Page 59 of Broken Beyond Repair
She was determined to get to the epicentre of Beatrice’s trauma, something she was sure followed her to this day. Her reaction to her parents’ ashes had been bizarre.
“I was three when I was first thrown into acting,” Beatrice said. “I was in a cereal advert.”
Sydney set her phone to record and also began tapping on her laptop.
“I’d spent my childhood acting, missing out on a normal upbringing, only to find out that all my work barely earned me a penny.” Beatrice paused, her eyes falling to the floor. “My parents spent the bulk of it, chalking it up to expenses.”
“Shit.” Sydney’s forehead creased as quickly as her eyes shot from the laptop to Beatrice. “Couldn’t you have sued them or something?”
Beatrice shook her head. “What would have been the point? At the end of the day it wasn’t about the money but the exploitation. I punished them by removing them from my life. I cut myself off from them on my eighteenth birthday and followed the only route I knew — acting. This time on my terms. Though not before I blew what they did leave me on drugs and alcohol. The few people I did know were going through much the same thing; we shared a flat in London — well, more of a squat. One of them, Naomi, whom I’d… grown close to, was severely sexually abused as a child. She later overdosed. I discovered her body. Are you getting this all down?”
Sydney stared at her, not realising her fingers had stopped typing. “I… I’m going to need a moment to process everything you just said.”
“If you wish,” Beatrice replied blankly, taking a sip of water from her glass.
Sydney rubbed her stomach, hoping it would alleviate her nausea. How did someone move past being taken advantage of as a child? What sort of person, or persons, in this case, would even do that? To then go on to discover the body of someone close to her felt unfathomable.
“I’m so sorry. No one should have gone through that. Any of it.”
Beatrice acknowledged her comment with a flick of the head and continued. “I knew I couldn’t let that be my story, so I picked myself up and promised her at her graveside that things would be different for me. I knew I owed it to her to create a success story for the both of us.”
If this was the moment Beatrice was choosing to get it all off her chest, Sydney wasn’t about to stop her. She couldn’t type, not that she needed to; nothing Beatrice was saying was going to be forgotten.
“Shortly after, I went for an audition and Alison recognised me. She was starting out as an agent at the time. She bought me lunch and I told her everything. I didn’t know her from Adam, yet there was something about her I trusted. She took me back to my flat, saw the hell I was living in, and told me to pack my bags. She rescued me. I owe everything to her. She took me under her wing, nurtured me as my mother failed to do.”
Beatrice paused for a moment, regaining her breath. “From then on Alison created Beatrice Russell. My real name is Victoria Harper. Alison wasn’t married and didn’t have any children; she was happy to let me stay with her in her flat for a few months until I got back on my feet. The months turned into years.”
A ball of regret weighed in her stomach at her words to Beatrice when they had fought. This was no privileged life; it was a living nightmare.
“It was brave of you to walk away from your parents,” she said.
“Was it? I ran from my problem. It would have been braver to stay and have it out with my them. I was so angry. They’d robbed me of my childhood making me work like a slave for them. It wasn’t even the worst of it. As I grew older, I received a lot of unwanted attention. My parents knew and turned a blind eye to it; they said learning to deal with men was part of growing up. I couldn’t take it anymore. If my parents wouldn’t keep me safe, what use were they to me?”
Closing the lid of the laptop, Sydney placed it beside her and turned to face Beatrice. She wasn’t sure she could take anymore, and she was only listening. Beatrice had lived through it.
“Do you not have any happy memories from your early childhood? You didn’t discover what your parents did until quite late on, and I’m assuming the unwanted attention you received wasn’t until you were in your teens — I hope at least.”
“Any happy memories are now bad memories, all tied in with what they were doing at the time without me knowing. Yes, my early years were enjoyable at the time. Who wants to go to school? I was no different. Hitting my teens and realising my parent’s attitude to the abuse was to suck it up should have been a warning sign. If they weren’t on my side about that, what else weren’t they on my side about?”
Sydney shook her head, still struggling to take it all in. “No one expects those dearest to them to be working against them.”
Beatrice twisted her lips and continued. “There were tutors that I recall with fondness. I remember one of them asking me once if I enjoyed what I did and if I wouldn’t rather be in school with the other children.”
“What did you say?” Sydney asked, intrigued to know.
“I have no idea,” Beatrice said with a shake of the head. “I also remember playing board games and chess with my father in trailers to pass the time between takes. I enjoyed that… at the time.”
Sydney caught her eye at the mention of board games. Was this why she refused to play them now? A fun pastime of playing them with her child had been ruined by her parents.
“My father taught me how to play the piano, too, more forced me than encouraged me to learn. It must have been their backup plan for me if acting didn’t work out. My skills on the piano, however, are limited. When I bought this house, the first thing I bought was that piano.” Beatrice nodded to the entrance hall. “It was my choice to buy it and play it, no one else’s. I bought it for a house I earned. It serves as a reminder that Icanplay it and it’s my choicetoplay it.”
“Can I play it?”
“You play?” Beatrice asked with astonishment.
“A little, yes.” Her dad had taught her too.
“Feel free.”
