Killing The Girl

by Elizabeth Hill

  He asked me, ‘Where are your parents?’

  ‘Mum’s at work. My dad’s dead.’ I’d found it easier over the years to admit that he was dead, but my body still froze in grief.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ He hadn’t asked Thora about me – hadn’t been that curious. He wasn’t interested.

  ‘So where does your mum work?’ He swallowed the last bit of scone.

  ‘At the supermarket. She’s the manager.’ He didn’t remark about her being a woman and a manager; instead, he picked up his cup and drank, before looking back at me and asking, ‘Are you going to put those flowers in water before they die?’

  ‘They’re already dead.’

  ‘Are they?’ He went to the drainer and picked them up.

  ‘They’re not. Why did you say …?’ He looked at me and a smile spread across his face. ‘Ah, I see. They’re already dead because … they’re cut … so they’re dying.’ The triumphant gleam in his eye cut to my heart. He was pleased to read me.

  ‘Carol, you’re rude. You can’t tell Frankie his flowers are dead. They’re lovely. I would love to get flowers.’

  He turned to her. ‘Then you have them, Sarah. I’m sure Carol won’t mind.’

  Sarah looked at me and asked, ‘Can I have them?’

  As I nodded, glad to see them go, he handed them to her with a flourish and said, ‘There’s one condition.’

  ‘What?’ She waited for an answer, but he didn’t reply. Seconds ticked by before she said, ‘Okay, I’m going. See you later Carol.’

  As the door closed behind her, he walked towards me.

  ‘I promise I’ll never buy you flowers.’

  Then he leant down and kissed me.

  Chapter 7

  Sunday, 29 March 1970

  We went to Glastonbury for our first date. I’d not been there before. We’d talked about the place at school, about it dating from the Iron Age and King Edmund being crowned there in 1016, and that there was a church dedicated to Saint John the Baptist.

  Frankie enthused about pagan ways of life and living outside the constraints of the Church and indoctrinated living practices. About how there were many ways to live that allowed you the freedom to explore, to experiment in ways that made you feel good and set your soul free. He said that Glastonbury represented freedom. I wasn’t sure what he meant but I smiled at how animated he was. His enthusiasm was intoxicating.

  He talked with authority about ley lines and the Holy Grail, King Arthur and Guinevere. He’d had an education far better than mine, and I worried that I'd show my ignorance. Nevertheless, excitement zinged my nerves.

  We walked around in the cool March air, past shops full of souvenirs, with adverts for fortune-tellers. As we climbed up the Tor, billowing clouds raced across the sky creating a moody split of brilliant sunshine and threatening darkness. It was as if we were inside a kaleidoscope where the forces of nature fought around us. We walked in silence, absorbing the atmosphere and the newness of our togetherness.

  The impressive Tor, a natural wonder associated with mystic influences, had an amazing view. We were in the heavens surveying our kingdom. He lit a cigarette as he gazed around and I watched his hands and the movement of the match as he shielded the flame. He scrunched his face, pouted, and inhaled deeply. Mysterious forces surrounded us, capturing us in their embrace. We were together in a new world – our world.

  ‘It’s amazing. Look at the view.’ I opened my arms and spun around. He laughed and grabbed me, saying, ‘You’re so enchanting and innocent. You bring the place alive.’

  ‘Do I? It’s great. Love it. Can I visit one of those psychics we passed? I want to find out about my future.’

  ‘Why? You know your future: it’s what you make it.’

  ‘What if they know about something? Something good. Or maybe something that could help.’

  ‘Like, “You’re a girl so will waste your time at uni and may as well do something else …”?’

  ‘Ha-ha. No – or maybe yes … something like that. I want to know what’s out there.’

  ‘Well, trees and grass and roads and cars …’ He walked to me. ‘And people.’

  ‘Funny! Don’t you think there may be more, something bigger than us?’

  ‘Like God, you mean?’

  ‘No, not God … something … out there … around us … bigger than us. Like an angel, taking care of you.’

  He put his arm around my waist and crushed me to him. ‘No. Never. I have my angel right here.’

  Blushing, I wished it to be true. I ached for his love, and my head spun in a maelstrom of emotion as his arms held me. The heat of our bodies fused us, and the recognition that this could be normal from now on hit me as we gazed into each other’s eyes. He threw away his cigarette and took my hand. We were a pair, a couple, a joining of spirits. He kissed my forehead and his lips melted on my skin before he pulled back.

  ‘Hungry?’ he asked. I nodded. He led me back down the Tor, ensuring that he walked ahead, his body supporting me so I didn’t slip. He was my saviour. I hadn’t known I needed one.

  ***

  We found a pub for lunch. As I picked up the menu I felt his eyes on me as I checked the selections.

  ‘Let’s have a roast,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a bit expensive.’

  ‘I’m paying. What do you want to drink? I presume you drink even though you’re underage?’

  ‘Babycham, please,’ I said with confidence, hoping I’d like it.

  I watched his backside as he walked to the bar, then looked away in case someone noticed. He returned with our drinks and placed his pint glass down, already half empty.

  ‘Am I driving home?’ I asked, flicking my eyes to his glass.

  ‘No, sweetheart. I’ll only have a couple.’

  ‘You can have more than a couple if you want. I don’t mind driving.’

  ‘Ah, is she saying she wants to drive my car, or is she saying she doesn’t want me to drink and drive?’ He placed his forearms on the table and leant towards me.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I took a sip of my drink. ‘And who’s she, the cat’s mother?’

  He didn’t reply but cocked his head to one side in his endearing manner as I placed my glass down. ‘I don’t fancy being stuck here if you can’t drive.’ The thought was unnerving; like I was in his control.

  ‘I’d have to drink a lot more than two pints before I couldn’t drive.’ He lit a cigarette.

  ‘Maybe so, but if you do drink more than two, I won’t be getting in the car with you.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Bossy.’ He reached out to run his finger down my cheek. As he sat back, his grin gave him a distasteful impish quality.

  ‘I’m not bossy,’ I objected.

  ‘You are, sweetheart. You’re telling me what to do.’ He flicked ash into the ashtray.

  ‘I’m not. You can do what you want.’

  ‘You said you wouldn’t get in the car with me if I drank more than two pints.’

  ‘That’s not being bossy. I’m not telling you what to do. I’m telling you what I will do … or rather what I won’t do.’

  ‘Clever little thing, aren’t you?’

  Sarcasm didn’t suit him. Meanness overrode his gorgeous looks. He had to be teasing me.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A middle-aged woman in a floral dress placed plates in front of us. I thanked her, but he said nothing as he picked up his paper napkin.

  ‘I don’t see what’s clever. It’s simple,’ I said.

  ‘It’s manipulation.’ He picked up his knife and fork and let the paper napkin drop to the floor. ‘Do you know what that is?’

  If we had been outside I’d have smacked him for his cheek. This wasn’t the sort of conversation I’d anticipated during our first meal together. All my friends talked about snogging and pushing away wandering hands. His manner had turned him ugly, and the adage about beauty being skin deep came to mind. How could he be so gorgeous yet have such an annoying way about him? All pretence of being ladylike f
lew away in my irritation.

  ‘If you think I’m stupid and don’t know what that means, or I don’t know what I’m saying, or I don’t know my mind, or what I want, or …’ He was laughing. I pushed back my chair and stood.

  ‘I’m going to the Ladies; if you want we can leave when I get back. Or you can go on your own if you want to risk the wrath of my mum. Is that manipulative enough for you?’

  ‘Carol, Carol,’ he said between breaths of laughter, ‘sit down. I’m joking.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind I’ll go to the Ladies and give you a chance to stop laughing at me. Then I’ll decide if I want to stay or not. Hope you’ve heard about women changing their mind. My brothers try to say it’s because girls are flighty. Huh! I say it’s because we have to put up with boys changing what they’ve said to suit which way the wind blows.’ Taking a deep breath, I stumbled away in my heels, my head held high.

  ***

  Sitting on a strange toilet was not the best place to gather my thoughts. Sure that I’d blown it, I felt lost and homesick. His teasing was annoying, different from my brothers’ straightforwardness. Frankie’s charm had disappeared in an instant. Our conversation ran through my head causing uncertainty about my attitude; could it be my Achilles’ heel? Mum said that girls needed to stand up for themselves. Be assertive and not let men walk over you.

  There was enough change in my purse to phone Denny, but I thought I’d better not. Denny would punch him, and that would be the end of us. If there was an ‘us’. Sarah had said I’d be a disaster at dating, and she seemed to be right. I flushed and went to the mirror. Lipstick and mascara made me look weird. The gunk on my skin was going to cause spots. Now I was a woman I was to wear make-up forever. Much too complicated. I pressed some damp toilet paper over my face to dilute my foundation. Taking a breath, I pushed the door open and went back to him.

  ‘Ah-ha, here she is.’

  Ignoring him, I ate my cold food as he watched me, and then he said, ‘I’m going to the bar. Do you want another drink?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’ I tossed my hair and looked up at him. He’d dump me now for sure.

  As I pushed my plate away, he returned with his pint. He leant across to take my hand.

  ‘Shall we start this date again? He moved my hand softly from side to side; a nerve twitched against the smoothness of his palm.

  ‘Well ...’ I didn’t know what to say. I could have ended it right then. He squeezed my fingers and batted his eyelashes, then pulled a face as if he’d cry. I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of him and relented. ‘Okay … let’s start again.’

  ‘I solemnly promise not to tease you, and you can promise not to tell me what to do.’

  ‘Maybe we should promise to respect each other? That’s what my mum says.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ He sipped his beer, wiped his mouth, and said, ‘Phew! You’re a challenge, Carol Cage. A lovely challenge.’ He got up and sat next to me. ‘Can you see the landlady?’

  ‘No – why?’

  ‘Because I want to …’ Then he kissed me, and any doubts about him disappeared.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday, 11 April 1970

  The lovely sound of Thora playing the piano greeted me as I approached Oaktree House. Thora was an excellent pianist and often played for us. Sarah wanted to learn, but Thora said that she’d need a piano at home to practise, so we had only learnt some simple scales.

  The music stopped when I knocked on the door, but started up again. Thora opened the door, noting my confusion. ‘Oh, that’s Frankie,’ she said. ‘I’ll make some tea. We’re in the dining room.’

  Frankie had a look of intense concentration as he played. He swayed back and forth at the piano. I moved closer as his fingers slowly stroke the keys, belying the passion and melody that assaulted my ears. He smiled at me for a moment before returning his concentration to the music. With a flourish, he stopped, stood, and bowed. As I clapped, he pulled me to him, kissing me passionately.

  ‘Wow!’ I said catching my breath. ‘You’re incredible.’

  ‘And guitar.’ He pointed.

  ‘Play something then.’

  He laughed but fetched it anyway and sat back on the piano stool. He played the same tune. His fingers mesmerised me, and I sank to the floor, crossing my legs. He stopped. ‘You look cute – like a pretty Buddha, but slimmer.

  ‘What's a Buddha?’

  He didn’t answer but raised his eyebrows without missing a beat.

  Thora brought in two cups of tea. ‘I’m going now. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Eat the quiche and salad in the fridge.’

  ‘Thanks, Auntie. You don’t look well enough to go, though. Should we drive you?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘No, I’m fine. It’ll do me good to get some fresh air. When will Sarah get here?’

  ‘She’ll be here in a minute. She had to go back for her Biology homework. She wants you to look at it.’ The lie slipped out easily.

  ‘Okay. I’ll be off then.’ She looked at us as though about to say something, then turned and left.

  Frankie leapt on top of me and wrestled me. ‘Got you all to myself now!’

  I pushed him away. ‘Behave, Frankie. Thora hasn’t guessed we’re dating, has she?’

  ‘No. And well done you, thinking that up so quickly.’ He jumped up. ‘Come on, follow me,’ and dragged me out of the room.

  ***

  The cellar in Oaktree House runs underneath the back half of the building. I was uncomfortable being down there without Thora’s knowledge. Frankie said she’d gone to a private hospital appointment and not the NHS. I wasn’t sure what he meant. She didn’t know that we were dating, as Frankie had said to keep it between us, although Sarah knew. Mum was getting suspicious about us, but she’d rather I neglected my schoolwork. Marriage was a better future for me, and I still hadn’t told her that I wanted to go to uni.

  The movement of his muscles enthralled me as I followed him down. He opened a door and turned on the light. We were in a large room with another door at the far end.

  ‘Are we under the dining room?’ My sense of direction was good.

  ‘Yes.’ His shadowy figure moved about in the dim light, creating an intimate sensation. I was completely in love with him but fought against showing him. He found my being obnoxious amusing (I’d realised from our first argument that he wasn’t easily offended) and didn’t call me on my behaviour. He preferred to find me humorous and refused to take me seriously. This made me love him more, this man who took me as I was. Suspecting that my contradictory behaviour was a challenge, I’d catch him pausing, but instead of being irritated he’d take my hands and kiss them, acknowledging that I was a tease.

  The floors were concrete, and the walls are brick. It smelt of dust, with a faint odour of things long abandoned. The room was full of junk: suitcases and trunks, and in the corner, a gramophone. The large horn-like speaker fascinated me, as did a pile of unappealing classical records. Frankie opened a chest and scrabbled through its contents. I looked through a pile of factual books. Most of them were medical digests, obviously Thora’s father’s; the eminent surgeon Mr Russell Kent.

  ‘Look out – spider!’ Frankie shouted.

  I jumped and headed to where his finger pointed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Looking for the spider.’

  He had an amused look on his face as he said, ‘You’re supposed to scream and run.’ He laughed and pulled his hands through the length of his hair over his ears.

  ‘Why would I do that? Oh, because I’m a girl. I’ve probably seen more spiders than you have. I’m not afraid of them. They’re harmless.’

  ‘Okay, so you’re not afraid of spiders.’ He walked towards me and took my hands.

  ‘No, and you could’ve asked me. You made me jump. I could’ve dropped one of those massive books on my foot.’

  ‘What about rats? Are you afraid of rats?’ He softly squeezed and t
hen released my fingers; the sensation disarmed me.

  ‘Not particularly. I don’t like rats, but I’m not afraid of them. I wouldn’t like to be bitten by one, though. Are there rats down here? There are lots on the farm.’

  He pulled one of my hands to his mouth and kissed it. I held my breath to counteract the dizziness.

  ‘Do you mean Perry’s farm? Is Perry your boyfriend?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I shuddered theatrically.

  Frankie chuckled. ‘You spend a lot of time with him on the farm, though, don’t you?’

  ‘Not with him – ugh! And not so much now that he doesn’t board at school anymore. Sarah and I help with stuff when he looks after his gran. She’s very ill. He says she’ll be dead soon. Are you jealous? You needn’t be. He’s about seventeen but acts like a child.’

  ‘Of course I'm jealous. Checking out the competition.’ He dropped my hands and stepped closer, placing his hands on my face. ‘You’re the most incredible …’ He kissed me softly on my lips before pulling back and whispering, ‘You didn’t have sex with him, did you?’

  My face flushed as I pushed him away. ‘I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘I need to … know … it’s the image …’ He pulled me back and kissed me again. It was the most passionate kiss, simply wonderful. He moved his hand to my breast, and I pushed it away. ‘Does that answer your question?’

  ‘Yes.’ He laughed and stepped away from me before pausing and laughing some more until I wasn’t sure if he was laughing in a good or a bad way. ‘I brought you down here to scare you, but you don’t scare easily. Anyway, let’s go back. You can make me lunch.’

  ‘Make yourself lunch! We should wait for Thora to get back.’

  ‘She’ll be gone ages. Come on, race you up. Better be quick, or I lock you down here.’ He slipped past me and headed for the stairs.

  ‘If you lock me down here, I won’t be able to make lunch,’ I shouted as he disappeared upstairs. As I followed, I noticed a boy’s school sock stuck underneath a closed door. There were spots of dried blood splattered on it. Perry used to wear similar ones, so I presumed it was his, part of his school uniform. But it couldn’t be Perry’s, it was too small. I couldn’t pull it out, and the door was locked. I was puzzled by the oddity of it.