Chalet Girls

by Lorraine Wilson

  ‘So you see the man who … who raped me, he’s on trial for raping another two women.’ My chest heaves as I fight the panic.

  ‘It’s okay, Beth. It’ll be okay.’ Dan‘s gentle tone makes me feel like punching something.

  ‘Really? Did you know one in five women are victims of sexual violence? And something like thirty per cent of women say they were victims of sexual abuse as children?’ I feel like roaring, anger finally flaring to life. The statistics I know by heart are spewing out of me. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of not okay.’

  A scream is building up in my throat. I desperately try to damp it down. I can‘t misdirect this anger at Dan. It‘s not his fault. But still it rises, choking me, vile in its ugliness.

  ‘If the world was okay I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life building snow marmots and kissing, but it’s not. We can’t all run away and treat the world like a playground.’ My tone is scathing.

  Dan watches me silently. Calmly.

  ‘You know, I did the maths, I worked it out.’ Bitterness streams out of the dark place inside me. ‘Eighty-five thousand women are raped every year in the UK. Only fifteen per cent of those rapes are reported to the police. Only six per cent of those reported rapes end in a conviction.’

  I glare at Dan, as though he is personally responsible for those appalling statistics. I know it’s unfair, but this rage, this living monster I’ve let out of its cage, wants blood. He asked for more from me and he‘s getting it. Probably far more than he wanted.

  In his eyes I see only compassion, knowledge and something more, an empathic connection I can’t bear. He‘s patiently sitting, waiting for me to get past this, to meet him on safe ground once I get past the crazy.

  I look down at my hands. I must‘ve put the mug down somewhere, it‘s nowhere to be seen. My nails are digging so hard into the palms red ridges are appearing.

  I don‘t know what I expected to get from researching the conviction rates for rape. If I‘d hoped knowing I wasn‘t the only victim to be denied justice would leave me feeling less alone I was disappointed. All I got was a growing sense of fury and nowhere for it to go.

  ‘That means out of eighty-five thousand rapists only seven hundred are punished.’ I grit my teeth. ‘Each year. And that’s just in the UK, Dan. He’ll get off again, I know it. It’s not safe, the world is a fucking awful place, so don’t try to tell me life isn’t serious.’

  I’m shaking. With fear? With fury? Maybe a mixture of the two. Rage and terror are out of control, adrenalin pumping through my body.

  ‘Hit me.’ Dan walks up to me and holds his arms outstretched. ‘You want to hit someone. So hit me.’

  ‘I don’t want to hit you.’ The monster inside me disagrees, it writhes and spits.

  ‘This anger is good, Beth.’

  It’s official; Dan’s a moron. Suddenly I do want to hit him, badly. But I control the urge.

  ‘Its not good,’ I grind out between clenched teeth. ‘Why do you think I work so hard to contain it?’

  ‘At least it’s real. Pushing anger down isn’t healthy. I can show you the scientific studies online if you like. It has a real physiological effect on the body.’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do with it?’ I glare at him, annoyed he‘s said something that actually makes sense.

  ‘Let it out, use it to make yourself stronger. When you’re angry you’re not giving up and that‘s a good thing. You have energy to propel yourself forward.

  I stare at him. What kind of drifter understands about the physiological effects of anger?

  ‘Why do you know this, Dan? Who are you? You’re always trying to find out my secrets, but I think you’ve got your own.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dan reaches out, crossing the boundaries of personal space to take my hand. ‘I’ll tell you how I ended up travelling.’

  I hold on tight to his hand, the fight seeping out of my bones and leaving me weak.

  ‘So tell me, Mr ‘Wherever I park my camper there’s my home‘.’

  ‘They call me ‚Dan the Van‘ but I like your nickname too.’ He answers, as though he hasn‘t heard the acerbic edge to my tone.

  I fix my gaze on him. Dan the ski instructor, the free-spirited traveller.

  Right.

  When I told him the rape statistics there was no spark of surprise, only recognition. He either couldn’t give a flying snowball or the figures are no great surprise to him. I wait silently for his answer, half afraid of what he might share.

  ‘I trained as a barrister. I was idealistic and I thought providing a defence to people who needed someone to speak up for them would be a noble way to spend my life.’ Dan’s tone is self-deprecating. ‘I wasn’t really that naïve, not entirely. I knew some of my clients would be guilty, but I still believed everyone was entitled to a defence. As a pupil and a junior you have to take the work you’re given. You don‘t get to pick and choose.’

  I glance sharply at him.

  ‘You were a criminal barrister? Is this leading up to you confessing you defended rapists? If so, is the offer to hit you still open?’ I feel a tightening, a hardening deep inside me. Like ice re-freezing after a thaw, creating a treacherous inner landscape. One wrong footing and I‘ll slide away.

  Dan eyes me warily. Even I’m not sure if I’m joking or not.

  ‘I’m not sure I like the word ‘confess’. At the risk of sounding like a complete dick there is a sound principle behind everyone getting a fair defence.’

  The atmosphere feels taut between us, stretched so tight it could break. Or I could let up a little and ease it out. I could try to meet Dan halfway. He has been good to me. That day at the café he gave me a lifeline. I pause and try to get my breathing under control.

  ‘In my head I know that,’ I admit. ‘But my emotions … they don’t agree, they’re kind of stuck on the six per cent conviction statistic and they want someone to blame.’

  Dan sighs heavily. ‘I get that, Beth, I do. Ideals and reality diverge, and some degree of cynicism is justified. Anyone who starts out their law career idealistic loses their illusions pretty quickly.’

  ‘Is that what happened with you?’ I ask, my anger damped down, curiosity temporarily putting it on hold.

  ‘Yes, to some degree, but it was more than that,’ he shrugs. ‘The competition is fierce for tenancy. There aren’t enough places in chambers for everyone called to the Bar. I was fortunate to get a pupillage and then tenancy, but the job demands your life and to some degree your soul. After five years something happened and I had an epiphany. I couldn’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life. I‘d fought tooth and nail for the life I had but I didn‘t want it any more.

  ‘So, did you defend rapists?’ I hear the edge to my voice, although I didn’t mean to put it there.

  ‘Yes,’ Dan sighs again. ‘You don’t exactly get a choice. You take the work you’re given and everyone is …’

  ‘Entitled to a defence, I know,’ I reply flatly, staring down at my hands, tightly knotted together in my lap.

  ‘I want to tell you about the thing that happened, the event five years ago that acted as a catalyst,’ Dan replies slowly.

  ‘Oh?’ I look up from my lap.

  ‘My sister Kate was raped. I know she wouldn’t mind me telling you. The CPS couldn’t get enough evidence to secure a conviction and the bastard went free.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I‘m so thrown I utter the expected platitude, but it‘s not an empty response. I really am full of sorrow for his sister. Of course I am. I know how it feels, after all.

  ‘I saw what it did to her.’ Dan‘s voice is tight, there‘s nothing easy-going about his tone now. ‘There was no professional barrier in place at that time. I couldn’t hide from the impact or protect myself with distance. I still believe everyone is entitled to a defence, but I’m not the man to do it any more. I bought the campervan, did it up and I have different priorities now. I’m not hung up about acquiring wealth and stuff I don’t need.’

/>   ‘How is your sister now?’ I ask, genuinely curious.

  I went to a support group once, at Eva‘s suggestion. I couldn‘t go back, because I found all the negative emotions too much to handle, but it taught me one important thing – everyone copes differently. Some women stay victims their whole lives, and the rape defines them. Others grab the coat tails of their anger and cling to a lifelong hatred of all men.

  I realised pretty quickly I didn‘t want to belong to either group. The rape was just one part of my life and it wasn‘t going to rob me of my identity or my sexuality. Even if that meant I secretly cried in the bathroom after every attempt at post-rape sex.

  I grew up coping with Mum‘s illness. After the rape I had to step up my coping skills, with Eva‘s help.

  ‘She’s coping.’ Dan‘s eyes display a bleakness I hadn‘t expected to see. ‘She had a nervous breakdown and it took her a while to pick herself up again. She‘s living with my parents now, and I think she‘ll be with them for a while. It’s because of her I knew something similar had happened to you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s this shut-down look Kate gets when she’s struggling. I saw the exact same look in your eyes that day at the cantine.’

  I stare at the floor. I don‘t like this. It’s like discovering I’ve been branded. V for victim. V for vulnerable. Permanently scarred by the memories I thought I‘d left behind. Rapists seek out the vulnerable. Will I ever escape this?

  I like to think if I‘m ever attacked again I‘ll fight tooth and fingernail. I‘ll spit and bite and go for my attacker‘s eye sockets. Yes, fighting back might get me killed, but the sensible, freezing-until-it‘s-over and disappearing-into-my-mind option isn‘t one I can ever choose again.

  What no one tells you is that both options get you killed. The freezing option just kills you more slowly. At least death would be quick.

  ‘Is that the reason why you’ve been so nice to me?’ I keep my eyes on the floor. ‘Because I‘m a victim?’

  I imbue the word victim with a whole world of bitterness.

  ‘No, I’ve been nice to you because I like you. A lot. And you are not a victim, you‘re a survivor. You‘re you. You‘re Beth and no one and nothing can rob you of your identity.’ His hand spans the distance between us and he lightly nudges my little finger with his.

  It‘s the gentlest of touches, an overture and, possibly, an offer.

  I stretch out my hand and accept the interlinking of his fingers with mine. This tentative connection feels powerful and intimate. The camper interior is our micro universe and we are its only inhabitants.

  I exhale the breath I hadn‘t realised I was holding. My anger has morphed into a tension of a different kind. I want the comfort of his touch. Maybe instead of hitting him I need release of a different kind. It’s tempting. I know Dan would be gentle, maybe too gentle. His awareness of my past makes it hard for me to keep it locked away. And it has to be locked away, far from conscious thought, or sex would be unbearable, tainted by the ghost of the rape.

  ‘Can I stay?’ My heart thumps in my chest. I know the overture has to be made by me.

  ‘Are you sure?’ His thumb caresses my palm.

  I don‘t think he meant the gesture to be sexual, but it triggers a corresponding dart of desire between my legs. What can I say? That I honestly don’t know. Anything. I never stop second-guessing myself. Dan isn’t what I thought I wanted, but he‘s what I need, now, today.

  How do I explain all that when I barely understand myself?

  I won‘t even try. I‘ll go with what I need today. Tomorrow can wait.

  I turn to Dan, to the man who sees me.

  ‘Yes. I‘m sure.’ I inch towards him.

  Dan stares back, then leans forward to kiss me. My mouth opens for him, my tongue welcoming his, my body hungry.

  My body says yes, but my mind is panicking because this feels like real intimacy. Why was it easier to go home with Thomas? How can the thought of sex with someone who doesn’t like me be less frightening than intimacy with someone who cares about me, who sees me?

  Eva would no doubt have a lot to say on the subject. She was so sure I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe she was right after all.

  Dan pulls out of the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. ‘If you want we’ll stop. It’s important that this is your decision.’

  Sod it, I’m doing this. Why do I have to overthink everything?

  He likes me and I like him. We both want sex and I really need the release. I still like sex. That bastard rapist doesn‘t get the right to shut me down sexually. It would‘ve been easy to avoid sex completely after the rape, but then he would‘ve won.

  There‘s no way I‘m letting him win.

  I‘ve been so tense, so tightly coiled since I read the email. This feels like the right way to survive, to release the tension.

  I need this.

  I slide onto his lap and put my arms around his neck. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him as I wriggle on his lap and feel his growing erection under my bottom.

  ‘I want this, I want you,’ I say, and mean it. The urge to continually overwrite the space the rape used to occupy is urgent. The past won’t control me; it won’t ruin sex for me.

  I close my eyes and press my breasts against his chest.

  Dan pulls back from the kiss. ‘Hey, Beth.’

  ‘Hmm?’ I reluctantly open my eyes.

  ‘Don’t disappear on me.’

  ‘What do you mean, I’m right here, I’m not planning on going anywhere.’ I frown.

  ‘I mean up here.’ Dan touches the side of my forehead. ‘Stay with me.’

  I stare into his eyes. There’s that connection again. So tempting.

  And so terrifying. I learnt to cope with sex again by disappearing. Dan is the first guy who actually seems to notice and care.

  ‘I’ll try.’ I swallow hard.

  ‘That’s all I’m asking. Let it be about us. Just us.’

  I nod and pull my top up over my head. Dan undoes my bra clasp, letting the bra fall onto the floor. He exhales heavily as he takes my bare breasts into his hands. My nipples harden against his palms. My whole body aches for him, driven by an urgency I can’t understand. It’s as though I need to act fast before my mind can catch up and decide this is a mistake.

  I pull Dan’s t-shirt up over his head and press my breasts against his bare chest. His muscles are firm against my softer, more rounded, flesh. I shiver.

  He lowers his mouth to mine again and I lose myself in the kiss, in the intimacy of tongue on tongue. His fingers run through my long red hair, letting it trail over my breasts.

  ‘You are so sexy, Beth.’ He groans and clasps me to him.

  ‘You‘re not so bad yourself.’ I smile and shift position so I‘m straddling him, my knees resting either side of his thighs.

  He cups my denim-clad bottom and squeezes, then reaches in front of me to undo my jeans zip. He pulls my jeans down and I lie back to wriggle out of them.

  ‘Relax,’ Dan whispers. He pulls my knickers to one side and slides a finger inside me. ‘You’re wet, but I bet I can get you wetter.’

  I exhale and lean back, trusting him, the tension seeping out of me as his fingers stroke and tease my clit before thrusting inside me. I part my thighs for him, pulling my knees up towards my chest and he kneels between my legs, kissing down my stomach and placing a kiss on top of the wet cotton between my legs.

  I groan and wriggle my hips. He interprets correctly, pulling my knickers down, then lowering his mouth between my legs and licking at my bare sex.

  After a minute of exquisite torture he pulls back and plunges two fingers inside me. When he draws them out they‘re dripping wet. ‘That’s much better.’

  I moan, feeling an almost unbearable heavy ache in my sex as the wetness drips between my legs.

  ‘What do you want me to do to you, Beth?’ Dan asks softly. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘I want you to fuck me. I need y
ou to fuck me,’ I gasp. ‘Please.’

  ‘You want to go on top?’

  I know what he’s asking. Do I need to take control?

  ‘No,’ I groan the emphatic answer. I don’t want him to be tender, or to do anything that reminds me of the past, giving room for the ghosts to appear. ‘I need you to fuck me. Don‘t you dare be gentle.’ My tone is fierce.

  I am not a victim and I won‘t be treated like one.

  I reach out and squeeze the huge erection straining at Dan’s jeans.

  ‘Fuck,’ he swears, breathing heavily.

  ‘Yes, fuck. As in do. Me.’ My breath is coming fast now, my chest heaving, nipples tightening and my sex clenching at air. ‘Now. Please.’

  Dan pulls off his jeans and sheathes his straining erection with a condom. Then he pulls me to the edge of the mattress, spreads my thighs wide apart and plunges into me.

  I contract around him and meet his thrusts with an urgency that pulses through me – anger, need, desire and hope all intertwined in the arching of my hips as I push up against him.

  Then he flips me over onto all-fours on the mattress and caresses my breasts as he positions himself behind me and thrusts back inside me. His hands move from my hardened nipples to my clit, where he strokes the tip of a finger round and round, lightly increasing the pressure with each thrust.

  Heat is building up inside me, an unbearable intensity swelling to bursting point between my thighs.

  Then I’m tipping over the edge into a screaming, roaring orgasm, the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

  I feel Dan coming with me, tensing and jerking deep inside me as my hips buck and my thighs shake.

  Eventually we collapse onto the bed together, gasping.

  ‘Feel better?’ he asks, once we’ve got our breath back. ‘Was that okay?’

  ‘Yes thank you.’ My response feels oddly prim considering what we’ve just been doing. Laughter rises up in my chest and I give into the giggles. ‘That was a much better idea than hitting you.’

  ‘I can‘t help but agree.’ Dan grins. ‘You win, your idea was better than mine.’

  He strokes the side of my face, his expression growing more serious.