The Hanging Noose

Fourteen

Dottie had been to immersed in Reggie Smith to know what was going on in the outside world. To know what was going on with her family. She had no idea about how a night in a pub ended up to being the pub being burnt down. She had no idea how Micheal was later arrested, and had no further idea of Polly offering her body to an inspector. It was only when she came home to Micheal trying to dress some deep cuts and bruises on her face did he tell her.

"You're doing it wrong," she says, standing in the doorway of the bathroom that joins on to to Micheal's room. She has her arms crossed over her chest, her hair plaited.

Micheal grunts, "yeah well it's pretty fucking hard to do this yourself."

Dottie rolls her eyes before she walks over to where Micheal stands in front of the mirror. She takes hold of his chin, and uses a new antibacterial wipe on his cuts scattering his forehead and eyebrows.

"They're pretty deep. Where are they from?"

Micheal stares at Dottie, "prison."

"What?"

"I was in prison, Dots," Micheal says quietly, "you know the pub down the road? The Marquis of Lorne."

Dottie shrugs, "I haven't really been out of Small Heath."

"Yeah well... they refused to drink with Isiah and I, you know the lad around our age that works for Tom? That one? We went out after work, and ended up in a fight. Went back to the Garrison, and John and Arthur burnt it down."

Dottie frowns, "why did they burn it down? Hold still."

Micheal squirms in her hold. He winces as the tissue comes in contact with a particularly deep cup just above his eyebrow.

"For their reputation, apparently."

"Right. So why did you end up in prison?"

"The inspector is out to get Tommy," Micheal responds, "and you know what Mum did to get me out? She fucking slept with him, like a—"

Dottie pulls away. She smacks Micheal across the face harshly. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

He holds his face, staring at his sister.

"If Mum slept with him, then it wasn't willingly," Dottie responds, glaring at Micheal, "she would do anything for us. For you, including selling herself to save you."

"She didn't sell her self," Micheal grumbles, staring at Dottie as she glares with rage at him.

"Oh no? Well what did she do, Micheal? Because from what you've told me, she went in to his office and bargained her body for your freedom."

"She offered it."

"You're infuriating," Dottie hisses, "are you even listening to yourself? Your mother, our mother, sold her body to the devil for your freedom."

Micheal doesn't respond, still holding his reddening cheek.

"He raped her, Micheal. And you're acting like the fucking victim. Do better, Micheal! Now come here, otherwise those cuts will get infected."

Micheal doesn't say much else as he allows Dottie to clean away the blood and gore from the cuts. He looks at her concentrating, trying to remember the last time he saw her so commuted to something. To someone.

"How's things going with Reggie? Is that his name?"

"Good," Dottie vaguely says, "he's alright. I like him."

"Yeah? I haven't seen much of you since my birthday."

"I've been keeping my distance," Dottie admits sadly, "with your new job, I didn't want to stress you out. Plus I've been out with Reggie, we went shopping the other day. Bought me some real nice jewellery."

"Yeah? When do I get to meet him? Properly."

Dottie shrugs, "not too sure." She pulls away from his face, inspecting every cut and bruise, "you're all done. Just wash your face gently in the morning, and try not to drink."

Micheal nods, "alright. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You're sober," Micheal suddenly says, staring at her, "I can see it in your eyes. They aren't as big as usual. Because you're sober."

Dottie nods slowly, "I am... Reggie doesn't like me drinking."

"Oh."

"Micheal—"

"Dots... I hope you're not with Reggie constantly because of our argument. Because I do need you, Dots. I've always needed you."

Dottie tilts her head and smiles at him, "I know you do. Now get some rest, Ill be downstairs, if you need me."

Dottie did go downstairs. She was trying to find Polly, however she was no where to be seen. She searched every room downstairs, even the basement and Polly's servants rooms once they had agreed. The last place she looked was the bathroom that is joined on to Polly's room.

Dottie knocks on the door, pushing it open to see Polly, with her knees against her chest in her large bathtub.

"Hi Mum," Dottie says softly, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

Polly doesn't respond, instead she takes a long drag of a cigarette before tapping it against the side of the bath. The ash and cinders falling to the stoned floor.

"Can I come in?" She asks, not really expecting anything from Polly.

Polly meekly nods.

Dottie closes the door, walking further in to Polly's large bathroom. When she reaches the bathtub, she kneels down, pushing her plaits out of the way from her shoulders. She smiles at Polly, who's tear stained and hollow face stares back.

"Have you eaten, Mum?"

"I'm not hungry," Polly responds. Her voice quiet and meek, very different to her usual dominating voice.

"Can I do anything?"

Polly shakes her head, staring at her daughter.

"Micheal told me what happened... and I want you to know..." Dottie's words trail off.

Polly turns her head, her eyes staring at her daughter. She crushed her cigarette against the bathtub.

"I want you to know, Mum, what that man did to you, has nothing to do with you, or your loving maternal instincts, or your smile, or your appearance. It had everything to do him."

A stray tear rolls down Polly's face. She's quick to wipe it away.

"He's a pig, who deserves a slow torturous death. I will gladly give it to him."

"He's not worth it, my sweet girl."

Polly's voice is croaky and scratchy. As if she's been crying for the past hour or more. And, evident from her tear stained cheeks, that's what she's been doing.

"I had a go at Micheal," Dottie adds, "slapped him. Told him he should be better. He should do better."

Polly chuckles a sad and little chuckle. A force laugh. "He's a man."

"Yes, but he's been brought up by me," Dottie reminds her, "he's a man, with a woman's heart and feelings inside of him. He'll come to his senses, and he'll apologise to you."

Shaking her head, another year rolls down Polly's cheeks. "He's right. They all are. I'm a—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Mum. You're many things, but you're not a whore, or anything like that. A whore wouldn't sacrifice her own happiness for her child's freedom. A whore wouldn't make sure that her niece and nephews were fed and clothed when she was still mourning her own children. A whore wouldn't give up everything just to make her children happy. A whore wouldn't buy her son a watch and allow her daughter to say she had brought it just to prove to him she's a good sister. A whore wouldn't do that, but you know who? You would. So don't you ever say anything like that again, or I will slap you just like I did to Micheal just to get you to apologise."

Polly raises an eyebrow. "Try touching me, and we'll see who will be apologising."

Dottie cheers, sitting back slightly. "Eh! That's my mum! Welcome back, Mama."