Two Women

by Martina Cole

  It always made Susan smile when the girls in for shoplifting or kiteing, using a stolen chequebook and banker’s card, bemoaned their sentences. Six months and they acted like they were facing death row. They forgot that she and a few others were looking at ‘real’ time. In real prisons.

  Most would leave here for an open nick, get a job on the farm or in the garden, and smoke and booze their few months away. Whereas she would be moved once more to a secure unit and have to acclimatise herself all over again.

  ‘Go on, girl, have a good laugh, does you the world of good.’

  Matty was laughing, belly laughing once more.

  ‘All your little homilies . . . You really don’t know, Susan, do you? You really don’t know.’

  She cracked up again but this time there was no humour in it. It was strained, forced laughter that was hollow-sounding and sad.

  Susan filled their mugs again and they drank in silence for a while.

  She knew Matty was away somewhere in her head, like she was, probably going over old ground that had been raked and sifted so many times it would be bald if it was real. That ground was always the same for Susan. She guessed it was for Matty too.

  All ifs and buts. If only this had happened differently, if only that had happened before, ad infinitum.

  Susan knew it all herself, she had been there so many times, but one thing she had learned: it changed nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Barry would still be dead, the kids would still be without her, and nothing on the surface was changed no matter how much you wished it could be different.

  ‘When I killed him, Susan, I knew I was going to do it all along. I’d known for ages what I was going to do.’

  Matty stared into Susan’s face. In the half light she looked grotesque.

  ‘But he didn’t know. Victor didn’t know. I mean, how could he know? I couldn’t tell him, could I? Spoil the surprise.’

  She was laughing again. Quietly this time, like a child caught out with a box of matches.

  ‘But I did it. I told myself I would and I did. That’s called positive thinking. I remember reading about it in Cosmopolitan. Thositive pinking.’

  Susan laughed with Matty as she tried desperately to say the two words.

  ‘I am pissed, as you would say.’

  Susan took the mug from her and helped her up on her own bunk. Then she covered her with a blanket.

  ‘You have a little nap, mate. I’ll put all this away. You get some sleep.’

  She tidied away, leaving no evidence for the morning screws. As she opened the box under her bunk she saw a half bottle of Scotch and a lump of dope. Placing the vodka in with it, she slid it out of sight.

  Then, pouring the two mugs of drink into one, she drained it down. Enjoying the feel of the alcohol. The warmth of it inside her belly.

  ‘That hit the spot, girl, I can tell you.’

  Matty turned her head and looked down at her.

  ‘I like you, Sue, you’re all right.’

  Susan grabbed at her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  ‘You’re not too bad yourself, girl. Now get some Sooty and Sweep. You’ll feel like a dog’s turd in the morning.’

  Matty laughed again, a girlish sound.

  ‘Your kids are beautiful, Susan. Very beautiful. Even the screws admire their photos. I’ve seen them looking at them.’

  She tried to nod to reinforce her words and Susan smiled to herself.

  ‘I aborted two babies by Victor. I did, Susan. Isn’t that terrible?’

  Susan stood by the bunk and held Matty’s hand again, pulling it into her chest as if she was one of the kids, sad and troubled by a little worry.

  ‘My old man kicked a few out of me, girl. I know how you feel, love. Really I do.’

  Matty was trying to focus in the darkness.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t Victor, Susan, he wanted them. It was me. I didn’t want any kids. Not by him anyway. I’m not the maternal type, I’m afraid. He cried after each abortion because I didn’t tell him till after I’d had the op. Then it was too late, he couldn’t do anything, could he? But Victor was never very good at doing anything really. That was the trouble, he irritated me. An educated, smart man yet he was as silly as a bag of marbles where women were concerned.’

  Susan didn’t know what to say. So she just held Matty’s hand and tried to comfort her.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it, mate. We all do things we regret.’

  Now Matty’s voice was serious.

  ‘Oh, I don’t regret it at all. Any of it, Sue. What is there to regret really? I rid the world of an ineffectual prick called Victor Enderby.’

  ‘A violent ineffectual prick called Victor Enderby, you mean?’

  Matty shook her head in the darkness.

  ‘He wasn’t violent, Sue. Give me a break! He was the quietest, kindest man in the world, was Victor. That was his downfall. I thought I could handle him and all he was but I couldn’t, you see. In the end he drove me mad. Bored me rigid and made me hate him. I had to get rid of him. You do see that, don’t you?’

  Susan didn’t answer her. Instead she pulled the blankets up around Matty’s neck and tucked her in.

  ‘Go to sleep, you’ll have a head like a balloon in the morning.’

  But Matty was gone, gone to another place entirely and this time Susan didn’t envy her. In fact she decided that she wouldn’t want to be Matty Enderby for all the money in the world. She was also wondering what the hell she was going to say to her the next day.

  She could only hope that Matty would forget this conversation and never refer to it again. For herself, she was going to put out of her mind all that she had heard. Some things in life were best left inside a person’s head. Susan had believed this for a long time and Matty had made her more aware than ever just how dangerous talking could be if you had something to hide.

  And Matty certainly had something to hide.

  Wendy awoke with the birds as usual. She lay in bed in the Charlton Home for Children, Great Wakering, Essex, and looked around her. The room was almost sterile. White walls and white Formica furniture.

  Sitting up, she opened the window by her bed and lit a Benson and Hedges. Puffing on it deeply, she drew the tobacco into her lungs. If her mother knew she smoked she would freak out. But her mother wasn’t here, was she?

  Wendy scratched idly at her leg and sighed.

  If Mr Potter was on night duty he would pop his head around the door at any minute then stroll in and try to cop a feel. Well, she was ready for him this morning. She had a small blade hidden underneath her pillow.

  She wouldn’t hurt him with it, just threaten him.

  As she heard the handle turn she threw the cigarette from the window and stared at the door, heart beating like a drum. Willing it to stay shut.

  But Mr Alfred Potter was already on his way in.

  He was old, as far as Wendy was concerned, being in his forties with blond wispy hair and bad teeth. A fact that obviously didn’t bother him as he seemed to smile all the time.

  Especially at the girls. The bigger girls.

  ‘Up bright and early then, are we?’

  Wendy didn’t answer him as he walked slowly towards the bed.

  ‘Been smoking, have we?’ He was still smiling.

  As his hand came out to touch her hair as usual she still didn’t speak, but as it strayed towards her breast she brought the small blade out from under her pillow. Jumping from the bed, she held it in front of her.

  ‘Come on then, Mr Potter, go for it!’

  She hissed the words and was pleased to see his face blanch.

  ‘You ever touch me again and I’ll cut your throat! I’m more like me mother than people think, see. I’m as bad as her, you hear what I’m saying? I don’t take any shit from anyone, right?’

  Mr Potter was scared, really scared, and it showed on his face. Without a word he walked from the room and Wendy felt herself relax.

  Forced herself to relax.
>
  She had won! She could not believe he had rolled over so quickly. But he had walked out and left her there without a word.

  She hugged herself with glee. She had taken the law into her own hands and she had won, as she’d known she must. No more waking at an unearthly hour, lying in bed wondering if he was going to come in, with his wandering hands and his bad breath.

  She had taken control and fronted him up. She had won the battle and therefore the war.

  She lit another cigarette to celebrate.

  Then the door burst open and there stood Mrs Reading and Mr Potter and two other care assistants.

  ‘She has a knife on her. She threatened me with it.’

  Mr Potter, respected social worker and youth leader, knew exactly what he was doing. The blade was where he’d said and no one listened to the terrified girl’s explanation as he’d known they wouldn’t. He smiled sadly at Wendy as the police were called and smiled even more at her shock and horror.

  Wendy realised she had won nothing. And Mrs Reading’s next words stayed with her all her life.

  ‘Blood will out, Mr Potter. I’ve seen it time and time again. Blood will out.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Roselle could not believe what she was hearing about Wendy. It was against everything she knew about the girl, and she decided straight away that there had to be something more going on that no one knew about for the girl to threaten one of her social workers with a blade.

  Roselle suppressed a smile. If they could see some of the weapons she had taken off young girls in her club before now. She had even confiscated a hand gun once from a little Brummie sort called Angelina. She had looked like an angel and talked like a navvy. And she had had every intention of using that gun.

  But Angelina had been a hard-nosed little bitch who knew more about life than most scientists could ever guess at. Then, so did Wendy in many respects. Roselle wondered how poor Sue would react to the news. Locked up as she was, there was precious little she could do to make any real difference.

  As she thought of her friend Roselle felt the familiar sickness in her belly. She was locked up for nothing really, it should have been Barry who had been taken away from his kids. Because he wouldn’t have cared.

  Ivan let himself into the flat then and Roselle smiled as he walked into the lounge.

  ‘You’re up early, Roselle. I was just coming in to drop off a few things for Joe. He’s due home later today, isn’t he?’

  She smiled.

  ‘Yes, he is, and you can come in and out of here any time, you know that.’

  In days gone by he would find a locked door and know that meant she had company. It had been many, many months since he had found a locked door now and that worried him.

  ‘You’re a young woman, you deserve a bit of fun. Don’t let Barry’s children take over your life. He was scum. By God, I wish I’d never clapped eyes on him. I knew he’d be trouble. But not as much trouble as he eventually was, I can tell you.’

  ‘I’ll get you a coffee. I could do with one myself.’

  As she walked out into the kitchen, her pert bottom swaying as she walked, Ivan wished he could still find it in him to raise an erection. But those days were long gone and he had to accept that. He couldn’t raise more than a smile these days and that hurt. Now he made money and waited for death, taking his enjoyment from eating, drinking and socialising.

  For a while Roselle had given him back his youth. She had also given him a son, a fine handsome boy with good looks and a good brain. But he worried about her. She had taken on this girl as if she was family when of course she wasn’t and never could be.

  As Roselle walked back to him with the coffee he smiled at her. She saw the watery eyes of an old man and it saddened her. Ivan was really ageing lately and she wondered what the hell she would do without him.

  As she leaned forward he saw a little flash of creamy flesh and dark brown nipple. He shrugged.

  ‘These days, Roselle, I can look and that’s all. A terrible thing for a man.’

  She stroked his face tenderly.

  ‘Only if the man never enjoyed anything in his life. You have your memories and you have me and Joseph. What more could you want from life?’

  ‘Put like that, my dear, it sounds almost interesting. Now what’s the latest on the girl?’

  Part of Ivan’s charm was the way he always hit the nail on the head. He knew she was worried and that it could only be for one reason.

  ‘Apparently, Wendy threatened one of her social workers with a blade. They found it where he said it would be and brought in the police. But she must have had a reason. She must have. I know that girl and she’s not like that, Ivan. If she had a blade it was to protect herself from someone or something.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Maybe someone there was giving her a hard time. In those environments it’s not unheard of. Can you get to see her?’

  Roselle nodded.

  ‘The police were called in but the man, a Mr Alfred Potter, refused to bring charges against her. Which I think is good of him really. But then social workers are all bleeding hearts, aren’t they?

  ‘I mean, you read about these kids all the time in the papers. But it’s only when you know one personally that your opinion changes.’

  Ivan grinned.

  ‘Those homes give us our best hostesses, don’t forget that. They get a good education in those places. Not the education people think they’re getting either!’

  Roselle didn’t laugh but she saw the truth of his statement. Many of the girls she had worked with over the years had been in care, a term she had found increasingly strange considering what happened to most of them while allegedly being cared for.

  ‘I wonder if there’s any way we could find out about this Mr Potter?’

  Ivan shook his wizened old head and grinned again.

  ‘I’ll find out about him. You relax and get yourself ready for the day. I still have a few contacts here and there, especially in the police force. I’ll see what I can dig up.’

  ‘It’s so strange that she threatened him, you know? Why would Wendy threaten anyone?’

  Ivan didn’t answer because he knew Roselle was already thinking along the same lines as he was.

  Wendy was tired, tired and upset.

  In the isolation room, as it was called, she was expected to reflect on what she had done. Remember that Mr Potter had been good to her, and ask herself why she had acted as she had.

  She had toyed with the idea of telling them why but knew from the other girls that accusing anyone of sexual misconduct was a complete and utter waste of time.

  The fact that they were young girls and boys in care meant they were already assumed to be sexually aware and active. Most of them were, which was sad but true. But most of them had learned what they knew from people like Mr Potter.

  He was a predator. He tried to make them his confidantes and friends and then the real ugliness started. An arm around a shoulder that just brushed a breast. The game playing and pretend fighting which enabled him to grab and drag at their bodies, pretending it was all innocent fun.

  Oh, she knew all these things, knew them off by heart. The girls talked about it among themselves, joked about it even. But it wasn’t funny because when it went too far there was no one to listen and definitely no one to protect you.

  Well, Wendy had protected herself and she was glad she had. It wasn’t the first time and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

  The door opened and her heart jumped into her throat. She saw Miss Beacham with a tray of tea and sandwiches. The young woman smiled at her and Wendy smiled tremulously back. Never in her life had she been so glad to see anyone.

  ‘I thought I’d bring you a little lunch. See how you were faring.’

  Miss Beacham had an ugly face, a thin body and a beautiful speaking voice. Wendy could listen to her for hours.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  She took the proffered tray and set
it on the windowsill, there being no furniture of any kind in the room except a small bunk.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Wendy nodded.

  ‘A cigarette wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Miss Beacham pulled one of her faces. She had facial expressions that said more than all the words in the English dictionary.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, but no promises mind.’

  As anti-smoking as she was, she knew the value of a familiar thing in this grim environment. Everyone had something they did to relieve stress. For most of the kids in her care it was a cigarette, even the youngest ones of seven and eight. It galled her, but she understood it.

  That was her secret with the kids she cared for: she tried to understand them. And to help them. And the kids responded to this, because unlike her peers she didn’t try to force her opinions on them. She simply expressed them and left them to make what they could of them.

  ‘How’s Mr Potter?’

  Miss Beacham made one of her lightning changes of expression and shrugged.

  ‘Well, by all accounts. Though obviously in shock.’

  The words were said flippantly and without real feeling. She did not like Mr Potter and he did not like her. She knew it was because she was unattractive. He, like most men, only saw any value in women who were attractive.

  ‘What will happen to me?’

  She heard the loneliness and fear in Wendy’s words and stifled an urge to take her in her arms and comfort her.

  ‘A few days in here then pretend you’ve learned your lesson and go back to the usual. Oh, and Mr Potter has been changed on to days for some reason, so that’s something to look forward to, eh?’

  Wendy smiled then, a big smile. Miss Beacham was telling her she knew the score, understood. That meant more to the girl than anything. She had an ally at last, a real ally.

  ‘Now eat that lot and keep your strength up. You’ll need it, my dear.’

  Wendy nodded, happier now she knew what was to happen to her.