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“Do you resent them for not doing more for you?”
She studies her hands. “I’ve tried very hard not to be bitter about it. They didn’t really see much of it firsthand. Abigail, Chrissie, and Oliver had left home by the time I was in my teens, and Evie was out all the time. They never understood, and you can’t explain it.”
She sighs. “I thought he’d ruined me for other men. Especially after Jason. I felt I was doomed to be dominated by overbearing men. I can’t believe I chose someone like him.” Her gaze drifts to me, and her lips curve up. “And then I met you.” She gives a small laugh. “I hope I haven’t changed your view of me. It must be tough having a wuss for a girlfriend.”
I study her for a moment, trying to keep calm. I’m burning with anger toward her father, but I’m determined not to show it, because that’s the last thing she needs right now.
“You mentioned you knew Hal King,” I say eventually. “So you probably know his cousin, Leon?”
“Yeah. He works at Noah’s Ark as well, doesn’t he?”
“That’s the one. I met him at Huxley’s—he stays at the club when he’s in Auckland. We got chatting, and he told me how he and his wife have done some work with the Women’s Refuge. His wife, Nix, visited one, spoke to a lot of the women there, and wrote a report for him, and he said it was incredibly eye-opening, and that I should read it. It was quite shocking for me.”
“What did it say?”
“One of the biggest things that came out of it for me is that the women didn’t see themselves as victims. Most of them were incredibly brave, and stayed in destructive relationships not because they were cowards but because they literally had no other option. It showed me how it’s so easy to judge when you’ve not been in that position.”
I lean forward and take her hand. “You’re not a wuss, Heidi. You’re not weak. And you’re not a failure. You were a child when it started. The one person who’s supposed to protect you and look after you is the one who failed. Abusive parents know your weak spots, and how to use them effectively against you. Nothing you did caused him to be abusive, and you can’t change him.”
She’s shaking a little. “I try hard to forgive him, and not to be angry toward him or Mum, but it’s so hard.”
“Heidi, it’s okay to be angry. I read a quote once, something about your anger being the part of you that knows your mistreatment and abuse are unacceptable, and that your anger is the part of you that loves you.”
She stares at me.
“Have you not seen a therapist about this?” I ask gently.
She shakes her head. “I just want to forget about it.”
“I think we both know that’s not going to happen. You should see someone. I’m sure they’d help you understand it all better.”
“I might do that.”
I hold up my arm. She moves up close and snuggles against me, and I lower my arm around her. “Now I understand why you’ve been nervous about tonight.”
“Yeah. I’m not looking forward to it. Part of me wishes I hadn’t come back.” She draws a pattern on my T-shirt.
I rest my head on the back of the sofa. And there’s me asking her if she’d consider moving back here. No wonder she went pale when I suggested it.
She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder, and I kiss her hair.
I look out of the window, at the stormy gray sky. For a moment, the clouds part, and I see a chink of blue. It’s the smallest bit of blue sky. Nowhere near enough to make a sailor a pair of trousers, as my grandmother used to say. Maybe a tiny handkerchief. But it’s there.
True love doesn’t come around very often. And it’s always better to regret something you’ve done, than something you haven’t.
Lost in thought, I stare at that patch of blue for a long time, as slowly an idea begins to form.
*
After a while, I get ready for work. Heidi says she’s going to see her sisters. I give her a key to the apartment, and tell her to hang her clothes in the wardrobe and settle in, then leave her to it.
I drive to the office, say hello to my team, grab a large coffee, and go into my room. I spend a couple of hours catching up on work, and have lunch with the team. In the afternoon I attend a few meetings.
All the time I’m working, the idea I had this morning simmers away in the background like a pot of porridge on a stove until eventually, around four p.m., I go back to my office. I sit up at the architect’s desk I had installed in front of the window, pin a fresh piece of A3 paper onto the desk, and grab a pen.
This is real blue-sky thinking, I muse, remembering the moment I saw the chink of blue through the gray clouds, and my lips curve up.
And then I start jotting down my thoughts.
