by Alex Flynn
‘Tell me the truth then,’ Sandra replies.
But I don’t have anything to say. I’ve done it now. I’ve been away unsupervised for far longer than that in the past, and got up to things during that time that put me in a lot more danger, but I’ve got a feeling that that little “walk around the block” will hinder me for a long time.
‘What happens now then?’ I ask.
‘We’ll have to take it one day at a time. There’s no point in making plans for the weekend when we don’t know what frame of mind you’re going to be in tomorrow.’
‘I’m okay now. Now that you’re here. Both of you.’
‘Jennifer,’ Sandra starts, letting me know that she wants me to listen very carefully to her. ‘I don’t know what you keep telling yourself but for the past two years you’ve been going through a breakdown of sorts. There’s doctors who could give your condition all the fancy names under the sun but that wouldn’t help you understand it any better. But what it basically means is that sometimes you do stupid things. It’s like a part of your brain switches off. And the problems come when you can’t recognise that what you’re doing is stupid. So you invent little ways of dealing with it. Like not talking. Like only eating certain foods. Like having practically no close relationships with anybody and then leaching on to people who you think understand you.’
I want to wipe the tears away that are falling down my face but I’ve got a feeling that if I lean over towards the box of tissues that Sandra will accuse me of not listening to her. I know that I’m mentally ill. It’s just I’ve sort of lost control over which parts of my illness I’ve got no control over and which parts I’m faking because it helps me get what I want.
‘As hard as it is for you to hear you’re a very vulnerable girl. And people have recognised that and taken advantage of you. You’re always going to have it harder in life than everyone else, but if you keep on shutting people out, or acting like an arrogant little bitch with them, then you’re not going to get anywhere.’
‘Who’ve I acted like “an arrogant little bitch” with?’
‘Mrs Robinson. The other day when she told you that you were grounded. In fact, your whole behaviour towards her is disgusting. You never make eye contact with her. Sometimes you won’t even get up to open your bedroom door to her. You might think that things like that don’t have an affect on people but they do. Mrs Robinson is the one person in your life who can get you everything you’ve ever wanted. But instead you treat her like some geriatric old fuddy-duddy who can’t even look after herself, let alone anyone else.’
‘So?’
‘That attitudes got to stop. Otherwise when you leave here it won’t be to live with your Mum. It’ll be to somewhere far worse than this. You might have trouble bonding with the other girls who live here but you’d definitely struggle living with people with mental illness problems who are forty or fifty years older than you.’
‘But I’m not ill.’
‘Well start acting like it then. Next week everyone in the country is going to know about your story. It’s going to be on the news and in all the papers. People will be talking about it at work. Out and about in public. At the moment we feel like you wouldn’t be able to cope with that. I know that you’ve come a long way over the past couple of months but you’re nowhere near the end.
And there’s only you who can truly make yourself better. As long as you want to.
‘You can claim all you want that Kate doesn’t know how to do her job properly. That Mrs Robinson is out of touch and doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a teenage girl in your situation. You can whinge all you want about how if your psychologist were any good at her job then she wouldn’t be working with you. You might have a point sometimes, but you’re stuck with these people and unless you start to respect them then you’re going nowhere.’
‘Why am I the one being punished?’
‘You’re not being punished. You’re just being dealt with the way that people feel is best for you. That Adam and his lot are in court next week. They’ll get their punishment then. But the longer you sulk around feeling sorry for yourself then the longer you’re going to think that you’re being punished.’
This is the first time that Sandra’s properly had a go at me. Told me exactly what she thinks about my behaviour. And it’s not nice. I look over at Mum. She looks like she’s stuck in the middle. On the one hand like she wants to leap over to me to give me a cuddle and tell me that everything will be okay. But on the other hand she knows that what I’m being told is for my own benefit and unless I listen to it then I’m going to ruin what slim chances I have in my life of defying the odds and making something of myself.
‘Anyway, that’s enough of me preaching at you today. Go to your room and get ready.’
‘Where we going?’
‘Out. You need some fresh air. It’s not going to do you any good sat here.’
Chapter Six
I’m naive enough to think it’s a coincidence to find Jack and Lucy sat in the cafe where Mum met us the other week.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask them.
‘See,’ Lucy starts, ‘I knew she wouldn’t know that we’d be here. That’s you paying for the drinks.’
‘I pay for the drinks anyway,’ Jack responds.
Sometimes they sound so much like a couple even though they insist they’re “just friends”. But is it really any of my business? Jack’s about 10 years older than me. And maybe that’s why Mum’s had her hair done because she knew that she was going to meet Jack for the first time. Ew, that’s disgusting. The thought of Mum with Jack. Even worse than the thought of him with Mrs Robinson. I wish I could have said that out loud, it could have counted as one of the two merks I still owe him. But then, no doubt Jack would have some response that would make everyone laugh to remind me that he’s far more quick-witted and far too clever for me.
Sandra formally introduces Mum to Jack and Lucy and the same waitress from last week comes over to take our order. She’s looking prettier today and Jack’s not the only one who can’t resist a sneaky look on her cleavage on show.
When the waitress finally leaves our table, Lucy’s the first one to criticise her for flaunting herself. Sandra agrees with Lucy whilst Mum says that she used to dress like that when she was a teenager, which makes me feel slightly sick. I do hope that Mum’s not going to be insisting on making up for the seven years of lost time in the boyfriend department. If only because it’d be embarrassing if she was better at pulling than me.
‘Oh,’ Jack says, like he’s not really comfortable about being stuck at a table full of women all of a sudden, ‘I looked into what you asked me the other day.’
I look at Jack confused as Lucy takes out a picture of a fat chavy girl with bad hair, bad skin and an all round bad attitude.
‘Do you recognise her?’
I shake my head.
‘You wouldn’t do,’ Jack says. ‘She lives in another part of the country. But she’s suspected of being a Cheap White Meat victim who then supplied other girls to get abused and got paid a tenner per girl.’
‘Who’d do such a thing?’ Mum asks.
Lucy shows Mum the picture and she says, ‘Oh right, she looks a nasty piece of work.’
‘She did get charged,’ Jack says, ‘but the case against her got dropped because the police said it wouldn’t be in the public interest.’
I start to question that but Sandra suggests that we change the subject as it’s not the most suitable topic to discuss out in public. But unless people talk about it then how is public opinion going to change? Okay, this girl was probably abused herself, but it doesn’t make it okay that she then allowed other girls to be subjected to the same abuse.
The waitress comes back with our drinks and Jack isn’t exactly in a hurry to look away when she leans forward over the table. When the waitress is out of earshot I say to Jack:
&nb
sp; ‘Cool your tongue down on that,’ passing him a can of Coke. ‘Go and ask for her number if you like her that much.’
Jack starts to blush as Lucy, Mum and Sandra laugh at him.
‘What was that for?’ Jack asks me.
‘I’ve owed you two merks for ages.’
‘What for?’
‘You questioned that I’d never had any money and you laughed at me for not knowing that your eyes have to acclimatise to the light when you first put on a pair of sunglasses.’
‘Did I? When?’
‘When I first met you.’
‘And you’ve been waiting to get me back all this time? Was that the best you can do?’
‘Actually,’ Lucy jumps in, ‘that was only one merk. The best is yet to come, isn’t it?’ she says, winking at me.
‘Of course,’ I say, trying my best to blag it.
‘What does “merk” mean?’ Mum asks.
I almost burst out laughing but then I remember that she has been in prison for seven years. Whilst I’m sure the prisoners had their own slang I doubt it involved many modern terms popularised by school kids.
‘It means to insult someone,’ Lucy says, like she’s proud that she knows some general knowledge.
‘Oh, we said, “talk to the hand” when I was younger. Do people still say that?’
‘Of course not,’ I snigger.
‘But you’ve heard of it?’ Mum asks.
‘Only because I like watching the History Channel.’
‘Okay, there’s no need to show off in front of your friends.’
I look up at Sandra and she’s grinning at me.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘It’s a pity Mrs Robinson isn’t here.’
‘Why?’ I ask, taking a sip of my drink and sliding down in my chair.
‘I’m sure that she’d be very impressed by you showing that you can function normally out in public.’
‘That’s because I’m with people I like. I understand what you were saying before but I can’t go round arse-licking people who I think are total morons. Jack’s the same aren’t you?’
‘Yup, but that’s why I have to work in a shit job that I can’t stand and have to put up with being told what to do by morons because I refuse to suck up to them and try to join their little gang.’
‘It’s the same anywhere,’ Mum says. ‘The crawlers are always the ones who get preferential treatment. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.’
‘Well, I’m definitely not cutting Kate some slack.’
‘Look Jennifer,’ Sandra says, ‘we’re not expecting miracles from you but if you do show those little improvements then the sooner you’ll be able to move in with your Mum. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
I look up and Mum and she smiles at me. As I’m still not comfortable at being the centre of attention all the time I take the opportunity to change the subject when I notice the waitress coming over with our food. When the waitress asks us if there’s anything else she can get us I say:
‘Yeah, my friend really likes you and would like you’re number.’
The waitress smiles, like she knows that it’s part of her job to be flattered, and says to me, ‘Well, unless you’re friend is very similar to you then they probably won’t be my type.’
I instantly go red and don’t know where to look as the waitress disappears with a smile on her face. No one at the table really knows what to say as I turn to Mum and let her know:
‘I’m not gay.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. If I had some friends then some of them might be gay.’
‘Jennifer,’ Mum says, putting her hand on mine, ‘it’s okay, stop worrying about it. Just eat your sandwich.’
After the plate full of food that Sandra brought in for me this morning, I’m not really up for tackling a chicken, bacon and cheese sandwich right now.
‘Did you know she was a lesbian?’ I ask Jack.
‘Of course not. She might not be anything but she just said it because she gets asked for her number loads of times.’
‘Oh,’ I say, keeping my head down as I feel pretty stupid for trying to show off. But at least I’m out and about, trying to do something normal. The easy option would be to stay in my room all day. Claiming the fact that the trial was about to start on Monday was getting to me because I was sure that everyone would be judging me as it’s about to be made public about what I got up to with Adam and his “friends”.
I think everyone else around the table can tell that I’m not in a talking mood so they don’t try and coax me out of my shell. Mum starts asking Lucy about her daughter and Lucy also tells her about the interview she’s given about which is due to be aired on the news on Monday as part of the report about the trial. I don’t know if I’m looking forward to seeing that or not. Dan did offer to show me a copy of it but I think that was because he was secretly hoping that if I saw Lucy’s version then I’d feel more comfortable about making one of my own.
I do my best to try and eat my sandwich but I’m not in the mood. I feel like such an idiot for trying to show off and every time the waitress walks anywhere near our table I make a point of looking away as soon as possible.
‘Just put it down to experience,’ Jack says. ‘Chatting up girls is never easy. You’ll get better at it.’
That’s two merks I owe you again Jack. And somehow, I will get you back.
Chapter Seven
Today started just the same as any Monday morning has over the past couple of months for me. I automatically seemed to wake up about 30 seconds before Sandra came into my room with my breakfast and she didn’t really give any indication to what would be happening today. I had to wait 15 minutes in class whilst The Others decided whether they were going to be staying with us today and Miss Baxter did a very good job at communicating with us, but we didn’t learn very much.
It was only when I came “home” for dinner that I was reminded about how significant today is for me. I knew that the trial would be on the news, but I expected it to be on the local news, not the lead story on the national news. To be honest though it didn’t feel as strange as I thought it would have done. It was like I was just watching a normal news report. Not a news report about a trial where I was a key witness for the prosecution.
The only thing that did get to me was how they showed footage of Adam and his “friends” stood outside the court. They all looked so relaxed, stood with their defence teams like they weren’t getting ready for an eleven week trial and that they didn’t really have anything significant to worry about. The news also showed footage of a protest from a far-right group, and footage of a group who were protesting against the protest group. Quite what that lot are hoping to achieve I’ve no idea. But it’s in part thanks to that politically correct deluded mob that the sort of abuse carried out by Adam and his “friends” has been allowed to go on without any repercussions for so long.
Even though I’m miles away from the court where the trial is taking place everything that is mentioned on the T.V. seems like it’s taking place right in my bedroom. The news reader goes through it step-by-step, saying that the prosecution have accused Adam and his “friends” of working together to exploit girls in what is now my local area.
When the news switches over to the reporter outside the court, the reporter goes through the basics of the trial. It involves nine men who are all either taxi drivers or takeaway workers. Some are charged with rape; whilst other are charged with sex trafficking and it’s claimed that they were all part of a gang that lured underage girls into sexual activity.
The reporter explains that when the prosecutor opened the case, she told the jury that they might find some of the evidence distressing, describing the events detailed by the girls as, “at best saddening... and at worst shocking.” Mine will be the saddening part and Lucy’s will be the shocking part there no doubt.
However, the next part the prosecutor said annoys me, “No child should be exploited as these girls say they were.”
Say.
It might only be a small three-letter word but its use sounds to me like I’m still not being believed. That there’s still some doubt, even in the minds of the prosecution that I’m not telling the truth. But any anger that might start to get my mind to drift soon is dispelled when Adam’s name is mentioned and it shows him walking into court.
The reporter gives her version of what happened between me and Adam, how he won my trust and how the winning of that trust led to him raping me in his taxi before he later passed me on to his friends. When the reporter starts explaining what happened to Lucy she says that it’s too graphic for them to report. I’ve heard Lucy’s version of it and I’ve read her witness statement so I know full well what she had to endure from the age of 13.
It’s just unfortunate that it took the police and numerous other people nearly five years to believe her. I just hope it doesn’t take the jury that long. At least everyone now knows what has happened. It hasn’t killed me, but it probably has made me stronger in the long-term. I’m closer to getting over it and I’m closer than ever to functioning normally. However, I know that today is just the start of a trial that will last for weeks with no guaranteed outcome.
Despite everything that’s been said, I’m feeling better than I thought I would do after watching the news report, but then I haven’t been outside. I haven’t seen what the general public’s reaction is. For some reason, I’m desperate for them to support me. To be on my side.
But then some people might think that it’s my fault. That I caused my own downfall. That I was happy to go along with it. After all, I was happy to take Adam’s “friends” money. I’ve even still got most of it in my room. If it was affecting me that much then surely I’d have got rid of it somehow. Burnt it, or given it to charity.
The news report continues with the rest of the days news. You know, the usual stuff. Some MP who’s been caught lying. Someone who’s died in suspicious house fire. Perhaps it’s not that big a deal after all. To me, this trial has been my entire world for the past few months, but everyone else’s lives seem to have been carrying on regardless.
