The Scorned Woman

By Anietta Strong

Excerpt from The Scorned Woman

‘Welcome to my consulting room Mrs Crealey, why not describe your symptoms?’ I shivered as he spoke with that soft comforting voice. I tried to imagine how many women had been reassured by its silky texture. I couldn't imagine what to say. I could just say I had no symptoms in particular and let him check me out using a rather crude form of gradual elimination. I knew where I wanted his hands to travel but I didn't want him to think I was being too obvious. Then I thought Oh! - what the hell! How many times in my life had I felt this gut-wrenching feeling of need! I couldn't even recall the last time any man, including my husband, had been down there! I decided I could play this game too.

‘I've been having period pains doctor. Hot flushes too but only in a certain place and certainly not where you might expect. I have been experiencing a pain in my groin too.’ I had sensitive boobs too, but I wanted him to try the direct route first and then see where it went afterwards.’ I felt Steve starting to lift my dress above my knees and I sensed he was soon going to have the shock of his life.

‘Oh, my goodness you have come prepared.’ The dress was around my waist now and he'd already worked out there was nothing more left to remove. I chose this moment to mention my dilemma.

‘I'm not on the pill Steve; just think about it, what was the point! I don't carry condoms around with me either, so I guess I'm dumping the problem on you?’ Steve gently eased my dress off and I now sat naked on his rear seat. A warmth of sorts was starting to be generated through the leather of the seat. It had a quality smell about it too, the sort you'd expect from the tack room of a stables.

‘I haven't either. I don't walk around with condoms in my wallet any more than you do. Let's just get and explore the geography tonight shall we. I want you Jaz Crealey and I've wanted you ever since I first saw you. Let's wait until we are better prepared, shall we? If it's meant to be, it'll be worth the wait.’ I couldn't believe how good that made me feel. I was wanted again, cherished, needed. I fancied the pants off him as much as he appeared to fancy the panty's off me. It was such a shame I wasn't wearing any. I was so hot and needy and while I desperately wanted to feel him inside me, I so respected him for thinking of me and not just himself.

He leaned in and kissed me and I responded too. My marriage vows were hanging by a thin thread, but they were still intact. His hands started to move south and when I felt them moving up my thigh, I opened my legs and offered myself.

Jasmine Crealey runs a counselling service and from within the walls of her tiny office she listens while her clients unload their problems. Jaz, as she prefers to be called, has plenty of her own with her marriage in tatters and facing an uncertain future. Then, in the space of a week her life is turned upside down. First, she meets a damaged teenager, the product of an unhappy home and having suffered abuse for which a man has been jailed. Jaz soon finds that the story behind the girl's problems is complex and not as clear cut as was believed and she quickly realises the girl is in extreme danger and fights to prevent this. Later, at a function to which she has been invited, she finds herself at the centre of attention by a woman with a piercing stare which unnerves Jaz. When the woman disappears from view any concerns melt away when she is approached by a man who sweeps her off her feet and quickly draws her into a whirlwind romance. Any hope of long-term happiness is soon destroyed and she is met instead by the twin evils of hatred and bigotry. Jaz then finds herself under attack by officialdom and madness with both intent on tearing her family apart and leaving her with nothing but fond memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anietta Strong
• Release date: Nov 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005164027

Anietta Strong

Hi, I'm Anietta, I've always loved to write even before my teens. Like most people who built a career and led a busy life,I took up writing seriously when life calmed down, which for me was when my family grew up and left the nest. I love to write about difficult issues, not shying away from areas where some writers prefer to avoid. Yes, they are edgy, maybe sexy too, but that is life. I'm particularly interested in women's issues and my characters reflect my own personality. I hate political correctness, the airbrushing of history, our cancellation society, Woke culture, and speak and write without fear. I hope you enjoy my books.Please note. all characters depicted in my books are over 18 when features in appropriate scenes in each book

Book preview

Chapter One

Spots of rain spattered the windscreen. They said it would rain later but I had hoped to have got back home long before it started. So much for weather forecasts! I sometimes wondered why I ever bothered listening to them. I hated the school run, dropping off my daughter outside the school in the morning and then having to pick her up in the evening. It was that fine spitting rain, the sort which cannot make up its mind. It was something, then again it was nothing. Just enough to force the odd flick of the windscreen wiper switch, but not enough to keep them running without the screech they made against dry glass.

I hated this return run. At least in the morning I could just stop short of the school gate and let Charley out. She's my daughter by the way, fifteen now and thinks she knows everything - just like I was at her age too. Now I had to find a parking space and they were rare as hens’ teeth around the school at this time of day. I'd left work early today, having seen my last client an hour ago and with my diary empty afterwards I thought I'd get out and enjoy some fresh air. I'm a counsellor. I listen to people who pour out their troubles to me - that is when they did talk. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they sit there and clock ticks away. I usually avoid talking then, I could ask them questions but I don't. They have come to me and when they are ready, they will tell me why. In the meantime, I just have to be patient.

I listen while they tell, then I listen some more. I might ask some questions, but not always. I like those long periods of silence when eventually you get much more from the person sitting there. I'm not there to talk. I'm certainly not there to give advice. Mind you, there are times when I want to scream at the woman sitting there telling me about some low life who is treating her like shit. Dump him, get him out of your fucking life - I would!

Then I think what a hypocrite I am. Isn't she just me and shouldn't I be taking my own advice? I'm pretty good at my job, or at least I think I am. I have people come back to me again and again - but hang on, couldn't that also mean I'm not very effective? I do know I'd like to come to me. No, I'd love to come to me, because then I unload my own feelings to someone just like me.

I'm Jasmine Crealey - people call me Jaz.

Chapter Two

The rain was pretty steady by the time I reached the school. The line of cars either side of the gates stretched endlessly into the distance. It was one of those days to have had an umbrella and typically I'd left mine back in the office. I was now about to reach the main gate and just before me a car was pulling out; so there really was a God and it seemed today he was on my side. I managed to pull into the vacant space without too much trouble. I'd always hated parking, something Geoff always liked to poke fun at me about! It was like an annoying itch, one which wouldn't go away no matter how long and hard I scratched it - to always be so fucking perfect was even more annoying!

I sat a while. I was early and if my clock was correct, I still had twenty minutes to wait before the mass exodus. Even then Charley was never on time. She had a boyfriend at the school, although I wasn't sure which one it was now. She changed them more often than her knickers and from the pairs which ended up in the laundry bin that was pretty often. I hated it when I had free time. When I was working and knew I had to keep to a schedule, this kept me from thinking about my own issues and problems. They were piling up by the hour and now I was struggling to see the way ahead. I felt like I was travelling on a train and I had entered a long dark tunnel. When I looked out of the window there was just blackness and all I could see was my own reflection. Things at home were bleak, Geoff spent so much time away on business I hardly saw him and to be honest I preferred it that way.

That was how I got into counselling I suppose. I'd worked before Charley was born and I didn't return. I found there were only so many coffee mornings I could cope with. All that gossip and backbiting. When I stopped going my ears would almost drop off, but then I was reminded of something my mother used to say – if they are talking about you Jasmine, they are leaving some other poor sod alone! I wasn't a Women's Institute type and I never saw myself as a school governor either. In fact, I wasn't sure what the hell I was! Then I saw the advert about training to be a counsellor. I didn't answer it of course, but it sowed the seed - gave me the idea. Gave me that impetuous to see what the role entailed and how to go about gaining the necessary skills. That was five years ago.

It didn't seem that long. One thing it did highlight was how long things with Geoff had been at rock bottom. I knew he was fucking someone but I wasn't sure whom. One thing I did know, it wasn't his secretary, she's in her sixties; he goes for younger, firmer flesh and Edna Roberts didn't fit that description. Geoff said she may be retiring soon but she had been saying that every year since I'd known her. Most people assumed she would leave her post in a box, carried by men in black suits with solemn faces.

The windscreen was totally blurred now. I flicked the wiper switch and cleared it. Sally Jameson was standing at the gate getting wet so I tooted the horn and waved her to come and sit inside. From the look of her she'd forgotten her umbrella too and as no others were deployed either she wasn't alone.

‘Caught you out too, they didn't say to expect this did they?’ I asked Sally a dumb question as she quickly got into the car. Her hair was wet and rain streaks ran down her face. Sally and I had met at the school. Charley, my daughter was friends with her daughter Georgie; I guess we just became good friends too. She's fun and she knows about my home issues, hers are almost identical.

‘Too bloody right! I only had my hair done this morning too. Look at me!’ She sounded really pissed off and I must admit if it wasn't so serious, I would normally have found her appearance rather amusing. I put on my best pan face and sympathetic look. Sally was a good friend. She was just what I needed, someone who took life by the horns and didn't normally give a shit – unless her hair got ruined!

‘Got anything planned. You normally let your hair have its own way unless you are on a mission – spill, who is he?’ I was usually right. While Sally was married too, hers was as open as a barn door. Neither she or her husband Paul hid their personal lives and it only seemed they came together on important matters, such as when it involved their daughter Georgina or when someone got married or died. The rest of the time they were ships which passed each other in the night. Wasn't that where I was heading too?

‘You're a nosy cow Jaz. It's no one in particular, just someone I met on line. We're meeting up tonight and I'm going to have to get my hair sorted again and I haven't got much time left to do it. I just hope Georgina moves her arse and doesn't hang around.’ I looked across; I had some sympathy about her hair, it was a fucking mess, but if she washed it and blow dried it something was still possible. She had short hair anyway, a mousy brown – nothing to worry about. I was worried though, I wasn't sure about on-line dating, but Sally was a determined woman and when she set her heart on something little ever changed her mind. I thought shock tactics were probably the next step.

‘So where are you meeting this bloke?’ My eyes quickly strayed to the clock on the dashboard as I spoke, realising the school would soon be opening its doors for the great escape. ‘I hope it's in some well-lit public place where you aren't going to end up being found naked in some ditch in a few days’ time!’ Sally looked across at me with shock written across her face. She had a soft gentle face, pretty without being beautiful. The look then softened and turned to a smile as she replied.

‘You are such a drama queen Jaz. Of course, I'm not, we are meeting in some dark wood and I'm bring him a rape kit, just in case he has forgotten his. I'm not twelve Jasmine! I've been around the block a few times, it's a fucking drink for chrissake not a marriage proposal. You should try it yourself sometime, get yourself out there again. If you don't it’ll heal up for lack of use!’ Jaz know the truth when it was put bluntly like that. Of course, she was right. I'd hoped things would turn around at home, but they hadn't. Perhaps if things had become more aggressive, even violent, I might have seen that as the spur I needed, but it was the gradual acceptance of my lot that had left the status quo as the norm? Of course, I’d had opportunities but I had brushed them all aside. Hadn't I seen enough clients of both sexes to know what problems playing around could cause.

A few kids appeared at the school gate now. It was always same with the younger children appearing first. It seemed the way with those seeming wanting to get the hell out and away first while the older kids hung around in groups talking. I found it amusing, it was if they hadn't seen each other in weeks, even though they had been together all day. The older the kids the longer they took to reach the exit. I knew I had a few more minutes before Charley appeared so I answered.

‘I'm sorry. I suppose I'm envious really. My life is so fucking boring and of course you are right, I should do something while I still can. I've often met men I'd love to date when I'm working but you know I can't. It's a bit like a doctor shagging his patient, all kinds of shit will come down if I did – you know that.’ I wasn't sure I even believed myself. It was a good example to trail, but it wasn't the same at all, similar maybe, but not with the same devastating consequences.

‘Look, I've got this function to attend next week. It's a conference of sorts, some guest speakers and a few open forums. Workshops is the posh description, but it's just little groups sitting in a circle with the same boring people hogging the conversation and then presenting their established views at end! You know the sort of thing Jaz. Anyway, there is a function later in the evening, I can bring a guest and you are welcome to join me?’ Sally worked for a group of solicitors based in Bath. She focussed on family law and saw more than her share of abuse cases, particularly violence against women. This was how we first met and she passed a regular stream of women to my door for counselling afterwards. She was a rough diamond, a bit like me I suppose, but she also had a heart of pure gold. It had been on a similar day to today; we had first met outside the school gates although then we had brought our umbrellas as we stood waiting in the rain. Our daughters were in the same year and were on and off friends. We had been friends ever since and we met up regularly for lunch and occasionally at social events. Her suggestion certainly had appeal?

‘Can I get back to you on that Sal, I'll have to check my diary but I'm sure I can make it. What day is it anyway?’ I didn't even own a social diary and even if I had, I knew it would be filled with empty space, particularly in the evenings when I spent that time reading through my notes or watching mundane TV. Just then Sally noticed her daughter standing at the gates, she was frantically looking for her mum so she could get out of the rain.

‘Got to go Jaz, it's next Wednesday, I'll call you over the weekend – bye.’ Sally opened the door and rushing over she met her daughter and they both went running off down the long row of parked cars. Too late, I realised I could have given them a lift but with Charley still not in sight I realised it would have only held them back. Reluctantly I opened the door and decided to make my way into the school to gee her daughter up or more likely get her to extract her tongue from throat of her latest boyfriend. I'd only taken two or three steps when Charley appeared and seeing me, she ran forward and quickly got into the car.

Chapter Three

The following morning the drive into work was almost uneventful. The slow torturous jam of traffic through Bath was the same as usual and while heavy clouds gathered overhead, at least the rain held off. The night before was pretty ordinary too with Charley soon disappearing after supper to do her homework, although I knew in reality, she would be on Facebook most of the night continuing the conversations she'd had earlier in the day. Meanwhile I sat downstairs nursing a glass of Merlot while I went through the file of a new client, I was seeing at ten the following morning.

It was coming up to ten now. I liked my clients to arrive early to avoid any overrun into the next client. I allowed an hour normally, but with someone new I left a bit more leeway in case it ran over. Today my client was a 14-year-old girl. Her name was Amber Jackson. She had been referred to me by social services where she was in local authority care. I'd read her case file the previous evening and it had all the signs of it being a difficult case. Her background seemed pretty normal though. She was of afro Caribbean origin with her mother Ernestine Jackson a prominent member of a Baptist church in Bath. It seemed the girl had had a strict upbringing, possibly as a result of her father having left his wife shortly after Amber had been born. It seemed he had returned to Barbados where he had lived before moving to England.

The report from her school said Amber was a good student. It said she was a quiet girl who did well in her lessons, but she didn't seem to have many friends. I knew that feeling pretty well myself and these sounded like coded words which meant just one thing – she was being bullied! Reading further into the report, it reached the point where everything changed. She had apparently met a much older man. A man in his sixties who became a huge feature in her life. There was no mention in the report how they had met. There was however a lot of information about his alleged sexual abuse of the girl. Much was placed on her being found in the man's house naked. Nothing specific was mentioned, just certain suggestions which allowed people to join up the dots whichever way they wished.

I looked for any evidence of what the girl had to say about her situation. There was none. It appeared that everything was based on assumptions. That bothered me. As a parent I knew a girl, just a year younger than Charley, would have her own life. She would have her own secrets too. She would have her own opinions and would certainly be able to tell me or anyone else for that matter her own version of events if some issue had arisen and she was asked to explain. I didn't see any evidence of it here. There was plenty from her mother. Much of it evangelical drivel. Her social worker’s report was thin, probably with her caseload, she had scribbled a few notes and moved on – next!

Amber Jackson was displaying some quite alarming behavioural issues. She seemed to have developed an eating disorder – bulimia. Thankfully, there was no indication she was refusing to eat, just the opposite, but then this was followed by self-induced vomiting. Further to this she was self-harming, somehow, she had got hold of a razor blade and was cutting herself on her arms and thighs, even her stomach. Places which didn't show – that was until blood was seen after one particularly excessive act. Added to this, the fact she was totally uncommunicative, this left those in charge of her welfare little option other than to seek help. I guess this is where I came in.

Amber was late, or at least the carer who brought her arrived late. Thankfully my diary was clear that morning which was unusual. In a perverse way, people with the weight of the world on their shoulders were not in short supply these days, which was good for me? Their misery kept the wolves from my door. No explanation for lateness was given; I hadn't expected any. It would have been nice though, a sorry I'm late…. I wondered what the reason was and when I saw the young teenager’s sullen face, I imagine she had caused it - probably deciding she didn't want to be there anyway. I invited Amber in and the carer moved to join her. I stopped her.

‘Sorry, I do this with Amber alone, please wait in here. Unfortunately, I don't have any tea of coffee making stuff so you might wish to leave and return in an hour. She'll be fine, I'll look after her.’ The woman balked. Her intention had been to be part of the act.

‘Sorry I can't do that. Amber is a vulnerable child. I know her, she will play up - I have to stay.’ The stare was challenging but she didn't know me. I'd met arseholes like her before - more bullies and if she was present Amber wouldn't open up to me. It would be a waste of time so I tried the direct approach.

‘What is discussed in my private room remains private between me and my client. That doesn't include you. Either you let me carry on and do my job, or this session ends before it starts. If you don't mind, please leave these premises and return at 11.30. Otherwise, I will get onto the phone now and have someone I know tell you the same. Your choice?’ This took the wind out of her sails. In any hierarchy, jobsworths like this woman, knew their place and any fear of someone in authority putting her future progress within that organisation at risk normally created the desired behaviour. Oh yes, this woman wanted to find out the juicy details of this sordid tale, but she wasn't going to get the opportunity from me!

The woman walked to the exit door and left, she turned as she walked away and gave me a scowl. I closed the door and locked it. This wasn't unusual when I was often alone with a client. In her case I didn't want her on the premises, choosing to listen at the door to my room. I wanted her gone so Amber could feel she was free to relax and hopefully open up? Amber meanwhile was looking out of the window of my waiting room, she was tiny and quite frail looking, above all she exuded fear. I decided the best policy was to do a reset, forget what I had read and start again from the beginning.

I took Amber through to my room and left her to decide what to do. I sensed she was fed up being told what to do, even being told to sit. I decided to confess to one lie I had told since her arrival.

‘Would you like a drink? I've got the works here, although I imagine a double scotch with ice would be a bit inappropriate. I didn't tell your minder the truth, I just don't keep stuff out there in the waiting area. I'm not even sure I should even call it that because I don't encourage people to wait. I've got a Coke or a J2O?’ I realised I was gabbling, so I stopped and just stood looking at the girl. Helpfully she just shrugged!

‘I haven't got any of that Amber, I'm having a coffee, I'll leave you to help yourself when you make your mind up - okay.’ I walked over to the small kitchen area I'd had installed and picking up the kettle I set about filling it.

‘A Coke is fine.’ I stopped in my tracks. It did speak after all. I decided immediately on my next move.

‘Fridge is over here Amber, I'm here to listen, not wait on you. Get yourself a glass from the cupboard and help yourself.’ I carried on preparing my own tea. She didn't move for a while, probably thinking I was going to blink first. Eventually she got the message and slowly made her way towards me. I at least opened the right cupboard to prevent a game of hide and seek when it came to grabbing a glass, then I left her to it.

Five minutes later we sat facing each other over a small circular table. I'd put my tea down and she was sipping her Coke from the can. So much for the glass! She had been here 20 minutes already but I wasn't bothered. She was booked in for a further session early the following week and I wasn't sure I would get much from her today. My goal was for her to leave and wish to return. If I got that far I would have succeeded.

‘So, what's your favourite band, One Direction? My daughter likes them, which is your favourite, Harry or Liam?’ I thought I'd try to find some common ground. Amber didn't respond at once; it was as if it took her a while to work out who I was referring to?

‘I don't know about stuff like that, I wasn't allowed to. My mum said that sort of thing was the work of the devil - sinful!’ Amber spat out the last word. She had given me a hook and I now had to make this count in the time I had left.

‘Do you love your mum?’ I went straight for the jugular! I felt her mother was the secret here and I felt if I could just lift the edge of the veneer just a little, I could start to pick away until I got down to the bare wood beneath.

‘I don't want to talk about her.’ Amber replied. It was a disappointing response but not an unexpected one.

‘It would help me understand you better if you did.’ I replied. Amber just sat staring for nearly a minute. I had learned from bitter experience this was the time to remain silent. There was a voice screaming in my head to speak, to urge her to explain. I knew the pressure was now on her and the longer the silence lasted, the more likely it would be she would finally crack and then tell me more. The standoff continued. This was a battle of wills and I was determined to win it at all costs. The report told me nothing of the events leading up to the arrest of the man she had been found with. Nothing at all about her side of the story or how he had ended up in prison for four years. I watched the clock move round minute by minute but I had all the time in the world. It was like watching someone holding heavy weights with their arms outstretched. Normally, you could see the strain on their faces and you knew it wouldn't be long before those arms started to shake and quiver under the weight and the time was approaching when they finally dropped. I looked at Amber but her face gave nothing away. This was one very determined young lady. I knew if that determination could be harnessed, she would go places, be someone special, but she was all locked away and the key was missing. I had to resort to picking away at what held her together until everything opened and she started to unload.

‘I hate her!’ She spat out the words – finally! It had been worth the wait, although it had made great inroads into our time together. No surprises there either; I had already worked that out and there had to be a good reason why she had ended up in care. Just then the doorbell rang. I knew Amber’s time was nearly up and the woman had returned early. I knew I had just one final minute of time with the girl to seal our connection and ensure she would return. If I got this right, she would be early next time rather than late.

‘Time is up Amber, it's time for you to go. Do you want to come again, I've got plenty of Coke in the fridge?’ I purposely kept it short. I got the impression Amber’s attention span was brief so I didn't get into long winded final gestures. She got up just as the bell rang again only longer this time. She didn't reply, but just walked towards the door leading to the exit.

The bell rang a third time.

‘I'm coming for chrissake!’ I yelled. Moving forward to open the door. Amber pulled me back.

‘He didn't do anything!’ She then rushed forward and opened the door herself and pushed brusquely past the woman outside who made to speak then changed her mind.

‘See you Monday Amber.’ I called out. There was no reply. All I got was a glare from the woman who went chasing down the stairs to the main entrance to catch the girl. Then all was silent.

I went back after closing the door. I made fresh tea and thought about where to go for lunch. I reflected on the visit by Amber Jackson and I felt I had given her a small token of trust to go away with. My main concern now was the next visit and how I could perhaps make the trip to and from the session less stressful. I was on good terms with a senior member of the group which had referred Amber to me and I would ask for another staff member to accompany her next time instead of the bitch I had met earlier. I read through the notes I had made and homed in on the girl’s reaction when her mother’s name had been mentioned. I would make that my starting point next time and see if I could build on that reaction still further. It had been a short period of interaction after a lengthy journey to reach that point, but it was her parting comments which I couldn't get out of my mind. He didn't do anything. Those were the words she used. There could be only one person she could be referring to and I was determined to get Amber Jackson to tell me exactly what she meant.

Chapter Four

The following morning, I woke and found Geoff had returned late that evening. We no longer shared a bed, so it wasn't as if his arrival had even been noticed. At least as he left, he called up to say he would be dropping Charley off at school so that was one job less for me to worry about. My first appointment wasn't until 11am so I took my time and enjoyed a relaxing breakfast and good Italian coffee.

I'd thought a lot about Amber Jackson, I'd thought even more about her mother. I went on-line to see what I could find about the case from newspaper reports. Most of the reports focussed on the man involved in the case which had come to court just under a year before. The case centred around a man named Robert Skelton who was 68. He was a widower and lived alone in a quiet residential street on the outskirts of Bath. Amber wasn't even named, so I realised she had the protection of the court in terms of disclosing the identity of a minor. This didn't seem to apply to her mother though and Ernestine Jackson featured rather disproportionately in most of the news coverage which had appeared.

Skelton was branded the anti-Christ. A predatory paedophile who had targeted a teenage schoolgirl and then groomed her for his own perverted sexual needs. There was a suggestion of more than sexual abuse; physical abuse also came into an equation which was far from simple. The odds appeared to be stacked against Robert Skelton from the start and this wasn't helped by the constant religious outpourings of Ernestine Jackson who took every opportunity to brand Skelton as some beast who had violated her daughter in the most hideous ways possible.

I wondered about the role of the court and the judge in particular. It bothered me he hadn't attempted to rein in the press headlines and to a lesser extent on television news. The case was starting to ring a bell in my own head now and what troubled me most was whether Robert Skelton had been given a fair trial? Reports afterwards complained the 4-year jail term he had been given was far too lenient. Many pointed out he could be back out on the streets in two years and many feared he would re-offend.

There were no details of his crimes. It was mentioned how a young girl had been found naked in his house when a neighbour had called round to borrow Skelton’s hedge clippers. The balloon went up then and everything escalated from that point onwards. That seemed to be it. There was no explanation as to the circumstances in which Amber Malcolm had been found that way. Certainly, there was no apparent defence or even anyone speaking up for him. It was an open and shut case, pure and simple.

Most newspapers showed different images of Ernestine Jackson clutching her bible. In fact, I couldn't find one without her doing so. This seemed to be her trade mark? Her faith was probably more important to her than anything else and I suspected that included her daughter. I wondered too just what sort of a life Amber had lived with her mother’s strict fundamentalist views. I even began to wonder if perhaps the time spent with Robert Skelton was far from being abusive and might even have been enjoyable? Hopefully I would find out next week when we met again. I checked the time, it was 9.30 and if I left soon, I could take my time through the carve up, which was the city of Bath’s traffic system, and arrive in time to relax before my first client arrived at 11am.

On arrival I filled the kettle and made coffee. I usually had just the one cup in a day otherwise the caffeine would soon have me jumping off the walls. The journey was even quicker than I’d planned, so while the drink was cooling, I took the opportunity to ring Sally Jameson. I had promised to call her over the weekend but I had decided to go to the function with her although I had a more pressing reason for ringing her.

‘Hi Sal, I hope I haven't interrupted anything important, only I wondered if you were free for lunch today.’ She answered on the third ring which suggested she was at her desk and not in court or seeing a client.

‘No Jaz, you chose a perfect moment, I'm due in a meeting in about five minutes though so I can't be long – when did you have in mind?’ I was pleased she could make it for lunch I just hoped the time I suggested suited her.

‘How about 1pm at the wine bar on the corner of John Street?’ I suggested hopefully.

‘Sounds perfect Jaz, looking forward to it, must fly.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot Sal, next Wednesday, that function you mentioned. I'd be delighted to join you.’ I just got that in before Sal gave me the briefest of goodbyes and ended the call.

My client that morning was a middle-aged man whose wife had left him for another woman. It was hard to work out if the problem which had brought him to my door was the fact, she had left him, or that she had left him to live with another woman? I tried to separate the two issues, but I only got a clear reply to one. The fact he preferred not to discuss his feelings about her having left him for a same sex partner seemed to me his real problem and alarmingly he didn't even seem to accept the fact that such relationships were quite common and as common in women as they were in men.

I booked a further appointment for the following week, but I know he wouldn't turn up. He’d cancel midweek and have some urgent prior engagement he'd forgotten about, but we both knew we were done. My next appointment was at 2.30 and as the clock was ticking towards the meeting with Sal, I locked up and started the short walk to meet her.

The wine bar was full as was expected on a Friday lunchtime. It was the day people normally gathered to celebrate forthcoming weddings or retirements, promotions or just that the weekend was approaching with its welcome break from work. I looked around and saw Sal sitting in the far corner; she raised her hand and waved to attract my attention so I pushed my way through the crowded bar area to join her. Thankfully she had had the foresight to order me a drink and a large glass of chilled Chardonnay awaited me. I certainly needed it after the previous client who to say the very least was as boring as watching paint dry.

‘I hope you haven't been waiting long, I tried to get away as soon as I could but I had a difficult client who couldn't get over the fact he'd been married to a lesbian for twenty years!’ Sal laughed at that.

‘You wouldn't believe how often I meet people with the same issues, I think it's hurt pride really, worse for a man I suspect; all that hurt masculine pride, that all his efforts twice a month were in vain!’ I found that funny too

‘So, what sort of a do is this function I'm going to next week - how much effort do I have to make?’ I had a little black dress I liked to wear, I know I could turn heads when I put that on, especially if I left my knickers off!

‘Oh, you dress to impress, it's expected. All those dirty old men with their groping hands, they're all pretty harmless, a quick feel and most of them think they've just got off. There are one or two interesting ones and they are the ones I want you to meet.’ Sal had that lop-sided smile on her face. It was one which made me wary.

‘You aren't setting me up are you, I know you are renowned for your matchmaking skills Sal!’ I picked up my drink and took a sip; I glanced around the room but everyone was busily engaged in conversation. Perhaps my vanity hoped someone might have noticed two women in their late thirties sitting alone.

‘Girl guides honour Jaz, I'm not lining you up - in fact I might even be competing with you!’ The look on Sal’s face suggested the on-line date had been a disappointment.

‘The fact you are here alive and well suggests you didn't meet the local rapist the other night.’ I realised as soon as I said it the comment was in poor taste, especially for a woman who saw far too much of that in the lives of her clients.

‘Oh god don't remind me. If dating was subject to the description of goods act, I could have taken him to court Jaz. Goodness knows where he got the photo, he showed me. It wasn't just that either, I've seen more personality in a goldfish. I know it's awful but I went to the ladies’ loo and sneaked out the back entrance. Thankfully I'd brought my car.’ She was smiling at least, so the shock had worn off.

‘So, I don't have to buy a new hat then!’

‘OMG imagine if it was one of those arranged marriages and I'd just met my future intended! I would have slit my wrists, I really would.’ I decided it was time to bring up the real reason I'd asked Sal to meet me for lunch.

‘Do you recall a case which came to court about a year ago – it might be 18 months. It involved a man in his 60s being accused of sexual activity with a 14 yr old girl. Her name was Amber Jackson?’ I picked up my glass again and waited for Sal’s response.

‘I most certainly do; we were involved indirectly with the girl. She has a mother from hell by all accounts.’ Sal replied and gave me the sense of relief I'd hoped for. ‘Why? You know I can't go into this too deeply, even for a friend.’

‘I saw Amber Jackson yesterday. She has been placed in care and she has been referred to me for an eating disorder and self-harming. The girl is desperately unhappy and I'm looking for any background information I can get on her case so I can try to open her up and get her to talk to me.’ I had Sal's full attention now, she put down her glass and leaned into me so she could talk without risk of being overheard.

‘I see, I knew she was being taken into care after the incident, and it was thought she would be returned to the family home, then of course that got scuppered.’ This caught my attention.

‘Really, why was that, what happened?’ I asked.

‘Well cutting a long story short her mother was held under Section 2 of the 2012 Mental Health Act. That means in layman’s terms she was sectioned.’ Wow, that wasn't what I was expecting. From what I had gleaned already, Ernestine Jackson had been a key and particularly vocal player in the conviction of Robert Skelton. I wondered what had driven her over the edge.

‘Oh my god Sal, this case seems to be getting more complicated by the minute, why was that?’ I hoped Sal wouldn't pull down the shutters and play the client confidentiality card on me.

‘In case you are not aware Jaz, someone needs to meet certain criteria in order to be sectioned. This criterion means that someone has to be suffering from a mental disorder of a nature or degree which warrants detention in a secure hospital for assessment or treatment and that they need to be detained in the interests of their own health, their own safety or with a view to the protection of others. Mental disorder is a broad term that includes conditions like schizophrenia, depression, bipolar disorder or personality disorder. Well, it seems she started to hear voices. These voices took her out onto the streets where she would preach. She read from the bible she carried constantly and when her condition got to the point where she started to become violent and a danger to others she was taken away to a place of safety.’ Sal stopped and looked at her watch. ‘Look I have to go; give me a ring tonight we can carry this on then.’ Sal finished her drink and I followed suit. We went to the exit door together and walked away in opposite directions.

Chapter Five

I hated weekends. At least during the week, I had some purpose to my life even if it meant listening to the drab purposeless lives of so many of my clients. It was the only time I got to see Geoff and that wasn't the sort of time spent together I imagined most married couples enjoyed. I'd been married nearly 15 years, well past the nine-year itch that all marriages apparently suffered around that time. Ours had caught that itch well before then, and despite trying all the remedies it didn't go away. We spoke, we were civil, but that spark which had brought us together stopped igniting and gradually faded away.

Geoff Crealey was a salesman for a computer company when we first met. I was the secretary to the IT manager of a major food retailing chain. Geoff always had a smile of his face and it seemed he had a particular smile he kept exclusively for me. That was it really. Eventually he asked me out for a drink and things went on from there. After we got married, I soon became pregnant and Charlotte was born. Geoff never came home early; he was in the drinking culture which was so common in IT companies and it seemed he preferred to spend time with his work colleagues than he did with me and his baby daughter. Okay, we had some great holidays and when I could get him away from the clutches of work, something like the relationship I'd had previously returned. Even then he would be on the phone or find some Internet café so he could log on and keep his hand in!

Even now I wasn't sure what his relationship was with Charley? I'd always found Charlotte a mouthful, so when parents become rather self-indulgent with the name, they had given their child, it was no surprise when they tended to solve that amongst themselves. It felt odd to hear Charlotte's friends call her Charley when then came around, at first, I used to look round for a boy, but then the penny dropped and I realised what had happened. So, she became Charley and except on formal occasions she had remained so ever since. I'd had to leave work of course and the drop-in money and my independence hit me hard at first. I couldn't say with honesty I missed the job; after all there are only so many ways, I could take dictation, type a letter or answer the phone.

As our marriage dried up and I began to feel more and more isolated and alone, I sought to find new outlets. I guess this started the day Charley began school. I suddenly had free time and you can only clean the house so many times in a day, or go to the supermarket. It seemed strange going into one supermarket chain in particular which brought back memories of meeting Geoff and his strange lop-sided smile. I tried the obvious things. Meeting up with other mothers I met at the school gates. I soon found that wasn't for me; I've never been a gossip and I hated the way a group of women could pull someone apart for the most mundane of reasons. So, what if a woman was overweight, or her hair could do with restyling. What if she lived in social housing on a rough estate! So much was snobbery pure and simple. Eventually I did meet Sally Jameson and we clicked right away. We've been best friends ever since. Okay, I did flirt with the Women's Institute briefly, but jam and Jerusalem were never going to get my juices flowing, so after a few visits I decided it wasn't for me so I left.

It was when I was close to my wits end and I thought about getting a part time job stacking shelves in the local supermarket that I saw the advert suggesting a career in counselling. Of course, this was one of those expensive correspondence courses where you paid serious money and worked towards a qualification not worth the cost of the paper certificates which came at the end. Even so, it had sown the seed of an idea and as I had time on my hands; I put my heart and soul into finding out more. I checked with Sal and she thought it a great idea too. What better endorsement was that! At first, I found the hill I had to climb rather daunting. There seemed so much I had to learn, so many levels to reach before moving onto the next. There was some cost too and, in this respect, Geoff was none too helpful. He was one of those who didn't believe in therapy. It was to him some alternative medicine and he saw anything which didn't end up with a prescription being handed out as some kind of scam. He had a similar view about counselling, something only wimps required! His view was that people just needed to sort themselves out - pull themselves together! Simple as that.

In the end I found the main Europe wide body which provided training for counselling. I funded myself to a Level 5 Diploma in Cognitive Behavioural Therapeutic Therapy. Afterwards I had considered continuing with an Open University course but I decided to put this on hold and it had remained on hold ever since.

I'm not sure how it happened, maybe a word in the right ear, but eventually I was contacted by this guy in social services who asked me if I'd take on some specific cases. These were teenagers who had displayed disturbing behavioural issues. Of course, Amber Jackson was just the latest in what had