Tudor Pavanne: Hannah Rose
Hannah and John stared at each other a moment as the door closed behind the police officer. John raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say "What's next?", but he seemed calm, so she pointed at the boy still peeking around the bedroom door and said quietly, "See if you can coax him out." He nodded and walked slowly over, squatting down as Sergeant Barkley had done, and began talking to the boy in a low, friendly voice.
Hannah, meanwhile, turned around again and knelt down, too, by the woman still huddled beside the chair. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right now." The woman finally lowered her arms, peering fearfully at Hannah.
"My name's Hannah. I live right downstairs from you. I've seen you and your little boy in the lobby a few times." She smiled warmly, trying to put her at ease. "What's your name?"
"Irina," came the hesitant reply. She seemed to have a bit of an eastern European accent.
Hannah smiled again. "Hello Irina. Everything's going to be OK now. I'm going to take you and your son to a women's shelter, where he can't hurt you." Irina started shaking her head, and Hannah tried to reassure her. "You don't have to press charges if you really can't. I will, though. It would help if you could make a statement about him slapping me, but even that's OK..." she trailed off, as Irina had continued shaking her head, harder and harder.
"I can't..." she almost wailed. "He said..." She stopped dead, biting her lips.
"What did he say?" A pause, but no reply. "Did he threaten to hurt you? Or kill you? Or your son?" She wouldn't have been a bit surprised, but Irina immediately denied it, with a ring of veracity.
"No! He wouldn't..."
Then, hearing her accent again, Hannah gently guessed, "Did he say he'd have you deported?"
At that, Irina's eyes flew wider. She didn't nod, but she stopped shaking her head.
"Irina, he can't. He can't do it himself, and he can't get the authorities to do it. They will protect you, both from him and from being sent back. I know exactly who to call and where to take you, to get you that protection. It's all right. There are programs specifically designed to assist and protect immigrant women who've been assaulted by their partners. They won't send you back. Instead, they'll help you get away from him, so you never have to see him again, and help you start a new life, right here in England, with your son." Stressing the last bits, Hannah had laid a gentle hand on Irina's arm as she spoke.
Irina's eyes had slowly gone liquid, as a ray of hope, so often extinguished, seeped back into them. "Truly?" she whispered, not daring to believe.
"Truly." And with that, Irina started to sob in relief. Hannah pulled her close and let her get it out of her system, murmuring reassurances.
When the tears began to slow, Irina pulling herself back together, Hannah eased back, then stood up and pulled Irina to her feet, too. "OK. You'll need to get a couple of bags together, one for you and one for your son, with enough clothes for just a couple of days. And any important papers you have. And medicines. Can you do that quickly?" Irina nodded, and turned towards the bedroom, holding out her hand to the boy and speaking in a foreign language Hannah didn't recognize.
As they disappeared to pack, John picked himself up off the floor, too, and Hannah went to him, impulsively slipping her arms around his waist and hugging him. "Thank you!" she told him, and at his raised eyebrows explained, "for coming to my rescue."
"I don't think you needed rescuing. I'm not sure what's going on," he admitted.
Hannah eased back and gave him a level look. "Next big change. It is against the law for any man to hit his wife – or children – the way he was doing. Or at all, really. Or anyone else, like me." An impish glint came into her eyes, and she poked his chest with a forefinger. "So don't go getting any ideas!"
His eyebrows shot up, and so did his hands, out and above his head – but an echoing glint was there in his eyes. "And is it also against the law for women to hit men?"
"Yes," she twinkled.
John wilted, feigning relief with a huge sigh. "Thank goodness." His arms crept back around her torso. "So what is happening now?"
"Well, I'm going to take the two of them to a shelter – a safe place, where they'll protect and help her, and he can't hurt her any more." She bit her lip, apologetically. "And I'm sorry, but they won't let you in there, either: you're a man. I hate to do this, but could you go back down to our place and wait for me there? I promise, I won't be long – not more than two hours. I'll even bring us back some food!"
"Food would be good," he mused. "But actually, what I think I'll do is go lie down on that humongous bed and try to get some sleep. I didn't sleep at all last night."
"Me, neither," she admitted, then added in a voice tinged in wonder, "Was it really just last night? Was it really just a couple of hours ago that we were about to be beheaded?"
He shook his head, deadpanning, "Feels like about five hundred years, to me..." And Hannah cracked up, John joining in gleefully just a beat behind.
A minute later, Irina and her son came out of the back room, each carrying a couple of plastic shopping bags stuffed with clothes, and the boy clutching a Spiderman doll. Sobering, John leaned over and kissed Hannah on the forehead, murmuring, "Wake me up when you get home."
^..^
A half hour and a taxi ride later found Hannah leaning on one elbow on the front desk of the women's shelter, just waiting. Irina was in a nearby office, telling her story to the counselor. Suddenly, a tiny hand crept into hers, and she looked down beside her to smile encouragement at Irina's son, who (truth to tell) she hadn't really gotten a good look at, yet, he'd been hiding on Irina's other side even in the taxi – and got the shock of her life.
His wide eyes, gazing solemnly up at her from his young face, were a brilliant sea-green.
Barely breathing, Hannah tilted her hand slightly to look at the back of his – and there it was: the Sicily-shaped birthmark.
She twisted around, still holding his hand, and knelt in front of him. "Are you Paul?" she asked, her voice breathless.
He nodded silently. She still hadn't heard him utter a word. Small and slim, he looked to be about four – just old enough to have absorbed the knowledge of how to dial 999 for emergencies.
A reassuring smile crept across her face, and she reached to smooth and tuck in his shirt. "It's OK, Paul. Everything's gonna be OK." He suddenly flung his little arms around her neck, and she held him tight, repeating it over and over. "Everything's gonna be OK."
^..^
She was just finishing up all her paperwork, still standing at the front desk, including her own complaint against Irina's husband, when a familiar voice sounded behind her. "I heard what you did."
She smiled, but didn't even look up. "Hello, Rebecca," she said, sardonically sing-songing the greeting the other had skipped.
Rebecca stepped around the corner of the counter so she could see Hannah's face. Somewhere in her fifties, the sprinkling of grey hairs and the combination of both laugh and frown lines in her face spoke of a hardworking woman who cared deeply about others, while her slightly-worn serviceable suit put her in mid-level management somewhere.
"When are you going to stop wasting your degree and come back to work for me again?" Typically, she plunged past the preliminaries. "You were a GREAT social worker, Hannah – and now you'd be even better, for having been where you've been. You know where to find women in trouble, you know how to reach them, how to speak to them, and get them in contact with the services they need, and they trust you. Come back, baby," she added, coaxingly. "We need you."
Hannah hadn't even looked up from her papers, a knowing smile playing across her face while she heard the familiar plea. Rebecca snorted ruefully, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "End of regularly-scheduled advert. You know where to find me..." She reached over and gave Hannah's upper arm a quick, approving squeeze. "Good work, baby."
Hannah signed the last sheet, then stood staring at it for a moment while Rebecca walked away, heels clicking on the worn linoleum. Well, here it is. It really is the logical choice. And... I am good. Before she was even consciously aware of choosing, she blurted out, "Rebecca!"
"Yeah?" her former boss paused and looked back.
Hannah slowly spun on her heel, put her hands in her pockets, and gave the other woman a long, rueful look, chewing on her lower lip. Then she tipped her head towards the front door. "Let's go get some coffee."
A/N: And here I really will leave them – for the time being; they'll be back in Act Three.
I need to take a week or two to recharge my batteries, do a bit of research, and flesh out the bones of the next section; I'm afraid I don't have anywhere near as much rich storyline planned – YET! But I will be back soon, to continue the adventures with the next Rose.