“I’ll have a quick shower. Don’t worry about the fish. I’ll gut them later.”
I watch him disappear into the laundry where he installed a makeshift shower. Sometimes, I could shake him. It’s easy to go with the flow when you’re not the target of people’s gossip.
Chapter Three
Lilly: 1 March 2017, Midday, Wright’s Homestead
I’m pleasantly surprised seeing Elise arguing with Scottie. We seem to have more in common than I thought. I’ve always likened her to Switzerland—you know—the neutral goody-two-shoes country; clean, pristine, always trying to get it right for everyone, and certainly never starting a war.
A lovely warmth of finding a kindred spirit spreads through me. Though it’s still too early to tell, we might be on the same page. Who would have thought? I don’t even mind she’s about to retreat inside.
“You and me both, girl. You can bet your precious loom I would love to shake him too. It’s easy for him to say, Don’t pay attention to what people think. They are not talking about him that way, are they? He’s the local do-gooder who’s down for a hero’s medal for putting up with us.”
I’m giving Elise a nudge. “And what about you? I had you down for playing happy families renovating the homestead and all that goes with it. I was sure you’d tell him next you want to have his child.”
The moment the words leave my mouth I know I’ve overstepped the mark.
“I’m sorry.”
“You know we can’t have children. You told me so yourself. But you are right. I’d love to have a child… his child.”
She shrugs at the pain that ripples through our body at that moment. I wish Elise would shout at me or something. Anything would be better than the resigned acceptance and the sense of emptiness echoing through the Tribe. We’ve been here before. It’s another choice the abuse took away from us.
“Anyhow, I’m too old now. I have the Tribe, that’s more than enough.”
Her pragmatism puts me to shame. It’s not martyrdom or a could’ve would’ve should’ve excuse for her. It’s a fact. Get over it and move on.
“I’m sorry. It’s unfair to vent my frustration at the council clerk on you. Sometimes I wish we’d never spoken to Annabelle.”
“That wasn’t your fault. We all agreed it had to happen. Our intention was good and right. The more survivors break the silence, the more successful the fight against child abuse will be.”
I can see why everyone loves Elise. She’s a good person. I don’t mind her retreating into the tree house to recharge. After all, I’m upset today; her not so much. Our life has changed a lot since we allowed Annabelle to write our story, or better, our side of the whole sordid Gateway case. Not that there was much to say that hadn’t come out during the court proceedings.
Special psychiatric assessments ordered from their defense lawyers and the Crown prosecutor meant our mind had been x-rayed and poked, our statements turned and twisted in the hope we would contradict ourselves. Both parties wielded our country-mile long psychiatric history like a weapon, their defense to discredit us, and the Crown to show the impact of the abuse.
We were adamant to tell the story from our viewpoint. It gave us at least the chance to introduce a fourth version beside the picture of the raving lunatic, the poor little victim, or the cunning liar. We wanted to portray a person who goes about her life as best as she can, like everybody else.
How had we survived the trial? It was never a question of if. When we’d lost hope, Sky reminded us several times that giving up was never an option. We’d survived the real thing, the abuse, the neglect, and the marriage. We will survive the re-telling of our story. And we will stand by our truth.
It wasn’t always easy, but we did it. Ever since the court case, we continue to make headlines. People with no expert knowledge and experience of dissociative disorders or abuse recovery found it necessary to write opinion pieces, speculate on social media whether we made it all up, or whether our therapist planted it all in our head.
Can you believe it? We had photos of the adults abusing children and still, there were doubters? There is the perverse willingness to discredit victims and on the other hand, the blind conviction that upstanding members of society couldn’t have done such heinous acts.
Are people totally deluded? There are millions of photos and videos of children being abused and exploited sexually circulating on the Internet. Who do people think has taken those?
None of us expected that being outed would have such an impact on our lives. Before the court case, only the mental health professionals debated our sanity and had a field day labeling us. Now it seemed the whole wide world was in on it. I can’t say we’ve gotten used to it yet. I hate it.
I remember the weeks before the court case started. We were petrified. What would happen when the word about Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID got out? That’s when Sky played a dirty trick on us and brought out baby Elizabeth. She looked so fragile in her beautiful white cocoon.
“We have to do it for her. It’s time we stop being ruled by fear and what people think. We have to speak out for the Elizabeths of this world, who can’t speak for themselves.” I still am not sure whom Sky resembled when she said that. She was neither meek nor mild. She was fearsome like the Angel of Vengeance.
For a while, it felt good to speak for those who haven’t found their voice yet. But now it’s different. We came to the South Island for peace of mind and healing. Instead, we find prejudice everywhere.
“Are you still brooding? Come here, let me kiss your frown away.” Scottie stood in the doorway, a
