by C. J. Skuse
It’s all because of him.
Wednesday, 15 May
1.That weather woman in the mornings who can’t pronounce isobars and wears bodycon dresses so tight you can see all her nipples. And patronising much? ‘There’s a nip in the air today so pop a pulley on if you’re going out.’ ‘There’s a drop of rain on the way so don’t forget your brolly if you’re heading out and about.’ URGHGHGHHGHGH!
I’ve made a major boo-boo.
I’m writing this on Wednesday morning as I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it last night before bed. I was still too shook up. Last night, Craig was out – ostensibly round Nigel’s watching ‘the match’ (there was no match – I checked) so I decided to go fishing. I was angry and alone and Craig was fucking her again so I wanted to take it out on someone – some opportunistic drunk down by the canal perhaps. Anyway, it gets to about quarter to eleven and I realise no one’s following me and I’d been everywhere – the canal, the alleys, the park. Turns out Wednesday night’s not all right for raping, so I start making towards home, via the harbour side. I’m walking along, sniffing the night air, pissing on lampposts (Tink, not me) and from nowhere, this guy jumps in front of me and shouts Boo! and I don’t think, I just drop Tink’s lead and pull out my Sabatier and I hold the blade to the guy’s throat, yelling, ‘Fuck you, you fucking cunt! Fuck you! I’m gonna fucking slice you in two!’
Only I realise then that I know him – it’s AJ.
Oh, Mothering Sunday from Hell, I think. With sprinkles on top. Am I in big fat fuck-off trouble now.
And he’s staring down at the knife, eyes as black as Pontefract cakes, hands in the air, breath held. And Tink’s yapping and scrapping and biting at his jean hems.
‘Rhee… it’s me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ he stutters.
I drop my knife and it falls with a clatter to the pavement. Nobody in the near area seems to have heard the hullabaloo, or if they have they’re not coming over. It takes me ages to catch my breath. I pick up the knife and re-pocket it inside my coat. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
He was stammering: ‘I-I s-saw you as I-I was coming out the Fun Pub. I recognised Tinkerbelle.’
‘Her name’s Tink,’ I said, picking her up. She was shivering too, of course.
He keeps looking at my coat pocket. ‘What were you gonna do with that?’
‘It’s protection, AJ. I have to walk my dog last thing at night because I don’t have a garden. We don’t live in a perfect world.’
He felt around his neck and looked at his fingertips. ‘You cut me.’ He held up his fingers. Blood on both. I looked at his neck. It was a nick, nothing more.
‘Oh, God,’ I said. His face went weird and he dropped to the ground like a bag of bricks.
By the time he’d roused, two minutes later, I was sitting beside him, my balled-up hoody underneath his head, pressing a wadded-up tissue against his neck. Tink was licking his cheek. Some smokers came out of the Fun Pub across the road to see if he was OK but I batted them away with a jovial ‘too much to drink’ gesture.
‘It’s all right, don’t try to move. Just gather yourself.’ I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t normally stick around to apply compresses and whisper sweet nothings in their ears.
He sat up and looked at me. I took away the tissue and posted it in a nearby bin. ‘You fainted.’
‘You cut my neck.’
‘Only a bit. It’s stopped now. Here.’ I handed him a fresh tissue.
He got to his feet. ‘Thanks.’ There was an odd look about him. He edged away. ‘I’m gonna go home.’
‘Are you going to be all right?’
He stopped and turned back to me. He looked very odd. ‘’Night then.’
‘Hey, what is it? Don’t go. AJ?’ He turned round again, still looking at me funny. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Do you always carry a knife?’
‘At night, yeah.’
‘To work?’
‘No, of course not to work.’
‘Have you used it before?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When?’
‘Uh, I don’t know.’
He shook his head. ‘Not that guy in the park?’
And then I just said it: ‘Yeah.’
Just then his face was one only Edvard Munch could love. ‘It was you?’
‘Ssh. I didn’t mean to. He came up behind me when I was walking Tink. He was going to rape me, AJ.’
AJ shook his head. ‘You killed a guy?’
‘Don’t say it like that. He wasn’t just some “guy”. He was a sex offender. An opportunistic rapist who went out at night specifically to target lone women.’
‘He didn’t deserve to die, Rhiannon.’
‘Are you seriously defending him?’
‘No, but…’
‘You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. I’ve…’ I stopped. Tears were coming – I don’t know how I was doing it but they were, like two little taps had turned on. ‘I was raped when I was eighteen. By my sister’s boyfriend. I’ve carried a knife ever since, for protection. I’ve only ever had to use it once, in self-defence. And, yes, that was Gavin White.’
‘Oh, my God.’
I bowed my head and sobbed into my hands. Tink was halfway up my leg, seeing if I was all right. I felt him enclose me, carefully at first, then warmly and completely – an all-encompassing cuddle with a little rocking motion.
‘No wonder you’re messed up.’
I picked up Tink and allowed her to lick up my tears. ‘You shouldn’t have jumped out at me,’ I sobbed. ‘I have very high defensive walls.’ That sounded better on Jeremy Kyle, where I got it from. I should have left it there.
‘I was just trying to give you a scare, that was all. For a laugh. We always have a laugh at work.’ He went to pull away.
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Hold me again. Keep me safe for a bit longer.’
And he did. He held on to me and Tink for minutes on end. Tink started licking his jacket lapel – he had ice cream down it by the looks. The cool night air brushed my face. It was pretty magical. Happiness was mine again.
And then it was gone.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
I told him the rest over a mug of coffee inside the flat. Craig still wasn’t back.
‘My sister was dating this asshole. Pete McMahon. He was into all sorts. Drugs. Gambling. There was a rumour he was a pimp but my dad could never prove it. Seren wouldn’t listen anyway.’
That bit of the story was a hundred per cent true.
‘He had so many convictions – GBH, drugs, you name it. And this one night, Dad was out and Seren came home with him.’
‘Pete?’ said AJ, sipping his coffee.
‘He repulsed me. He had zits everywhere and yellow stains on his fingers and bad teeth and he was all arms and legs like a mosquito. Anyway, I was in bed and I heard them both arguing.’
Again, all true.
‘I could tell Seren was drunk because she always got louder when she’d had a few. I heard them coming up the stairs. Her bedroom door shut. She was saying no to him, again and again and again [note the emphasis and saying it three times]. Then it all went quiet. I just knew she was in trouble. I was the only hope she had.’
All of this is, again, was what actually happened.
‘So what did you do?’
‘I got up out of bed and I went into her room. I saw him lying on top of her. He had her arms pinned back and he was undoing his fly. She was so dopey, she didn’t have the strength to do anything. I guessed she was drunk or had taken something, either that or he’d drugged her. Anyway, he told me to go back to bed but I couldn’t – I just stood there in the doorway, frozen. Terrified.’
And this was the point where Truth got its little hat on and said toodle-pip.
In reality, this is the point where I ran down to get the biggest kitchen knife I could find and went back up
stairs and I stabbed his raping back several times while my sister lay comatose beneath him on the bed.
For AJ, though, I had to play damsel in distress.
‘He threw me down onto the bed next to her. Ripped off my pyjamas. And… [pause for emotion] raped me, right there on my dead mum’s bed. I struggled, for ages, trying to get free. But he was so strong. So strong, AJ.’
AJ’s face was a picture. He put his hand on top of mine and I managed to squeeze out a tear so it landed splash down on his watch face. I didn’t leave any fictitious detail out. Pain, I kept saying. The pain of it was searing. Cutting. Burning in my pelvis. The awful nightmares I’d had ever since. The smell of his breath. The feel of his slimy tongue all over my face. God, I was good.
‘Was he ever caught?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. I testified, like a champ, and he went to prison. Turned out he’d done some rapes before. And he went away for at least twenty years. That helps me sleep at night. Knowing he’s locked up.’
By the way, this is all still bollocks. There was no trial. Dad came home and there was the inevitable scene of bloody mess and ‘OMG, what have you done, Rhiannon?’ and ‘We need to make him disappear.’
AJ shook his head. ‘You were so brave.’
I nodded, shaking loose another tear. ‘Ever since then, I’ve been terrified it would happen again. That some bloke would take me, do what he wanted, then chuck me in a ditch like litter. I have to walk my dog, AJ. I have to. Men don’t own the streets. I have just as much right to walk around at night, don’t I?’
‘Of course you do.’
‘I didn’t go looking for Gavin White. You do understand?’
He nodded.
‘I didn’t mean to burden you with all this. If you want to go to the police, go ahead. I won’t stop you. I just wanted you to see it from my angle.’
He shook his head. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘You shouldn’t. I hurt you.’ I touched his neck where his little wound was beginning to scab over. My touch lingered as I took in his eyes, his mouth.
‘I can say it’s a shaving accident.’
‘Oh, yeah, right, who’s gonna believe you’ve started shaving?’ I chuckled.
He smiled and held me, like he had done before only side-on.
‘I still can’t believe all this but I won’t say anything to the police. I wouldn’t do that to you, Rhee. I get why you did what you did.’
‘So you’ll keep this to yourself?’ He nodded. I reached around his neck and pressed the side of my face against his. ‘Thank you. I knew I could trust you.’
I kissed him, hard, on the lips. The kiss moved into a more intense one, mouths open, tongues grazing. I went all pulsy in my private place. He tasted good.
‘Shit,’ he said, finally pulling back. ‘Sorry, I got carried away there.’
‘No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have done that. God, how embarrassing. You’re a great kisser though, AJ.’
‘Thanks,’ he scoffed. ‘I’m glad you said that, considering all the practice I haven’t had.’
I eyebrowsed him. ‘You fly Virgin Airlines, do you?’
‘Yeah. I hate to admit it, still being nineteen, but, yeah, I am.’
‘I didn’t lose mine till I was twenty-three. With Craig.’
‘But… what about when you were raped?’
‘Oh, yeah, that was technically sex too but I don’t count that. I mean, I didn’t have a lot of say in it, did I?’
‘No, I guess not,’ he said sadly. ‘Sorry, that was thoughtless.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, stroking his brow. ‘Listen, Craig’s going to be back soon…’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, standing up and adjusting his jeans. I smiled. ‘What?’
‘You testing a missile down there?’
Just when I thought he couldn’t blush any more, he did.
I laughed, standing up too. ‘You’re so sweet.’ I pinched his cheek and kissed his mouth. ‘This isn’t a brush-off, I promise. Maybe we can meet tomorrow?’
‘Seriously?’ He followed me to the door like Mary’s Little Lamb.
‘Yeah. Of course. I like you, AJ. I fancy you. I want you.’
His mouth hung open. He moved towards me and kissed me again, seemingly unable to help himself. ‘Auntie Claudia will be at work all day, she never goes home at lunch. We could go back there?’
‘Do it in Claudia Gulper’s house?’ I said, a smile forming. ‘Now that would be an awfully big adventure, wouldn’t it, sweetpea?’
He nodded, mouth still open, a trail of saliva roped between his and mine. ‘Jesus. What a night, eh? First you try and kill me…’
‘. . . and now I want to go to bed with you.’ I giggled. ‘I know. Bizarre.’
I broke the saliva strand between us and opened the door. ‘See you at work.’
‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Can’t wait.’
I smiled back, smacking his ass as he left.
Dammit. And there’s me finally on Claudia’s good side too. Now I have to have sex with her very impressionable but very nice-assed nephew. Woe is me.
And here’s why I think I’ve made a boo-boo. I acted all sexy with AJ mere moments after telling him about being raped. That wasn’t natural. The Act had slipped. Even though he made the first move, and even though the rape thing never actually happened, from AJ’s point of view that could have been construed as hella quick, getting-over-it-wise. Which could bring him back to the thought that I am an opportunistic murderer and he had a lucky escape. And this could make him call the cops. So I’ve got to keep this boy sweet, hence the promise of sexy times. What I’m pinning all my hopes on is that his cock will now do his thinking for him.
God, men are exhausting. I can see why the first lesbian gave up.
Thursday, 16 May
1.People who ride mobility scooters in supermarkets – seriously, when did this become a thing? And when did it become OK to allow three of them in one aisle so no other git can get to the Pop-Tarts?
2.Adults who do colouring in, non-ironically
3.Taylor Swift – seriously, how much cock does one woman need?
Craig and I walked to work together with Tink this morning and stopped outside a new town brasserie called William’s which boasted a small courtyard garden welcoming dogs. That Happy thing washed over me again. The manager was friendly and full of ‘Course you can’s’ and ‘No problem at all’s’ and it was sunny outside. It makes such a difference when people aren’t assholes.
We were seated in a little corner where there were little bowls of water and Tink could roam about as she pleased sniffing the flower beds. I ordered my favourite meal – pancakes with crispy, streaky bacon and maple syrup with a small pot of whipped butter. Bliss.
And then my food arrived. And a cloud descended.
The pancakes, clearly, were not fresh and the side order of chopped fruit was an abomination. Manky strawberries, black slices of banana and the mint sprig on top was more a cry for help. But the worst offender of all was the bacon. I’d specifically asked for crispy. What I got looked like it had just been flayed from a fat woman’s forearm. So then I was back to feeling ragey for the rest of the morning.
There was a bit of Good News on the work front – AJ is still on side. He’s not winking at me any more – perhaps he thinks it’s inappropriate to do that to rape victims – but he did make me my usual peanut butter and banana toastie for breakfast and today it had a little red heart on the top, made from strawberry jam. I needed to be sure though. I needed confirmation.
‘So when are we gonna get up close and personal?’ I said to him as he leaned across my desk, changing the bulb in my desk lamp.
‘Any time you want,’ he said. ‘What about Claudia?’
‘Does she want to join in?’ I asked, watching the tendons working in his arm as he screwed the bulb in.
He laughed. ‘I mean we’re gonna have to keep it on the down low.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I said. ‘Go back
to your desk and I’ll text you.’ I leaned in close and bit the top of his ear. He blushed hot almost immediately.
And we did, all afternoon. We had text together. Long, hard text. I ended the chain with:
My flat’s free on Saturday night from 7 p.m. Boyf is going to watch Spurs with his mate.
Yesss!! he replied. It’s gonna be amazing. I’m hard for you now!
Kiss. Kiss. Heart eyes emoji. If I had a dick I’d be hard too.
He wasn’t to know I did have a dick. Kind of.
He texted me later to ask if we could do it in the Ladies’ after work but I’ve said no. I can’t bear the thought of being ravished in there. It’s not only filthy, it’s also damp and there’s always a warm aroma of some unwashed floozy’s menstrual leakings, even when everyone’s gone home.
Ugh. Saturday it’ll have to be.
Joy had me writing up five features for next week’s Homes for Sale and Let supplement and one of them was my mum and dad’s house. It’s Home of the Week.
‘It’s not that great a house though, is it?’ I said.
‘It’s got six bedrooms,’ she said, in full argumentative treble-chin wobble. ‘And an extension, double garage. And its own woods backing onto the garden. It’s unique, Rhiannon.’
Not to mention it’s soundproof enough to hide a kidnapped woman in for three months. Yeah, fair play, it is a pretty unique house.
When I was done, I showed her my piece and she did nothing but pick fault. She had coconut stubble all over her chin throughout.
‘You haven’t mentioned the apple tree.’
‘Do they need to know about the apple tree?’
She tutted. ‘It’s the key selling point, Rhiannon. It’s over five hundred years old. The house was rebuilt around it. There’s even a story that Henry VIII once sheltered underneath it during a storm. Put it in somewhere.’
She didn’t even say please OR thank you, the fat stinking billy-goated eunuch in piss-soaked rags that she is. And that Henry VIII story is complete bollocks. Sure it was around during his time but he didn’t shelter under it or shag Anne of Cleves up against it or anything like that. It’s just an old tree; an old tree that me and Seren used to play hide and seek behind. An old tree my mum sat underneath with a book and a lemonade. An old tree I’d seen my dad crying against when she came back from the doctor.
