position than business. She gagged on the bile that rose in the back of her throat. He honestly thought she didn’t know what he was up to. That was all part of the excitement for him, thinking that he was doing something she wasn’t aware of. But this time she had confronted him, bravely calling his bluff. Jack had lost his temper putting his fist through a door, screaming and shaking as if on the verge of a fit, he had branded her mentally insane and irrational. Even her daughter believed she was deranged. How could she think any different? The child adored her father; he could do no wrong.
For years she had hoarded money. The odd ten pound note here and there, carefully tucked away. Two months ago she had found the courage to open a bank account in her own name. Now she had escaped his tyranny, she was free. Clutching her handbag she nervously scanned the platform.
With the knowledge that she wasn’t going to starve any time soon, Grace made her way from the station and onto the busy streets of York. She had her freedom; all she had to do was figure out what to do with it.
********
She lifted her hand to her cheek as the familiar sting of winter hit her face. An air of urgency and purpose had come over the city. The light began to dim and Grace realised that nightfall was fast approaching. Tiny flakes of snow drifted from a heavily laden sky. She fixed her eyes on the orange glow of a street light and watched the snow as it floated to the ground. A knot of fear and loneliness tightened in her stomach as she scanned a narrow street to the side of the Minster.
Solitude had become her sanctuary, but just at the moment, Grace’s heart weighed heavily and her thoughts strayed to home. She wondered when her absence would be noticed or whether anyone would actually care. She doubted they would. Her own mother and father believed she was neurotic, spoilt and tottering on the edge of a fashionable nervous break-down. Jenny thought her the devil itself and as for Jack, she was quite convinced the only thing he would miss was his verbal punch-bag. Oh, and perhaps his housekeeper and cook, but he could hire one of those just as easily. She understood all this, yet still she missed the familiarity of home. But she reminded herself, she was free and no amount of stomach churning and homesickness was going to drive her back to that man. Filling her lungs with much needed air, she headed for the door, above which hung a sign advertising ‘The Cavalier Hotel’.
As with most buildings in the inner-city of York, this modernised townhouse lay in the shadows of the Minster. In fact it stood rather dwarfed beside the Minster. It was comfortable, clean and not too expensive. Her room had a small en-suite bathroom, a television, a double bed, a single free-standing wooden wardrobe and a small desk on which stood a kettle and two cups.
“This will do very nicely,” she whispered to the generic, nameless portrait on the wall as she set her suitcase in the corner by the window. Turning to face the portrait, she studied it silently.
“Who were you?” she said, addressing the portrait once more. “Your eyes tell me you were a kind man, but not one I would like to be on the wrong side of either. Well, I guess we are kinda stuck with each other, at least until I can find some real people to talk to. So, what do you say, shall we have a coffee?” Grace lifted the lid of the kettle and made her way into the en-suite.
“How do you like your coffee?” she called to the portrait as she rinsed the kettle and filled it with clean water. “Always better to rinse these things out, you never know how long they have been left standing.”
Returning the kettle to its base she flicked the switch.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. Was that... ” she stopped and stared at the portrait, “... you look like a black coffee type of man to me. So shall we call it black, no sugar? Of course you don’t want sugar.
For years she had hoarded money. The odd ten pound note here and there, carefully tucked away. Two months ago she had found the courage to open a bank account in her own name. Now she had escaped his tyranny, she was free. Clutching her handbag she nervously scanned the platform.
With the knowledge that she wasn’t going to starve any time soon, Grace made her way from the station and onto the busy streets of York. She had her freedom; all she had to do was figure out what to do with it.
********
She lifted her hand to her cheek as the familiar sting of winter hit her face. An air of urgency and purpose had come over the city. The light began to dim and Grace realised that nightfall was fast approaching. Tiny flakes of snow drifted from a heavily laden sky. She fixed her eyes on the orange glow of a street light and watched the snow as it floated to the ground. A knot of fear and loneliness tightened in her stomach as she scanned a narrow street to the side of the Minster.
Solitude had become her sanctuary, but just at the moment, Grace’s heart weighed heavily and her thoughts strayed to home. She wondered when her absence would be noticed or whether anyone would actually care. She doubted they would. Her own mother and father believed she was neurotic, spoilt and tottering on the edge of a fashionable nervous break-down. Jenny thought her the devil itself and as for Jack, she was quite convinced the only thing he would miss was his verbal punch-bag. Oh, and perhaps his housekeeper and cook, but he could hire one of those just as easily. She understood all this, yet still she missed the familiarity of home. But she reminded herself, she was free and no amount of stomach churning and homesickness was going to drive her back to that man. Filling her lungs with much needed air, she headed for the door, above which hung a sign advertising ‘The Cavalier Hotel’.
As with most buildings in the inner-city of York, this modernised townhouse lay in the shadows of the Minster. In fact it stood rather dwarfed beside the Minster. It was comfortable, clean and not too expensive. Her room had a small en-suite bathroom, a television, a double bed, a single free-standing wooden wardrobe and a small desk on which stood a kettle and two cups.
“This will do very nicely,” she whispered to the generic, nameless portrait on the wall as she set her suitcase in the corner by the window. Turning to face the portrait, she studied it silently.
“Who were you?” she said, addressing the portrait once more. “Your eyes tell me you were a kind man, but not one I would like to be on the wrong side of either. Well, I guess we are kinda stuck with each other, at least until I can find some real people to talk to. So, what do you say, shall we have a coffee?” Grace lifted the lid of the kettle and made her way into the en-suite.
“How do you like your coffee?” she called to the portrait as she rinsed the kettle and filled it with clean water. “Always better to rinse these things out, you never know how long they have been left standing.”
Returning the kettle to its base she flicked the switch.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. Was that... ” she stopped and stared at the portrait, “... you look like a black coffee type of man to me. So shall we call it black, no sugar? Of course you don’t want sugar.
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