Dragons and Butterflies 3: A Strong Woman

By Marie Jensen

Get your hankies out! Here's the third in the Jean Ridgeway biographical series from Marie Jensen.

Each book in the series covers a stage in Jean’s life, one girl’s story. This book covers her late adolescent and early adult years. Once you have read Jean’s story, you will understand more about courage and cowardice.

As Jean emerges from a childhood of domestic abuse, she is full of hopes and dreams for the future. But her problems are only just beginning. Her past constantly haunts her, as much as ongoing issues with her dysfunctional family, and crises spawned from new relationships.

Will Jean achieve her lifelong aim of ensuring that her bad experiences ultimately make her into a strong woman, or will she be doomed to life in a pit of despair?

As with all of Marie Jensen's books, expect the unexpected, and the usual array of stunning shocks and surprises. Based on a true story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SDS Publishing
• Release date: Nov 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301296781

Marie Jensen

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Book preview

FOREWORD

This is the third in the Jean Ridgeway series of novels, charting her life. Jean is an abused child who survives. A victim to start with, she worked through her issues. Her past haunted her for many years. Time is a great healer. Pain and suffering can give you inner strength, or break you.

Each novel in the series is a stage in Jean’s life, one girl’s story. This book covers her late adolescent and early adult years. Once you have read Jean’s story, you will understand more about courage and cowardice.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, objects and places are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to other works of fiction is unintentional and coincidental.

Previously in the Jean Ridgeway series;

Volume One: Just Like Her Father

Volume Two: War With Her Father

Dragons and Butterflies: The Story of Jean Ridgeway

Volume Three: A Strong Woman

By Marie Jensen

Published by SDS Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Marie Jensen

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Prologue; Captured

One: The End of the Road

Two: Return to the Valleys

Three: The Russian

Four: Goed to the Bar

Five: The Bikers’ Chapter

Six: The Lifeguard

Seven: The Slapper

Eight: The Bombshell

Nine: Happy Families

Ten: Worse Than Her Father

Eleven: The Missing Money

Twelve: The Destroyer

Thirteen: An Unlikely Refuge

Fourteen: Payback Time

Fifteen: Visiting Time

Sixteen: The Mad Knifeman

Seventeen: The Police

Eighteen: The Safe House

Nineteen: The Disc Jockey

Twenty: Dream Woman

Twenty-One: American Counsel

Twenty-Two: Dragons and Butterflies

Twenty-Three: Bad Contact

Twenty-Four: Time to Run

Twenty-Five: The Longest Day

Twenty-Six: Home-Truths

Twenty-Seven: The Test

Twenty-Eight: An Unexpected Date

Twenty-Nine: An Unrequited Proposal

Thirty: Clawing Away at Her

Thirty-One: Ghosts of the Valleys

Thirty-Two: The Aftermath

Epilogue;

Thirty-Three: Ghosts of Singapore

Thirty-Four: Ghosts of Her Future

PROLOGUE: CAPTURED

15-year-old Jean Ridgeway sat alone in a room at a police station, exhausted. She had sat there all night, crying now and again, wondering when her luck was going to change.

She had been arrested at a nearby biker festival, when the police raided it. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She never did, she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As the night had worn on, and the morning dawned, she had become less concerned about her arrest. She had given the police her name and the address of the lodging house in Bournemouth where she lived, but had lied about her age, deducting a couple of years from her date of birth. The lodging house was tied to a hotel, where she worked, and she hadn’t wanted to admit that she was too young to work there. Even though the police had somehow found out her real date of birth, she had been assured that they were only keeping her until morning for her own safety, and would be letting her go. Soon, she would be free to travel back to Bournemouth, to resume her wonderful new life there, and with no comeback from the police, as far as the hotel were concerned.

She decided that her new life was wonderful, even given the awful events at the bike festival, before the police raid. She would be travelling to Bournemouth alone, of course, after discovering that her biker boyfriend Mitch had slept with her best friend Bev.

Jean had loved Mitch. He knew that she was only 15, and still a virgin, but had understood. He had become frustrated at times with only being able to kiss and cuddle, but that was no excuse for sleeping with Bev. Jean hated them both now, even worse than she hated her horrible father, the worst person on Earth, who had beaten her, and occasionally her mother, for as many years as Jean could remember.

Mitch would be easy to deal with. Jean simply wouldn’t see or ever speak to him again. Dealing with Bev would be a little more difficult, because she shared Jean’s room at the lodging house, but the lodging house had plenty of rooms.

Jean had only been in Bournemouth for a few short months, after running away from her family, who lived on an RAF base at Wroughton, on the outskirts of Swindon. Her father, a chef with the Air Force, had been the reason she had run, his drinking, gambling and violence getting worse and worse over the course of the family’s travels with the RAF, from Wales to Singapore, then on to Doncaster and finally Swindon.

She had found it very difficult at first in Bournemouth, all alone in the world. But the live-in job at the hotel had come along very quickly, and she had built a new life for herself. She had found the work very hard, but she had money and somewhere to live. Christmas at the hotel had been the most fabulous festive season she could remember, by a long chalk. She hadn’t had money before Bournemouth, so had been able to buy presents for the first time. And during brilliant parties and Christmas meals with the hotel staff, she had been given presents too, which she had been able to treasure. Previously, during his vile tempers, her father had smashed almost every Christmas present she had ever been given. Picturing the pile of money she still had accumulated in her wardrobe at the lodging house, she wondered what adventures lay ahead. She was determined to develop from the awful experiences she had suffered at the hands of her father. Having worked so hard to at long last have escaped from him, she was determined to make sure that the experiences would ultimately make her a strong woman, rather than a weak one like her mother, who was so often dragged into a pit of despair.

The door of the room swung open. A policeman stood in the doorway. He smiled at her, over the paperwork in his hands. ‘We’re going to let you go.’

She felt a huge sense of relief. She was due in work the following morning, and would have plenty of time to get there.

But then he was joined in the doorway by her father. Her father’s nasty, evil face shocked her, frightened her almost to death. Her mother appeared behind him.

The policeman smiled again. ‘It’s always nice to solve a missing person case. You were added to the list, six months ago.’

Jean slumped in her chair, quietly sobbing. ‘Can’t you put me in a home?’

‘Your parents are your legal guardians, and we happily release you to them.’

Her mother hurried forward, and hugged her. ‘You have worried me to death,’ her mother told her.

Jean saw her father, over her mother’s shoulder. Jean’s father approached them. He yanked Jean away, and pushed her towards the door. Her shoulder crashed into the doorframe. She went weak at the knees, looking to the policeman for help. But he walked off down the corridor, not wishing to interfere in what was now a domestic matter.

Her father grabbed her by the face, and pulled it to his. ‘Wait until I get you home,’ he grunted. He marched her out of the police station, and pushed and shoved her across the car park. The roughest shove was the one that put her on the seat of her pants, in the back of his RAF car.

The front doors of the car opened together. Her mother swung into the passenger seat, almost as quickly as he jumped into the driver’s seat. ‘You are dead, when I get you home,’ he screamed at Jean, louder than the tyres screeching across the car park, ‘do you realise that?’

Her father turned to her mother, as they pulled out onto the open road. ‘You see, your bleach blonde whore of a daughter is alive and well, all that worry for nothing.’ Jean’s mother turned away, and weakly stared out of the window.

CHAPTER ONE: THE END OF THE ROAD

The journey to RAF Wroughton took over three hours. Jean was dog-tired, but fear stopped her sleeping. She wanted the journey never to end, her stomach knotted, hardly able to breathe.

The car stopped in front of a familiar house. Her father launched himself out of the car, and yanked the back door next to her open. He pulled her out of the car like a rag doll.

They stood together in the hallway. He began to unwind his belt, as he looked up the stairs. She began to climb them, fearing it was the end of the road. He had given her many awful beatings over the years. In the not too distant past, he had actually rendered her unconscious for the first time. And after the very last beating, the one that prompted her to run away, it had taken her twenty minutes to get up, knowing during her struggle to find her feet that if he came back into her room that night, she would have left in a coffin.

As her mother came through the front door, looking tired after the long journey, Jean reached the top floor landing. He followed Jean into her room, leaving the door open, and hit her once with the belt. He slapped her angrily across the face. She felt her teeth pierce a cheek, and could taste blood.

She closed her eyes. She felt another slap to her face and saw stars. She felt the belt thrash her and thrash her from all directions, until she fell to the floor in a pile.

He walked out and closed the door. She hoped to hear the front door, followed by the sound of the car starting. He would often visit the pub after a beating.

Half an hour later, Jean’s mother brought in a glass of water, and helped her onto her bed. ‘Jean, your father has gone back to work, to cook for an evening function.’

Jean struggled to drink the water, as her mouth was swollen. ‘I’ve missed you,’ her mother told her. ‘I was worried about you. How did you survive out there, Jean? My God, was it hard?’

‘It wasn’t hard,’ Jean replied, sounding like she had just come back from the dentist. ‘I had a good job, a place to live, and everything was fine.’

She spent the next three days, alone in her room. Her mother brought her meals. On the fourth day, Jean heard the front door slam, and guessed her father had gone down the pub. She quietly opened her door, and made her way towards the bathroom.

John appeared on the landing, heading for his room. Her brother was 12 years old now, and was in his second year, at the school she had left the previous summer. ‘Hi John,’ she said softly.

‘Don’t speak to me!’ he shouted. ‘Not after all the trouble you have caused here.’ The remark worried her. She had always borne the brunt of her father’s beatings. He had beaten her mother, usually over money, but it had been less often, and less severe. But he had never laid a finger on John, and when Jean ran away, one of her main worries had been that John would become the target of her father’s anger. ‘Mum has cried every day that you were away,’ John continued, ‘wondering if you were OK. She said you might be dead, and no one would know.’

Jean walked slowly into the bathroom. ‘I’m sorry I worried her, but I didn’t die. In fact, I had a full-time job, lived in a nice house and my life was good. Now I am here, and I am back to square one.’

He stared at her. ‘Well, I hate you. I wish that you had never been found.’

She closed the bathroom door on him. She heard his bedroom door slam. She washed herself, still in agony from the beating her father gave her. When she was clean, she skulked back to her room, not yet emotionally strong enough to take the risk of coming face-to-face with her father.

The next day, she heard him shouting at her mother. ‘Get Jean down to do some chores!’

Her mother came to her room, and led her downstairs. ‘You owe us six months back rent,’ Jean’s father told her. ‘So as soon as you are well enough to go out and get a job, you’ll be giving us all your money.’

‘OK,’ Jean said, not wanting to annoy him. Her chores took until eight p.m. In bed that night, she realised just how much she hated being there. Her father would beat her again at any excuse, and would not stop doing it. She had no life again, he could control her every move and suffocate her.

She couldn’t escape again, though, couldn’t run away, at least not at the moment. She had cashed in her savings stamps to get the train fare to Bournemouth, and all her money was in the wardrobe at the lodging house, along with all the lovely clothes she had bought there, her makeup, and the glass glitter ball receptionist Ali had bought her for Christmas.

Jean’s job would be gone by now, of course. The thought made her sad. She knew that she needed to come up with a plan to somehow get away again.

The next morning, she heard her father shout through her bedroom door. ‘Get up! Do the washing and cleaning!’

Just before he went to work, he walked over to the washing machine, and grabbed her by the hair. He tugged her head backwards so hard that it hurt her neck, and made her yell. He pulled her face into his. ‘This house had better be gleaming when I get back, or you will get another good hiding.’

She wiped his spit from her mouth, as he left. John came down for breakfast. ‘I’m going too,’ her mother said. ‘My lift is waiting outside.’

‘Goodbye,’ returned Jean, putting the washing machine onto spin.

John didn’t look at Jean, all the way through breakfast. He just fiddled with his schoolbag, before leaving for school. She was alone in the house now, and knew exactly what she was going to do.

CHAPTER TWO: RETURN TO THE VALLEYS

Jean began to scour the house for money. She couldn’t find any, not even coins in her mother’s old handbags.

She remembered that John secretly smoked, and hid his cigarettes in the back garden bike shed. She was surprised to find two full packets of twenty. He was obviously buying them in bulk now. She took just one packet, not wanting to leave him empty-handed.

She realised that if he had money for cigarettes, he had money for other things too. She found £10 in the piggy bank in his room. Thinking that £5 would be enough for bus fare to Swindon town centre, plus her train fare, she only took half of his money.

She hung out the washing for her mother, and then walked outside the camp to the bus stop. But when she reached the town centre, she realised that after paying a train fare, almost all of the money would be gone. So she caught another bus to the outskirts, and began thumbing for a lift on a motorway slip road.

A car soon pulled up. ‘Where are you going?’ a man in his thirties asked.

‘Where are you going?’ replied Jean.

‘Cardiff, luv, any good?’

She knew that Cardiff was in Wales. A return to the valleys would be ironic. Shortly before running away, she had travelled to Wales with her mother and John, to see her mother’s family. Jean’s father hadn’t been welcome there, because her mother’s family didn’t like him. He had stayed with friends, which made the visit seem like a holiday. But he had argued with his friends, and turned up drunk. Her mother couldn’t drive, so the journey back to Wroughton was a reckless nightmare. Much worse still, shortly after Jean arrived back, she discovered that her beloved biker boyfriend Tug had been killed in a motorbike accident. She had thought much more of Tug, than she ever had of Mitch.

She jumped into the man’s car. During the journey, he explained that he worked in Cardiff and Swindon, before talking at length about his wife and kids. Jean thought he was a lovely man, who obviously adored his family.

As they drove into Cardiff, he asked her where she wanted to be dropped.

‘Oh, anywhere,’ she told him, ‘I‘ll get a bus, the rest of the way.’

‘Going to see friends or relatives?’

‘Oh, just friends,’ she lied, blushing.

He dropped her outside a castle. ‘If you need a lift back, I’ll pick you up here at six p.m.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll be staying a few days.’ She smiled nervously. He waved, as he drove away.

She headed for the bus station, but spotted a cafe. She realised that she needed a cup of coffee, and time to figure out what to do next.

She was still sat at a table, when a red sports car pulled up outside. A man jumped out, and entered the cafe. He bought coffee and a sandwich, sitting two tables from Jean.

He kept looking over at her. She pretended not to notice. He stood up and walked over. ‘Can I join you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling politely.

‘Where do you work?’ he asked.

‘Nowhere, I’ve just moved here. I’m looking for work.’

‘What, in here?’

‘No, I’ve just arrived. I’m going to have this coffee, then go job hunting. ‘

‘Oh, I see. Where are you staying, then?’

‘Um, nowhere yet,’ she said, smiling, ‘I’ve got to find a job first, then find a place to stay.’

‘Oh, are you all on your own? A little strange, isn’t it, for a girl so young?’

‘Well, I’ve done it before. I’ve moved away, and got a job and somewhere to live.’

‘Why move?’

‘It was just time to move on.’ She grinned. ‘Do you work?’ she questioned, trying to change the subject.

‘I help my father.’ He smiled. ‘He has his own company, but they are away on holiday at the moment, so I am here with nothing to do. I was bored in the house, so thought I’d pop into town, do some shopping.’

‘Oh. I like your car. How old are you?’

’24.’ He smiled again. ‘My name is Brian. What’s your name?’

‘Jean.’ She smiled back at him. ‘And I am 16.’

‘Are you really?’

‘No,’ she said, giggling. ‘I am only 15. I have run away from home again. But this time, I have no intentions of getting caught.’

He looked at her, disbelievingly. ‘Have you really run away from home?’

‘Yes. But please say it quietly, or I’ll get picked up, and sent back in five minutes flat.’

‘Why have you run away?’

‘Because my father beats me,’ she said, parting her coat, and lifting her blouse, showing him her bruises.

‘Oh, my God, are you OK? Do you need a doctor?’

‘No,’ she said, laughing. ‘I just need a job.’

He stood up. ‘Let me get you another coffee.’

‘That would be nice.’ She reflected how easy it was now, to tell a perfect stranger her secrets. She had to keep them under wraps in Wroughton, and had felt nervous about discussing them in Bournemouth.

He came back with two coffees, and two packets of biscuits. He pulled out a pen, and wrote on a serviette. ‘Here’s my name, address and phone number,’ he said, handing her the serviette. ‘I live at home with my parents, but they are away. If by tonight, you have not found anywhere to stay, please do not sleep on the streets. Cardiff at night is not a good place to be. If you phone me, I will come and pick you up.’

‘Thanks Brian.’ She smiled again. He quickly drank his coffee. ‘I have a few things to do, so I’ll have to go. I wish you lots of luck. I really don’t mind if you ring me, I’ll be happy to drive back here.’ He left, and hopped into his car. She watched him drive away, like he was a multimillionaire.

A shiver went down her spine. She wondered what her father might do, when he realised that she had done another runner. She didn’t want to think about it, so decided to look for a job. She had a cigarette with her coffee, before finding the nearest shopping centre.

Walking around town made her happy. But looking at clothes in shop windows made her think angrily of Bev. By now, Bev would have found Jean’s money and clothes. Jean consoled herself that Bev had already taken Mitch, so Bev might as well have the rest of the stuff.

It dawned on Jean that if she hadn’t given police her real name, she would still be in Bournemouth, working at the hotel. The police would have just let her go in the morning. She decided to change her name. From now on, she would be known as Pippa Saunders.

She didn’t find work in the shops that day. By four p.m., her feet ached, so she headed back to the cafe, for pie and chips.

At five p.m., the cafe attendant began stacking chairs. All around, the lights in the shops began to go out. Jean decided to call Brian.

CHAPTER THREE: THE RUSSIAN

Jean found a phone box outside the cafe, and dialled the number from the serviette. Brian answered quickly.

‘Hello, this is Jean.’

‘Hi Jean, are you OK?’

‘Yes I am okay, but my feet ache. I have walked all over Cardiff trying to get a job, but no one needs me.’

‘Oh, do you want me to come and pick you up, right now?’

‘I could get a bus.’

‘Oh, no, save your money. Where are you?’

‘I’m outside the cafe.’

‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

Jean had just finished a cigarette, when he pulled up. She was delighted. She jumped in, and he drove her to his house. ‘Jean, there is a small problem,’ he said, switching off the engine, ‘but I am sure we can work it out.’

‘What is it?’

‘My parents are away. I live here with them, but my cousin Frank, who also works for my father, is staying here too.

‘OK,’ said Jean, wondering what the problem was.

‘Please don’t tell Frank that you are only 15, Jean,’ he implored. ‘He would think that was very odd, and ask too many questions.’

‘Why would I tell him that?’

‘Well, Jean, you told me after only ten minutes.’

‘Oh yes, but I have never done that before.’

‘So why did you tell me?’

‘I really don’t know. Maybe it was just because I thought I was never going to see you again.’

‘Ah, OK. Well, we must keep it a secret. Just say you are 16, if Frank asks your age.’

‘Not a problem.’ She followed him into the house. It was amazing, huge, and as luxurious as the sports car. He showed her round. There were three lounges, but one was set up as a study. Every room had a television. There was a snooker room, with lots of other games to play. He showed her the bedrooms last. Each bedroom had its own bathroom, coffee table and settee.

‘Wow,’ Jean concluded, ‘your father must be a millionaire.’

‘Yes,’ replied Brian, ‘he is very well off. Would you like something