Honest

by Ava Bloomfield

  ‘How come?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t make any use of it. I prefer being here where it’s quiet, and by the sea. Something about it just makes me feel better. You and Dennis ought to be the ones living in London, making a go of it with your music. I put the place to shame.’

  ‘You don’t put anything to shame,’ he said, meeting my eyes, making my heart burn and ache the way it had since we first met. ‘There’s nothing shameful about you. You’re beautiful.’

  I couldn’t hold myself back, then. Something about those words struck me so hard that I just had to be with him, be close to him.

  Tears came to my eyes as I pulled him close and kissed him, and before long we were laying back on the bed, Peter’s hand on my skirt, tugging it up, and every inch of me was screaming for it to happen now.

  It happened fast, and with Peter’s weight on top of me, his lips on mine and his hands all over me, I didn’t have a chance to recognize a very important fact —not until after, when we were lying together.

  That was my first time.

  It was beautiful; everything I’d been dreaming of late at night in the cottage.

  First time. That’s what it was; the first only time, no matter what had happened in the past. I didn’t want to think about those other times; they made me squirm and wretch and cry, but this, this never could. I’d lost my true virginity that night.

  I refused to believe I’d been robbed of that special title by my own father, even though I was too old to pretend anymore. And during that moment with Peter, it was almost as if it had never happened at all, none of it.

  This was the first time and the only time; my body sighing with relief when finally, finally, Peter and I gave into every aching fibre of our being.

  Peter kissed me, his top lip salty from sweat. ‘I love you Ell’,’ he said.

  I nuzzled in close. ‘I love you too Pe—’

  A noise on the landing startled us. Peter pulled his jeans back on while I frantically tried to zip up my dress, my knickers missing, my hair in disarray, but the noise was getting closer and it was too late, it was all over. The door swung open.

  Diane’s mouth dropped open to see me tugging my skirt into place while Peter’s T–shirt was only halfway down. She even yelped, I remembered, the tears springing immediately to her eyes. ‘Get out!’ she shrieked at me, her hand shaking as she cupped it over her mouth.

  I did as I was told, abandoning the search for my knickers — our beautiful first time already looked tacky enough without that — and picked up my shoes as I hurried out the door. I went to Peter’s room and heard Diane’s bedroom door slam, followed by her incessant shouting.

  My knees shook while I stood there in his little box room, listening to her shrill cries of anger and disbelief, followed by Peter’s warm voice begging her to calm down. I wasn’t upset, I was just frustrated — how dare she ruin our first time? But there was nothing I could do. I caught sight of myself in the little square mirror on Peter’s wardrobe door. I was flushed and rosy and...Alive, for Christ’s sake.

  It was the first and last time that I ever really, truly looked alive.

  In hindsight I wished I’d had more time to recognise that fact, but I still wasn’t wearing any knickers and that posed a pretty big problem.

  I searched Peter’s chest of drawers and plucked out a pair of his clean pants. They were a little big, more like shorts on my skinny legs, but they were stretchy and clung to me just fine. I sat and waited on his bed for their argument to stop, smiling to myself about what had just happened. All the while Diane screamed and cried and made a huge great fuss over the inevitable — her baby growing up.

  I thought about it over and over again while I waited, telling myself repeatedly, I’m in love with Peter Denton.

  Half an hour passed. I checked his radio alarm clock: ten thirty. The sounds from Diane’s room had quietened to a stop, and I started to wonder if they were even still in there. Reluctantly I crept across the landing to her room and braved opening the door, my curiosity taking over. I was annoyed that Diane was taking up Peter’s time, ruining everything, keeping him all to herself.

  I walked in to find Diane resting her head on Peter’s lap, crying, while he stroked her hair. He looked too adult, too concerned — and she looked too childlike. Dad’s face came into my mind, his face whenever he cried about mum, and it made me feel sick. It was too close for comfort, her expression, laying on him like that.

  I looked at Peter in bewilderment, and when he noticed I was there, he said firmly, ‘Go downstairs, Ell’. Just leave us alone for a minute.’

  ‘What?’ I said, outraged. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean leave us alone,’ he said. ‘I’ll be down in a bit, OK? Just leave it, Ellen.’

  Diane didn’t even acknowledge me, but just kept on crying into his lap like a great big baby, clutching his legs as if she was afraid to let go. I didn’t feel one ounce of sympathy for her. I couldn’t, not with dad’s face in my mind. Not knowing that he was downstairs, laughing it up with Dennis, hiding his filthy secret.

  Knowing that I was hiding it too.

  I ran from the room and hurried downstairs, tears streaming, and ran straight into Dennis.

  ‘Hey! Hey! What’s the matter with you, eh?’ he said, looking down at me from his great height. ‘Has my wife upset you? I’ve been wondering where she’s been all this time. What’s gone on, eh?’

  I shrugged, wiping my eyes, choking on my own tears. Now I felt like the big baby.

  ‘Come on, eh? What’s been going on?’ he looked past me up the stairs, his face softening, recognising the situation. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Come in to the living room for a minute.’

  I followed him into the quiet sitting room and sat down on one of their creamy white armchairs, while Dennis perched on the edge of the settee. ‘So,’ he said, keeping his voice calm. I could smell the drink on him, but he was being serious. ‘You and Peter got caught doing something you shouldn’t have been?’

  ‘No,’ I said, unconvincing to say the least. Dennis let out a long breath.

  ‘My wife’s a bit techy about our Pete,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry she’s upset you. Come on, don’t cry. She’ll get over it eventually. Did you two use, you know, well—’

  ‘Stop it!’ I said, covering my face with my hands. We had, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Peter had taken it from Dennis’ bedside drawer for one thing. ‘Just don’t worry yourself about it,’ I snapped.

  Dennis nodded slowly, leaning on his knees. ‘Well if you’re sure you’re all right, all things considered, I don’t see any reason why we have to tell your dad about this. There, that makes you feel better doesn’t it?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I said, sniffing. I looked at Dennis and ached. Peter had a real dad; kind and considerate and smart. Sure, he was a bit rough, and he had that loud accent, and he liked to drink and play in a band with middle aged blokes, but he was a proper parent.

  For one moment, just a tiny one, I wanted to spill all to him — tell him about what my dad had been doing to me since my mum left.

  But I just couldn’t.

  Dad was his mate, and he might not believe me — or worse blame me. He wasn’t my dad and I couldn’t treat him like one. Just because he was understanding about Peter didn’t mean I could trust his reaction where that was concerned, and I just couldn’t risk it. I could ruin everything if I let the secret out — and then what would I have?

  Who would look after me?

  I thought of Peter cradling Diane upstairs and realised I couldn’t rely on him right now, not for a few years at least.

  He was her baby and, worse, he was going to let her keep him that way.

  Dennis left me to cool down in the living room on my own, but I was too miserable to stay there. I needed to get out, get some air and clear my head. This house didn’t feel welcome to me anymore, no matter what Dennis had said. Diane had caught us and now she was going to ruin everything.

  I g
ot up and wandered out of the front door, down the road towards the harbour, smelling the brine of the sea. I let it fill my head like a drug, and left the party behind me.

  Around half an hour later, Peter found me sitting on the sea wall. He silently took his place beside me, saying nothing, even though I continued to cry and cry about so much more than he knew.

  And it was then, as he put his arm around me and let me cry, that I couldn’t hold it inside me anymore. I decided it was high time I told him everything, no matter what the cost.

  I didn’t know it then, but I was more naive at this point than I was as a little girl posing for dad’s camera in my mother’s clothing. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the cost of that decision, and what would follow later that night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Peter froze while I spilled everything, very suddenly, leaving no gap for him to interrupt me. I told him about dad, when it all started, how long it’d been going on. I told him about mum, and about the black night dress up the chimney, and why I’d been choking myself on that cake the day we first met, and how I’d been throwing up after meals ever since.

  I said it all in one long, wailing confession, shaking all over, watching his face getting darker and darker, fury smouldering away in his eyes.

  When I finished, Peter smacked the harbour wall and shouted every swear word he knew. I flinched and yelped as he hit it again, bruising his hand horribly, gritting his teeth. When he was finished, he grabbed me by the shoulders and put his face close to mine, our foreheads touching.

  The chill of the late night air was nothing compared to the chill his fierce grip sent through my bones.

  ‘Listen to me. I am going to go back there and I am going to fucking kill him,’ he said steadily, a touch of spittle landing on my mouth. I was shaking, and as I shook my head it became more violent. His fingertips squeezed my shoulders tightly, digging in.

  ‘I’m going to give you one option, OK? Because I’m going fucking crazy,’ he said, his eyes turning bloodshot. I nodded. ‘There is a police station a mile down there.’ He pointed left down the stretch of the harbour, then bent his finger to indicate the turn. ‘I promise I will wait here while you tell them everything. When I see a police car coming around that corner, I’ll know you did it. If I don’t, then, God, when I get my hands around his scrawny little throat—’

  ‘Peter.’ I sobbed. ‘You’re scaring me. Please, please let’s just sit here—’ I was already regretting it, trembling with regret. Everything felt too unfamiliar, even the town, even our beloved harbour — I’d let it all go the minute I opened my lips and spilled about dad.

  How could I rat on my own dad? I didn’t care about him, not really, but I needed someone to take care of me. I was fifteen, still in school, no mother to speak of. I needed to go back home to Enfield, away from my fairytale Mevagissey where Peter waited every year, and I would have absolutely nothing now. I’d be put in a foster home and I’d never come back here again.

  ‘You’re scaring me,’ he spat, shaking me by the shoulders. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep it all a secret?’

  ‘I was scared,’ I said. ‘Please, Peter—’

  ‘What about what just happened?’

  I blinked. ‘What do you mean? Oh Pete I’ve wanted us to do that for so long. Don’t look at me like that, for god’s sake, please! I’m not some filthy used up thing!’

  He hugged me tight then, nuzzling his face so far into the crook of my neck that I felt his warm breath against my skin, his lips brushing me just softly. ‘I would never think that about you,’ he said, his voice muffled as he pushed his face further in. ‘I just wish I hadn’t pushed you.’

  ‘Pushed me?’ I said. ‘Pete you couldn’t have stopped me if you tried.’ I laughed nervously, tears falling from my eyes as I gulped back a cry. He laughed too, in much the same way — fearful laughter.

  He came away and pressed a firm kiss on my forehead. ‘You’ve got to do this,’ he said, looking me in the eyes. ‘If you don’t, I swear, it’ll be me going down instead of him.’

  ‘It isn’t that simple. Where will I go? Who do I have?’

  ‘You can live with me,’ Peter urged. ‘You don’t need him, he’s done nothing but torture you. He’s sick, Ellen, a sick freak.’

  I wiped my nose and eyes with the backs of my hands. ‘Right, Diane will want me there, will she? After what she just saw?’

  Peter bowed his head, not meeting my eyes now. He knew I was right. ‘If you don’t I’ll kill him,’ he said plainly, making my choice clear. ‘You don’t know how much I want to kill him, Ell’, but he’ll go down anyway because I’ll tell. And if you let me get done for assault over that piece of crap, then I’ll never speak to you again.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I said, sobbing, but I knew he could, and he knew he could, and there was nothing else for it. I would always choose Peter. After a few moments and a few deep breaths I said, ‘Come with me. Hold my hand while I tell them.’

  He shook his head. ‘It has to come completely from you. If I’m there you won’t admit everything, will you? Let’s face it. You’ll gloss over everything and before you know it you’ll be denying the whole thing.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said, pleading with my hands clasped under my chin. ‘Please.’

  He cupped my face and kissed me. ‘I will be right here waiting for that car. You can do this.’

  ‘Why can’t it wait ‘til morning? We could—’

  ‘You’ll change your mind. Ell’, I’m not playing. Do it.’ He took me by the elbow and twisted me, before marching me to the kerb. I sobbed like a child, fighting against him, until eventually he shouted and shoved and frightened me so much that I ran.

  There was never anything so lonely as that street as I ran crying, away from Peter’s shouts, away from the harbour, up the turning and on the cobbled street. It was so awful and dark and hollow, and it seemed to take so long, that when I found the police station with its single porch light I almost felt relieved.

  I went inside, hugging myself. The place was lit with halogen lights and two police officers were handling a drunken woman, while a female officer at the desk typed the information they weaned out of her into the computer. On the far end of the desk was a male officer, watching the scene, laughing, before he noticed me entering the building.

  I know what he saw. A young girl, small, makeup around her face with rumpled clothes, hugging herself while she cried, and at this time of night too? Even though I was almost deaf to my own words through numbness, he looked only grave and unsurprised when I uttered them.

  ‘I want to report s—sexual...A crime, an abuse...An...Harass...Rape,’ I said, my voice withering away to nothing.

  He came around the edge of the desk and motioned to the female officers. One left the drunken lady with the remaining officer and came over. She was short and chubby with a small brown ponytail, her uniform choking her around the neck.

  ‘Do we need to go into one of the offices?’ she said, smiling at me. She’d already summed me up as well, and though I hated to admit it to myself, I was starting to feel better.

  The male officer, a tall guy with short brown hair and very blue eyes, led the way further into the station, to a small room with a table and a few comfy chairs. On the table was a phone with a long winding chord.

  The officers took seats and motioned for me to sit with them; the female closest to me. ‘I’m Constable Kathryn Martin,’ said the female, rubbing my arm. She fished a box of tissues from a ledge under the table — the standard rape victim tissues, no doubt— and pulled a couple out for me.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Sean Michaels,’ said the male. Everything was such a blur that I hadn’t noticed him gathering up some papers and a pen, which he placed down on the table.

  ‘Can you tell me your name just first of all, and your age please.’

  I parted my lips and forced the words out. It was a start. ‘Ellen Woodley. I’m f—fifteen.’

  H
e filled in the sheet, then looked back at me again with the pen poised between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Now, what is it you want to report? A rape, is it?’ said Sergeant Michaels. Constable Martin gave me a soothing look as I nodded, clinging to the hem of my dress.

  ‘And this occurred just now, did it?’

  I shook my head, a fresh load of tears spilling down my face. He cocked his head to one side.

  ‘Earlier, then? How many hours roughly?’

  ‘We know this is hard, but try and breathe and remember how, when and where it happened.’ Constable Martin patted my knee.

  I didn’t know what to say, or where to begin. I hadn’t planned any of this, none of it at all, it had all just happened and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I couldn’t lie on command, and I couldn’t tell the truth.

  I felt as if everyone in the world was demanding answers and I just didn’t know how to give them. I just wanted it all to stop. I just wanted it to be easier. So I told them what they expected to hear, for just that reason: it was easier.

  ‘Earlier,’ I said, gulping. ‘Yes.’

  A voice in my brain was screaming stop stop stop stop, but the lies were coming out before I could take them back, and it was already too late, far, far too late.

  ‘How long ago?’ said the male officer, pen at the ready. The room was closing in on me, everything turning black.

  ‘Two hours,’ I said, stuttering.

  ‘And just to confirm, you are reporting an instance of rape?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. No. Tonight, yes.’

  The officers frowned at one another. ‘Is this an ongoing offence? I’m sorry, we know it’s difficult. Try and breathe.’

  ‘Calm yourself down a bit,’ said the female officer. She had a soft Devonshire accent, which helped a little. ‘Take a deep breath. Is this an ongoing offence or did it just happen tonight?’

  ‘Ongoing,’ I admitted.

  ‘How long? You don’t have to be too specific just yet, but we need a few details. I’m sorry,’ said the male officer. ‘Roughly, how long?’

  ‘Years.’