The Weekend - when all that is left is atonement... by B.L. Miller

The Weekend by B.L. Miller

Sometimes, as an author a book stays in one’s memory, long after it is published. This was the case with B.L Miller’s -The Weekend. As the author, when I started writing, I had no idea how it would develop. Little did I know how much that character, Jennifer Wallace (Jen), would dominate the following five books and play such a significant role in the life of the main character Petra Larson. This book is raw. It’s often uncomfortable to read. It was certainly uncomfortable to write at times. Did I ever wonder how readers would react to it? Never for a single moment. I write for me. To do otherwise would mean I was writing to meet the needs of a marketplace. I would feel it would compromise my integrity as a writer. It mirrors my views on the use of AI. I claim to write what I know, and I write without fear. I fight tooth and nail to keep that on track. I wrote the story as I saw it unfold and the brutal scene which everything before closes around is not for everyone, but it was an essential ingredient which had to be faced and overcome.

The part which has left an indelible mark takes place at a funeral I leave that as an excerpt. Okay it will give a clue where events will head. This scene together with the opening music to that scene so emotionally upset me I found the page I was writing blurred with tears. So, that’s it. I’ll leave you to read it – judge for yourself. Perhaps the most compelling and yet difficult few paragraphs I’ve ever written.

Thank you.

An excerpt.....

Petra spent a little time looking around while her fast-beating heart slowly settled. She could see her parents and alongside were the staff from Ruth's all seated together in a line. Clive was there too, as were so many men she had seen in totally different circumstances. Cerys sat quietly, next to Janice - what a contrast of personalities. Petra just hoped they didn't compare notes! Then she realised if she delayed any further the gathering would grow restless, and she could lose them. She took a deep, deep breath and in a voice of surprising power she began.

'Jennifer Wallace was born a Jew. That is a matter of fact, just in the same way she was born a girl. Nobody asks to be born and when we arrive in this world, we cannot choose who or what we are. We are born with different coloured skins, our eyes may be brown or blue, we could be rich or poor but, in the end, it is who we are and what we achieve in life, that really matters.

I recently had the sad task of sifting through Jen's personal effects, and it soon became clear she was tracing her Jewish roots. Music was important to her and Jen's iPad listed some music with Jewish themes. None more so than Itzhak Perlman playing the haunting theme from Schindler's List you heard played as my beautiful friend was brought in from the cold outside. There was another version listed also - this time by Ann Fontanella. She played this at the Holocaust Memorial in Israel recently. I had to make a difficult choice and one where it would have been so easy to just choose a woman to honour another.' There was a brief pause while Petra asked for some water.

'In the end the choice was made very simple. Who can ever forget Schindler's List and a little girl seen in a bright red coat from time to time throughout the film which was shot in black and white. That coat, shining in contrast through the harsh imagery. Jen had a red coat - an expensive Burberry coat and very different in style to that worn by the little girl. When I first met Jennifer Wallace, it was at an airport. She was flying to Edinburgh to prosecute a case in the Scottish capital. There is some irony here. I suspect Jen was wearing her red coat the day she died. It wasn't amongst her effects - I never found it.

Jennifer's grandparents escaped Nazi persecution in 1938, just before the war started. They fled from Czechoslovakia and somehow arrived in Manchester. Their family name was Wallach, and as is reflected in society still today, racism and particularly anti-Semitism was prevalent in those days. It would have been worse then, because at least now we have laws set out to prevent or reduce this. As with many other similar families fleeing from persecution, they changed their name - theirs from Wallach to Wallace. A good, traditional Scottish name if ever there was one!' Petra took a sip of water and paused briefly. She had the audience’s attention now. They were listening to what she was saying and no longer just saw a beautiful blonde woman standing tall in a short black designer dress.

'Quite late in their marriage they had a daughter. They named her Gloria. When Gloria was just fifteen, she became pregnant, and her parents put pressure on her to have an abortion. They came from a background, and a generation, where they couldn't face the shame of having a single, unmarried mother in their midst. How times have changed. Gloria refused to kill her unborn child, and she gave birth to a little girl on the 15th of June 1979. She was named Jennifer. What happened next is unclear, but Gloria ended up in Edinburgh. See, I spoke of irony earlier and it didn't just end there. Look inside the brochure you were given, and you will see a little girl. Just look at that face, full of hope, promise and excited about the life that lay ahead of her. Who ever saw a happier child? I believe that picture was taken when Jen was just eight years of age. I only found these photos tucked away in her brief case after her death, so I was never able to ask her that question and more importantly, why she had kept that one single photograph of her early life.' Petra was starting to relax now and she began to look around at the faces intently watching her. She started to move around in the area she had at her disposal and found she could now speak quite freely and in a strange way almost individually.

'I believe I have the answer to that question. Everything changed for Jennifer Wallace at the age of eight. Her mother met a man, a Polish man. His name is of no relevance, all that mattered was that he existed! He moved into the home Gloria had shared with her daughter, and from that time, until Jennifer was thirteen, she was sexually and physically abused in the most appalling way. Jennifer lost her virginity when she was just ten and from then onwards this man used her as a commodity for both his own sexual gratification and to make money by passing her around to men and groups of men who would pay him so they could do as they pleased with her.' Petra stopped for effect. She wanted that last brief part of her eulogy to sink in for maximum impact.

'When Jennifer was twelve, just twelve, she was taken to a group of men. These were powerful men, the sort who were influential and would certainly have known what they were doing was wrong. Jennifer was so badly injured that day she could barely walk home. She was always made to walk home, and on the way, she passed a police station. Jen climbed the steps, and she even had her hand placed on the door handle. Sadly, she went no further and if fate had taken a kindly hand, had someone come to the door at that moment and seen her plight, she might have been taken inside. Her torture could have ended there and then on that day. It continued for another year. Jennifer told me very bluntly what she felt she was - a common prostitute. The only difference was she was never paid - this went to the man controlling her life and that of her mother!' Petra stopped and looked back at the wicker coffin and the photo standing on top. She hoped Jen didn't mind, but people had to know how remarkable and inspirational she was. Before continuing she looked across at Angela Wolfe who gave her a smile and a firm nod of the head to continue.

'When Jennifer was thirteen her torment stopped - in one way. Her mother killed the Polish man by stabbing him with a knife which sliced through his black heart. This was the worst time according to Jen. Although she blamed her mother for allowing this man to do what he did, at least she still had a mother to come home to each day. Jen's mother was charged, convicted and later sent to prison for four years. The murder charge was dropped, and a lesser charge was brought due to extenuating circumstances and provocation. Jen was taken into care and her whole life was back in turmoil, and she was alone. Then a miracle happened, and she was placed into foster care with two wonderful people. I know you are both here today and from Jennifer and myself we would both like to thank you for what you did.' There was a rumble of approval and for one horrible moment Petra imagined the hall would break out in applause. It didn't, so she was able to continue.

'If I have done anything today, I hope those who have heard me speak about Jennifer Wallace, can take inspiration from what she still managed to achieve despite what was done to her. You see, in those five long years she continued to read books, she thrived at school, she used that time away from the abuse to great effect. She seemed to use it as an antidote to her brutal exploitation. She was a brilliant scholar, and she was expected to achieve great things.

Jen did have regrets though and those regrets involved her mother. When Jen was fifteen her mother was released from prison on licence. She immediately tried to reconnect to Jen. Gloria had written to her almost daily while she was in prison, but Jen never read her letters. They just piled up - all unopened. Her mother even came to her school, but Jen refused to speak to her and likewise when she came to her foster parent’s house.' Petra felt the need to be closer to Jen now and paused as she walked back towards the coffin. She picked up her photograph and held it close to her heart. The next part was going to get emotional.

'Gloria died shortly after. Jen remembered sitting on the top deck of a bus as she was heading to school and she saw her mother walking along the pavement. Jen recalled how vacant she looked, how lost and lonely she appeared to be. Jen wanted to stop the bus and get off and catch up with her, to throw her arms around her mother - but she couldn't. There was a barrier - Jen simply called it pride. Maybe she was right, but I suspect it was more about fear. Fear of returning to the life of abuse and neglect she had managed to escape from. Jen learned - probably later that same day, her mother got onto the Forth Road Bridge and she threw herself off into the cold inviting waters below. I can tell you all now, I have been there too, a different place and time, but I too know that feeling well.' Another pause.

'Gloria's body was washed up several days later. As Jerome described earlier, Jennifer Wallace went onto greater things. She went to Edinburgh University where she studied law. See, I told you there was still more irony. Who could have believed that little girl, who once stood hurt and bleeding outside that police station, was destined to go to university in that same great city and be successful. Perhaps we should be looking instead at that little girl of eight, you all have it there to see, who definitely knew she would be a success one day. I won't repeat what has already been said about just how successful she became but instead play some music now. Then I will tell you about the Jennifer Wallace I knew.’ A further pause.

‘The music you are about to hear was Jen's favourite. When I visited her home in Dorset, she insisted on playing it. Many will know about Puccini's opera Tosca. About Floria Tosca and her love for Mario Cavaradossi. The deal she strikes with Scarpia and of her betrayal of him and then him of her. Jen loved Vissi d'arte, sung by Maria Callas.' Petra hugged the photograph as the music started and the whole room reverberated to the sound of Maria Callas's rich voice. Petra closed her eyes, and her thoughts went back to that day in Charmouth when she had held Jen so tightly while the music played. She recalled feeling the emotion of it run through her body as Callas powered through those high notes just as she then gently let her voice soften for those quieter moments. When the music had climaxed and subsided Petra spoke again but still remained holding onto Jen's photograph.

'Jennifer Wallace didn't believe in God. I don't either for that matter. It was for this reason she requested a humanist service with someone like you Jerome to ease the pain for those close to someone who had passed away. I cannot believe in a God that allowed Jen to have been taken from us so brutally. In most religious services God is at the forefront and the deceased passes into the safekeeping of a mightier force for good. Jen couldn't accept the fact that some people will fight and kill to have the supremacy of one god, forced upon other people at the expense of their gods.

Imagine there are no countries,

It isn't hard to do,

Nothing to kill or die for,

And no religion too.

Those are words from John Lennon's 'Imagine'. He died needlessly too. You will hear those words again soon.

Jennifer Wallace was a damaged woman, and she sought my help. I am a damaged woman too. Jen carried several heavy parcels of guilt. She was deeply concerned she had no friends. She worked with others but avoided them outside work. I shared that problem myself once.' Petra sought out Janice in the crowd of faces and she saw an instant recognition and the fact that she was crying. 'Jen found me, so at least she had one friend, she also met my closest friend Dominique Vasson, and they became friends too. Maybe you now recognise who I am and Dominique too. We both having represented our countries at international level in karate. I was going to teach Jen karate, because she was so frightened of people, and having heard what I said earlier you can well understand why. Jen felt guilty about her appearance too and of her personal neglect behind the expensive outer clothes she wore. Look at that beautiful picture on the front of your brochure and the others inside, you can see the progress she was making.' Petra was starting to find the long speech was affecting her voice in the hot, dry atmosphere. She lifted her glass, while holding up five fingers to Jerome to indicate she was starting to wind down.

'Jen's greatest burden was guilt towards her mother. She contacted me because she felt a deep need to atone. There are some here who know me and will understand. That statement might create speculation, but who cares. Jen and I only knew each other for a short while. I realised very quickly that I loved her totally, passionately and she reciprocated that sentiment. She shared my bed, and I shared hers and we were lovers. The day before the trial was due to start, we had dinner together that Sunday evening. Jen told me of her plans, and despite what you said earlier Jerome, things had moved on. That case in London was to be her last. She was moving to Bristol, and we planned a trip to Boston to meet a wonderful friend who is here today to support me.' Petra felt emotion rising but she drew in huge gulps of air and was determined to finish.

'Even on the morning the trial started as we shared a taxi to the court, she was in turmoil. She didn't want that brief. She was very clear about that. She was tempted to ask the driver to stop and turn back. To bring forward the plans she had made. I wish she had, I so, so wish she had. I wish with all my heart I had tried harder to persuade her, but she had to finish the job and now you will all know why!' She let that thought sink in before providing the answer most people already knew. 'She couldn't let that girl down. A fifteen year of girl who had been a slave, in bondage to another human being, and shamefully a woman who should have known better!' Petra walked slowly back to the coffin and placed her hand upon it, patting it gently to let her know it was done. Lifting the picture to her lips she spoke briefly once more before indicating she was finished.

'There my sweet love - it's done. I have told the world your story and it had to be told. I have to go now, but I will be back soon to take what remains of you to somewhere I can set you free. Please, whoever takes her now, remember I will be back, although I cannot say when that will be. Thank you all for listening.'

There was a brief silence and then the applause started. The auditorium stood in unison, and they roared their approval. Petra waved shyly and Jerome came over and hugged her very tightly and with huge respect and affection. She took Petra's hand and after a long, lingering final look at Jen's coffin as she passed, they walked outside together down a long corridor to where a reception was planned. John Lennon's 'Imagine' began and his words seemed to have been written for the occasion.

The Weekend - when all that is left is atonement...

Available on AMAZON https://www.amazon.com/dp/B013TCIVMO