished.”
Excellent! I knew I could count on you.” George’s face became even more apologetic. “That’s not quite all, I’m afraid. I’d already booked to take Mary down to London for the weekend. Normally I’d cancel it, but we’ve got tickets for the theatre and so on. I hope you understand.”
“You’d only have been in the way, in any case. I’m sure that we’ll manage just as well without you.”
“And I’m afraid Barbara’s got her son and his family coming for the weekend, so she can’t make it either.”
I grimaced. “And I suppose your next bit of news is that Katie’s too busy to help as well, is it?”
“No, no, no,” George answered quickly. “Katie’s said she’d be here. Mentioned something about trying to get her friend to come and help. And it is the two of you who are always moaning about how shabby the place is.”
Based on my conclusions of the previous night, the prospect of being in Katie’s company for the whole weekend wasn’t the most enticing, but I couldn’t see any easy way out of it.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be here. Just make sure you get paint that only needs one coat. And don’t expect a professional job. ”
“It’s got to be an improvement on this, whatever it’s like.” George said wryly, looking around.
The following day, I left the office in the early afternoon. I hadn’t been struck with much inspiration as to what sort of present a seven year old girl would like. Katie, who volunteered that she had a niece of the same age, told me that smelly gel pens were the popular thing. They sounded horrible, but I managed to find a box which proclaimed it had 14 flavours inside. I bought it, along with some drawing paper.
I called in at home to wrap up the present, and then made my way to “Jane’s” house. “Jane” really goes by the name of Jill Sutton, and her daughter is called Sophie. (I know the aliases I gave them weren’t the most inspired, but it made them easy to remember).
They live not all that far from me, in one of the streets of terraced houses which surround the city centre. Most of the houses had small Christmas trees twinkling in
the front windows. A holly wreath hung on the front door of Jill’s home.
I rang the doorbell, and the door was soon opened.
“Jack,” she smiled. “It’s really nice of you to come.”
As I had said in my talk, she bore almost no relation to the broken figure who had walked into the centre two years before. In front of me was a confident and beautiful woman. She led me into the main room, where Sophie lay on the floor, watching television.
Sophie too was much changed. It had taken a long time for her to overcome her fear of men, and for months she wouldn’t even lift her head to look at me, never mind having the confidence to speak. This time though she turned her head, smiled, said “Hi Jack” and then carried on watching her programme.
“I brought you an early Christmas present, Sophie. I hope it’s OK.”
This did mange to hold her attention. She span around and took the present from me. She looked at her mother to check if it was alright to open it straight away and, when Jill nodded, tore off the wrapping.
“Gel pens!” she squealed excitedly. “Thanks Jack.” She flung her arms around me and then scuttled over to a small table where she began drawing.
Silently blessing Katie, I sat down and turned to Jill. “How are things for you at the moment?”
“Very good, thanks. You can see how Sophie is. She’s so full of energy and life now, her teachers have nicknamed her “the whirlwind”. I think they found her a bit easier when she was a bit more subdued. For me it’s just a thrill to have a happy, normal, noisy daughter.”
“How about you?” I enquired.
“I’m good too. I had a bit of a bad time a couple of months ago when I knew that Adam was being released from prison.” I realised with a pang of guilt that I had forgotten all about her husband’s release. “I had a couple of bad weeks when I kept wondering if Sophie would still be at school when I went to pick her up, and looking over my shoulder at every noise. But there’s been no sign of him, so I’m hoping he’s not come back to York.”
Shaping the Ripples Page 8
