by C. J. Skuse
I switched to my apps to see if there were any fishies swimming around. White and Nerdy took the bait first:
White and Nerdy: Hey baby girl. What u doin up so late?
X
Sweetpea: Bad dream
White and Nerdy: Wish I was there to cuddle u in bed X
Sweetpea: Me too. How are your thighs now?
White and Nerdy: Still stinging. Worth it though. Can’t stop thinkin bout you
Sweetpea: Aww. That’s nice.
White and Nerdy: Thinkin bout U + me gettin sweaty in my bed soon X
Sweetpea: Ooh Daddy, that sounds hot.
White and Nerdy: What are you doing today, baby girl?
X
Sweetpea: School as usual. Got an A in my maths test.
White and Nerdy: That’s cool baby. U gonna be wearing a skirt today? X
Sweetpea: Yeh. Do you like me in my school skirt? I’ll send u a new pic…
White and Nerdy: Yeh. You get me hard. I love lil girls, smoller the better
Sweetpea: I am very small Daddy
White and Nerdy: You gonna be Daddy’s good little girl then? X
Sweetpea: Yeah Daddy. Let’s pretend you’ve just picked me up from school…
White and Nerdy: We’re walking through the park in front of strangers and ur wearing a short skirt and I’m fingering you. People are looking.
Sweetpea: Ooh Daddy that’s hawt *flame emoji*
White and Nerdy: You’re sucking a lollipop and your hair is in bunchies. Daddy likes something to hold when he has his dick sucked X
Sweetpea: You’ve been giving this some thought haven’t you? *wink emoji*
White and Nerdy: I get a couple of fingers in you and you’re sopping wet. Then I force you up against a tree and plunge my cock into you hard X
Sweetpea: That hurts me Daddy
White and Nerdy: Yeah and you scream and people are watching X
Sweetpea: Sounds fun
White and Nerdy: Then afterwards I cum on ur face and make you walk around wearing it like a mask X
Sweetpea: Over my makeup and everything?
White and Nerdy: Ur covered in it. Dripping down those big dick-sucking lips
Sweetpea: Mmmmm
White and Nerdy: God I want you so much X
Sweetpea: Me too Daddy. I wanna lose my virginity to you.
White and Nerdy: You wanna do this for real? You wanna meet? X
Sweetpea: I’ve never met anyone before from online. U sure it’ll be OK?
White and Nerdy: It’ll be fine baby. You rly wanna give me ur *cherry emoji*?
Sweetpea: Yeah Daddy. Let’s meat.
Later that day, I met Marnie at the boating lake in the park – Jim was putting his latest model boat on the water for the first time – a smaller version of the HMS Victory with cannons and ropes and sails and even a tiny eyeless and armless Nelson in the crow’s nest. There were a few people around with tiny motorized yachts and steamers but most had hired life-sized rowing boats for the afternoon. We both watched from the bank as Jim proudly put down the Victory on the water and watched as it floated away.
Marnie seemed fascinated with it. She seemed fascinated by everything. ‘Is it motorised, Jim?’
‘No, Victory wasn’t motorised,’ Jim laughed, folding his arms all dad-like and proud. ‘She was a sailing ship.’
‘But how will you get her back out of the pond?’
Jim looked at me and Marnie in turn. We all looked back to the boat. It had already floated off into the middle of the lake. ‘I hadn’t thought about that. I just wanted to see if she would stay upright.’
We left him talking to the park keeper about retrieving his half-Nelson, which was by this point sailing off back towards Portsmouth, while Marnie and I took a stroll around the park. It was crowded for a Thursday, mainly joggers and dog walkers and families feeding the ducks or playing mini golf. We stopped at the sweet shack and bought a pound of pick and mix, which we scoffed in the shade of a weeping willow.
‘Your bump looks better than mine,’ I told her, my tongue navigating a sherbet lemon that was fizzier than I’d been expecting. ‘It’s rounder. Mine looks like a duvet’s been rammed up there.’
Marnie laughed, gnawing at a liquorice cable. ‘Hey I thought of a new question – why doesn’t Winnie the Pooh ever get stung?’
‘I have no idea. He does poke about in a lot of beehives doesn’t he?’
‘He’s always in beehives. And he never ever gets stung.’
‘Maybe bears don’t get stung. Maybe the bees know better?’
‘Do dentists go to see other dentists or do they do it to themselves?’
‘Nice. How about who was the fat lady and when does she sing?’
‘I know this!’ said Marnie, sitting up. ‘No I don’t. It’s something to do with baseball and an opera singer at the end of the game. Think that’s it.’
‘Makes sense.’
We rarely talked about our pregnancies or gossiped about boys or people we both disliked. We seem to have bypassed that whole thing and gone right back to childhood questions we’d always had but never asked. We seemed to like it better that way.
Sometimes the real world would crash in though – like a scrap of newspaper in a flower bed in the park that read Gripper Killer Vigilante Theory. Marnie pretended not to see it.
‘You can ask me about it if you like,’ I said.
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘You must be curious.’
‘Well yeah, but—’
‘So ask me. Ask me what it’s like living with a suspected serial killer. Ask me if I met any of the victims or if Craig fashioned soup bowls from their skulls. Anything, I don’t mind.’
‘Was he abused?’ she asked. ‘Is that why he only kills sex offenders?’
‘He wasn’t abused,’ I replied. ‘And I don’t think they were all sex offenders. It’s a coincidence. Paper talk. Fake news.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘The papers say he’s part of some gang of vigilantes. Like your dad was.’
‘As far as I knew he worked alone,’ I said.
‘Oh.’ We walked towards a willow tree and sat down in its shade. ‘Do you still love him?’
I didn’t think. The word flew out of me. ‘Yes.’
Our morning was largely uneventful, aside from Jim’s Victory debacle. It wouldn’t really be worth recording but for one tiny incident. We were sitting beneath the weeping willow, people-watching and swatting away flies, and a dandelion clock seed landed in Marnie’s hair. I reached across to flick it away and she winced – like I was going to hit her.
I pulled the clock from her hair and showed it to her.
‘Oh,’ she laughed. ‘I wondered what you were doing.’
‘You thought I was going to hit you.’
‘Of course not. It was just unexpected, that’s all.’
‘My nanny used to do that,’ I said. ‘Wince at sudden movements.’
‘It was a one off, don’t start.’
‘Nanny was conditioned to expect it. And so are you.’
‘I’m not, Rhiannon.’ She angled back on her hands and crossed her feet over. ‘Can we change the subject?’
‘Okay,’ I said. I lay down on the grass and closed my eyes. In seconds I smelled the coconut scent of her hair and felt her lie down next to me. ‘Why do people fly kites? I mean seriously, what’s the point?’
‘I have no idea. I guess because it looks nice? Is it a skill?’
‘The wind does all the work though.’
‘True,’ she yawned. ‘You could say the same about Jim and his boat. Or the people paying to row about for half an hour. What’s the point?’
‘“Believe me my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”’
She squinted my way. ‘Huh?’
‘The Wind in the Willows,’ I said. ‘My favourite book.’
‘Mine too!’ she said with a broad gr
in full of teeth. ‘That’s so funny!’
‘It’s not so funny, it’s a good book.’
‘I always like that bit where Mole’s lost in the Wild Wood and Ratty comes and saves him and they go to Badger’s hollow and get toasty warm in front of the fire. What’s your best bit?’
‘When Toad dresses up in drag and steals a train. It’s the last bit I remember her reading to us.’
‘Who?’
‘Allison. At Priory Gardens. We were meant to come back to it later after juice and biscuits. Then he came in.’
The silence enveloped us. Marnie lay her head back and closed her eyes.
‘If you swallow an apple pip, will a tree grow inside you?’
‘I doubt it. I’ve swallowed millions.’
‘What if it gets planted somewhere? Like in your spleen or something?’
‘Dunno. Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle?’
‘Good one.’
We carried on like this for an hour or more, asking imponderable questions and listening to the creak of oars and the splashing of the rowing boats and seagulls calling out in the sunshine. I didn’t realise we had fallen asleep until someone’s pit bull puppy was licking the soles of my feet. The sky was darkening and the park was half-empty.
‘What time is it?’ Marnie croaked.
‘Half five.’
‘HALF FIVE?’ she shrieked, levering herself up as quickly as she could. She fumbled for her phone inside her cardigan pocket. ‘Seventeen missed calls. Oh my god.’ She showed me the screen. ‘I’ve had it on silent. Oh god!’
‘Oh well, never mind.’
‘Did you put it on silent?’
‘Nope.’
‘God, he’s probably been out searching.’ She went over onto all fours and slowly got to her feet, gathering up her bag and cardigan.
‘Jesus, is your ankle tag beeping? I’ll come with you and explain.’
‘No, don’t come. He already thinks we’re having an affair.’
‘With me?’ I said.
‘He gets paranoid.’
‘Well I like you Marnie, but I ain’t ever going down to Pastrami Town, just so you know.’
She laughed, losing her anxiety for a moment. ‘Don’t, this is serious.’
‘No it’s not. Look, you spent the afternoon with me talking about boring baby shit and watching model boats, that’s all. You haven’t done anything illegal. Tell him to strap on a pair.’
She laughed the laugh of easier-said-than-done. ‘I’ll need to do a lot of sweet-talking. I’ll see you soon, okay?’
‘What you going to sweeten him up with, Netflix and chill?’
‘We don’t have Netflix. Tim says it’s a waste of money.’
‘Ugh. The sooner you ditch that guy the better.’
Friday, 10th August – 13 weeks, 5 days
1.Elaine – so far this week I’ve had lectures on Why I must not have pain relief in labour because I ‘won’t be able to bond with my baby’, Names I mustn’t call said baby and repeat choruses of Foods You Mustn’t Eat.
2.Tourists (again).
3.God.
So I fancied a day trip today. Me and no one else; a casual, breezy little jaunt along the coast to Torquay. Nothing to write home about. Had a nice wander about the shops and the seafront. Browsed the postcards. Played in the arcades. Bought some fancy shoes. Took the fancy shoes back cos they rubbed my heels. Ate a fuckful of fat ice cream in an ice cream parlour. Watched the entrance of Sportz Madness opposite like the proverbial hawk, that kind of thing.
I don’t condone this, by the way.
It only dawned on me when I was halfway through my second full fat clotted cream ice cream cornet with raspberry sauce that it might not be one of Patrick’s work days. That I might be wasting my time and setting myself up for chronic disappointment, acid indigestion and heartburn. But the gods were clearly smiling down on me today, as was the sun. He rocked up for work at five minutes to midday. And I got my game face on.
You can’t expect to get away with this one. In broad daylight? In a town you don’t know? It’s a suicide run.
‘No it’s not. Trust me, will you?’
All afternoon it took. I couldn’t be too eager but at the same time I couldn’t afford to be too vague. I had to strike that happy balance between I’m not crazy and I want to fuck you until it falls off.
No mean feat, lemme tell you.
So I wandered around the shop for a good long while, unzipping sports bags I had no intention of buying, trying on vile luminous sports gear that was never going to fit me and attempting to spin basketballs on one finger. My path kept on crossing with Fenton’s and I attempted conversations about the basketball spin (he couldn’t do it either), which colour grip to buy for my tennis racket and the pros and cons of Memory Sole trainers. He was standoffish at first – barely said a word – and I had to buy two pairs of Skechers before he’d even crack a smile.
But he did smile and so did I, wide and all encompassing – Venus’s mouth awaiting the curious fly.
Saturday, 11th August – 13 weeks, 6 days
1.Waitress in Nando’s at the services whose eyebrows rose when I ordered an extra side of spicy rice AND chips for lunch. Even though SHE wears elasticated jeans and has stretch marks on her neck.
2.Women who go on coach trips and sit next to me and allow Murray Mints to clatter off their teeth the whole damn journey.
3.Women who go on coach trips, sit next to me and insist on making chit-chat about Alfie Boe.
Managed to get out of Pin’s cheese and wine party with a legitimate excuse – Elaine has wangled me a place on the WOMBAT coach trip to York. Hmm – frying pan or fire? I’ll take the frying pan. I’d actually rather go back to Sports Madness and play with Patrick again but Elaine has spoken so yippety fuckity doo, I’m coming too. She says a ‘change of scenery will do me good’. So far the only scenery has been the M5 – it’s gridlocked. The air conditioning’s patchy and the coach reeks of Chanel. Can’t stand Chanel. Mum used to wear it.
Every woman here is a ginormous waffle goblin and they’ve taken it in turns to comment on my bump and inform me of their own birthing horror stories. I’ve had stillborns, torn vaginas, a ‘breast is best’ lecture, two shitting-myself-in-the-birthing-pool anecdotes, several husband-goes-off-sex-cos-your-sex-hole’s-a-mess warnings and Debbie Does Donkeys regaling me with how she pissed herself in Smiths and Tony Hadley walked past.
I have no idea who Tony Hadley is but Debbie still seems mortified about the whole incident, thirty years on.
We’ve just had an impromptu Kindness Circle. We all had to wax lyrical on ‘paying it forward,’ ‘it’ being kindness of course. I mentioned Kevin Spacey was in the movie but that he was better in The Usual Suspects and they all went quiet and changed the subject to Alfie Boe on The One Show last night. I’d forgotten the eleventh commandment of Kindness Circle you see – Thou Must Not Mention Ye Olde Sex Pests. It reminds them there’s a real world outside.
There is one glimmer of potential awesome on the horizon…
I’m going to kill again. Tonight. And the baby seems okay with it.
I don’t think you’ll go through with it, that’s all *folds tiny arms*
As soon as Elaine mentioned York last night, I realised my little catfish White and Nerdy didn’t live that far away in Nottingham. I said I would ‘kill to meet you today.’ I know – a bit on the nose but Sweetpea needs her fun. *Devil horns emoji* He’s going to leave work early. He wants me so bad.
A message came through when the coach stopped at the services. I went in and bought a packet of mints, a cheese and pickle sandwich and a Tear and Share bag of cheese and onion. I don’t plan to tear or share:
White and Nerdy: Hey babe. Am on train. Can’t wait to see you later X
Sweetpea: I’m still scared about meeting u
White and Nerdy: Nuthin to be scared of babe. You know me by now. X
Sweetpea: Will it hurt me?
&
nbsp; White and Nerdy: Only at first cos ur so small but after that you’ll enjoy it
Sweetpea: You know I’m only 13 tho, right?
White and Nerdy: Yeh baby. If it doesn’t bother u it doesn’t bother me X
Sweetpea: Hotel has vacancies, I checked
White and Nerdy: Good girl X I’m a bit older than I said, does that matter? X
Sweetpea: How old?
White and Nerdy: 27 babe. That ok? X
Sweetpea: That’s ok. Can you tell me ur real name now?
White and Nerdy: Kameron
Sweetpea: Cool! I luv that name.
White and Nerdy: Thanks baby. Hbu?
Sweetpea: My name is Lia
White and Nerdy: *heart eyes emoji*
Sweetpea: You’ll make sure my virginity’s gone forevs by tonight, won’t you?
White and Nerdy: Oh yeh babe. Don’t u worry about that X
I’ve tried hard to convince White and Nerdy that I am indeed the unworldly school girl I say I am. I guess paedos have to be careful these days, what with all the vigilante outfits lurking on the dark web. You have to be quite persistent when questing after perverts who believe children should be seen and felt up. It’s not as though you can ride around in a van marked FREE KIDS and hope they’ll just hop in the back.
I snagged my ‘Lia’ pictures from the Facebook of Pin’s eldest, Cordelia; a selfie-obsessed pouting numbskull with tits bigger than her head and weak privacy settings. I figured she’d be just the sort to converse with a ‘Justin Bieber lookalike’ like Kameron. He does look a bit like Justin Bieber.
Well, Justin Bieber if I tried to draw Justin Bieber. With my left hand.
In the dark.
While having a stroke.
*
I’m in some tea room called Betty’s eating a cream tea surrounded by a zillion chattering women, most of whom I wish would just start bleeding from the eyes. My face aches from fake smiling. I’ve suffered an endless mooch around a Viking exhibition, been force-fed fudge and an interminable lecture on buttresses at York Minster by an old battle-axe called Glenda with a lump the size of a small apple on her leg. My own legs ache from traipsing. The only thing that’s keeping me going is the thought of later. He’s messaged again:
