Authors: Joy Hindle
“Not an ounce of sympathy,” Caroline had been mulling over Bri’s words as she now recalled them. She tossed restlessly all night. Had he meant such condemnation? Surely all they had discovered about his proposed appeal confirmed not.
Were they all mad, appealing against the punishment for such atrocities?
“Face it,” a voice in Caroline’s head reprimanded her. “She killed your granddaughter. What do you expect? She killed her dad – murder of two flesh and blood relatives, world news. You are as bad as her if you think you should appeal.”
Not an ounce of sympathy, whether it be the result of nature or nurture, it must be true. Even if Bri clearly was going to argue that she was pre-programmed and, even if she was, how could you let a double murderess go free? They were just kidding themselves. What could they hope to achieve? Why were they bothering?
It suddenly seemed so pathetic, what would the costs be, would any lawyer be prepared to represent them? Would anybody listen to all this determinism nonsense? Surely they were just prolonging the pain with false hope.
“It’s my business. Keep your nose out,” she vowed she could hear Bri’s voice from his comatose body but as she looked down at the bulk, it lay motionless. She knew it was just the voice she would always know from all her children; she knew each inside out, the exact words they would utter in every conceivable circumstance.
Yet another sob as she heard Sadie.
“Mum, help me, Mum, please.”
Those words confirmed for her that she had no option but to ensure they all carried on Bri’s work.
“God, help us,” she muttered. To tell the truth, Caroline had become quite religious over the years.
She had become a regular worshipper at the local church where she had discovered non-judgemental support throughout all her issues, the alcoholism, her divorce, the multitude of never-ending Sadie problems, the heartbreak when Oliver emigrated.
She wracked her brains trying to remember the content of the various sermons she had endured over the years. Some went over her head when she had been so mentally troubled. She had sat through so many services for refuge and peace.
Bits had filtered through, though, and she felt she had grasped the basic teachings of the Christian faith.
Would her vicar continue to support her when he heard they were having the audacity to appeal against that heinous crime? Why didn’t she ring him?
Faithful as always, Rev Tu was installed on Caroline’s sumptuous brown soft leather sofa within the hour, sipping away at a heavily sugared, fine boned china, cup of tea. Chocolate muffin hovering in his hand, within biting distance, he earnestly began to answer her desperate questions.
She shouldn’t have been shocked at his tolerant approach yet again.
“Well, Caroline. Love never dies. You are that girl’s mother, sorry Sadie’s mother, and if you feel led by the Lord to appeal on her behalf you surely must. However, I would ask you to balance that love and separate it from the raw emotion you are wrapped in. Are you supporting evil by starting the appeal or are you supporting the saving of a soul trapped in a pre-programmed genetic pool?
My stance has to start with the belief of my church – we are free autonomous agents because of Adam and Eve’s freedom in the Garden of Eden!”
“But isn’t it a myth?” Caroline desperately interrupted at this first hint of a hurdle to gaining the rev’s total backing. How good would it look in the court of appeal to be supported by the clergy?
“Whether one interprets the Adam and Eve story as myth or takes it literally, the fact remains, Caroline, that the whole Christian message is based on the belief that we are free as individuals to choose right from wrong. Sadie made a moral choice, despite any impulsiveness, to kill her own dad and child. She had the ability to say yes or no to all the drugs which eventually led to her increased mental instability.”
“Yes, but she didn’t have the freedom to escape from the mind she was born with,” Caroline pleaded, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “We have had this conversation so many times where she was always so clearly out of function with her peers right from nursery days. She always stuck out like a sore thumb.”
“I know, my dear,” the rev patted her arm. “I also know nobody could have nurtured that soul more than you, Caroline. I agree there has always been, always been . . .”
He was stuck for the correct phraseology.
“A screw loose!” Caroline offered up the glib words.
The rev looked at her, still unable to put words round what he wanted to say.
He tried another line of approach.
“Well, there are some Presbyterian churches that would follow your line of argument, Caroline. They believe God has already chosen who will be saved and subsequently go to heaven. Look,” he brought out a worn and shabby Bible from his huge overcoat pocket.
“Look at Romans 8: ‘For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his son.’ Arguably they believe that our actions in this world are irrelevant as it has already been decided who will be saved and who will not. In Sadie’s case they would probably support you, that she was already predestined to a life of crime.”
Caroline snuffled into her hanky. She was always totally honest with the reverend.
“Can Christians really believe that? What is the point of living if life is not a test?”
“Well, my dear, John Calvin was the biggest name for predestination and because of God’s omniscience He already knows what we’re going to be like and whether we want to be moral. He can therefore identify which morally willing folk will be predestined to go to heaven and which to hell.”
“You mean Sadie was born to go to hell?” Caroline gulped.
“No, my dear. It is all very complicated theology. By wanting to be moral we earn God’s grace but is there any evidence at all in Sadie’s life that she has ever wanted to be moral? God knows us. He doesn’t make us act or think in a certain way.”
Caroline nestled back into the armchair, closing her eyes.
“Plenty of times,” she spoke more calmly now as she began to recall the shimmers of light from the doomed soul.
“Let me tell you about them,” her soft mother’s voice cooed.
Rev Tu glanced at the clock. He really didn’t have time, he had a wedding in a couple of hours but this sheep of his needed the therapy right now, the therapy of unloading her soul and so he decided to sit back and listen. Brides were always late!
Caroline felt lost. Where did she start in clearing the dense undergrowth, to reveal to all Sadie’s purity of heart?
“Blessed are the pure in spirit, they shall see God,” words from one of the sermons came to her rescue. Yes, Sadie had some pureness in her soul but it was entangled by so many briars. She rubbed her forehead – by digging for evidence of her integral goodness was she actually going to pour water on Bri’s fire. If Sadie has goodness of spirit in there how could they appeal that she had no choice but to have committed those evil acts?
The Rev, a truly wise man, saw her hesitation to start.
“Caroline,” he urged her on. “Did Sadie travel down a road and choose which turnings to take or did she travel down a road with no turnings, just one fixed path? You have to be totally clear and honest on this point, my dear.”
“What a colourful juxtaposition!” Caroline graciously conceded.
“Let’s pray, my dear,” he continued, almost an instruction.
For the first time in her Christian journey, Caroline realised the place of speaking in tongues of which she had heard in yet another sermon. Her soul needed to speak to its creator, bypassing the trappings of her mixed-up mind.
She collapsed onto her knees by his calves. Like the shepherd he had always been, he took control and spoke to their father on her behalf. Peace and calm came to her and she knew then in her heart, that what would be would be, somehow, somewhere there was a purpose to all of this.
“Heavenly Father,
Thank you for your promise; blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. Help us to rest in that comfort now as you show us the righteous paths to take.
Thank you for your example in scripture where we see the hardened soul of Saul of Tarsus, Saul who sanctioned the murders of numerous Christians, a man surely guilty of genocide.
Saul, who would have been labelled by our courts, as is Sadie, a psychopath. As Saul he was fearless and ruthless, he was a habitual lawbreaker, remorseless.
Yet your son Jesus Christ appeared to him in a vision and he was transformed into one of the most important Christian leaders. He had been on his way to shed even more blood yet through your power we see the miracle of conversion and we pray for such a miracle to take place in Sadie’s life. Amen.”
Caroline had come to understand why age and experience are so honoured by the Chinese. She felt like a stone statue which had been painstakingly chiselled over the years. Checking her lipstick in her handbag mirror, she followed some of her wrinkles with her finger. All she had been through over the years had taken its toll physically on her but she had to acknowledge it had also knocked chunks off her selfish shell, made her a survivor. If only she could share the lessons from her life with the younger generation. Take her battle with the bottle . . . Yet another walk down memory lane.
*
Caroline’s diary lay unopened. Sadie’s eyes scanned it. She threw herself down on the bed next to it. “What she’s written in the diary stays in the diary,” she promised herself, “but she won’t mind me having a little read. She can trust me; she thinks she can’t, nobody thinks they can.”
Sadie propped herself up on the damask pillows and settled down for a little peek.
“I wake each day, promising that I won’t touch any alcohol. Each morning my head pounds, reminding me of the demons I’d downed the night before. My head feels foggy all morning. I can usually manage the morning without drink; in fact I don’t usually want one, feeling too ill from the night before. Lunches are hard, that’s when the temptations start. If I go out with the girls they all seem to think one glass of wine is acceptable. One glass for me will just lead to me wanting one more. I daren’t at work. I can’t afford to lose this job. Sometimes, though, I just can’t resist temptation and I order another drink at the bar on the way to the loo and take it with me, drink it in there. Don’t think the others notice, too busy gossiping! A few mints help to disguise things, mustn’t breathe alcohol fumes over the customers!
Driving home I am cautious in case I’m over the limit. I can’t always manage the self-control to drive past the supermarket. The warm liquid summons me. If I make it home without giving into temptation I have to make an excuse to pop straight to the loo when I get in. I have a good supply in there, hidden in the cabinet behind all the spare shampoo and bubble bath store! There are a few bottles in my wardrobe, some in the sideboard behind the posh china which we never use.”
Sadie made a mental note to check these out later!
“I don’t like to drink in front of Sadie and the boys. The alcohol doesn’t affect my relationship with them, I don’t think they notice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” Sadie thought aloud.
“Drink doesn’t make me violent; I still keep the house clean. I wait till they go to bed. Some nights I drink so much that I can’t even remember crawling into bed. I’m lucky Simon nods off so early and then sleeps like a baby. I am disappointed in myself. How did I get in this state? Sadie!!!”
“The bitch.” Sadie threw the diary across the patterned duvet. “Me? I get the blame from everyone in this house!”
She stretched out, retrieving it with her foot, dragging it up to herself, trying to find the page where she had left off.
Why had Caroline written all this?
“I am drunk nearly every night. I know I have high functioning alcoholism, surely a positive that I own up to it! First step to recovery, apparently! How can I live without it, though? Drink gives me freedom, power to conquer all that Sadie throws my way. A little wine after everybody else is asleep. And then I like to drink more and more. I am not a bad mother; I do not go out to drink and leave my children.
Each sip, pardon, gulp of wine makes me happier, makes me forget Sadie’s latest misdemeanours, rather her latest havoc, her latest shameful deed. The trouble is, I never get to the point where I believe I have had enough. At least drinking when they are all in bed means they don’t see me pass out. I always make sure I am on my bed and then what a shock when the alarm wakes me. The feelings of sickness, the headache, the dash to the loo are horrendous. I try to look decent for work. Each morning I promise myself it won’t happen again that night but the crescendo slowly builds up again during the day and I am back to the same old trap, the bottle controls me. I ask myself continually if Sadie was transformed could all this stop and I dare to believe it could!
Dear diary, I have decided to take on the big R – responsibility and I have signed up to an outpatient alcoholism and addiction treatment programme. The counselling will really help me as I know I drink differently to others. I want to get to make a pact. I want to drink moderately.
Simon never really sees me drunk; he’s a lark, not a night owl. The good thing is nobody else really knows I have a problem. Never mind if I can’t remember putting the light off; nobody else will realise either! I just slip the empty wine bottle into the village hall bottle bank on the next dog walk. Simon hasn’t a clue; our recycling bin is always empty! Simon is worried about my migraines and nags me to visit the doctor! He thinks I ought to get a flu injection next year because I have had several bouts this year when I just couldn’t manage work!”
Sadie sat there speechless for once! Wow! Her mum an alcoholic! Well, not such a surprise really but blaming her, the coward, the bully, she wasn’t quite sure what to label her but Sadie’s self-esteem had suddenly taken a massive dip. It was so obvious that Caroline believed Sadie was ruining Caroline’s life. She ran through to the bathroom and bolted the door, sat on the loo, grabbed Simon’s razor. Bright blood from her first cut brought her such relief.
Clasping toilet roll over her self-inflicted wounds she wandered back out to the bed. She picked up the diary. Her eyes noticed a discarded biro. She stretched for it! Red! Quite symbolic really! Where should she start?
A new page! A blank sheet. Well “Dear Diary” take this shit! She saw it as a weapon to wound Caroline where she had wounded her. Let her have the truth, let her tell it exactly as it was. Sadie didn’t usually write much, not one of her best skills at school.
“More detail, needed,” was always included in her marking feedback. Still, she could get to the point, however brief her diary account might be!
She actually found it quite therapeutic as her pen began to flow.
“The bloody nurse thought I didn’t care, she just looked through me, cold eyes, not speaking to my face as she told me how to lie down. No pleasant chit chats like with the older woman who was leaving when I got there. It was all so quick.
No ‘Are you sure, my dear?’. No ‘Will you be alright now?’ Just seemed to be in and out and yes, Mum, your half-formed grandchild was out, disposed of, just as quick and thoughtless as if I was popping in for a haircut. Done! You didn’t even notice that night I was more subdued than ever! Well, maybe if you’d managed me better, Mum, maybe I wouldn’t have been up the spout and you know what, now I have started you might as well know the full story. Your diary blames me enough! Well Mum, that day wasn’t the first time. They all thought I didn’t care but you know what, Mum, it’s a bit like your alcoholism, it’s addictive sleeping around and just as you have obviously found ways to disguise your sins, to cover up the truth, I bet you didn’t think I’d had three abortions. Well you know me, Mum, not a planner, not organised enough to get the Pill sorted. Had my fair share of STDs too, Mum, now, if I could spell them I’d jot them down here for you.
SO MUM perhaps we can be equal now, you blaming me in this bloody book and me shocking the pants off you, and you know what, thanks for the info on the booze pile, off to raid it now and do you know what else, Mum, just to make you sorry, maybe guilty for all the shit you blame me for in this stupid book, I’m going to take a few pills first, your pills and your booze, get ready, Mum, for one big guilt trip. Your loving daughter, Sadie X”
Caroline had managed to get the ambulance just in time; it was touch and go as they pumped her stomach. The diary had been left wide open as a subconscious call for help.
The incident had amazingly brought them both closer together. It was the push Caroline needed to get to grips with her alcoholism. She fully embraced all the help Simon encouraged her to participate in when he discovered the full extent of her problems.
Sadie had agreed to go on the Pill. She had opened up to Caroline about her promiscuousness. She appeared to be willing to discuss the reasons she lacked so much self-respect. They had spent nights, the two of them confiding in each other, homely nights huddling together, apparently helping each other to sort their life out. Caroline had sorted her life out from then on.
Looking back, Caroline realised Sadie had been relishing the attention she got from all these cosy one-to-one secret chats, discussing such intimacies. There had in reality been no real long-term change in Sadie’s participation in one-night-stands and shallow relationships. Evidence of her prostitution had been used by the prosecution as they painted the picture of what a terrible mother she had been to little Molly.