A Dish of Stones Read online

  A Dish of Stones

  Copyright © 2014 - Valentina Hepburn

  www.valentinahepburn.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be stored

  in a retrieval system or transmitted, or

  reproduced in any form except for the inclusion of

  brief quotations in review, without permission

  in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are products

  of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Tim Pryor of Pryority Designs

  http://www.pryoritydesignstudio.com

  For everyone who has gritted their teeth against adversity, negotiated the stormy seas of turbulent emotions and stayed resolutely strong when at their most vulnerable...

  this story is for you.

  ‘Life can be a bowl of cherries. Sometimes it’s a dish of stones.’

  It's 1975, the middle of a fabulous, wild decade when rebellious teenagers dance to the parent-defying music of Glam-Rock. Kate McGuire longs to be like other 16-year-old girls but she has something else on her mind, like the whereabouts of her missing father, Joe, and how to avoid her mother's fists. The parental role has fallen on Kate's shoulders, but her sister has her own unique way of surviving the fall-out of Joe's disappearance. Wayward and independent, fifteen-year-old Emma sacrifices her innocence to find the intimacy and lifestyle she craves resulting in a chain of events even the engaging and resolute Kate finds almost impossible to solve.

  “I’m a blank canvas soaking up the colours of everyone’s feelings leaving no room to paint my own. This is the picture that illustrates my life. I don’t know who I am anymore. If someone somewhere puts my story into words, I hope they know what’s in my heart and write a happy ending.”

  Kate McGuire - 1975

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 1

  Kate McGuire hurried across King Henry’s Square, side-stepping the boisterous crowd as it surged towards her like a tidal wave. “Will you get a move on, Emma, for goodness sake,” she cried, frowning over her shoulder to a younger girl dawdling a few feet behind her.

  Snow tumbled silently onto the bustle of Christmas shoppers on the grey streets of Willowbridge, the first tiny flakes of winter glistening like shards of glass on their uncovered heads. The leaden sky suddenly surrendered its icy cargo and the children running around Hatters Market stopped suddenly, their eyes wide and shining as they looked up into the heavens. They held out their hands to catch the soft, fluffy flakes then shrieked with excitement, their cold, red cheeks, wobbling with laughter.

  Kate shivered as the bitter wind penetrated every inch of her skin; the freezing air cleaving into her flesh and freezing her. Fifteen year old Emma trailed behind eating a hot pie from a paper bag. She meandered through the crowd, efficiently avoiding anyone who crossed her path. “You’re crazy, Kate,” she said, her mouth full of pie. “Look,” she cried. “You're panicking and you’re only a little way in front of me.”

  Putting the last piece of pie into her mouth she licked each of her fingers in turn, then rolled the bag into a tight ball and flicked it into the gutter.

  “You’re such a litter-bug,” said Kate. Emma grinned. “Do you want me to help you with your bags?”

  “Oh, please, Princess Emma. Don't put yourself out on my account.” Emma smirked then bent unenthusiastically towards the bags, testing them for weight, choosing the lighter of the two. “Come on then,” she said, curtly. “I thought we were in a hurry.” Kate scowled at Emma, her eyes on her sister’s back as she took off down the street.

  “You should’ve had a pasty, Kate,” Emma called to her wistfully. “The one I had has really warmed me through. My hands feel all tingly because it was so hot.”

  “There was only enough money left over from the housekeeping for one, Emma. P’raps we could’ve shared it.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  They made their way through the crowd dodging people as they went. The pinpoint beams from endless strings of fairy-lights sparkled seductively from the shop windows of stores selling every kind of gift to entice the shoppers of Willowbridge; beckoning those with money in their pockets to go in and part with their cash.

  Kate looked up nervously as she rushed past her sister. The brightness of the lights seemed to merge into one and she winced, dazzled by the gaudy glare. It hadn't been so long ago she had felt as joyful and excited by the anticipation of Christmas Day as the delighted children around her. As the crowd began to thin out a little, Kate’s walking pace increased to a run, her long, black hair streaming out behind her, nervous perspiration rolling in droplets down her back.

  An old woman shuffled down the congested street, taking up most of the pavement, oblivious to the people around her. As Kate stepped off the footpath to get past her she twisted her ankle, pain ripping through her foot as she stepped into the gutter. She cried out, cursing loudly. The old woman scowled as she walked away, looking at Kate with indignant eyes, indifferent to her mumbled apology.

  “Kate, for God’s sake, I can’t keep up with you. You nearly knocked that old woman over. Can’t you be more careful? What’s worrying you about getting home anyway? Why would anyone be in a hurry to get back there?” Kate’s eyes clouded over. Rubbing her ankle she leant against a shop window. “Last time I was late with the shopping she cut the leaves off the plants in my bedroom and ripped up my homework. The time before that she tipped a jug of water over my bed to pay me back, oh... and I got a beating too. What would you do if you were me, Emma?”

  “Sorry,” said Emma in a low voice. “I didn’t know.”

  “You know, Emma. You just pretend it’s not happening.”

  As they turned off the main road, the tinny sound of Christmas Carols playing over the Town Hall's speakers got fainter and fainter until they could no longer be heard. By the time they’d turned onto their street, a stitch gnawed at Kate’s side. She set her bag down on the pavement and bent forward from her waist, holding onto a fence that had lost some of its panels. The gap left revealed an untidy garden, the final resting place of an old washing machine and a chair; the insides hanging out in a tangle of springs and grey wool. A makeshift line of dingy washing tied between two lifeless trees had been left out for days and was stiff with ice.

  “Are you all right, Kate?”

  “Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry. It's just a stitch, that's all.”

  “I'm always sick when I get a stitch,” said Emma, pulling a face.

  “It’s a good thing it was me t
hat got it and not you then. Come on. We need to get back.”

  As they got nearer to home the atmosphere changed dramatically as the sights and smells of Christmas evaporated into the cold air. Drifts of litter left strewn about dirty roads that hadn’t seen a street cleaner for years had blown into the gutters and shabby, uncared for front gardens. Nomadic cats and dogs dumped by their owners, roamed the streets fouling the pavements and scavenging for food.

  “I’m going to Jenny’s now,” announced Emma, leaving her bag in the middle of the pavement. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ears with thin, pale fingers. This habitual action accentuated her slender face and her prominent cheekbones were nipped red with cold, making them appear even more pronounced.

  “But it’s over the other side of town,” Kate cried. “Does Mum know about it?” Emma laughed. “Don’t be daft. Anyway, even if I’d told her she wouldn’t remember. I can’t see the point of telling her anything.” She stopped and looked around her, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “Why is our street the worst street on the estate? The other streets are OK. Look over there at Victoria Gardens. The houses are lovely, really pretty and well-looked after. Why can’t we live there?”

  “Mum and Dad have always lived in Sunningdale Terrace. It’s our home. We come from a respectable home.” Emma snorted. “What? There you go again, kidding yourself we’re the same as everyone else. Some home. Anyway, you should be pleased for me I'm going. They eat nice food at Jenny’s house, and if I get there in time Jenny's mum will give me a dinner.” Emma hopped from one foot to the other eager to get away to have some fun. Kate nodded.

  “OK. But don’t forget how quickly it gets dark. You should try to leave Jenny’s before then,” she said, knowing Emma probably wouldn’t bother. “Have a good time,” Kate called after her, but Emma had already disappeared around the corner, eager to get to the relative luxury of her friend's home and hoped for dinner.

  Kate tried not to look too closely at her surroundings as she made her way up the street. She swallowed down her sadness as she continued alone, walking more slowly now, her eyes on the distant front door of her home as the familiar feelings of dejection closed in on her forming a clamp around her heart; squeezing the life out of her hopes and dreams. The sorrow she felt each time she was in the street sometimes reduced her to tears. Right now they pricked provocatively under her eyelids. It would have been so easy to give in. The effort it took not to cry left her with an ache in her throat.

  A sudden wind raced down the street, startling her as it whipped up the discarded litter that had settled in the gutter. She narrowed her eyes and bent her chin to her chest as the squall turned the silent snowfall into an icy twister. A spiral of crisp packets and old cigarette cards flew haphazardly above her head as everything was whisked up by the momentum into the vortex. The whirling motion of the wind died down as abruptly as it had started, allowing the eddying debris to float gently to the ground with the falling snow. All was quiet again.

  Kate thought the neglected street looked much better under a blanket of fresh snow, even if there were no twinkling fairy-lights or glittering trees shimmering from behind the windows. Someone had made a wreath out of an old metal clothes hanger and some ivy and hung it on a front door. Kate giggled in spite of the way she felt. Blue Peter’s got a lot to answer for she thought. Christmas Eve had arrived in Sunningdale Terrace.

  ***

  The net curtain in the front window of number fifty-three fell back into place as Kate got closer to the house. Her step faltered for a moment when she saw the curtain move and she slowly inhaled a breath that got stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard and steadied herself, then unhitched the rusty front gate with her right knee. Pinheads of perspiration formed at her hairline and on her upper lip as icy fingers of dread slowly crept up her neck to her cheeks. Her face burned with anticipation.

  She made her way down the narrow passageway that ran the length of the house then rested the bags against the wall next to the back door. Her pounding heart pulsated in her ears as she reached for the handle. Turning it slowly she stepped cautiously into the kitchen.

  The house was quiet except for the low hum of the television that was permanently switched on, flickering changes of light and dark into the front room. Kate wondered where Angie was. She looked nervously at the clock above the kitchen sink. She wasn’t very late but it didn’t guarantee her safety. If Angie had a mind to she would lay into her whether she deserved it or not.

  The hurricane force of the blow that struck Kate on the side of her head sent her spinning sideways and crashing into the table and four chairs placed against the far wall. The chairs scattered across the floor, the leg of one splintering loudly leaving it up-ended and rocking.

  “Where the hell have you been, girl?”

  Angie McGuire stood menacingly over her daughter, watching Kate impassively as she struggled not to lose consciousness. She bent towards Kate and roughly grabbed at the front of her jacket, her snarling face and alcohol laced breath leaving Kate in no doubt that Angie had been enjoying her favourite tipple.

  “Did you hear me, girl?” Angie shouted. “You’re not deaf as well as stupid are you? Yeah, well maybe you are. You’re definitely stupid anyway and that’s a fact.”

  In her frustration she pushed Kate savagely away and staggered towards the draining- board and a half-empty wine bottle. She poured a measure into a glass, sloshing the liquid carelessly over the edge. Bending towards Kate she rested one hand cockily on her hip, the other cradling her glass. “And d’you know why?”

  Kate pushed her hands against her ears, trying to block out the sound of Angie’s voice as a sickening pain took hold across her forehead. She watched Angie warily as the seething woman propped herself up against the work-top. Angie struggled to keep her balance as alcohol began to take complete control of her senses. She frowned, her eyes oblivious to the scene in front of her as she tried desperately to pick up the threads of what had gone before. She seemed distracted as though she’d momentarily forgotten the reason for her anger. Then her eyes settled on the panic-stricken Kate.

  She raised the glass to her mouth and took a long swig. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she swayed back and forth, veering closer and closer to Kate who shrank back hard against the wall praying for a gap to open up so she could disappear. Angie sneered and laughed at her. “You look really scared,” she smirked. “Good.”

  Before Kate had time to protect herself, Angie swung her free hand towards her with her fingers curled into a claw, trying with all her might to scratch her daughter’s face. Kate ducked and ran for the door that led to the hallway. She fought frantically with the handle but as the door gave way and an overwhelming sense of relief flooded through her, she felt Angie’s fingers twisting in her hair. Angie shook her back and forth like a child shaking a rag doll. She turned a deaf-ear to Kate’s screams as she vented her anger. Kate sobbed as she tried to make Angie listen to her. “Mum. Stop. You’re killing me.”

  Angie’s fingers curled round the collar of Kate’s jacket, and with a strength summoned from her deepest reserves threw her across the kitchen while she skilfully held onto her precious glass. “You’re just like him,” she snarled, her eyes glassy with alcohol. “You look like him and you sound like him and you’re as gutless at he is. You’ve got the morals of an alley cat, same as ‘im. Who were you talkin’ to?”

  Kate pulled herself from the floor, trembling as she worked her way up against the door. This was the worst beating yet. She stood unsteadily hoping that by staying on her feet she could recover some of the dignity her mother had wrenched from her. Blood matted her hair into a sticky clump and her face was flushed bright red, except for around her eyes where the skin was translucent with terror. “I didn't speak to anyone, Mum.” Angie propelled her body forward, pouncing on her prey. “Liar,” she screamed. “You’re a liar just like that bastard.”

  She grabbed Kate’s arm. Kate tried to pull away but Angi
e’s nails dug into her through her jacket and into her flesh. “I know what you were up to, Kate McGuire, course I do. Do you think I fell off a Christmas tree for Chris’sake? You must think I’m bloody stupid. Chatting up them boys on the market weren’t you? Sex. That’s all girls of your age ever think about. Your father fell for it as well – a nice, juicy sixteen year old just ripe for the picking. I’ll stop you and your dirty ways.”

  In that moment; a moment stretching out before Kate like a never-ending tunnel, she knew exactly what her mother was going to do. Her body trembled with a primeval fear that rushed through her veins and entered every cell in her body. The hole under the hall floorboards was a place that held all of her nightmares; the dungeon where the monsters of her childhood lived. It was prison. It was burial.

  She forced herself to face Angie, desperate to end the nightmare. Never before had she received such violence from anyone, not even her mother who had beaten her repeatedly since her father left. She looked into Angie’s eyes hoping to find something there telling her there was some humanity left for her; that Angie couldn’t help her actions and hadn’t meant to hurt her. Her breathing gained momentum as she attempted to force the ascending panic to ground. Trying not to let the revulsion show on her face as Angie’s breath filled her nostrils and hit the back of her throat she pleaded with her and cajoled her, desperate to placate her.

  “Mum,” she said, her voice terrorised to a whisper. “I promise I didn’t speak to anyone when I was at the market today because I knew you wouldn’t want me to. Go and sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea. You need to rest. I can make tea for us tonight so there’s no need for you to worry about anything.”

  Angie’s eyes didn’t move from Kate’s while she spoke. A triumphant smirk unfolded across her face as she shook her head patronisingly from side to side. “Oh, my Lord, Katie McGuire. What a wonderful performance. You’re going for the Oscar aren’t you?” Her eyes hardened. “You’re a liar and you know what I like to do with liars. Get your arse into that hole.”