Page 32 of Beyond Her Manner
“It’s weak,” Gillian replied curtly, her jaw tightening.
“Being vulnerable is a strength, not a weakness. It’s the greatest measure of courage. Who told you it was a weakness?”
“I… I was never encouraged to show emotions. It was actively discouraged,” Gillian admitted, her voice faltering.
“By your parents?” Viola pressed, her gaze searching Gillian’s face for the truth.
Gillian shrugged. “My mother. My father worked away.”
“It’s not healthy to cloak yourself in walls, Gillian. What are you hiding behind them?”
“Nothing,” Gillian snapped. “You don’t know me. Nobody does.”
Viola’s jaw fell open and worked silently before she settled on, “Because you don’t let them.”
“I would only disappoint.” She wanted to get up and walk away, yet some invisible force held her down in her seat.
“Wow. That’s quite a statement, Gillian. May I ask why you never grieved your mum?” Viola asked, caution in her tone. “What did she do apart from teaching you some seriously unhealthy emotional practices and low self-esteem?”
For the moment, Gillian ignored the bald face of the question and pondered her answer. How could she give it honestly without giving away a part of herself she’d hidden most of her life? Leaning forward she rested her elbows on her knees. Would it be so bad for someone to know? Someone who felt safe? She shook her head at her thought only for a voice to point out there was little chance of judgement by someone who was in some respects similar to herself. It was Hen’s voice, encouraging her on.
“I…”
Words were failing her even if she wanted to say them. How could the loss of someone still affect her so long after? It was ridiculous, irrational even. Feelings were irrational. The warmth of Viola’s hand radiated into her back, and her leg pressed against her.
When had she gotten so close?
Viola leaned forward, mirroring her. Her hand slipped into Gillian’s, sending a wash of adrenaline through her like butterflies.
“Trust me, Gillian.”
How could she not tell this woman anything she wanted to know? Her bold eyes and soft, encouraging smile were like magnets. Part of her needed someone to know her, to see her, to have someone remember the real Gillian when she left this world. She found her mouth opening, and before she knew what was happening, words were flowing freely as if pulled from her by some invisible force.
“Hen was a natural rider. I wasn’t always.” Gillian smiled remembering her first lessons. “Her parents ran a riding school, so she grew up around horses. She was bought her first pony at two. We became friends when we were fourteen, and I became… infatuated with her, you might say. She was everything I wanted to be and everything my mother wanted me to be. She was clever and talented. We became inseparable over the years, and my… infatuation turned into something more. I couldn’t have been more surprised, though, when she kissed me one day.”
The memory of Hen’s soft lips meeting her own on that warm summer day brought a smile to her face. It had been her first kiss, and she could still recall every detail as if it happened yesterday — if she allowed herself.
“How old were you then?” Viola enquired.
“Sixteen. Hen never saw seventeen.”
“What happened to her?”
“A low-flying helicopter spooked her horse in the yard, and he threw her off.”
Gillian watched as Viola’s face paled, her lips twitched as if she was unable to decide whether to grimace or speak. She held her expression steady as Viola scanned her face, perhaps hoping she would say she was joking.
When Viola finally spoke, her voice was quiet, hesitant.“That’s... awful.”
Gillian sighed inwardly and decided to move on. This wasn’t about making Viola feel bad for the situation she had createdwhen they first met, even if the true consequences may have only just sunk in for her.
“Hen knew not to remove her riding hat before she dismounted, and yet she did. It was a hot day, and we’d been for a ride. I was the only one with her. She lay there, unconscious… I couldn’t rouse her.” Gillian inhaled deeply, finding herself breathless. A squeeze from Viola’s hand sent warmth through her. It gave her the strength to tell the story she hadn’t shared with anyone else.“Her parents were out. My mother arrived to pick me up moments after Hen fell. She called an ambulance from the house — we didn’t have mobile phones back then, did we?”
“What happened next?” Viola asked, shifting in her seat.
“They took her to hospital. I forced my way into the accident and emergency room, only to reach her as the doctors stopped trying to resuscitate her.” Gillian swallowed hard at the memory. “They allowed me a few minutes with her.”
There was a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional measure of birdsong.
