voice of dissent belonged to a fisherman, who was still wearing his padded wading trousers. His angry words had been battering the inside of his lips ever since Kate had entered the pub. Several shouts of agreement came from the crowd and there were some nods as well.
‘Paedophiles and rapists? Goodness me! Who would want that?’
Her smile was for Natasha alone. They both knew that Kate had lived amongst those types and worse for the last few years and that a good few of the people in the pub would likely be either or both, such was life. A small ripple of comment and laughter spread among the crowd; they were clearly divided. She continued.
‘I can assure you that the last thing I would do is to place you or anyone in this community in danger. The people that I will be taking in may have criminal records, but I am talking about a maximum of six residents at any one time and they will be females, girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three. They will probably have had horrid childhoods and as troubled teens most will have never been given a chance or shown kindness. They certainly will never have experienced the beauty of living in a place like this.’
‘Well that all sounds lovely, but the big question for me is how will you control them?’ Rodney Morris looked around the bar to garner support for his crass question.
‘Control them? They’re not animals, Mr Morris! They are just kids who deserve a break and a better life. We will help them heal through various means, through therapy and coaching. We want to send them on their way with a sense of worth so that they can become valid members of society and make decent lives for themselves.’
‘Therapy? What’s that? Do you mean aromatherapy and the like?’ The postmistress’s question hadn’t intended to amuse, but people tittered nonetheless.
Natasha stepped forward. ‘This is probably where I come in. I was an art teacher for a number of years and a couple of years ago I retrained as an art therapist. I’ll work very closely with our residential counsellor—’
Rodney Morris couldn’t help himself. His voice boomed.
‘Ah, I see. The old “let’s stop them reoffending by letting them paint a pretty picture” strategy. Marvellous! But does it work? Why don’t we just send them to Disneyland? In my day we believed in proper punishment, not all this leftie pandering.’
He sniggered into his knuckles. His cronies at the bar raised their glasses in his direction, a gesture that screamed ‘Well said, that man!’
‘Punishment?’ Natasha fought to control her rage at his ignorant, outdated views. ‘You have a point, Rodney, but in the case of these children and young adults, we are not talking about punishment. Our residents will have already been “punished”, as you put it. What we are interested in doing is helping them come to terms with the traumas they have experienced in their young lives. Youngsters like them are not always able to verbalise what has happened to them or how they feel about it. Often they block out feelings and thoughts which need expression. Quite literally, I give them a blank piece of paper in a safe environment. The art therapy provides a safe, non-threatening space and invites the individual to explore their issues. It is often the first time that these kids have been able to communicate what they have been through and once we understand that, we can look at how best to help them.’
‘I think it sounds wonderful and if you need any help or materials, I would love to be involved.’
Natasha looked across at the elderly lady sitting at the bar in her artist’s smock. Natasha had seen her small studio and gallery on the harbour.
‘Thank you, yes! That would be wonderful.’
Rodney Morris did not like the way that events were unfolding. He felt his position as self-appointed village elder was being undermined.
‘I think I have heard enough. What next? Free beach barbecues for all the local benefit scroungers? Oh, I know, why don’t I just give all the food in my restaurants away to anyone that didn’t get enough hugs as a child?’ He snorted and turned towards the bar. ‘I need to top up this drink!’
A couple of Rodney’s chums chortled obligingly. There was the briefest moment of awkwardness before Kate once again took the floor.
‘I guess what we are saying is that these girls are coming here voluntarily because they want to