Soul Protector (9 page)

“Won’t be long now,” Mum said,
her eyes giving me the motherly once-over, “so, what’s new?”

I shivered as memories of the
past few days fleeted across my mind. The words ‘I switched bodies
with Lydia,’ sounded too ridiculous, so I concentrated on the other
big event.

“Phil proposed to Lydia at the
weekend.”

Mum’s eyes widened. “He did?
And did she say yes?”

I nodded.

She paused for a minute,
studying my expression. “That’s fantastic news, isn’t it?”

I cringed inside as I
remembered how jealous I’d felt on the night.

“Yeah it is. It’s really
great.”

“Well good for Lydia. And you
darling, you deserve some good luck soon. It’ll come your way, I
just know it,” she put her arm round me and gave me a gentle
squeeze.

I shrugged. “I’m okay,
Mum.”

“Of course you are sweetie,
you’ve just had a few knocks lately that’s all.” She tactfully
changed the subject. “I had an email from Sally, you know Kath’s
daughter from up the road. She’s leaving Perth at the weekend and
moving up to the Gold Coast.”

“Yeah, I read it on Facebook.”
I sighed as I thought of Sally having the time of her life, just
drifting along in Australia, picking up work when it was available.
What a lovely carefree existence. It seemed ironic we were able to
discuss the neighbour’s family, but didn’t feel able to talk about
our own. Mum didn’t offer any news about Michelle, so I chose not
to ask.

“Dinner’s ready,” Mum called,
ushering us through to the dining room. It was a small room,
perfectly square with patio doors on one side; leading through to
the garden she spent so much time nurturing. With the table and
chairs crammed around the rectangle table, there was barely enough
room left to squeeze into your chair, but once you were seated, it
was very comfortable.

Mum and Terry brought in
serving dishes of steaming food, and set them down in the middle of
the table. After helping myself to way too much, I began tucking
in, drifting in and out of their easy conversation.

A picture on the wall caught my
eye. It was of Michelle and me when we were small, standing outside
the back door of our old house. I was once again transported back
to my childhood, to the time when we lived with Dad. I could still
remember having the picture taken. It was one of those spur of the
moment, natural shots. We’d been out playing in the garden and came
running up to the house to clean up before tea. I can’t even
remember what we’d been laughing about, but it must have been funny
because Mum heard us from inside the kitchen and rushed to get her
camera. That picture of us, all wild hair and grubby knees, was her
favourite. To a perfect stranger it looked like we were happy kids
from a normal happy family. But things couldn’t have been further
from the truth.

That picture was taken around
the time Mum used to try and hide her bruises and pretend
everything was okay, the time when we lived in fear of Dad and
whatever he would do next.

When he was sober, he was full
of remorse and tried to compensate for all the hurt he’d caused.
But the sober times were few and far between. And when he was
drunk, he was violent. I even heard him attacking Mum sometimes,
and as desperate as we were to help, Michelle and I used to stay in
our bedroom, too terrified to move.

I absentmindedly stroked the
scar high up on my left cheekbone. One Saturday lunchtime when I
was about seven, Dad had asked me to find his other shoe. He wanted
to go down the pub because he’d drunk every last drop of alcohol in
the house. I’d frantically searched everywhere, but after drawing a
blank, I’d asked Michelle to help. Aware of the consequences, even
at that young age, she’d desperately checked every cubby hole and
dark corner for me, but the shoe couldn’t be found and we’d had to
concede defeat. Michelle came and stood next to me as, shaking, I
had to tell Dad I’d failed. True to form he’d gone bright red with
rage and, eyes blazing, he chucked the other shoe at my head.

“Stupid girl tripped and
knocked herself on the fire surround,” he roared when Mum came
running in to see what the commotion was.

We knew better than to
contradict him. As Mum leant down to study my cut, he turned the
full force of his rage onto her and launched into another beating.
I’d felt guilty for a long time over that one.

I heard the distinctive noise
of a cork being extracted from a bottle of wine, and snapped out of
my daydream.

“One for you?” Terry asked,
waving a bottle of Merlot in my direction.

“Erm, no thanks, I’m driving.
So, how’s the house renovation going, Terry?”

“Oh, the usual,” he said,
topping up Mum’s glass. “There’s plaster dust everywhere. I even
found some in the butter dish yesterday!”

“No wonder you like spending so
much time over here,” I said, laughing.

“I just hope she doesn’t get
fed up with me.” He turned to Mum and gave her a sincere look.

“Never,” she said and smiled
shyly before leaning across to give him a quick kiss on the
lips.

“Eww, guys do you have to?”

“Sorry,” said Mum, “but he’s
irresistible.”

I pulled a face at them both,
but deep down it made me happy to see his affection for her.

During her time with Dad, Mum
frequently had to go to hospital for medical attention, while he
either legged it, or was taken into police custody for questioning.
On those occasions we stayed with Nancy, our next-door neighbour. A
sweet widow, her children had long flown the nest. She used to take
us in and we would bake cakes or read stories together. But
whenever I caught her giving me sideways looks, even at that young
age, I couldn’t mistake the pity in her eyes.

I knew Mum and Dad’s
relationship was wrong. Each time Dad would come crawling back with
flowers, chocolates and promises that it would never happen again,
and for awhile things would be okay. Mum’s bruises would fade and
she’d start to let her guard down again, daring to hope that things
would be different this time. But sure enough, sooner or later he
would fall back into his old ways, and the pattern would repeat
itself.

I helped myself to some more
roast potatoes, sighing at the memories.

Mum cleared her throat.
“Gracie, we have some news,” she announced, shooting a quick look
at Terry. “We hope you’ll be pleased.”

I paused, holding the serving
spoon in mid-air.

“Terry is going to move in here
with me at the end of the month.”

I dropped the spoon and it
clattered into the dish.

“Wow. That’s fast.”

Mum and Terry both flinched at
my reaction.

“But it’s great news,” I added
quickly, trying to improve on my statement. “I’m really happy for
you both.”

I jumped up and hugged them
both. And this time I meant it. Mum deserved this.

On one occasion, when I was
eight years old and Michelle was five, Dad beat Mum so badly, she
nearly died. She had nine broken bones, a punctured, collapsed
lung, and a serious concussion. Within seconds of Dad scarpering,
Michelle and I braved it out of our bedrooms to be met with Mum’s
lifeless, bloody body sprawled in the hall.

I rang 999 and managed to
stutter my way through our address, before crouching down and
holding Mum’s hand until help arrived. Michelle sobbed silently by
my side, while the image in front of us burnt its way into our
memories.

Within minutes our cul-de-sac
had been awash with the flashing blue lights of police and
paramedics. There was a frenzy of action as the crew lifted Mum
onto a stretcher and whisked her into the back of their vehicle,
assuring us they would take good care of her. Nancy had squeezed
Michelle and me tightly to her, as she gently manoeuvred us away
from the spectacle and into her house.

It took Mum months to recover,
but when she did, she had changed. She was stronger. All that time
away from him had done her the world of good. It wasn’t just her
body that had healed, her self-esteem was back too. She wasn’t
going to be his punch bag anymore and so for the first time ever,
she co-operated with the police and pressed charges against
him.

Dad went to jail and when he
came out there was a restraining order forbidding him to go
anywhere near us, or our house. Just to make sure we were
completely safe, we moved two hundred miles south to Croydon, only
telling a handful of trusted friends and family. I was sad to be
leaving Nancy, but I understood why we had to go.

Mum thrived away from Dad, and
found her vocation counselling other victims of domestic abuse.
Even so, I guess she would never have felt totally free of him, but
just eight weeks after he was released from prison he got knocked
down whilst drunk and never recovered from his injuries.

Terry popped into the kitchen,
and reappeared with a trifle. Mum arranged three dessert bowls in
front of the dish and handed him the serving spoon. As I watched
the two of them together, I smiled. Things were getting better all
the time for Mum.

~~~

CHAPTER 8

.

The Office

.

On the Friday, when I got home
from Elevate, I knew there was no time to waste. Dan had seen me at
my worst and now he was going to see me at my best.

I got in the shower and set to
work. I exfoliated my skin to within an inch of its life. Then I
removed any fuzz that needing removing. I washed my hair and used
one of those sachets of deep conditioning treatments to try and
control the frizz my locks fought so hard to retain.

After my shower I took the lid
off the expensive moisturiser that I’d been saving for a worthy
occasion, and completely smothered myself in it. I plucked my
eyebrows, carefully applied my make-up, adding a bit more eye-liner
than normal for extra definition. I blow dried my hair and curled
it, a la Lydia, and spritzed my favourite perfume all over.

I started to feel a bit more
confident, and turned my attention to the wardrobe. I still hadn’t
decided what I was going to wear. I didn’t want to over-do it, so I
set about finding something amazing, yet understated.

After deliberating for an
eternity, I decided it had to be black. I settled for the one pair
of jeans that made me look slim, a black top and my grey jacket. I
took inspiration from Lydia, and added a scarf. When I stood back
to look at myself, I actually felt quite pleased with my
reflection.

I put on my high-heeled boots,
and quickly took them off again, replacing them with a moderately
heeled pair instead – I didn’t want to ruin the evening by being in
agony. Last time I saw Dan, I couldn’t give him my full attention.
This time I intended to.

As I thought about him, I felt
the butterflies whip up inside my stomach. I poured myself a large
glass of Pinot Grigio, sat on the sofa and waited.

Dan was due at seven, and by
time the hour arrived I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I took some deep
breaths to try and calm down while I got things into perspective.
It wasn’t a date; he was just taking me to get registered at this
office place. A formality, that was all. But I couldn’t help
feeling excited at the thought of seeing him again. In my head I
had rehearsed how I would act when he arrived, what I would say and
how I would smile. I knew he was out of my league, but you couldn’t
blame a girl for trying.

I checked my watch again at ten
minutes past. It didn’t surprise me he hadn’t arrived, nobody ever
turned up at the time they said they would. Ten minutes was
nothing. I went over my welcome again, perfecting the smile and the
playing-it-cool bit, and took a large sip of wine.

At half-past seven, I couldn’t
help wondering if my watch was fast. I popped into the kitchen and
checked the time on the oven. It was the same.

By eight o’clock, I’d emptied
my glass and knew my lines off by heart. But the buzz had left me.
It was replaced by a heavy feeling of disappointment. He wasn’t
coming. I knew it. Why hadn’t he phoned to cancel? I had him down
as the solid, reliable type. Well it just proved you never could
tell.

I picked up my empty wine glass
and plodded through to the kitchen, dumping it next to the sink. I
let out a sigh, and leant back on the work surface, staring out the
window at the street lights.
What to do, Gracie?
I felt
lethargic and restless at the same time.

I needed to feel better and as
I glanced towards the fridge I knew what would help. I reached
inside and brought out my emergency bar of chocolate. I peeled back
the foil, snapped off a row of four squares and shoved them
straight in my mouth.

It was a bit ambitious and I
couldn’t close my lips properly. Too hard to bite, I had to just
suck until it was more pliable. Gradually, as it melted on my
tongue, the lovely chocolate flavour overwhelmed my taste buds, my
disappointment forgotten for a heavenly moment. I slurped as some
of the melted chocolate dribbled down my chin.

A harsh rapping at the door
snapped me out of the moment. There’d been no buzz from the
intercom, so I guessed it must be one of the residents. Mrs Logan
had more than likely locked herself out again. It happened so
often, she’d given all the neighbours a spare key. I swallowed the
last of my mouthful, popping the chocolate bar back in the fridge,
and wandered over to the door.

I pulled down the handle, set
my gaze to about four foot eleven where Mrs Logan would be, and had
to tilt my head to six foot one, to be met by Dan. He was wearing
the monitor outfit again.

“Gracie, I’m sorry. I know I’m
late, but I couldn’t help it. I got called on another shout.”

I was pleased he had the
decency to look apologetic. But I didn’t want to rush in and
forgive him.