Barb took me under her wing and it seemed like she didn’t mind my presence at all. She allowed me to sleep in her house, she fed me, and I worked in her garden, repaired broken stairs and cleaned the house to get rid of mold. I quickly realised she didn’t have a family to visit her or help her out. She was growing weaker, and aid had presented itself to her just when she needed it.
I never spoke to her about my childhood, but she seemed to know what had been going on anyway. She didn’t try to push me for details, and I was grateful. I was reliving them in nightmares every night, I couldn’t bear to do it during the day as well. I stayed with her for three years and loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone else. It wasn’t just out of gratefulness for a roof over my head and a new chance. We were spending a lot of time together and I found a kindred spirit in her, she was my guide and anchor and I finally felt happy, despite remaining broken.
“Grandma,” I called her once without thinking, and she looked up in surprise. She even seemed pleased and didn’t object, so I kept calling her that. I liked it too; I pretended that she was my real grandma. What would it be like to grow up in a house filled with love, overflowing with it but never running out?
I knew it had to end one day. She never made me feel like a burden, but I didn’t want her to have to look after me for too long. I promised that as soon as I turned eighteen, I would find a job. Fate ended up being a bit quicker than that.
We’d only celebrated my seventeenth birthday when she was killed by a drunk driver while crossing the street. The groceries she carried in a bag flew up in the air and spilled onto the street. Grandma’s body fell, her arms and legs thrown in unnatural angles, and she remained unmoving. Traffic stopped for a moment and the few passers-by, including me, ran to Barb like wasps to a piece of candy. The driver put one foot out of his car and staggered, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to focus on the scene in front of him. He realised what he’d done, looked scared out of his wits, got back into his car and drove off so fast his tires smoked.
Despite her distorted body, Barb’s face looked calm, as if she was just sleeping under the darkening sky. Grandma, I thought. I love you! I’ll never forget you.
Sirens sounded in the distance. I ran. Through one street and then another, it didn’t matter which way, just to get away from the accident and her house I couldn’t return to.
That was my worst life experience. The only person who’d ever given me safety and love had died, and everything in me died with her. I just about managed to survive the last necessary year before becoming an adult. I worked and found my own modest accommodation. I enrolled into a Bachelor of Social Work course because I wanted to achieve something, and Grandma would have been pleased. Meanwhile, I searched high and low for the one piece of information that kept me up at night.
Nobody noticed the licence plate of the car that killed Barb, but I did. I stored it safely into my memory and carried it there as long as it took me to find out who owned the car.
I spent a lot of time thinking about what to do. My thirst for revenge was strong, but at the same time I felt like Grandma wouldn’t agree with my thoughts. So I put all my plans to rest, and in the end it turned out that I would get my revenge either way. Not in the way that I would have liked. But I would get it.
I was fully immersed in my sombre memories and didn’t notice that the room around me got empty. Everyone from the Association had already turned off their computers, put their folders away and left the office, while I was resting my head on a mountain of papers. It wasn’t unusual for me to be the last one to leave, so my presence after working hours didn’t seem strange enough for someone to shake my shoulder and ask what the hell I was still doing there. Not even Andrew.
I heard a knock at the door. I had no idea who it could be. Anyone from the office would just walk in, and customers never came here because everything was dealt with through emails and phone calls.
I opened the door and my jaw nearly hit the ground. “Connie?”
Her expression turned stubborn, she silently handed me a bulky folder and I took it without thinking.
“What is this?”
“Have a look,” she told me and glanced away when I did.
I figured she didn’t want to see the photos again, she must have got her fair share when she was printing them off. I only managed the first three pages, my stomach wasn’t strong enough for more.
“Christ,” I breathed, my voice was shaking. I couldn’t keep turning the pages, I didn’t want to find out what came after the documentation of an abused dog, hung by his neck and disfigured with a knife. I wished the dog’s tormentor would burn in hell.
I clenched my teeth and blinked, but the picture burnt itself into the back of my eyelids, it wouldn’t go away. Connie stepped closer to me and I breathed in her perfume. She closed the folder and left her palm on it for a moment.
“Do what you can,” she told me urgently and squeezed my hand to give her words more emphasis.
She did what I’d asked her, I finally realised. I hadn’t expected her to…
