The Hanging Noose

Three

Polly had taken Dottie and Micheal home to Sutton Coldfield once Micheal had returned from the Garrison. He allowed his sister to sit in the front of the car, knowing she gets car sickness quite easily. When they had arrived at Polly's large house, Dottie was the last to enter, taking in every detail. She shut the door behind her as Micheal placed hers and his suitcase by the stairs.

Polly had instantly taken them upstairs, trying to ignore the gawking girls reaction to the gold and the luxuries of Polly's home, and allowed them to choose a room each.

Micheal had chosen the largest bedroom, the one that sits besides Polly's room with an ensuite bathroom and a flower place. He had smirked cockily to Dottie, who had rolled her eyes and kicked his shin with her foot.

She had chosen the room that outlooks the back garden. A much smaller room, with a much smaller ensuite bathroom. Micheal had snickered, elbowing her ribs to say he had gotten the best bedroom, but Dottie didn't care about that. All she cared about was the large fluffy bed standing in the middle of the room.

She had said to both Polly and Micheal she would be unpacking. Polly had responded that she will order the maids to unpack Dottie's possessions, however Dottie insisted, ushering both Polly and Micheal out of the room.

Dottie now sits on the floor. The rug beneath her grey and fluffy, the warmth radiating through her body. Her suitcase is flipped open, her clothes spewing out of the leather case. She looks down at the dresses and shirts, hating all of what she packed.

"I don't need to pack anything," Dottie insisted, whispering harshly to Henry, who stands in front of her bed, with her suitcase flipped open and her wardrobe doors standing open.

Henry doesn't listen to her, instead he walks from the bed to the wardrobe, grasping hold of a mix and match bundle of clothes. He drops them in the suitcase.
"You do, Thea. We could be there for a while."

"In that case, I will get myself some other clothes," Dottie responds back, "I'm not taking these dresses! I hate them!"

"You sound like you're eight," Henry retorts, he looms over his shoulder to the shelf that sits beside the window.

The large window is bolted shut, apart from the smaller pane in the left hand side. When Dottie was thirteen, she had bargained with her adoptive family, that they could bolt her window shut if she could have the little window left open. For clean air. Nothing else, she had promised.

However, a make do ashtray sits on the shelf. A few cigarette butts sit crushed against the porcelain glass. An empty crystal bottle sits against the makeshift ashtray.

"Of course a fucking eight year old wouldn't be drinking or smoking," Henry says, aggressively folding up her dresses.

Dottie slaps his arm, "oi. Why don't you say it fucking louder?"

Henry scowls, "help me pack, Dots," he says, his eyes search frantically over his sisters face, noticing her spaced out eyes. "We'll be leaving soon."

"You have it figured out?"

Dottie's voice is quiet, almost like she doesn't want anyone to hear her, but Henry does. He nods his head.

"We've got train tickets, Dots. To get out of here."

Dottie shakes her head, "it won't work... I've tried that before, remember?"

Henry shakes his head, he drops her clothes and pulls out two tickets from his trouser pocket. He hands them over to Dottie, who looks them over then raises an eyebrow.

"We're getting out of here, Dots," he says again, "now help me pack. Our train is at five thirty."

Dottie lifts up some of her dresses, grabbing hold a photo frame she had wrapped in her winter dresses and coats. The photograph is of a ten and nine year old Dottie and Micheal. They were smiling, an odd photograph of Dottie and Micheal together. One of the only photographs of Dottie and Micheal together. Micheal had his arms wrapped around Dottie, he had lifted her up, swinging her on to his shoulders. Dottie had her dress hiked up so her legs could lay against Micheal's shoulders. Micheal was on his tiptoes and Dottie reaching above to the tree branch hanging not far above them.

Dottie smiles fondly as she stands up and places it on the bedside table. She adores the photograph, she had stolen it from the mantle piece as soon as her adoptive mother brought it home. She had hidden it from every room inspection, as well as hiding her contraband as her adoptive mother always took away her cigarettes and alcohol.

Dottie kneels down, picking up a tattered old teddy bear. The teddy bear, once fluffy and large, is now with matted fur and a sunken body. Dottie smiles as she places the teddy bear on the bed before she falls on to the bed, cuddling in to the teddy bear and bringing her knees up to her chest.

Whilst Dottie rests upstairs, Micheal and Polly sit together in the sitting room. They sit around a small table underneath a small chandelier. Polly smiles fondly at him.

"I thought we could spend the week here. You know, get to know each other... again. Would Dorothea be up for that, do you think?" She asks, almost nervously.

Micheal nods, "course. Just don't call her that, call her Dottie."

"Dottie?"

Micheal hums. "It's what everyone calls her, Dottie, Dots or Thea. No one calls her by her full name."

Polly nods, "that's good to know," she murmurs to herself before looking back at Micheal, "are you hungry? I've got ham. Do you like ham?"

"I like ham, yes."

Polly nods, "I've got a maid... She's upstairs. She can give us some tea." She almost babbles, picking up a small brass bell. "Look, I ring this bell. Watch."

Polly rings the bell softly, conscious not to interrupt Dottie from packing. Within a few moments, footsteps approach the door. Micheal looks towards the open door, half expecting to see Dottie. He looks at a middle aged woman in a black dress.

"Yes, madam?"

Polly doesn't speak, so Micheal clears his throat.

"I think we'd like some tea." Micheal continues to lion at Polly until he hears the maids footsteps in the kitchen. He then says, "you get used to it."

"I haven't," Polly responds, "I don't think I ever will."

Micheal nods.

"Where's your sister?"

Micheal shrugs slightly, "probably asleep. She passes out every time she can. She loves her sleep."

Leaning forward, Polly lowers her voice. "She said to me you were both made to go to church... she said your adoptive... family treated her different... did they?"

Micheal shakes his head, "Dottie's always been able to stick up for herself," he says, half answering his mothers question, "she wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her."

Polly nods, her eyebrows drawn together slightly.

"I've always tried to protect her, but she's better at it than me, stronger than me I suppose."

Polly hums as Micheal continues to talk.

"She's not an angel," Micheal says, his eyes falling to lion dead straight in to Polly's, "if we're sticking around, if you want us too, you'll see that."

Polly reaches out, taking hold of his hands. "For as long as I live, you'll both be with me. I'm not having either of you leaving again."