Casting Off

by P. I. Paris

  Two committee members of the Friends of We Care For You were in the office going through plans for a fund-raising fête scheduled to take place in two weeks. Matron, although extremely grateful to them for what they did, wished they would stick to the matter in hand, as there was an inspection of the care home due to take place on Thursday and these visits always generated extra work.

  And so the week went by. Mrs O’Reilly entertained everyone around her with shrieks of delight during her time in the hot tub, while Joyce eventually managed a few unaided strokes in the pool nearby and declared upon achieving this that she could swim well enough. A string of professionals, families, friends, delivery men, taxis and a host of others passed through reception, did what they had to and left. The inspection went well, despite Mr Forsyth slapping the female official on the bottom.

  On Thursday evening everyone sat happily in the lounge, recounting with excitement the recent events. There was one figure not present: Miss Ross.

  Lying quietly on her bed, looking up at the ceiling as if in a trance, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Her days and nights were so dominated by this feeling that it was difficult to tell them apart. She feared trying to sleep and feared waking up. And tomorrow was the day when she would have to make a decision . . .

  Thirty Eight

  Every step she took along the pavement was like a stab to her soul, as though an invisible knife was cutting off parts of her with each yard covered. A sliver of morality fell off while going over the zebra crossing. By the post box she left a hunk of dignity. At the grocer’s shop, a slice of sensitivity rolled away, coming to rest in the gutter.

  Miss Ross had never known such fear. Her indigestion was awful. She would have to find a toilet as soon as she got to the Station Hotel. She kept trying to convince herself that she wasn’t on her way to meet this frightful man, that there was still the option to turn back.

  But in her heart she knew she couldn’t. Two hundred pounds would let Dorothy stay in the home for a week. The telephone calls to the sex line had brought in some money but nowhere near enough to cover the rise in her fees. Something more drastic had to be done. This would be the most unpleasant experience of her life, but if she wasn’t prepared to make such a sacrifice, then what was the value of her love? Was it so shallow that she faltered at the first true test?

  The arguments about the rights or wrongs of what she was about to do flew around inside her head like hornets, right up until she reached the building. Then they seemed suddenly irrelevant: she was standing outside the Station Hotel and whatever was about to take place would happen regardless of the morals behind it.

  She hated lying. She told the others that an old cousin had unexpectedly been in touch. He had just moved to the area and they were going to meet up for afternoon tea. Miss Ross had caught a bus near the home and then walked the rest of the way. It wasn’t a part of town that she visited, yet she still checked there wasn’t anyone nearby whom she recognised and while walking up to the counter she looked carefully at the receptionist. The face was unfamiliar.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said the young woman pleasantly.

  ‘Yes, I’m meeting my cousin . . . Mr Fraser. Could you please tell him that I’m here?’

  The woman called a number on the internal telephone. She explained that there was a visitor, listened for a brief moment, thanked the guest and hung up.

  ‘Mr Fraser says would you mind going up to his room?’ she said. ‘It’s number twenty-nine on the first floor.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll just visit the ladies.’

  ‘Certainly, madam. Third door on the right.’

  Miss Ross muttered a ‘thank you’ and followed the directions given. A mature woman dressed in a smart tweed skirt and jacket could hardly have appeared more dignified and she considered that, on the surface at least, no one could suspect anything untoward. Even so, she worried that the young woman knew what was going on.

  Had the man done this sort of thing here before? Why on earth had she not considered this? Miss Ross stepped into a cubicle, locked the door and almost collapsed against it. If he used this hotel regularly, then the staff would know that something unwholesome was happening! She felt sick and later on, when she stood outside room twenty-nine, she almost threw up in the corridor.

  Leave now, while there’s still a chance.

  She raised her hand.

  There must be another way to raise the money.

  The hand hesitated.

  Dorothy would never want this.

  The hand knocked.

  The door opened and the man, her client, studied his new arrival before breaking into a grin.

  ‘I do appreciate that you’ve come. Please,’ he said, stepping aside and beckoning her into the room.

  Condemned without hope, she walked in and he closed the door quietly behind her. Miss Ross walked over to the window to put some distance between them before turning to study him. He was doing the same of her. He didn’t look . . . well, she hadn’t known what to expect. He appeared fairly ordinary, in his early forties and a little podgy around the middle, but well dressed and with an intelligent face. The room itself was a normal hotel bedroom. There was a double bed but that meant nothing these days.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  He was well spoken. She knew that none of these ‘ordinary’ characteristics was any sort of guarantee that the man didn’t pose a threat. After all, how ‘ordinary’ was it to want to meet an elderly woman in a hotel bedroom for what they were about to do?

  Was he really going to wear a school uniform?

  Miss Ross shook her head. Her voice, which had in its time been famous for its ability to control an entire hall of unruly children, had deserted her. The man poured himself a whisky then removed his wallet and slowly counted out several crisp £20 notes, which he put on the table by the bed.

  ‘I think we agreed two hundred pounds.’

  He was so calm he could have been merely paying for a meal at a restaurant. There was certainly no obvious sign of emotion. Miss Ross, trembling from head to foot and running her necklace constantly between her fingers, was on the verge of fainting.

  ‘I prefer a hand, if that’s all right?’ said the man.

  A hand?

  He remained silent, waiting for a response. Eventually she cleared her throat. Her voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger.

  ‘I’ve never done this before . . . I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘A virgin?’ he said, showing excitement for the first time.

  She assumed he meant to this situation, not that she was actually a virgin. But did he know? Was her secret obvious to a person like this?

  ‘I’d like a spanking with a hand, not a strap or belt, nothing artificial.’

  Her legs felt as though they were about to buckle and send her falling to the floor.

  Hands? Belts? What am I doing here? DOROTHY!

  ‘I’ll leave you for a moment to get ready. Please make yourself comfortable. You might at least want to remove any clothing that may hamper your movements.’

  He put down his glass and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Miss Ross put a shaking hand to her face and forced herself not to start crying. The man, she suspected, wanted to be dominated and to show weakness might be unwise. He was a great deal stronger than her and it could be a dangerous move to make him angry.

  For an instant, she considered leaving while he was in the bathroom. It would just be possible. But by knocking on the door she had surrendered to her fate, handed it over to someone she had never met. Reluctantly, she took off her jacket and put it over the back of a chair. Almost immediately she picked it up again. Walking over to the table, she stuffed the money into an inside pocket, then hung the jacket on the bedroom door.

  When the man emerged from the bathroom, she stared in disbelief. Not only was he wearing a specially made school uniform, including carefully ironed grey shorts, but his mannerisms had altered completely as
well. Here was a small boy, his exposed knees almost touching as he stood awkwardly just inside the doorway.

  ‘Please, miss. I’ve been terribly naughty. I should be punished.’

  Miss Ross had never seen a sight like it and for a moment hadn’t a clue what to say. The man looked down at his feet, just as a child might do, expecting to be told off.

  ‘Yes,’ she eventually replied. It seemed the only comment to make.

  Without another word, the man walked over, head bowed, and stood by the bed before bending over. Miss Ross simply gazed in amazement. What was she meant to do now? Then to her horror he undid his shorts and let them drop to the floor. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She had never touched a man’s bottom.

  ‘I’ve been very bad,’ said the small voice again.

  Think of Dorothy.

  Why hadn’t she brought gloves? Could she do this? The money was already hers. She moved around into position, only just managing to control an urge to sob, then raised her hand, holding it in the air for one last moment of – what . . . innocence? There was a slap and the chubby pink cheeks wobbled as if mocking her.

  ‘You don’t know how naughty I’ve been.’

  Dear God.

  Each brief contact seemed to destroy a tiny part of her. In the whole of her life she had never ‘known’ another person, had never lain naked next to someone and held them close. That this perverted act with a complete stranger should be her most intimate experience filled her with utter despair.

  Miss Ross had always led a respectable life, worked hard and saved as she had been brought up to do. But even after all those years she didn’t have enough reserves to pay for her own and Dorothy’s rise in fees. That’s why she was there, because some faceless bureaucrats were bleeding the residents without even visiting to assess the impact of their decision. Her despair was edged aside by anger.

  This time she pulled her arm further back and then hit the man with all of her strength, grunting with the effort. He moaned and she did it again. Then she hit him and hit him and hit him until room twenty-nine, on the first floor of the Station Hotel, rebounded with slaps and grunts, moans and sobs.

  Her hand stung, she was gasping for breath and her crisp white blouse stuck to her with sweat, yet she carried on relentlessly as if she was no longer human and what she was beating was not a naked bottom but injustice, unfairness and the desperation of unfulfilled love. Through her tears the world around her was a blur of confusion and misery and ecstasy and pain.

  * * *

  Downstairs the receptionist was talking on the telephone to a friend. She was laughing.

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I always put him in the room above here. You should hear the noises this time and the woman who turned up was ancient. I wouldn’t have believed she had it in her. This one must be a real pro to keep going like that. She even arrived dressed as you’d expect a retired headmistress to look.’

  Thirty Nine

  Miss Ross sat alone in Dorothy’s bedroom with Tiddles on her lap. The cat, sensing her great sadness, had jumped up onto knees that were not generally very welcoming. Still trembling from her encounter that afternoon, she stroked the soft fur with gratitude for this innocent affection. The building was relatively quiet, as a group of residents had gone to the garden centre. They had an extraordinary capacity never to tire of the place.

  Miss Ross tried to block out the images that forced their way into her mind, overwhelming her with shame and grief. She was still battling with them when the bedroom door opened.

  ‘Oh, you’re always beating us,’ said Dorothy, starting to taking off her red hat and coat.

  ‘What! What did you say?’

  ‘You’ve beaten us back from our trip out.’

  ‘Yes . . . just by a short while. Did you have a pleasant time?’

  ‘It was lovely,’ she said, as though it had been a completely new experience. ‘They’re very good to have us old fogies going around en masse. And we had a nice tea. Did you see your cousin?’ She walked over to her friend. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’

  ‘Yes . . . I saw him.’

  ‘You don’t look at all well. Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘No, thank you. I think I’ll lie down for a while.’

  ‘That’s probably the best thing to do.’

  Miss Ross put Tiddles on the floor and stood up, but she didn’t move away.

  ‘I told my cousin . . . about your situation. He has made a lot of money in his life and he gave me this for you.’

  With that, she pulled out the money from her jacket and handed it over.

  ‘My goodness! I can’t possibly take this. There must be a hundred pounds here.’

  ‘Two hundred.’

  ‘That’s extremely kind of your cousin. I’ve never known such generosity, but you must of course return it,’ said Dorothy, holding out the money.

  ‘No!’ said Miss Ross, taking a step towards the door as if to emphasise that the gift could not be taken back. ‘It can’t be returned.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘You have to accept it.’

  ‘It’s so much.’

  ‘Your friendship means so much.’

  ‘My dear, whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got a terrible headache. I’ll be better later.’

  With that, Miss Ross rushed out of the room, leaving the other woman staring in confusion at the wad of £20 notes.

  Forty

  Walter and Julie walked along the seafront. They had agreed to meet away from the home following her previous disastrous visit when Deirdre had tried to prevent her from entering. Since then the pair had only spoken on the telephone and he had missed her terribly.

  ‘I’ve always loved the sea, with its smell of seaweed and the freshness of the wind,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel clean.’

  ‘I’ve been so worried about you these last few weeks. We could have met before now.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I needed some time to myself. Well, not that I get much of that.’

  ‘Joyce didn’t give anything away concerning what you both spoke about that day. I could have throttled Deirdre for what she did. And she’s a funny old fish.’

  ‘Deirdre?’

  ‘No, Joyce. I can’t work her out at all. I think there are a lot of deep waters running through her past, but I appreciate that she was trying to be kind to you.’

  ‘She was extremely kind. I know you wanted to look after me back in your room, but it was better that I went with her.’

  She linked an arm through one of his and they walked on in silence for a while. A couple of gulls flew overhead and a small group of oystercatchers waddled about at the water’s edge. Apart from them they were alone.

  ‘I told her about my past.’

  ‘Did you?’ said Walter, surprised. ‘Well, it’s your secret to tell or not tell. How did she react?’

  ‘With great tenderness. I cried like a baby for ages and she just held me without speaking, like my mother used to when I was little. She thinks I should speak to Matron and explain what’s happened.’

  ‘I don’t see how that will help.’

  ‘Nor do I, to be honest, but, do you know, I think I will.’

  ‘Well, Matron’s a wise old bird and knows how to keep something to herself. If you feel comfortable about it, then I don’t see that it will do any harm. The damage, as far as the home goes, has already been done.’

  ‘Does everyone know what I am?’

  ‘They know what you do, not what you are. There’s a big difference.’ The wind off the sea was chilly and Walter pulled up the collar of his coat. ‘Is it an option to consider speaking to your parents?’

  ‘I don’t know. Whatever way you look at it, they were very cruel. At the period in my life when I needed them more than ever, they banished me from my home.’

  ‘If they were like me, they wouldn’t understand anything about grooming and how an innocent young girl could be so entrapped. Maybe y
ou should give them another chance?’

  ‘Perhaps one day, but not this one. This is for us.’

  Julie stopped and threw her arms around his waist. He held her tightly. Walter knew the desperate need she had for physical affection that wasn’t connected in any way to sex.

  He had been surprised, after Moira died, at how much he had appreciated the touch of another person and how Anna and the other carers would often put their arms around him when they could see he was upset or looking forlorn. He held Julie until she was ready to pull away and resume walking, which they eventually did without making any comment.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I had quite a soul-searching conversation with Matron myself the other day.’

  ‘Did you? What about?’

  ‘Leaving.’

  ‘But what will you do?’

  ‘When I went into the home, I had sunk into such despair that, frankly, I did need looking after. But I’m so much stronger now and the things that have happened over the last few months with you – us – it got me wondering what on earth I was doing there. I’m still a relatively fit and active man, certainly capable of taking care of myself for a few more years.’

  ‘What was her opinion?’

  ‘Oh, she had been thinking along the same lines. However, she said it was completely down to me whether I remained or moved out. She didn’t want to be an influence in any way.’

  ‘So, you’ll go?’ said Julie.

  ‘Not until I find somewhere to live.’

  ‘But you’ll move away from here?’

  ‘After the things that you’ve told me about grooming I want to be near to my granddaughters. They’re reaching the age when it happened to you and to be honest I don’t think Becky and her husband have much idea about these things.’

  ‘You want to move to Aberdeen to keep an eye on them?’