Bent But Not Broken (20 page)

With that Abigail smiled at me. It was a beautiful thing. It was the smile of a hopeful young woman who had finally shed the weight she had carried for so long.

Dr. Harry Nightingale

 

 

 

Dear Crystal,

At breakfast today Rachel sat slumped in her chair. Her eyes were glazed over, and she had dribble slowly dripping down her chin. It was a horrible sight! I looked at Suzy, lifting an eyebrow in a silent question. She answered with a shrug. She had no clue either. I was looking at Rachel, wondering if they had gone too far with the meds, when I saw her peek at me. She winked at me as she broke into a grin! She laughed as she straightened up. She was winding us up! Suzy and I laughed with her. Partly because what she had done was funny, and partly because she was taking the piss! I have decided I like her. Anyone who can pull such a sick stunt is okay in my book.

Dianne came again today. She had the Tardis suitcase as well as her monster shoulder bag. She produced the scrapbooks that we had started last week, and the magazines. When she'd finished unloading she smiled at each of us in turn (Doctor Harry training?) and said, 'Thank you for the work that you did in your books. It has helped me to get an idea of what interests you.' She looked around the big table again before she spoke. 'Today, if you like, you can keep going with the magazines. I have also brought some sheets if you want to start work on English and Maths.' She stopped and checked each of us again. Was it my paranoia that made me think she lingered on Rachel a bit longer? 'I'll spread these out on the bench for you to have a look. But remember, you only do what you want to do. And you can stop or change what you are working on whenever you like,' she added with a smile.

I was thinking about her, comparing her to teachers I had in high school. They made us do what they wanted, when they wanted. And they usually didn't give us enough time to get it done anyway. It was like if they kept us under pressure we'd be easier to control. It worked with most kids, and they got rid of the kids who got angry. That's why they invented detention, I reckon. It was a place to dump kids who couldn't or wouldn't go along the meat processing line like a side of beef on a hook. I wondered if teachers at school had given kids more choice and less pressure, there'd be less hassle in class. I remember the teachers spending most of their time trying to control kids instead of teaching.

I know it sounds arrogant, Crystal, but it's a good thing I'm intelligent. Most classes I ignored the ruckus and I read the text book so that I could get on with the work. One of the things I am looking forward to is helping you with your school work when I get out. But I am a bit worried too. I was in Year 10. I might have to start it again with kids I don't know, and who are younger than me. Like I've said, I have so much time to think in here sometimes I do my own head in!

Jenny stuck with the magazines, and Beth wisely didn't. I think she wasn't going to risk a repeat of last week. We were looking over the worksheets that Dianne had laid out.

'These maths ones are too easy,' I told her. 'I want to do algebra,' I said. Yeah, always slow to make a fuss!

But Dianne didn't bite my head off. She just smiled at me and said,' I've got some algebra, but wasn't sure about putting it out.'

'Why?' I asked. The idea of a teacher not being confident was weird!

'I did not want to scare you,' she said simply. 'Shall I get it for you?' she asked.

When I nodded out came even more from the Tardis suitcase. She spread the worksheets out like she was dealing cards. 'Do any of these look about right?' she asked me as I was checking them out.

'Yeah, this is good,' I answered her. I took a couple and sat down at the big table. I saw that Suzy had grabbed an English one and was writing like she was possessed. Beth took worksheet and sat down too. I glanced up to see Rachel walking up and down, checking the worksheets that Dianne had laid out. But she hadn't chosen anything.

'Do you know what you want to work on, Rachel?' Dianne asked kindly.

'I don't know my tables so I can't do the maths,' Rachel replied quietly. I think she was embarrassed.

'Oh, don't worry about that!' Dianne almost laughed. 'Most adults don't know their tables. That's why we've got calculators,' she said as she produced several from the suitcase with a flourish. Rachel looked relieved, and chose a maths worksheet.

We were all busy, and happy with what we were working on. Unless we asked for her help, Dianne kept moving around the outside of the table and did not interfere. There was a real buzz of positive energy. 'Why can't school be like this?' I wondered as I worked. We changed sheets when we wanted, and Dianne did not force us to finish or make us feel less than capable. She was so encouraging! It felt really good.

Finally we all slowed down. We had about half an hour left when we'd all ground to a halt.

'Fantastic work, girls!' Dianne said enthusiastically. She made us feel like we were great students. 'I am going to ask one more thing of you,' she said as she looked at each of us in turn. 'I would like you to glue what you have worked on into your scrapbook. But leave a blank page between each worksheet, so that I can write helpful hints without trashing your work,' she finished.

This was a totally new idea to me. A teacher who wouldn't scribble all over my work in red pen? 'She should be teaching teachers, not us!' I thought.

When we'd all done what she had asked, she packed up the scrapbooks and spirited them away with all the other stuff into the suitcase. Then she looked at us mischievously. 'Want to play poker?' she grinned. From the Tardis she produced a deck of cards and some poker chips. 'Every girl should know how to play poker!' she said. It wasn't hard but I lost all of my chips early on. Suzy and Rachel gave me some extra, so that I wasn't out of the game. It was fun!

We were all bubbly and happy by the time she had to go. At lunchtime there was a general discussion about Dianne. We all felt good about her, and liked how she treated us. We felt respected and trusted – so totally opposite to what we had experienced at school. We shared horror stories, and laughed and cringed at what had happened to us.

Later, talking it over with Suzy, I realised something else Dianne had done. That was the first time we had all talked together. Somehow, without us even noticing, she had formed us into a group that could work together. Until today we had been a group of individuals. Nice trick!

Love,

Abigail

 

 

CASE FILE #2794 ABIGAIL LEE MANUS D.O.B. 02/04/1998

ENTRY 47: 12/06/2014

Today I wanted to reinforce the new perspective that George had abused Abigail's mother – albeit a different form of abuse than Abigail suffered. I need to build this empathy bridge so that Abigail can be successfully reintegrated with her family.

'You have told me the absolute worst thing, Abigail,' I said in opening our session today. 'I have not run away from you.'

She had resumed her defensive posture. Anxiety radiated off her in waves. She stared at her entwining her fingers, and her feet were tucked up under her.

'I think you are very brave,' I said simply.

Still she did not look at me.

'Why brave?' in her very small voice.

'Because you protected Crystal,' I said.

'Yeah, that's the only thing I am proud of,' she said.

'You should be proud of much more, Abigail,' I stated.

'Oh yeah! I'm such a hero!' she replied angrily.

'Do you want to know what else you should be proud of?' I asked.

'Can't see anything!' she shouted. 'I destroyed my family! My mother hates me! Tell me why I'm such a hero!' she argued.

With this statement came the Abigail-patented scorching glare. I was ready. I had my chain mail underwear on for today's session.

'You did not destroy your family!' I said emphatically. 'George destroyed your family.'

'Bullshit! It was all my fault!' she shouted. 'If I hadn't said anything, we would still be a family!'

'You kept your secret for so very long, Abigail,' I said quietly. 'You did what you could,' I added.

'Well it wasn't good enough, was it?' she disputed.

'What I want you to see is that it really was not your fault, Abigail. None of it. You were all tricked into thinking that George was a good person. He hurt you all,' I expanded.

'Yeah, he did fool us all, I suppose,' she said thoughtfully.

'Have you heard the term "sociopath"?' I asked.

'They're like mass murderers, aren't they?' she asked.

'You've been watching too much TV!' I laughed. She was not amused.

'So what's that got to do with anything?' she challenged. 'He didn't kill me!' she shouted.

At least now she was looking at me – but like a bug that needed to be squashed.

'He did worse than kill you, Abigail. He killed your trust. He took your innocence. Then he burdened you with such a terrible secret that it weighed you down for years,' I said.

I could see that this was a very new form of thinking for Abigail. She unfolded herself, and leaned on her elbows.

'Are you willing to try something a bit weird, Abigail?' I asked.

'Everything here is weird!' she said.

'Glad to hear it! My work is done!' I laughed. She continued to stare at me, but I could see that she was intrigued. I got up and pulled two upright chairs into the space between us. I positioned them so that they were facing each other. Then I returned to my armchair.

'Will you do a little role play?' I asked.

'Have you got a cardboard tube?' she responded sarcastically.

'No. This is just you. I will not move,' I promised her. 'I am going to ask something hard of you. I would like you to sit in one of these chairs,' I said.

'Why?' she demanded suspiciously.

'This is the difficult bit. One chair is for you, and the other is for your mother,' I explained.

'Weird is right!' she answered. 'Why should I?' she questioned.

'It might help you to see the situation from your mother's point of view,' I answered.

'I know her point of view!' Abigail shouted. 'She thinks I'm a lying slut who destroyed her happiness!'

'That is what
you
think she thinks, Abigail. How about we test it?' I asked.

Again Abigail looked down at her entwining fingers as though they did not belong to her. I waited. Finally she looked up at me.

'What do you want me to do?' she asked in a small voice.

'Sitting in one of these chairs would be a good start,' I encouraged. Another marathon wait. Eventually Abigail sighed.

'Okay,' she said, as she moved to one of the chairs. 'Now what?'

Clearly she was uncomfortable and anxious. This was frightening because it was unfamiliar.

'Pretend that your mother is sitting opposite you,' I explained. 'What do you want to say to her?'

Abigail stared at the empty chair. She was sitting very upright, perched on the edge as though ready to run away as quickly as she could.

'Remember we are just pretending here, Abigail,' I encouraged. 'You can say anything. It won't leave this room.'

'Yeah, I've heard that before!' she said angrily. 'And look how well that worked out!'

'That is a really good place to start,' I said. 'Pretend your mother is sitting across the conference table at school, just like you told me. What do you want to say to her now that you could not say then?' I prompted.

Abigail continued to stare at the empty chair. She was deep in the memory of that horrible meeting.

'I am telling the truth!' she simply stated.

'Good, Abigail! Now move to the other chair,' I instructed.

She looked at me like I was crazy, but without a word did as I asked.

'Now comes the difficult bit. I want you to pretend that you are your mother,' I said.

She looked down at her hands. Clearly this was not where she wanted to be.

'I'll start you off,' I encouraged. 'I am married to the man of my dreams. He is rich. He has saved me from being desperately poor. He has saved me from worrying about how to pay the rent every week,' I prompted.

Abigail sat up a bit straighter. I could see that she was pretending to be an adult.

'He is kind and generous,' I elaborated. 'He treats me and my daughters with love and affection,' I added, trying to draw the picture in Abigail's mind.

'That's bullshit!' she yelled. 'You know what he did!'

'Go back to pretending that you are your mother, Abigail,' I encouraged. 'Don't be you just for a minute. Try to be your mother,' I urged. 'What does your mother think of what you have just said?'

'I don't believe her!' Abigail said angrily.

'Why are you so angry?' I asked.

'Because I am in love with him! There's no way he would do that to my daughter! He is a good man!' All said with absolute conviction.

'Now swap seats, Abigail,' I instructed. Without speaking, she did so.

'What would you say to your mother now?' I prompted.

'I am not lying! Why would I?' she shouted.

'Swap again,' I requested. She did, again in silence. 'You are your mother. You are in a conference with all those teachers, as well as a DHS worker,' I said, re-establishing the scene. 'How do you feel?'

'Like my world is about to be snatched away from me,' Abigail said reflectively. 'Like I am about to lose the only happiness I have ever known,' she added thoughtfully.

With this, Abigail's shoulders slumped. I could see that she had done enough.

'How about you go back to your armchair now?' I asked gently.

Abigail returned to her usual spot. When she had done this I got up without speaking and returned the upright chairs to their former position at the table. We sat in silence for some time. Abigail had resumed her protective position, complete with her cushion. She did not look at me. She was thinking hard. She was hurting.

'Now do you see why your mother could not believe you?' I eventually asked.

'I guess,' was her pensive reply.

'You and I know that she should have believed you, Abigail. But do you see now that she just could not imagine that what you were saying was true?' I asked.