Circle of Revenge

By Carol Kennedy

The act of revenge is a vicious circle... Having been mistreated as a child, almost raped, and jilted at the altar, I seek my revenge on those who hurt me. There are of course some unintended casualties along the way, some of them causing me great distress. Perfect for fans of whodunnit and murder mystery, this book will not fail to grip you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Kennedy
• Release date: Oct 14, 2019

Carol Kennedy

I am fifty-eight years old and married. My husband is vicar of two rural parishes in North Warwickshire and we have three grown-up children. Our middle child is severely autistic and while acting as carer for him, I ran my own cross-stitch business, designing and producing charts and kits.The rest of my working life has been in administration and management, which includes a hospital in Toronto, a Rural Community Council, Littlewoods Delivery Service, a Christian Charity and a parish church.I have an MA in English Literature with Merit and a BA (Hons) in Leadership and Management, both obtained through the Open University. Holidays are spent cruising the inland waterways of Britain with my husband, on our narrowboat.

Book preview

Also written by Carol Kennedy

Love Lies Dead

Conspiring Black Sheep

Ophelia’s Flowers

The Legacy of Eugene Ingres

Deception

Contents

Also written by Carol Kennedy

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Veronica

Chapter One

Friday 25th October 1996

I scanned the local weekly newspaper for the story. I had bought the paper on the way home from school, stuffed it in my school bag and took it to my bedroom so that father wouldn’t see it. It was on page three, not quite front-page news; that had been taken by the account of the visit by the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh to the town that week. I read it slowly devouring every word, wanting to make sure that the details were correct.

Local woman hangs herself. Betty Nicholson was found hanging from the rafters in the kitchen of the family home on Wednesday 23rd October 1996 by her daughter, who tried without success to halt the attempt. The woman was described by neighbours as quiet and a loving mother to two adorable children who kept herself to herself. Her husband, a man of few words, has said it was a terrible accident.

Huh, I sneered, the article made her sound like a brilliant mother, if only they’d known what she was really like, quiet yes, unless she was shouting at us, loving, no, certainly not how we would describe it. I don’t remember much of my early childhood at all but what I can remember is not feeling happy. I didn’t know happy existed except at school. I loved going to school, it was a place I could escape to and feel safe, I could ask questions and not get a slap for being silly or asking a stupid question. I could laugh with my classmates and play games in break times; I could be myself. It wasn’t until I left home altogether that I found that happy wasn’t just a school thing. Looking back, I would describe home as dark and school as light.

I have no idea why our parents had my brother and me, they didn’t seem to show us the love that I’d seen friends receive from their parents. Birthday presents were a box of Maltesers and a cheap birthday card, the price was often left on the back of the card, while Christmas presents were never the longed-for toys we’d seen advertised on the television or in newspapers or that our friends talked about. If we were lucky, we got a book each and a single game between us. I don’t think it was because money was hard to come by. Father worked at the same place many of our friends’ fathers worked at, and they seemed to have good presents for birthday and Christmas, some of them at Easter as well. We never had chocolate eggs at Easter, but we did both receive new clothes. Mine was always a single dress, as I’d be growing out of the previous year’s offering and my brother always received a new pair of trousers.

We both detested going back to school after Christmas when everyone discussed the wonderful presents they’d had. We soon became aware of our shortcomings in the world of gifts and learnt to make things up, generally the gifts we would have liked to have received. Our friends would never know if we were telling the truth or not as they never came to our home. Of course, we never had birthday parties either and most definitely not allowed to go to our friends’ parties.

We were never really naughty, just inquisitive, as children are. Our parents thought they needed to chastise us every day and this was usually left to our mother who would use one of our father’s leather belts to give us a good hiding, ends held together often gave a double strike.

One occasion I got the belt for was just for asking why my brother and I had different surnames. ‘Because those are the names you were given.’ She said without any further explanation. ‘Now I don’t want you asking questions like that again, stand still so I know you won’t forget.’ With that I felt the belt sting the back of my legs, not once, but twice. Looking back, I can only think that this was how they’d been treated by their own parents, so they didn’t know to treat us any different, perhaps to them it was the norm.

It was the school holidays; October half term and we were bored stiff. Family outings were something that our friends enjoyed, not us. We weren’t even allowed to go on outings with friends when invited. Our mother would politely decline and say she’d already made plans for us. This usually meant we were doing housework under her strict scrutiny.

This particular day, I’d been cleaning the copper-based pans. I’d done such a good job of them that I could see my face in the bottom of them. I smiled, pleased with myself. This was a huge mistake on my part. My mother had come into the kitchen and seen me. ‘That pan is far from perfect, give it another clean, or I’ll give you something to smile about.’ She had snarled.

I was daft enough to respond. ‘But if I scrub it any further it will have a hole in it.’

She saw red and came at me with the broom she was holding. If looks could kill I would certainly have been dead in an instant. In defence I walloped her with the pan. She fell to the floor in a heap and didn’t move. The only sound was the broom clattering onto the floor tiles beside her. My brother who had been watching through the kitchen windows flew in through the door his eyes and mouth wide open.

‘You’re for it now,’ he whispered, ‘she’ll never let you forget this, she’ll beat you till you bleed, or worse.’

‘I’m not going to give her the chance,’ I hissed. ‘I’ve had enough, she has to be stopped. There’s some rope in dad’s shed, go and get it quickly.’

He stood there looking at me, grinned and ran off, returning minutes later with the rope.

‘What happens now, we never speak of, right?’ I spat in my hand and held it out to him.

‘Agreed.’ He smiled.

He spat in his and we shook hands to form a bond then held each other tight.

‘First of all,’ I took charge, ‘we need to get this rope over that rafter.’

My brother leapt up onto the table and managed to get the rope over the wood. I managed to tie a noose on one end and put it over our mother’s head.

‘Right, now help me pull on this rope and we’ll tie it to the range. Then I want you to get out of here. You can come back when Dad gets home.’

He looked at me and smiled at me in a way that said thank you. He’d always received more beatings than I had, perhaps because he was older than me. I pushed the table out of the way and knocked a chair over so that it looked like she’d stood on the chair and kicked it out of the way, and then I pulled on my mother’s legs to make sure the rope had done its work. I heard the garden gate swing open. Our father was home from work. When he came into the kitchen, he found me trying to support my mother, and I was sobbing hysterically.

‘I tried to stop her, I cried, I really did.’

He pushed me out of the way and pushed the chair underneath her feet then found the carving knife in the kitchen drawer and cut through the rope. My mother flopped down onto the floor completely lifeless.

‘Go and find your brother then run next door and tell the neighbour I need her to call the police and an ambulance.’

I honestly don’t think I’d ever heard him speak so many words in the same sentence before. I stood looking at him, wondering if I’d really heard him.

‘GO.’ He shouted.

I looked back as I left the kitchen. He was stroking her face and hair, tears rolling down his face. Oh how I wish he’d shown me and my brother that sort of love. I can’t remember being hugged or kissed by my parents.

Child of integrity, hath from my soul

Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts.

The neighbour called the police and we were ushered away lest we see the grisly scene. I rather think they’d forgotten I was there having supposedly found her. We were treated to sandwiches, crisps, chocolate finger biscuits and trifle by the neighbour. We ate well that night. That’s not to say that our parents didn’t feed us well, but it was always quite bland and never chocolate finger biscuits and trifle. The police interviewed our father and came to the conclusion that our mother was depressed and had taken her own life. Thankfully, we children were never interviewed.

We didn’t go to the funeral, father thought we were far too young to attend, so we went to school as usual. The best outcome from all of this was that the beatings stopped, and we were allowed to visit friends and go out with them on outings. I guess father found it easier for other people to look after us, especially in school holidays. My brother left the family home before I went to university. He’d done an apprenticeship at an engineering firm and was slowly working his way up the corporate ladder. He married when he was eighteen and had a daughter. He checked on me every day until I went to University to make sure I was ok. We both felt the need to escape this chapter of our lives.

If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well

If were done quickly: if the assassination

Could trammel up the consequence and catch

With his surcease success: that but this blow

Might be the be-all and the end-all - here.

Chapter Two

University passed in the usual student haze of parties and alcohol. I did study hard, but I had great fun too. In my third and final year I moved into a flat with my friend Amy and two lads that she knew from her course, Sam and Phil. Amy was rarely at our flat as she stayed with her boyfriend most of the time.

It soon became apparent that Sam and Phil were in a relationship together. They were usually cooped up in one of their own two rooms, leaving me the space of the living room and kitchen to use as I pleased. They kept themselves to themselves, though when they decided to have a party, Amy and I were always included.

There was one night when I was in my room having just got back from visiting my brother. I had caught an earlier train and let myself into the flat which was in darkness. I was tired, so had decided to go straight to bed. I didn’t even put the bedside light on. I didn’t think Sam and Philip had heard me come in as they were having noisy sex in their room when I returned. They weren’t expecting me back till late evening. I had just pulled the bed covers back ready to get in when I heard the front door open and close and presumed that they had both gone out. I started to undress when I heard someone knocking on my door. Before I could answer or open it, Sam pushed the door open. He was completely starkers and demanded to have sex with me so he could find out once and for all if he was gay or bi-sexual. I told him there was no way I was going to be his guinea pig and to go back to Philip. He laughed and said Phil had gone out, then he lunged at me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me off my bed, I managed to grab my letter opener which was on the bedside table as he pulled me into the lounge and as he pulled me down on top of him, I plunged the letter opener into him. I must have killed him straight away.

I felt cold, the horror of what had just happened draining my body heat. I returned to my room and put the clothes on that I’d just removed, picked up my travel bag and ran out of the flat. I ran down the stairs at the far end of the corridor, not wanting to bump into Phil on his return. I hid by the rubbish bins and watched for Philip to come back. I only waited about five minutes before I saw him go past. I counted to fifty then went home where I found Philip screaming because he’d just found Sam dead. I called the police and explained the situation and they arrived pretty quickly.

I admitted that the letter opener was mine and explained that I couldn’t have killed him as I’d just got back from visiting my brother and his family. My alibi held. When the case came to court the jury concluded that Sam had discovered a thief who must have picked up my letter opener to use as a weapon and used it in a tussle with Sam.

I kept the newspaper article.

Flatmates exonerated in student death of Sam Jacobs.

The jury concluded that the victim’s boyfriend went out to the local shops and probably didn’t shut the door properly. The victim heard a noise in the flat and on investigation came across a burglar. Picking up a letter opener to use as a weapon, the victim tussled with the intruder before being stabbed. The victim’s boyfriend arrived back to find the door wide open and the body on floor. Their flatmate returned from visiting family minutes later. Although it was found that the weapon belonged to the flatmate, and only her prints were found on it, her alibi was confirmed.

Philip couldn’t remember if the front door was open when he got back or not. He kept staring at me and when I asked him what the matter was, he would just say ‘it was you; I know it was, you came back early.’

Chapter Three

Monday 7th May 2018

I’d driven down this road countless times and yet this was the first time I’d noticed it, a grey derelict house covered in ivy set back about ten feet from the side of the road. My heartbeat got faster, it was so familiar, I needed to stop and investigate.

There was a car behind me and nowhere to stop, so I continued about half a mile until I came to a lay by. I pulled in and turned the engine off. Around me I could see nothing but trees, hedges and fields. Tentatively I got out of the car, locked the door and walked back the way I’d come, all the time looking into the hedgerow for signs of the house. Just as I thought I’d imagined seeing it, I saw it sitting forlornly surrounded by nettles and trees. It looked so sad and neglected. I stood a while looking at it trying to absorb every brick into my mind. There wasn’t much of the roof left. I could see a couple of rafters, and there were a few roof tiles at the edges. The sun emerged from behind a cloud and it was as if the whole house was saying hello, welcome back.

Cautiously I looked in through what I took to be the front door. It was an empty space, there were in fact no doors or windows, the whole of the interior had been stripped of whatever had been there. I stepped gingerly over the ground, expecting it to give way and swallow me up. There was a sweet musty smell everywhere, probably damp. There were dark, dusty cobwebs clinging to every wall and from the ceiling, thankfully there were no spiders in sight. There was no sign of the room having been decorated, the walls were grey concrete. I could see where there used to be a fireplace, a few broken tiles marked the hearth and a black void where the fire used to be. To my right was a doorway which led to what I suspect used to be the kitchen. There were water pipes hanging from the walls without taps attached or sink. The floor looked like it was made from quarry tiles with a good number of them cracked. A doorway at the back of the room, which I presumed led to the back garden, was filled with a large bush.

I returned to the front door and saw that on the opposite wall was another door, I opened it to reveal a wooden staircase. I tested each step to make sure it would hold my weight, even though it creaked a bit, it seemed to be fairly solid, perhaps because it was protected between the two walls that supported it. I investigated the first room. The wallpaper that was on the wall was very mildewed. I could just see glimpses of pink and green from whatever pattern they made up. There were leaves on the floor in the corner swept in by the wind through the open window; as I turned back to look at the other rooms, I was brought up short. My heart started pounding heavily in my chest I thought I’d heard a small child crying. I looked around the upstairs before looking over the banister to see if there was anyone else in the house and saw leaves swirling in the doorway. It must have been the leaves and the wind that I’d heard. My nerves were slightly jittery as it was.

A room I took to be the bathroom was squashed between two larger rooms as if space had been made for it so that an outhouse and tin bath didn’t have to be used any longer. I could see markings on the floorboards where a toilet, sink and bath would have stood and a couple of water pipes leaning into the room from the wall having separated from their mountings. A small window with a few shards of frosted glass hung precariously from a single screw.

I peered into another room and felt very sad. My emotions seemed to be on high alert. There were fragments of blue paint on the rotting skirting boards and the walls showed a very serious damp problem. I could feel tears slipping down my cheeks and an image came to mind of a