• Attend art galleries (odd how soothing I found Ethan’s presence)
• Doing cottage up (Ethan helping there too)
• Type up notes for association meetings
• Spend hours in library with Albie talking about books
• Enjoy hanging out with Kirsten
Perhaps need to be kind to myself and acknowledge how far I’ve come even if still a way to go. So, finally called solicitor to talk through court process. Trial date is soon. Mr Finch advised would be better if I attended in person. Don’t know if can face that. Idea of being in same room ashim, breathing same air, made me feel sick to stomach.
Started writing something a few weeks after first discharged from hospital. Was so full of rage, fear, and raw pain the penned words tore holes through the paper. Took notebook into back garden and burnt it, flames jumping higher as emptied whole bottle of lighted fluid on, standing so close my eyebrows singed. Mum came running out. Seeing my tear-streaked face, threw her arms around me, holding tight while I shook and sobbed into her shoulder.
Now, feeling stronger, took MacBook down to the village, settling at long wooden table in one of the square courtyards between four vacant cottages. Could hear the distant chat of men (Kit? Theo? Harley?) exchanging instructions and banter, as well as the tapping of hammers and rhythmic sawing of wood. Through a gap between two cottages, could see the disused train station – small Victorian-looking structure with canopy extending onto platform – causing so many issues. Might prove to be the downfall of Little Beaubrook. Rubbed the centre of chest with a pang. Developers were due to visit a few days ago but either didn’t turn up, or it was incognito.
Relaxing back in sturdy, green-cushioned chair, lifted my face towards midday sunshine, closed eyes and sat still, sunlight warming skin and filling me with well-being. Taking several deep breaths in and out, a sense of peace unfurled through my body. Thought…
I am here.
I am safe.
It is over.
Telling my story can’t hurt me. Might even help.
Rule up on notice board todayuse kind words, to yourself and others.
Opening eyes, created new Word document on laptop. Not sure if giving statement or answering questionsifI go but started typing, knowing from love of reading and previous career that words hold power and can change people’s minds, their hearts, and sometimes, maybe even their lives.
If it pleases the court, I have something to say.
What the accused did changed who I am irrevocably. It was the worst night of my life. I can’t think of many other things that could be as bad as that. Being stabbed, having such horrendous injuries inflicted by someone you met, liked, talked to and thought was a decent person – just not one you liked romantically – was a shocking betrayal. It was traumatising how quickly he changed, becoming so full of rage because he couldn’t control me.
Physically, the injuries were a broken eye socket, fractured cheekbone, severe concussion, split lip, fingertip bruises on my left arm, and three stab wounds, including two punctures and a long, jagged horizontal scar.
Although I didn’t feel it at the time, I was lucky. No major organs were hit, and the injuries were not life changing, otherthan the fact my scars will never fade. But he robbed me of the future I’d planned, and it’s the scars inside your mind which haunt you the most…
Wrote two more pages before closing laptop. Knotty kernel of pain, tucked deep inside chest ever since waking up in hospital after assault, unravelled. Shoulders trembled and broke into quiet sobs. Aware one of my neighbours might stumble across me at any moment but every emotion of the last year crashed into me. This time, instead of fighting them, I let them wash over me then slip away.
Eventually, straightened and wiped cheeks roughly, filled with new sense of purpose. Life is precious, and all too short. Could’ve been snatched away if knife had gone in two inches to right or one inch higher. No one knows how long they have. Look what happened to Theo’s wife, dying so tragically young, or Albie’s wife, randomly knocked down by a car, older but with so many years left to live. Must make my days count and fill them with meaning.
Picked up phone and posted message in family group.Zoom call, tonight, 8pm? I have exciting news. X. Going to invite parents down for weekend visit, and after that, my best friends. Let them back in. It’s time.
Re-opening laptop, updated CV. Didn’t take long, putting end date on last employment, adding 12-month career break and updating with new email. Removed old home address from header but didn’t replace with manor one. Feeling upbeat, not invincible.
Logging into account, composed email to editor introduced to at Ariel’s event, reminding how we met and asking about freelance work. In theory, can write under pen name. Attaching CV, inserted links to some previous articles. Chewing bottomlip, took deep breath and pitched two ideas. One about overcoming trauma, with plans to interview survivors who can share what they’ve learnt from their experience. Another about a community of people filled with kindness trying to rebuild a lost village, potentially bringing them unexpected health benefits, met with opposition from a greedy developer.
Mobile pinged, and checked screen. Social media alert. Set up new account with literary reference as username, with picture of old-fashioned typewriter for my profile. Everyone in association has been told not to use my real name or include photos of me. So far, have only posted a few things on my grid, mostly book porn and flat lays of books have devoured and reviewed. Got some likes and comments, but not doing it for popularity vote like I used to. Now it’s to connect with like-minded people and share excitement about a great story or intriguing characters. Flicking open direct messages, saw new one from Vanessa. Has been using online presence to start social media campaign to save the village. Wanted to know if she could tag me in post, also asking me to repost and add to stories. (Has created several hashtags including #SaveLittleBeaubrook #RosesRulesForLiving and #TheRosetoPlan, as well as linking our activities to popular DIY shows). Smiling, typed a quick reply.Yep, of course. Just remember, only my handle and no pics of yours truly.The response was instant.Of course, you got it, Hun! XX
Spirits lifted, decided to send email but journalist’s business card was at home. Standing, put phone in pocket and dropped laptop in at my dusty cottage, setting off for manor on hill beyond the cherry blossom trees, it’s honey exterior sparkling gold in the sunshine. Blinked as had strange sense of déjà vu seeing manor hidden by glimmering mist-fog, but no idea when it might’ve happened. Must have been a dream.
Returning fifteen minutes later, found Ethan in my cottage at scuffed second-hand kitchen table he’d produced from somewhere few days before, looking pleased when I thanked him with quick, nervous kiss on the cheek. My laptop was open in front of him, and he jumped guiltily. Looked up, expression dazed, and blue eyes filled with sorrow. Immediately knew he’d read document I’d re-opened to edit, unsure if original is finished version.
Equal parts anger and dismay hit. It was so deeply personal my soul not just stripped bare but cracked wide open. ‘What are you doing?’ My voice whipped across the low-ceilinged room. ‘Was there a sign on the screen saying,please read me?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m on a half day at work because of flexitime, and got here to carry on sanding the floor. The laptop was just sitting here. I was worried about the security risk with all the deliveries for the stuff we’re doing ourselves, and your door being unlocked. The lid was open and…’ Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he slumped back in too-small wooden chair. ‘Holy fuck, Tori.’
Crossed my arms across chest. ‘Did you have to read the whole thing? Could’ve stopped at the first paragraph, you know.’
