Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection: Strangers, Bad Girls Good Women, A Woman of Our Times, All My Sins Remembered. Rosie Thomas
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She couldn’t move, and couldn’t stop him. He was grunting now, deep in his throat. He sat down heavily against the table, pulling her to him. Her legs were trapped between his. His hand went to the hem of her skirt. He wrenched at it, trying to pull it up. But it was too tight, and it caught at the top of her thighs. He squinted at her, his eyes puffy.
‘Take if off.’
Mattie shuddered, struggling in his grip. ‘No. Leave me alone. Leave me …’
He tore at her blouse instead. It was a skimpy, sleeveless thing that Mattie had made herself with lopsided hand stitching. The shoulder seam ripped and Ted forced his hand inside.
‘Let me do it. Just once,’ he begged her. His face was hidden, but she could feel his hot, wet mouth working against her neck. ‘I won’t ask you again. Ever, Mattie. Just once, will you?’
Mattie held herself still, gathering her strength. Then she lashed at him with her hands, and twisted her neck to try to bite any part of him that she could reach. He didn’t even notice the blow, and he was much too quick for her. He caught both her wrists in one hand, and the other tightened around her throat. For a second, they looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly, his fingers unfastened from her neck. She could feel the print of them on her skin.
He fumbled with his own clothes, undoing them.
Somehow, out of her pain and terror and disgust, Mattie found the right words. ‘Look at yourself,’ she commanded in a small, clear voice. ‘Just look at yourself.’
He saw his daughter’s face, paper-white except for the black tear-trails of mascara, her torn clothes, and her swollen, bloody lip.
And then he looked down at himself.
Ted shrank, deflating as if the whisky had found a puncture in his skin to trickle out of.
There was a long silence. Behind them, shockingly cosy, the kettle whistled.
At last he mumbled, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hit you. I’m jealous, see? Jealous of all those lads that hang around you. I don’t mean to get angry with you, don’t you understand? You’ve always been my girl. My special one, haven’t you?’
Mattie saw big, glassy tears gather in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. She felt sick, and dirty, and she turned her face away.
‘You don’t know what I’ve been through since your mum died.’
Oh yes, Mattie thought. Feel sorry for yourself. Not for Mum, or any of the rest of us. Feel sorry for yourself, because I won’t. I hate you.
With the knowledge of that, she realised that he had let go of her. She began to move, very slowly, backing away from him. His hands hung heavily at his sides, and his wet eyes stared at nothing. Mattie reached the kitchen door. In the same clear, cold voice she said, ‘Do yourself up. Don’t sit there like that.’
Then she walked through the clutter in the hall to the front door. She opened it and closed it again behind her, and walked down the path. She held herself very carefully, as if she was made of a shell that might break.
Only when the gate had creaked after her did she begin to run.
In the narrow space of the doorway her legs twitched involuntarily, and Julia stirred in front of her.
‘It’s all right,’ Julia told her. ‘He’s gone, he really has. Are you still scared? Do you want to talk for a bit?’
‘I was thinking about Marilyn, and the others,’ Mattie told her, half truthfully. Marilyn was only nine, and Phil, the youngest sister, was two years younger. Two boys, Ricky and Sam, came between Mattie and Marilyn. The eldest sister, Rozzie, was married to a mechanic and had a baby of her own. She lived on the estate too, but Rozzie kept clear of the house when Ted was likely to be at home.
‘The boys are all right,’ Mattie said, ‘but I don’t want to leave Phil and Marilyn there with him.’
Guilt folded around her again. Even if what her father had done had not been, somehow, all her own fault, Mattie was certain that she shouldn’t have abandoned her younger sisters to him. She had never seen Ted look at them in the way that he looked at her, but she couldn’t be sure that he didn’t touch them. Or if hadn’t done, that he might not now she was gone. Rozzie had never suspected, had she? In her shame, Mattie had kept her secret until she couldn’t hold on to it any longer, but it was unthinkable that Marilyn might have to suffer in the same way … Mattie rolled her head, looking up at the stained walls of her shelter. What could she do to help them, from here?
‘I know what we’ll do,’ Julia said firmly. ‘We’ll ring the Council and tell them what’s happened. There are people there who are supposed to see about kids, you know. They’ll look after them until …’ she was thinking quickly, improvising ‘… until we can have them with us, if you like. We could all live together, couldn’t we?’
Mattie smiled, in spite of herself. ‘Here?’
‘Don’t be stupid. When we’re well off. It might take a year, or something, but we’ll do it. Why shouldn’t we?’
A year seemed like a lifetime, then. When anything might happen.
‘I can’t tell anyone,’ Mattie whispered. ‘It was hard enough to tell you.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Julia said fiercely. Mattie and Julia hadn’t spent much time at one another’s homes, but Julia had seen enough of Ted Banner to imagine the rest. Sometimes he was fulsomely friendly. At other times, the times when the veins at his temples stood out in ridges and his eyes shrank to little red spots, she thought that he was terrifying. ‘You don’t have to say who you are. Just telephone, anonymously. I’ll do it, if you like. We’ve just got to make sure that someone looks after them, because it can’t be you any more. Perhaps they could go to Rozzie. As soon as we can, we’ll get a really big flat. One with two or three bedrooms, plenty of room. We can play records as loud as we want, invite whoever we want in. The girls will love it. They’ll be safe with us, Mattie.’
Mattie nodded, grateful for Julia’s generosity, letting herself accept the fantasy for now, for tonight at least. She lay still again, listening to Julia’s murmured talk. The plans grew more elaborate, as Julia spun the dreams to comfort herself as well as Mattie.
Cramped in the doorway, listening to her, Mattie drifted to sleep again.
Julia listened to her regular breathing. At first she was relieved that Mattie wasn’t frightened any more, but without the need to reassure her, her own bravado ebbed away. The dim street lamp seemed only to emphasise the terrifying darkness of the alley, and the darkness seemed endless. At last she began to waver in and out of an uncomfortable dream-ridden half-sleep. The dreams were vivid, and horrible, and when she jerked awake again the alley seemed to belong to them, rather than to reality. And then, far from being eerily deserted, a slow tide of hunched figures began to wander through it. To begin with she was sure that they were dream-figures, but then she understood that they were too real and she shrank backwards against Mattie for a shred of protection.
The alley had become a kind of thoroughfare for the derelicts and tramps of the Embankment. They drifted past the doorway, muttering or singing or cursing. Some of them peered at the girls and whispered or shouted at them; others went past, oblivious of everything but their own obsessions.
To Julia, the tide of them seemed a grotesque parody of the Oxford Street shoppers in sunny daylight. This is waiting for all of us, she thought, the dream world half claiming her again. Darkness and despair. And then, out of nowhere, the thought came to her, is this what Betty is so frightened of? She was quite sure of her mother’s fear, whereas in her childhood she had been puzzled by the nameless force that seemed to control her. Darkness. And then, like a chant repeated over and over inside her head, I won’t let it get me. Not me.
She slept, and then woke again. She thought that the night would go on for ever and then, quite suddenly, it was dawn. The spreading of dirty grey light was like a blessing.
Julia