Hand
in
Hand
by Jocelyn Howarth ‘My father was a wonderful man. He was smart, funny, kind. Everything I could ever ask for. He never lied to me, upset me, or tried to control me. When I decided to study law at university, he paid for my loans out of his own pocket so I would not have to be in debt. I would not be the person I am today if not for his love, generosity, wittiness, and advice.’ Standing before the friends, family, and colleagues of her dead father, Annette marvelled at her ability to deceive so smoothly. Her father had taught her. For so many years, he had scolded her and criticised her so keenly that she had perfected the art of deceit. That was why it had been so easy to write this eulogy; each word was simply the opposite of the truth. ‘He treated everyone he met with the utmost respect, and I know that every person in this room was made to feel like his equal, regardless of their relationship with him.’ Her gaze met Olivia’s, sat on the front pew, whose haunted eyes were a stark contrast to the rest of her thirty-year-old beauty; painted lips as fresh as a rose bud, ivory skin flawless, and hair styled without a single flyaway. Annette had helped her cover up the faint remainders of bruises on her wrists with concealer that morning. We’ve made it this far, she had said in a wavering voice, I won’t give us away now. Annette had cupped her face and smiled. Olivia had always felt more like a sister than a step-mother, and the unmistakable relief on her face was pleasing. ‘After my mother died, he raised me single-handedly, while balancing a business all by himself. He did an incredible job, and I was so happy when he found a new love in Olivia, his assistant at the time.’ Olivia’s mouth twitched as Annette continued. ‘She gave him new life and became the best step-mother I could have hoped for. Olivia, you’ve stuck with me through thick and thin, and you made my father’s final ten years the happiest ones possible.’ This was, in fact, true. Annette’s father had loved Olivia: he had told her repeatedly, usually after painting her porcelain skin with blooms of black and blue. Annette had heard this happen more than once. Her father never found out she knew about the beatings, not until the last time Annette saw him before his death. She was satisfied to remember that he had seemed very, very guilty. ‘Between Olivia and I, my father’s life was filled with love. But the one person who kept him sane amidst the chaos of Murray Insurance Claims was Benjamin Talbot. For many years he has been the Director of my father’s company, his rock in every crisis, and will rightly be inheriting half of the company, working side by side with Olivia to continue my family’s proud legacy.’ Benjamin had been in love with Olivia since the moment he first laid eyes on her, but he had waited too long and had missed his chance. So, when Annette had approached him with her proposition, he had jumped at the opportunity, driven by a love that had lasted all of a decade. He would be Olivia’s shoulder to cry on in this difficult time, and it was so inevitable, so perfect that the two would fall in love. Some would argue it was too perfect. Annette took her seat next to Olivia, having managed to draw a tear from the eye of every person in the room. She took her hand and squeezed it; not for comfort, but for victory. Benjamin patted Annette’s shoulder comfortingly, and she turned round to see him wink at her. She suppressed a smile as she faced the front, where the vicar had stood to read a few prayers.
28
The picture of her father, set and framed before the sleek wooden coffin adorned with flowers, was an old one. Roger Murray had lost his good looks at the fresh age of twenty-five, and so Annette had picked a photo from his wedding, cropping out her mother. She hated to think about who her father had become after her mother’s death: the violent, angry, dangerous creature, who cursed her for living when her mother could not.