Mrs Smith Again
A couple of days after Jasmine’s return from Larkford, she is camping out in Ben’s office while he is accompanied by Pamela at a function for Labour councillors. As head of Richard’s constituency office for over a decade, Pamela knows them far better and can steer Ben more adroitly. Jasmine doesn’t mind as it gives her a chance to work on revising expenditure and their ever-decreasing budget. She is lost in a spreadsheet when there is a gentle tap on the door.
“There’s a woman to see you?” Dave’s forehead is creased and he conveys the statement as a question.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Jasmine replies, pulling up her calendar app to check she hasn’t missed something.
“She says she hasn’t got an appointment. And …” Dave dithers. “Well, she’s got a couple of kids with her.”
“Oh?” That’s unusual. “Best show her in here. And bring some of those cookies Pamela brought in, if you wouldn’t mind. They might keep the kids occupied.” Jasmine has little experience of caring for children and no sense an abundance of sugary treats might have an adverse effect.
As Dave shepherds the visitors in, Jasmine looks up. Blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, baby once again on one hip, another holding her hand.
“Mrs Smith?” Jasmine stands quickly and goes to pull out a chair for her.
The woman sits and settles the baby on her lap. Her son clambers on the only other chair and starts playing with his stuffed lion, kicking his heels against the chair leg.
“Tea?” Jasmine asks but Mrs Smith shakes her head. “Cookies?” Jasmine mouths silently to Dave and he disappears.
Jasmine takes her seat again, pulling her chair clear of the desk so it forms less of a barrier. “What can I do for you?”
The woman bites her lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake.” She starts to rise.
“No.” Jasmine is out of her chair in an instant, a hand outstretched to touch the woman’s shoulder lightly. “Stay. Talk. Don’t mind me. I’ve been told I’m scary but I’m really very nice.”
Dave takes that moment to pop back in with half a dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies piled on a small plate. He offers them to the toddler first but the little boy looks up at his mum and waits for her nod before he takes it.
“One,” she says. And his tiny hand reaches out to grab it. The baby is not so restrained. When both children are happily smearing chocolate chunks over their cheeks, Dave proffers the plate towards the mother. Mrs Smith declines and Jasmine, regretfully, also shakes her head before Dave withdraws.
“You said you could help!” The young mother rocks back and forth in the chair, clearly agitated.
“I did. I meant it. But I need to know what help do you need?”
The woman is silent.
“Mrs Smith?” Jasmine prompts.
“Natasha,” Mrs Smith responds and drags a finger under her nose. She sniffs. “I need to get away.”
“From your husband?” Jasmine wants to be absolutely clear.
Natasha nods without stopping the rocking.
“Is he hurting you?” she probes gently.
Another nod. Then, “He said he’d kill the children. If I left. He’d kill them.”
Jasmine blanches. There is a chance her husband was exaggerating, using the threat to control his wife. But it isn’t unknown for it to happen. Every sixth sense Jasmine possesses is screaming at her to believe it and she long ago learned to trust her inner self. She doesn't doubt how sincerely Natasha believes in her husband’s threat.
“Your family?” Jasmine asks gently.
Natasha shakes her head. “Dad left when I was a baby. Mum’s got mental health issues. My stepdad’s a dealer. There’s gear all over their place.”
“Friends?”
“I haven’t got any left.” Jasmine closes her eyes at Natasha’s frank admission. Straight out of the controlling asshole’s playbook. Separate the victim from friends and family. In this case, he appears to have had an easy job with the family.
“Stay here. I’ll help but it will take some time.”
