if abusers are absent it’s easy to see things in black and white. They’re not there to cloud the issues,” she said. Maureen looked a bit confused. “Abusers come to personalize the damage they’ve done. You think that if you kill him, you’ll undo the damage he’s done, but you won’t.”
She was exactly right. It was one of the bizarre aspects of being in the group: other people would know what Maureen was thinking, sometimes before she articulated it to herself. It felt a little uncomfortable, like hanging about with a bunch of psychics, several of whom she didn’t like very much.
“I haven’t decided to do anything yet,” she said quietly.
Sheila watched calmly as Maureen pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, sucking down the sense of wild panic. The fag scratched her throat as she inhaled. She liked it and inhaled again, making herself light-headed.
“My grandfather,” Sheila waved her hand to the past”he got my mum as well. No one talked about such things then. She had an eating problem, drink and drugs. Dead at thirty-eight. I wanted to kill him for her because she never had a chance.”
“But you didn’t,” said Maureen, knowing full well that the old man had died in a nursing home at the ripe old age of eighty-eight, surrounded by family and friends. His funeral had been well attended, his obituary had been in all the local papers and one national paper because of his position on the board of a charity for blind people.
Sheila ignored her. “It’s a fairly typical gut response, you know, but you have to unpack it, look at what’s in there, look at your real motives for doing it. You mentioned your sister’s pregnant?”
Maureen nodded.
“Baby’s important,” said Sheila, “but probably not as important as it seems. It might be an excuse, you know, to do what you want to do anyway. If you don’t value yourself enough to make a stand but you’re still angry, you might be channeling it into saving someone else. It’s easy to confuse what’s good for Baby and what you want. People do that all the time. Have you phoned Social Services about Baby?”
“If I do they’ll tell the police,” said Maureen, uncomfortable with Sheila’s reference to the child as if it were Lord High Muck-a-Muck.
“Is that out of the question? Filing a report doesn’t mean you go to court.”
“I’ve had trouble with the police,” said Maureen.
Sheila looked at the tip of her cigarette and Maureen could tell she was wondering whether to say it.
“I know Hugh’s a policeman,” said Maureen. “I’ve been interviewed by the police and it was fucking horrible. You know how hard it is to talk about it. The very last thing I ever want to do is to try and explain it all to them.”
Sheila nodded. “Maureen,” she said, “think about this. You’re more than the sum of his actions, much more. Look, you haven’t been in the group that long but we do make progress. We can recover. He’s already stolen your childhood, don’t give him your adulthood as well.”
Maureen was dismayed that Sheila didn’t understand. “Sheila, he’s got my adulthood. I see him everywhere, I feel him everywhere. I can’t have a relationship with a man because of it, I can’t hold down a job. I don’t know why my friends stay with me, I can’t even look at myself in a normal mirror. D’ye understand? I have to use a magnifying mirror because I can’t stand looking at more than a wee fragment of my face at a time.”
Sheila waited for her to calm down. “You know,” she said softly, “people who haven’t been abused have trouble with those things too. They’re bloody hard, probably the hardest things there are in life.”
She smiled and Maureen smiled back. Sheila’s eyes were creamy brown and her voice was kind. “Think of the life you could have if you used all this energy to get over it. But if you do this thing, you’ll be making him the most important event in your life, ever.
She was exactly right. It was one of the bizarre aspects of being in the group: other people would know what Maureen was thinking, sometimes before she articulated it to herself. It felt a little uncomfortable, like hanging about with a bunch of psychics, several of whom she didn’t like very much.
“I haven’t decided to do anything yet,” she said quietly.
Sheila watched calmly as Maureen pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, sucking down the sense of wild panic. The fag scratched her throat as she inhaled. She liked it and inhaled again, making herself light-headed.
“My grandfather,” Sheila waved her hand to the past”he got my mum as well. No one talked about such things then. She had an eating problem, drink and drugs. Dead at thirty-eight. I wanted to kill him for her because she never had a chance.”
“But you didn’t,” said Maureen, knowing full well that the old man had died in a nursing home at the ripe old age of eighty-eight, surrounded by family and friends. His funeral had been well attended, his obituary had been in all the local papers and one national paper because of his position on the board of a charity for blind people.
Sheila ignored her. “It’s a fairly typical gut response, you know, but you have to unpack it, look at what’s in there, look at your real motives for doing it. You mentioned your sister’s pregnant?”
Maureen nodded.
“Baby’s important,” said Sheila, “but probably not as important as it seems. It might be an excuse, you know, to do what you want to do anyway. If you don’t value yourself enough to make a stand but you’re still angry, you might be channeling it into saving someone else. It’s easy to confuse what’s good for Baby and what you want. People do that all the time. Have you phoned Social Services about Baby?”
“If I do they’ll tell the police,” said Maureen, uncomfortable with Sheila’s reference to the child as if it were Lord High Muck-a-Muck.
“Is that out of the question? Filing a report doesn’t mean you go to court.”
“I’ve had trouble with the police,” said Maureen.
Sheila looked at the tip of her cigarette and Maureen could tell she was wondering whether to say it.
“I know Hugh’s a policeman,” said Maureen. “I’ve been interviewed by the police and it was fucking horrible. You know how hard it is to talk about it. The very last thing I ever want to do is to try and explain it all to them.”
Sheila nodded. “Maureen,” she said, “think about this. You’re more than the sum of his actions, much more. Look, you haven’t been in the group that long but we do make progress. We can recover. He’s already stolen your childhood, don’t give him your adulthood as well.”
Maureen was dismayed that Sheila didn’t understand. “Sheila, he’s got my adulthood. I see him everywhere, I feel him everywhere. I can’t have a relationship with a man because of it, I can’t hold down a job. I don’t know why my friends stay with me, I can’t even look at myself in a normal mirror. D’ye understand? I have to use a magnifying mirror because I can’t stand looking at more than a wee fragment of my face at a time.”
Sheila waited for her to calm down. “You know,” she said softly, “people who haven’t been abused have trouble with those things too. They’re bloody hard, probably the hardest things there are in life.”
She smiled and Maureen smiled back. Sheila’s eyes were creamy brown and her voice was kind. “Think of the life you could have if you used all this energy to get over it. But if you do this thing, you’ll be making him the most important event in your life, ever.
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