current achievement rate ten instead of eight? What’s missing from the picture you had in your head?"
"I don’t know," Catherine admitted. "I have everything that I ever wanted, everything that I vowed I would have, everything that she said I’d never… I’m happy. I don’t understand. It’s Tim who wanted me to come here," she said, feeling the words fall out of her mouth.
"It may have been Tim’s idea but there’s a shortfall between the image of how the dream would be and the actuality of it in real life. It’s one of the things we need to find out about."
"But my children don’t suffer," she protested.
"By your standards that may be true," Emily offered, kindly.
"But…"
"I’m not here to judge you, Catherine. "I’m here to help you. You provide for your daughters but…"
"I love my children," Catherine protested hotly. "I work hard to make sure that they want for nothing. I get up early and work late to ensure that…"
"Okay, thank you. That’s very interesting but it’s not where I want to start work."
"You think there’s work to be done?" Catherine asked, dumbfounded.
Emily smiled kindly. "Yes, Catherine I think there’s a lot of work to be done."
Chapter 8 – Alex
Alex leaned across the sink to get closer to the mirror. The scissors were poised high above her head while she tried to gauge the reflective hand cutting her hair. The half bottle of vodka was doing little to assist her.
As she aimed the scissors at the section just behind her fringe the phone started to ring, startling her. She cursed and re-positioned her hand, no intention of answering the phone. It was probably Jay and she didn’t want to talk to him.
She’d successfully avoided him since the day after she’d stayed at Nikki’s. Since the moment she’d popped to the supermarket and refilled her alcohol supply. At the bottom of the first bottle she’d found the vague memory of a promise to her friend.
The realisation that it was already broken had forced her to open another bottle. Halfway through that she had resolved that it really hadn’t been a firm promise anyway. It was like the pact she’d made with Catherine as a child. She remembered whey they’d both pricked a thumb and held the blood together, promising that they would always take care of each other. It was that kind of promise. The type that you meant at the time but had no hope of keeping. Empty.
The phone stopped ringing and then started again. Her jaws clenched with irritation. Why the fuck did people do that? She obviously wasn’t home so why keep bugging her?
She held out the sides of her hair, stretching locks to the middle of her ear. Perfect. Another couple of snips and her hair was exactly how she liked it. Short.
The sink was full of black, pin like debris. She looked back to the mirror half expecting her mother to be standing behind her, a murderous look on her face as she had when Alex was seven years old.
She'd only wanted to trim her fringe. All her friends had sported shorter, tidier styles, ideal for running and gymnastics.
It was a school day so Mummy would brush it again with the silver comb that stabbed her head like a hundred pins. She’d tried not to turn too many times in the night so that it wouldn’t get so tangled but she could see the knots running from close to her head to where her hair rested against her upper arm.
Mummy refused to cut it, however much she begged. Catherine and Beth had shorter hair so why couldn’t she?
Alex tiptoed into the bathroom, an idea occurring to her. She closed the toilet lid and stood on it to stretch to the bathroom cabinet. Behind the mirrored panel was a pair of black-handled scissors.
Alex jumped off the
"I don’t know," Catherine admitted. "I have everything that I ever wanted, everything that I vowed I would have, everything that she said I’d never… I’m happy. I don’t understand. It’s Tim who wanted me to come here," she said, feeling the words fall out of her mouth.
"It may have been Tim’s idea but there’s a shortfall between the image of how the dream would be and the actuality of it in real life. It’s one of the things we need to find out about."
"But my children don’t suffer," she protested.
"By your standards that may be true," Emily offered, kindly.
"But…"
"I’m not here to judge you, Catherine. "I’m here to help you. You provide for your daughters but…"
"I love my children," Catherine protested hotly. "I work hard to make sure that they want for nothing. I get up early and work late to ensure that…"
"Okay, thank you. That’s very interesting but it’s not where I want to start work."
"You think there’s work to be done?" Catherine asked, dumbfounded.
Emily smiled kindly. "Yes, Catherine I think there’s a lot of work to be done."
Chapter 8 – Alex
Alex leaned across the sink to get closer to the mirror. The scissors were poised high above her head while she tried to gauge the reflective hand cutting her hair. The half bottle of vodka was doing little to assist her.
As she aimed the scissors at the section just behind her fringe the phone started to ring, startling her. She cursed and re-positioned her hand, no intention of answering the phone. It was probably Jay and she didn’t want to talk to him.
She’d successfully avoided him since the day after she’d stayed at Nikki’s. Since the moment she’d popped to the supermarket and refilled her alcohol supply. At the bottom of the first bottle she’d found the vague memory of a promise to her friend.
The realisation that it was already broken had forced her to open another bottle. Halfway through that she had resolved that it really hadn’t been a firm promise anyway. It was like the pact she’d made with Catherine as a child. She remembered whey they’d both pricked a thumb and held the blood together, promising that they would always take care of each other. It was that kind of promise. The type that you meant at the time but had no hope of keeping. Empty.
The phone stopped ringing and then started again. Her jaws clenched with irritation. Why the fuck did people do that? She obviously wasn’t home so why keep bugging her?
She held out the sides of her hair, stretching locks to the middle of her ear. Perfect. Another couple of snips and her hair was exactly how she liked it. Short.
The sink was full of black, pin like debris. She looked back to the mirror half expecting her mother to be standing behind her, a murderous look on her face as she had when Alex was seven years old.
She'd only wanted to trim her fringe. All her friends had sported shorter, tidier styles, ideal for running and gymnastics.
It was a school day so Mummy would brush it again with the silver comb that stabbed her head like a hundred pins. She’d tried not to turn too many times in the night so that it wouldn’t get so tangled but she could see the knots running from close to her head to where her hair rested against her upper arm.
Mummy refused to cut it, however much she begged. Catherine and Beth had shorter hair so why couldn’t she?
Alex tiptoed into the bathroom, an idea occurring to her. She closed the toilet lid and stood on it to stretch to the bathroom cabinet. Behind the mirrored panel was a pair of black-handled scissors.
Alex jumped off the
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