by Martina Cole
As he raised his arm again she surprised not only herself but the man before her when she said: ‘You dare, mister, and you just see what you get.’
He was so shocked by her vehement tone, he dropped his hand to his side. ‘I beg your pardon?’ His voice was almost comical in its shock and confusion.
‘My mum’s bloke tried all that. I know what you’re after, and I killed once to avoid that. I’d do it again too. No matter how long you keep me here, one day I have to be let out. And when I am, I’ll make a point of coming back for you, mate. Mob-handed and all. Where I come from, people like you are despised. There’s plenty I know would give me a hand to put you away.’
The street talk shocked him, even though he heard it all the time. It was the fact that the angelic-looking girl in front of him meant everything she said that frightened him the most. He could practically feel the hatred and animosity coming off her in waves.
‘You dirty old bastard!’ she hissed. The last few words were drawn out between her teeth, and the sheer force of them shocked both people in the room.
‘All my life I’ve had to deal with people like you,’ Cathy went on. ‘Well, I’ve had enough of it. Now I want to go to me bed, and I want to go there alone.’
The inference of her words was not lost on Hodges who shook his head in utter disbelief. At that moment Brown poked her head around the door. Her face was expressionless but her demeanour showed them that she had listened to every word spoken in the room.
‘Shall I take her now, sir? I have to lock her up with Wilden.’
Hodges nodded his head, his face grave as he watched them walk from the room. Brown slammed the door with a deafening retort that grated on his nerves.
No one, but no one, bested him. Especially not a chit of a girl.
Cathy Connor had made herself a bad enemy, and she knew it.
Miss Brown led the girl up the stairs to her room. ‘I’ll get you a bandage for your hand,’ she promised.
Cathy looked down at the bloody fist in surprise. She had even forgotten that the blade was there. Miss Brown opened her palm and took the blade, placing it carefully in the top pocket of her blouse.
‘We’ll keep this between ourselves, OK?’
Cathy nodded.
‘You did all right in there, love. Keep your pecker up. Hopefully you’ll be out before you know it.’
Taking the back stairs, they made their way down to the kitchen. Deirdre and Miss Jones were drinking tea, and Deirdre’s voice was high with annoyance as she said: ‘What’s she doing here? Henley will go mad.’
Miss Brown pushed the hapless woman back into her chair and said, ‘She’ll only know if you tell her. Now get the first aid box out, the girl’s got a cut palm. You sort her out while we see to the lockup.’
Miss Jones followed her friend out of the kitchen, an inquisitive look on her face. Cathy knew that they would discuss everything and hoped they would not decide to punish her over the blade.
‘How’ve you done this?’ Deirdre’s high voice was followed by a sniff as usual, and Cathy stifled a smile. The woman was really a fool, which at this moment was exactly what Cathy needed.
‘Pour yourself a cup of tea and put plenty of sugar in it. It’s good for shock,’ Deirdre continued. Getting a tin bowl, she filled it with hot water and then poured some disinfectant into it. ‘It’ll sting, but it’ll stop you getting any infection. Come on, sling your hand in and I’ll tear up some rags and bandage it for you.’
Placing her hand gingerly in the hot water, Cathy sighed as it soothed the pain then drew in her breath as the stinging began. Looking around the dingy kitchen, she wondered if she was really so bad that she deserved all this trouble. Ron’s dead body was once more before her eyes, and her mother’s words - ‘What have you done now?’ - were ringing in her ears.
Did she cause all these things to happen to her? Was it something that she made happen? Even what had happened with Eamonn - did she somehow cause that?
Tears threatened and she took a deep breath, aware that in this environment tears were a sign of weakness and weakness meant more trouble.
‘He don’t mean it, old Hodges. He just can’t help himself.’ Deirdre’s voice was low and unhappy.
Cathy stared at the woman in dismay, unable to believe her ears.
‘It takes some men like that, you know.’
Cathy didn’t answer, not sure that anyone could.
‘Just you keep right out of his way and he’ll leave you alone.’
Swirling her injured hand in the hot water, Cathy closed her eyes and prayed that soon she would figure a way out of this hell.
Denise was ‘dormed’, meaning she was trusted enough to be put in a small dormitory with other girls. This was a very shrewd step on the part of Hodges and Henley. She made sure there was no trouble between the girls there and kept them all in order. Unlike many of the others, who valued their private space and hankered after a small room of their own, Denise, although she would never admit it, preferred to be in company. Plenty of company. She was actually scared of the dark. Now she lay in bed wondering how Cathy was faring, knowing in her heart that they should all rebel in some way but unsure exactly how they could do that.
Although she was a hard nut, a heavy, she knew that it was futile even to attempt to get even with Hodges unless they could walk out of here directly afterwards. There was a way out, though it was a frightening and disgusting option. But maybe, just maybe, they could manage it, if the new girl was willing . . .
Hearing the locks being checked by the Two Misses, as they were known, she got off her bed and walked to the door.
‘Is the new girl all right?’ Her voice was loud and aggressive.
She heard answering laughter.
‘Perfectly. She showed that old fucker a thing or two!’
The retreating footsteps were nearly drowned by the guffaws of the two women.
Leaning against the door, Denise breathed out a sigh of relief. She turned to the other girls who were all lying in bed waiting for her to speak and said, ‘She’ll do. The new girl will do.’
All of them were quiet then, for what Cathy had endured had been practised on most of them at some point. They were pleased that, whatever she had done, it had made the Two Misses laugh, which meant she had got one over on the old man. That was not easy, and unknown to her, Cathy’s reputation in the Home was made that night.
Sally was still awake when Cathy finally came to bed.
‘How’d it go?’ Her voice was heavy with distress. ‘You were gone so long I was getting worried about you. I saved some water in case you needed a wash.’
Cathy sat on her friend’s bed and grinned. ‘I’m fine. I—’
She was interrupted by a screech from Sally as she saw the bandaged hand. ‘What did the old git do? What’s happened to your bleeding hand?’
‘Nothing happened to me hand, you silly mare. I got one over on him and the worst thing is, he knows I did. He’ll want to pay me back at some point but I’ll be ready for him. I’m going to get me money’s worth out of this place. One day I shall get meself out, but before I go I’ll teach that old fucker a lesson he won’t forget.’
The vehemence of her words and the steely resolution in every line of her body were a revelation to Sally. Cathy had seemed so quiet, ladylike even, that the change in her frightened the other girl.
‘The world is full of people who want to use you, take advantage of you, make you do what they want even if it repels you. Well, Sal, I’m sick of the lot of it. First me mother - she used me - and then me mother’s boyfriends, and now that old git. Well, I’ve made up me mind that I’m going to fight back, once and for all. No one will ever get the better of me again - and that includes Eamonn!’
Pulling off her clothes, Cathy got into bed with Sally. Cuddling up to try and get warm, she continued talking. This time her voice was lower, more reflective. ‘Every man I’ve ever known has had an angle, some way of using women. With me mum’s
blokes it was the obvious - I mean, she was a brass. Most used her for her money or her body. Mostly her money. They lived off her, you know.
‘The only bloke I ever had any time for was my Eamonn and even he’s used me in more ways than one - though for all that I still have to have him. Can’t be without him. I’m going to get meself out of here and back to the East End and my Eamonn. But this time I’ll call the shots.’
Sally listened without saying a word.
As the shadows lengthened and the room became darker, the two girls’ eyes grew heavier and heavier.
Soon they were asleep and dreaming of all the things they had been without for too long: food, warmth and especially love.
Chapter Eleven
Denise’s smiling face at breakfast let Cathy know that her experience with Hodges had already been reported. Sitting at the table with a bowl of grey-skinned porridge and a slice of bread before her, she grinned happily. Her bandaged hand attracted the attention of all the girls around her.
‘How’d it go then?’
Cathy, a natural storyteller, regaled them with her tale in as funny a fashion as she knew how, bringing tears of laughter to all the girls’ eyes. They all knew, to different degrees, exactly what it was like to be up in front of Hodges, and admired the way this new girl had of making her ordeal humorous. It was a sign of strength, a strength that Cathy had been unaware she possessed until this moment.
As Lady C approached the table, Cathy smiled at her winningly. ‘I lost your blade, I’m afraid.’
The girl shrugged. ‘No worries, there’s plenty more where that came from.’ Her tone implied that she had a complete armoury at her disposal and the others started to worry about that fact.
‘Can I have your bread?’ She seemed to have lost her violent train of thought and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
‘So what’s the next step, Cathy?’ Denise’s voice was eager, interested.
Cathy sighed. ‘The next step is getting out of here. From what Sally’s already told me, even though I ain’t really supposed to be here, that old trout Barton can get me sectioned. I ain’t waiting around for that. Fuck her and Hodges. I’m going on the trot.’
Before they could talk any more, Deirdre clumped up to their table and told Cathy she was needed in her room.
Following the carer, Cathy walked innocently into her bedroom where the door was closed behind her. Hodges waited for her with his usual bland expression. Only his eyes shone with the evil inside him. He smiled slowly, making himself look frightening, and Cathy felt a sickness rise inside her as she realised what was going to happen to her.
On her bed lay an array of ropes and cords.
As Hodges stepped towards her, Cathy began to fight. Both he and Deirdre were amazed at the strength of her small body as she kicked and fought with all her might. Hodges laughed. This is what he wanted; the more she fought the more he would enjoy himself. It was the best part of his job - breaking the girls down, making them more amenable. He got a charge from seeing them helpless under his control.
Trussed up on the bed, Cathy watched as Deirdre was sent from the room.
Hodges smiled down at her, his face a mask of hatred. ‘I’ll leave you now,’ he whispered, ‘but I’ll be back. And while I’m gone you can contemplate exactly what’s going to happen to you. One thing is for sure, young lady. Nothing you dream up will match the reality.’ He laughed once more, and left the room.
As he shut the door behind him, Cathy strained against her bonds and felt them tighten around her. All she could do now was play the waiting game, try to make herself relax. She couldn’t let him beat her, she would not give him that satisfaction.
She knew now what it was like to be completely alone, and allowed herself the luxury of tears. Though whether they were tears of frustration or of rage, she wasn’t sure herself.
Cathy’s tie down was discussed by the girls. They had all been Hodges’s victim at one time or another. The real shock to them was that Cathy Connor had not even been officially admitted to the institution before Hodges was up to his tricks again. This was unheard of. They speculated that the old bitch Barton might have formalised the arrangement quickly and therefore given him the push he needed to begin what he referred to as the breaking-in process.
Dinnertime came and went.
No sign of Cathy.
Suppertime came and went.
Still no sign of Cathy.
Sally Wilden was dormed in with Denise, and the two girls looked at one another fearfully. Both knew that Cathy’s bonds would be tight; both knew she would receive nothing to eat or drink - both knew that the combination could be lethal.
Unlike the tie downs at other Homes, Hodges’s tie downs were real acts of bondage. He had even been known to use handcuffs. The tightness of the bonds cut off all circulation and limbs went dead pretty quickly. One girl had had to be taken to an outside hospital after eighteen hours of this torment. Surely they wouldn’t leave Cathy Connor all night as well?
Hodges wouldn’t dare, they consoled themselves.
He wouldn’t have the guts.
Betty Jones tracked Eamonn down to a small bedsit in Bethnal Green Road. It was owned by a young brass called Sylvia Darling. Eamonn used her place frequently, giving her a few pounds to leave the coast clear for him. Sylvia could ply her particular trade anywhere there was a wall and so the arrangement suited both of them.
A banging on the door brought Eamonn’s head out from underneath the sour-smelling blankets, and a pithy retort from his lips.
Betty sighed and banged on the door once more. ‘Open up, for Gawd’s sake, Eamonn. I’m freezing me drawers off out here.’
Recognising the voice, he hauled himself from the bed and in nothing but his underpants opened the door. ‘What time do you call this, woman? It’s still the middle of the fucking night to me.’
Betty laughed. ‘I thought you was supposed to have come up in the world?’
She looked around her with a dismissive eye, and on his dignity now, Eamonn pulled a cigarette from the pack on the bedside table and said quickly, ‘Tell me what you want and piss off, Betty, I’m tired.’
As he lit the cigarette, it was snatched from his mouth by the irate little woman before him.
‘Who you talking to, you little shit? I used to wipe your arse, and no matter how hard you think you are, or how big you’ve become, that will always give me the edge, get it? Now, put your kacks on and make me a cuppa and we can discuss why I’m here.’
Eamonn nearly smiled. He had always liked old Betty and suddenly remembered the times she had bunged him a few pennies as a child for a bar of chocolate. Deciding that he could offer her a bit of respect in the privacy of this room, he did as he was told while Betty smoked the cigarette for him.
Five minutes later, a cup of steaming tea in front of her, she began to speak.
‘It’s about young Cathy. I’ve been sniffing about like, making a real nuisance of meself to find out what the Social done with her.’
Eamonn’s eyes kindled with interest for the first time since he’d let her into the room. ‘And? Come on, Betty - where is she? Can I visit her, write her a letter?’
Betty looked into his handsome young face, alight with enthusiasm now, and could almost find it in her heart to pity him, despite the fearsome reputation she knew he was rapidly earning for himself as Danny Dixon’s main man.
‘It’s not that easy, love, I’m afraid. You know what that lot up the offices are like - keep their mouths tighter than a duck’s arse, they do. We’re not related to Cathy, see, so they don’t have to tell us nothing.
‘But I got a bit pally with one of the clerks, said I’d do him a favour like if he’d do me one in return. He had a butcher’s at Cathy’s file and saw she was marked down for long-term fostering. He wouldn’t tell me where exactly, but he said the family in question - the Hendersons - were a good-hearted bunch. Lah-di-dah and all from the sound of it.
‘Cathy will be well t
reated by them, Eamonn. We don’t have to worry about her even though we’ll miss her. In fact, she’ll probably be back here one day talking with a plum in her mouth. Imagine that - Madge Connor’s daughter turned into a real little lady!’
Eamonn scowled darkly. ‘I don’t think I want to, ta very much. They’ve got no business yanking Cathy away from Bethnal Green. She’s my girl, she should be here with me.’
Betty smiled at him sadly. ‘Talk sense, son. She’s not fourteen yet. They’re hardly going to hand her over to a known tearaway—’ she put up one hand apologetically and swiftly added ‘—nor an old brass neither. I offered to have her, you know. Nothing I’d like better than to give that little girl a home. But they’re having none of it. Better face it, Eamonn - Cathy’s out of here for the duration. I don’t think either you or me will see her again until she’s sixteen and can tell ’em where to shove their foster care.’
She saw his fists clench and the tide of misery that darkened his blue eyes before he hastily averted them.
Betty rose to her feet tactfully. ‘Well then, best be off, love. Look after yourself. Try and stay in one piece because sooner or later Cathy’ll be back, you can count on that.’
She let herself out. Eamonn sat slumped at the table, head in his hands. If she hadn’t known him for the bold-faced young villain he was, she could have sworn he was crying.
Cathy was delirious, her wrists and ankles so swollen and sore the pain was blurred now after twenty-four hours. Her heart was beating erratically and her hair was plastered to her head with sweat. Miss Henley was terrified and even Mr Hodges was beginning to worry, though a part of him enjoyed the scene before him.
But maybe he had gone too far this time . . .
Tie down was first introduced to mental institutions in the late 1800s. That is, officially. It had in fact been going on since time began. Lunatics could be treated in any way, as could prisoners. In homes and correctional institutions, it was often used as a last resort; at Benton School for Girls it was used before most other sanctions. Tie down was meant to be for epileptics primarily, so they didn’t fall out of bed and damage themselves. It was a form of help for poor unfortunates who fitted during the night - that was the official line anyway. Other places used it for runners, people who might otherwise escape when left unwatched.
