Killing The Girl

by Elizabeth Hill

  ‘Is that why you came here? To get away from them?’

  ‘Yes.’ He brushed the hair off my face. ‘You’re very clever, sweetheart. I need time to think. Work out what to do. This has messed up my degree. I can’t concentrate, can’t study. It’s all so …’ He collapsed against me. I rocked him softly, his face close to my breast.

  ‘Don’t worry my darling. I’ll look after you.’ My knees creaked, and I wanted to get up, but I hung on to him, taking his pain to make him better. I’d make him see how much he needed me.

  Chapter 12

  Saturday, 9 May 1970

  The fields and woods surrounding Oaktree House awakened new sensations within me as I walked through them with Frankie. We watched as the paired magpies squabbled and squawked before swooping up over the lone maple at the head of Dawnview Field. My monochrome life had slipped away over the months since I’d met Frankie and I was as fresh and delicate as a butterfly.

  Colour now drenched my world, dripping over Dawnview Lane and sliding down the branches of the sycamores and hawthorn bushes so that even the dandelions shone bright orange. We made our way home wearing daisy-chain crowns, woven in our hair; we’d had a mock coronation, crowning ourselves King and Queen of Oaktree Estate. Stealing one last kiss in the hallway, we congratulated ourselves on returning just as the threatening clouds burst and rain clattered down upon the driveway, clapping at the leaves of the oak tree.

  We were impervious to the inconveniences of ordinary life and rose above the mundane. We were the chosen pair. We untangled reluctantly; our lips separated, but the honey taste of him remained at the back of my throat.

  Thora was in the kitchen making a pot of tea. A well-risen Madeira cake sat on a plate in the middle of the table. When we congratulated her on her success, she gave a half smile and sat, motioning for us to sit with her.

  ‘How’s Sarah?’ she asked as she cut the cake.

  ‘Fine.’ I’d hardly seen Sarah, and my guilt at neglecting her was growing by the day.

  ‘I was wondering why she doesn’t come here anymore.’

  ‘I don’t see much of her now Frankie and I …’

  ‘You mustn’t neglect your friends, Carol.’

  ‘She’s not neglecting her friends, Auntie.’ Frankie bit off a piece of cake and cupped his hand under his chin to catch crumbs.

  ‘Sarah’s only next door, so I see her all the time.’ I hadn’t spoken to Sarah for weeks. She didn’t bother knocking anymore. I’d turned her away too many times. Thora looked like she could read my mind.

  ‘It would be nice to see her, so bring her with you next time.’

  ‘Yes, I will …’

  ‘It depends on what we’re doing Auntie. We –’ Frankie coughed as he choked on his cake.

  ‘Don’t let Frankie, or any man, stop you from seeing your friends.’

  ‘But he doesn’t …’

  ‘Good. Make sure it stays that way.’

  Thora had a bee in her bonnet about something. She’d been moody for days.

  ‘I have something to tell you.’ She poured the tea. ‘I’ve decided to spend some time travelling. I leave next Tuesday for a cruise, then go on to visit some distant relatives in New Zealand.’ She ate some cake. ‘So, Frankie, you will have to leave this weekend.’

  My world crashed. Frankie must not leave me. Not when I loved him so much. Not when I was nearly sixteen.

  Frankie asked, ‘Won’t you need someone to take care of the house? I’m happy to stay.’

  ‘The house will be locked. Mr Cutler has the key and will take care of the place, with Perry’s help.’ She picked at her cake. ‘I appreciate that you two have spent a lot of time here, but things have changed. I intend to see some of the world before I … and I don’t want the worry of you living here. So you have to leave, Frankie.’ There was a dismissive tone in her voice. She didn’t want us to be together, but I wouldn’t let her stop us.

  ‘Frankie can rent a place nearby.’

  ‘I’m sure he can – can’t you, Frankie?’

  He straightened and said, ‘I was thinking of changing to Bristol Uni anyway.’

  ‘I thought you’d abandoned university.’ Thora’s cake crumbled, spilling onto her plate.

  ‘Not abandoned. I’ve taken time out. As you well know. After what happened at Christmas.’

  He was angry. Thora stiffened as I asked, ‘What happened at Christmas?’ belatedly remembering.

  ‘Nothing.’ They said it in unison, their eyes locked on to each other. Fearing an argument, and annoyed with Thora, I said, ‘Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we won’t be together.’

  ‘I’m not asking Frankie to leave to thwart your relationship. What I’m doing has nothing to do with the two of you. I want to spend the remainder of my … oh, I don’t have to give a reason.’

  ‘You can move in with me, Frankie. Denny spends most of his time at Gerry's so you can have his room.’ I smiled in encouragement and at the thought of us together on a more permanent level. ‘At least until Mum gets married. She’ll want some rent, of course.’

  ‘I can’t pay rent.’ There was a mean tone to his voice. ‘My home is in London, so it looks like I’m moving back, if Auntie insists.’ His words were cold.

  ‘There must be something we can do?’ I stared at the tablecloth and allowed the red and white checks to swim before my eyes in a watery haze. Frankie drained his tea and left the room. The front door slammed.

  ‘You’ll be fine. Forget Frankie.’ Thora put her hand on mine. ‘Listen, Carol, Frankie’s no good for you.’

  ‘What do you mean? He’s fine for me.’

  ‘You have a future, a different future, without Frankie. You’re smart and must go to university. You need to be yourself for a while before you tie yourself down to someone like Frankie … Boys hold you back. They’ll stop you from being you.’

  Her words reminded me of Schmidt. Anger bubbled. ‘Frankie would never do that. He loves me. He loves everything about me. That I’m feisty and different and a challenge.’

  ‘A challenge?’

  ‘Yes. He likes that about me. I mean … he tries to, sometimes – you know, get me to change my mind about things; but I ignore him. I’m used to bossy boys.’

  ‘You’re not dealing with your brothers. Your brothers look after you.’

  ‘He looks after me.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. He looks after himself.’ She took my hand. ‘Frankie’s father, Frederick, is an eminent London psychiatrist. He holds a certain position in society. His mother Catherine is, how can I put it ... a snob.’

  ‘A snob?’

  ‘They move in high places, know people, rich … the borders of royalty. He’s being knighted for services to mental health, which I have to say he deserves. I worked with him for years, before …’ She lets go of my hand. ‘So you see, their son’s involvement with a girl, a fifteen-year-old girl from a council estate, won’t be entertained.’

  ‘Frankie can do what he wants. They can’t stop him.’ I took my cup and saucer to the sink and placed my hands on the worktop for support. My words sounded hollow. Frankie and I were worlds apart.

  ‘Frankie will be persuaded against you. His parents support him, both financially and emotionally, and they will withdraw their support.’

  The world had ended. She was telling the truth. Frankie had not only left the house, he’d also left me. An hour ago I had fought off his advances, but now he wouldn’t bother with me. The council-house girl was not good enough.

  Thora stood behind me. ‘I did try to warn you.’ She put her hands on my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Carol. I’ve been distracted with my health, but I should have made sure you knew. I feel awful about not intervening.’

  She had warned me. And I hadn’t listened. That was why he hadn’t told his parents about me. I was an idiot.

  ‘I’m going home.’ I fetched my bag and coat and slammed the door as I ran out. The fresh air hit my face like a long overdue slap.
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br />   Chapter 13

  Saturday, 9 May 1970

  My anger turned to full-on rage as I reached the track, stumbling in my heels. The heavy rain had turned the path into a mudslide. Belatedly, I’d pulled a torch from my bag just as I’d tripped and hit my head on a log. Blood seeped from my knee. My limbs were weak, and my anxiety reached a new high.

  Covered in mud and bracken, I arrived at the corner of my road to find Frankie’s car parked outside my house. He ran towards me.

  ‘Carol! What happened? Oh my God. Are you hurt?’

  I cried with relief as he crushed me to him and cried ‘Sweetheart, sweetheart,’ as he kissed my hair. We clasped each other until I pulled away, and then his passionate kisses attacked me. Desperate for him to love me, I responded eagerly, clutching and clinging to him. He mustn’t leave me again; he must never leave me. My body was on fire, and we were fused, no longer separate beings. My desire for him flowed free at last, and my sadness left on the wind. Despite all reason or convention, we would be together. Frankie took my hand and led me to his car and we got in.

  ‘What happened to you?’ I asked.

  ‘What happened to me? What happened to you? I went to the car to fetch a present for you, and then to the bathroom. By the time I got back downstairs Thora said that you’d bolted from the house like a bat out of hell.’

  ‘Oh.’ How silly and pathetic to presume that he was leaving me. Thora had been lying to break us up. She’d never liked us being together. Frankie didn’t care about her, or his parents, or anything else. All Frankie cared about was me. Frankie loved me. ‘So … where’s my present?’

  ‘Close your eyes and put out your hands.’ Something small was placed on my palm. ‘Open your eyes.’

  The light was fading under heavy cloud cover, but the earrings glinted. They were the ones from the shop in Glastonbury. He’d noticed me admiring them and had gone back to buy them. He had done it to make me happy. I admired the three gold drop chains, each with a different charm: a sun, a moon and a star. I was speechless at the beauty and the expense. It proved he loved me.

  ‘Put them on.’

  ‘I can’t. I don’t have pierced ears. We can go and get them pierced tomorrow.’

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart, not tomorrow.’ He looked out of the windscreen. ‘I have to go back to London to sort some stuff out.’

  If these were a parting gift, he could have them back.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. Need to sort out my student digs. Got to move all my stuff back home and see the parents. They miss me.’ He grinned as he took my hand.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, too quickly for my liking. ‘I mean – yes, you can come with me next time, but not this time, too much to do. Have to convince Thora to let me stay before she leaves. I’ll work on Dad. Dad’s always good at talking to her. He’ll make her see sense. I’ll tell him about you, and he’ll support us. He’s an old romantic at heart.’

  ‘But what if Thora won’t let you stay? What if she says no? What will happen to us, Frankie?’

  ‘Listen, sweetheart.’ He swivelled around to face me. ‘When I want something, I get it, and I want you. We’ll get through this. I’ll be moving into Oaktree House soon. Trust me.’

  ‘I do, Frankie, but …’

  He put his finger on my lips.

  ‘Trust me.’

  Chapter 14

  Tuesday, 12 May 1970

  It was the end of lunchtime. The road was teeming with children making their way back to school. A group hovered in the doorway of the chip shop as I pushed past.

  ‘Al’right Carol? Not with lover-boy? He packed you in?’ Sally Major was, as usual, in bully mode, hanging around with her two favourite mates. The three of them blocked my way. I took a step towards her, clenching my fists. She had to get the message that if she said one more word, I’d attack her. Her bravado faltered, as she knew I wasn’t afraid to fight. Fifteen years old yet we were like children. Impending womanhood hadn’t changed anything. Just one word was all I needed to attack her. She opened her mouth but, sensing imminent danger, wavered, then turned and said, ‘Better keep back from china-doll, girls. Don’t want those fat cheeks to burst all over us.’

  As they left, the temptation to batter the back of her head grew. I smashed the door to the chippy into the wall in frustration as I entered.

  ‘Oi! Watch it!’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Chippy. Don’t know my own strength!’ He grunted at my smiling apology. ‘Chips, please.’

  ‘Gonna have to wait. Just put a new batch in.’

  He swept my coins into the till as I sat in the bay window. The walls were greasy. A young man walked in. ‘Chips, mate.’

  ‘Be five minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’ The young man dropped some coins on the counter before turning, ‘Al’right, Carol?’

  Matthew stood in front of me. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was sweaty and hadn’t shaved. His cruel mouth and soft eyes with their long lashes captivated me. My heart banged as moisture formed between my thighs. He was well-built, not as slim as Frankie, but sturdier and a bit older. He moved towards me.

  ‘Hi, Matthew.’ His name rolled off my tongue and I liked it. He moved closer, towards my quaking knees.

  ‘Not with our Sarah?’

  ‘She’s at school.’

  ‘Is she? Oh yeah. Why aren’t you?’ He laughed and added, ‘Only teasing. I have a certificate for bunking off.’

  My skin was on fire; I was a schoolgirl in a woman’s body, out of place and out of time. He looked at my legs then looked away. I uncrossed them and crossed them again. My skirt was short: one that Sarah gave to me that had belonged to Paula, Matthew’s dead wife.

  ‘Still with that chap?’ he asked.

  ‘Frankie? Yes.’

  ‘That’s been a while. Want a lift back?’ He glanced around. Mr Chippy dropped the shaken chips back into the fryer before he returned to the back of the shop.

  ‘Oh, no thanks.’ I didn’t want to be alone with Matthew, him and me in his van.

  ‘You sure?’ he asked. His blue eyes twinkled.

  ‘Yes, but thanks.’

  ‘I’m going to Mum’s anyway to take Chrissie her doll.’

  ‘Okay then.’

  He sat and our legs touch. The back door opened, and Chippy came back.

  ‘Ready now, folks.’ We went to the counter as the chips got a final shake. Matthew was behind me; his hip strong against my trembling hip. Our hands touched as we reached for the bags. We got into the van, but he didn’t start the engine, so we ate.

  An image of Paula came to mind as I chewed my greasy chips. The memory of how he had kissed her on their wedding day, his face a mixture of awe and respect, a look I’d never seen a man give a woman. Nineteen years old and a year later she died giving birth to Chrissie. At her funeral, I’d cursed God, before quickly saying a prayer for my sin. But still, He couldn’t exist. Depriving a baby of her mother was cruel.

  Paula’s clothes sat abandoned at the bottom of Sarah’s wardrobe where her mother had dumped them. We passed them between us on the instruction not to let them ‘go to waste’, and altered them to suit us. We should have felt uneasy, but the excitement of fashionable, grown-up clothes at our disposal overruled that.

  Outside my house, Matthew asked about my mum getting married, but I didn’t want to talk about it. We didn’t open the car doors to get out, but sat, neither of us moving. He didn’t light a cigarette. He didn’t smoke. Frankie smoked. He picked at a fingernail then lurched forward, switching on the engine.

  ‘I need to fetch something from home. It’s something I don’t need any more, and you may as well have it.’

  I said, ‘Sure,’ and we pulled away; his legs jerked between the accelerator and brake, throwing me against the door as we cornered. I wanted to ask, ‘Where’s the fire?’ but was afraid to distract him.

  His house was at the other end of our estate. Its position was the same dista
nce from Oaktree House as ours was. He unlocked his front door and I followed him in.

  ‘Up here.’ His bed was unmade, the sheets in a tangle, as though he had thrashed around in the night. He pulled a jacket out of the wardrobe. It matched my skirt. ‘Here. She’d want you to have it. Slip it on.’

  As I slipped off my jacket, he held out Paula’s, his face set hard. I hesitated, expecting him to pull it away and return it to the wardrobe, shut it away from the cruel light of day. But he was resolute, so I turned and slid in my arms. He pulled it up, catching my elbows in his haste. His hands lingered on my shoulders before he turned me to face him. He studied the fit; his eyes assessed my chest.

  ‘You’re the same size. Paula was small.’

  A vision of Paula: heavily pregnant, pulling herself into his van, matchstick arms and legs. Then of her coffin inside a hearse. ‘I’ll alter it if that’s okay?’

  ‘What will you do to it? I see the skirt is half its length.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he pushed my hair back with his fingers, making my breasts tingle.

  ‘The sleeves are a bit out of fashion,’ I said, ‘so I’ll cut them off above the elbow and hem them.’ His fingers played with my hair; smoothing the strands around my ears. ‘And I’ll put denim pockets on, and do the same on the skirt to match.’ His hands lay on my face, and his eyes moved from my chest to my eyes.

  ‘You’re very good with your hands, Carol.’

  ‘People tell me that.’ I couldn’t breathe; my lungs wouldn’t work. If he’d kissed me, I would’ve passed out.

  ‘Yes, you are. You’ll make someone a good wife.’

  ‘Depends if I get a good husband.’

  ‘Oh, you will.’ His face softened, and the release enchanted, so I reached up to touch his cheek before leaning in to kiss him. He dropped his hands and stepped back, tipping his head away from me and asking, ‘What are you doing?’