The Hanging Noose

Thirty-Five

Tommy and Polly sit in the living room of the house that once belonged to Reggie and Dottie. Polly rubs her face, wiping away the frown marks and the smudging of her makeup. She looks at Tommy with a tired look.

"How did I miss that she was being abused?" Polly asks in a quiet voice. "She's my little baby..."

"Pol, we all missed it," Tommy replies, sitting on the edge of his seat. He runs his hand up and down Polly's back.

"He abused her! You know what the first thing she said to me was when we walked in? When she told Reggie she was pregnant, it was to protect herself and her baby, form him. She told me all she could think about was how to protect her baby... what kind of monster was he?"

Tommy swallows a lump in his throat, "I had reservations about him," he says in a quiet voice as if he's trying not to upset his devastated aunt beside him, who looks at him with a curious glare.

"Thomas."

"He had told us that she didn't want to see us. That she was pregnant, and was severely ill. Arthur went round to hers one day, and said all the curtains were drawn closed. Knocked on the door for hours, said no one was home."

"She was home," Polly replies back, "when I came, I saw her downstairs. She was in the front room, the empty room. She was laying on the floor."

Tommy nods, "we all missed it, Pol... maybe if we hadn't of missed it, she wouldn't be scarred, but here we are."

"She's not scarred, she's just processing what's happened," Polly argues back. "Scarred is when your broken, when you can't be fixed..." her eyes pool with tears as she looks at Tommy, "she's not broken."

Tommy nods, grasping hold of Polly's hands. "Shes you all over, Pol. She's not broken, she never will be. We won't let her be."

Polly nods. "I hate how she is now... I can't help her, Tom... Im trying, but I can't. I don't know how to help her."

"I'll talk to Esme, see if we can get some of those herbs to get her to sleep and sort her head out. It's alright, Pol. We're all around, we'll all help." Tommy promises.

Nodding again, Polly sniffs, pulling her hands away to wipe her eyes. She sniffs again before speaking.
"Have you heard anything else from the Russians?"

—

Grace helps Dottie pack away her clothes. A large suitcase sits open on the floor, with clothes and sentimental items thrown on top of it messily. Grace had no idea what Reggie was like as a partner, but she had a feeling she would soon find out.

And she did, upon opening the top drawer in the oak chest of drawers. She pulls out two small bags of white powder.

"Why's there cocaine in the top drawer?" Grace asks in a hesitant voice. She turns round to Dottie, who sits cross legged on the bed folding up some clothes. She freezes when she hears Grace's question.
"Is it yours?"

Dottie tilts her head. "Kind of. He use to give me it mixed with water. He use to say it was to keep me from being sick."

Grace stares at Dottie. She drops the little bags down on to the oak wood and goes to sit beside Dottie.

"He took me to this doctor... the doctor wouldn't talk to me, only only talk to him. He said I was mental, but he didn't want me to be put away." Dottie looks down at her lap, fiddling with her hands.
"He mixed it with water. I didn't want to drink it. Most of the time he held me down..." Dottie's words trail off as tears begin to pool her eyes.

Grace is quick to comfort her, sitting next to her and pulling her in to her chest. She rubs the younger woman's back gently with her hands.
"It's alright," Grace coos, "you're not crazy, Dottie. I promise you're not, this is just the aftermath."