Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities)

by John David Harding

  He gestured towards the blonde model, ignoring his other guest. “Can you tell us what is true?”

  “That Ricky Nicholls did abuse me for months. He stole money from me, he hit me, he …” Her lip wobbled and she took a deep breath as she dabbed her eyes. “Twice he raped me.” Her voice wavered. “People need to know what he’s like. He’s … evil, and ...”

  “But what Miss Holmes is saying, is just speculation. There’s no proof that any crime has been committed.” Ricky’s solicitor, the other guest on the show, interrupted. “And we must be careful here that we do not tarnish an innocent man with such allegations.”

  She sniffed. “These aren’t just allegations. We were on holiday, and we came back from the beach and he …”

  “I’m sure they seem very real to you,” he patronised. “And I’m sure there was some alcohol involved.”

  “I don’t drink,” she interrupted, her eyes boring into the smarmy, suited man.

  He sighed, turning away from the lady and looking into the camera. “Ricky Nicholls is a successful, rich man and it stands to reason that when people smell money, they start with the allegations.” He glared at the victim once more. “I heard Paige has agreed to underwrite the costs of a private prosecution if the Police correctly deem there is no case to answer.”

  “That’s not …”

  “And let’s be honest. We know Paige and Ricky didn’t like each other and she attacked him while making up some story about him being abusive, which is exactly where your story comes from. You are just a man-hating bitter woman so there’s no truth here.”

  The model leant forward, growling. “No. This is exactly why so many victims don’t come forward. This is why I didn’t come forward to begin with and I never thought I’d be believed. I’d be told that I was asking for it, or I was drunk or some other piece of shitty victim blaming.”

  “This is a pre-watershed show,” the host intervened. “I’d ask you to moderate …”

  “Yeah right!” She snapped. “I’ve had sixteen boyfriends in my 23 years on this planet. And only one has ever hit me. The other fifteen preferred to cuddle and kiss. Only one has ever abused me. The other fifteen liked to look after me. And only one of them raped me. The other fifteen wouldn’t have dreamt of it. And I don’t hate men. I’ve loved them in the past, but Ricky is a violent rapist. Albeit, a violent rapist who can sing, but a violent rapist nonetheless. And yeah, Paige did offer to fund a private prosecution, and I’ve told her there’s no need. I waived my right to anonymity as I was sick and tired of the rumours and misogynistic abuse I was getting on social media, and your behaviour today is going to just fuel the myth that most rape victims make up their stories. Which is utter bollocks.”

  “This is a pre-watershed,” the host interrupted.

  “Whatever!” She waved her hands aggressively at the squirming man. “And yes, I have proof. I now have proof. Because I wrote down why I was dumping Ricky and sent it to him in a long, long email. And he replied. Now, I’d long since blocked the rapist so I never got it, but that reply has recently been released and it’s gone to the Police today from an anonymous source and … he admits it in the email! He confesses what he did to me. So, you can sit there and make up lies and say this never happened but both the victim and the rapist say it did.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Sure,” she conceded. “But I know it and you know it. Everyone knows it. That’s why that song Hazel recorded has two million views on YouTube. Everyone knows what Ricky did now. The mask has gone. And soon, a court will punish him for his crimes.”

  The solicitor gulped. “He’s innocent until he is proven guilty.”

  “Yeah, and I know I’ll be one of the so-called lucky ones. Rape conviction rates are, like ten percent. Most rapists get away with their crimes. But Ricky won’t. He will get what’s coming to him. That little cunt is going to jail.”

  She watched the host splutter as she swore. “I must object …”

  “And so must I. If society cared as much about rape as some other four letter words then we wouldn’t have a rape culture.” She shook her head, stood up and walked off the set.

  * * *

  Lucinda cooed at the six-hour-old baby girl, asleep in the cot beside Paige's bed. “So sweet. And quiet. Are you sure she's yours?”

  Paige slurped from the coffee that Lucinda had brought her, and grinned. “Jack's already said that. And Leah. Yeah. It'll change. I don’t expect any daughter of mine gets to be demure and quiet and I expect full-throttle stroppiness from the moment the au-pair walks into our life.”

  “Can I pick her up?” Paige nodded, but winced the moment the hands woke the 7lb baby. A few muted squeals and groans were the limits of the baby's annoyance, and Paige outwardly exhaled as the infant nestled into the crack of Lucinda's elbow.

  Their joy was short-lived; a few moments after she settled she erupted into screaming and reached for the bare breast of the elder lady. “Feeding time,” sighed Paige, and took the newborn from Lucinda.

  The infant, wrapped in a pale cream sleeping suit, was positioned underneath Paige's bare breast and the mother latched her to the nipple. Jack instinctively looked away, Paige was undeterred, feeding her baby in front of her guests, albeit in the relative privacy of her private room.

  Flowers surrounded her bed; Leah had brought a huge bouquet of brightly coloured carnations and roses from her allotment; Jack had bought his at the supermarket opposite. The hospital had received dozens of deliveries from musicians, friends and fans, and Paige had asked the nurses to share some of her deliveries around the ward.

  “So, what happens next?”

  “A few months off,” Paige replied confidently, “and then I'm planning to hit the studio at the end of the year. New album out in time for Easter and then a tour. I think she will adore going from country to country.”

  “No,” Jack said firmly. “We may do another album but we are not taking a newborn with us touring.”

  “She'll be one.”

  “I don't care; she'll be terrified.”

  “Actually thirteen months.”

  “The answer is still no.”

  “We'll have an au pair or nanny or whatever rich people do with their kids.”

  “It's not happening.”

  Paige sighed. “It is happening.” She waited for Jack to begin to speak and then interrupted him. “You know when you want one thing and I want another, who usually wins?”

  Their argument was interrupted by a knock on the door and Paige summoned their visitors into her private room. “Hi Dad,” Jack called.

  Paul spluttered. “Goddamit woman, can't you do that in the toilet or something?”

  “Do you eat your steak and chips in public bogs?” Paige asked at the surly man; his receding hairline had noticeably entrenched further from his greying eyebrows since Paige had last seen him. “No? Thought not. Then don't try and force my child – and your grandchild – to eat their food there.”

  “But people don't want to see …”

  “Then don't bloody look! Although the natural act of motherhood shouldn't turn you squeamish as you raised two kids. Or maybe you had an a nanny or an au-pair.”

  “Anne stayed at home.”

  “Don't even begin to tell me that a mother's place is in the home 'cause I will batter you.” Jack and his father exchanged looks.

  “Long night,” Jack muttered. “We were here from 10 in the evening and she came along at four. We've not had an awful lot of sleep.”

  “I'm not ratty because of tiredness,” Paige snapped, causing her child to startle. “I'm ratty because of rampant stupidity!”

  The simpering cough of Jack's mother broke the silence, and the lady with a butterfly-laden dress spoke. “What's her name.”

  “Well,” Paige started.

  “It means you are not going to like this,” Jack interrupted. “She has this cra
zy idea.”

  She ignored him and picked up a piece of paper from the side of her bed. “We got maximum points from Greece, Finland, Monaco, San Marino, Ireland, Germany, Spain Sweden, Malta, Albania, Slovenia, Luxembourg, Belgium and Lithuania so that should be reflected. So I've done some research and …”

  “This is nothing to do with me,” Jack added, looking at his father.

  “… and the popular names in these countries combined with Anne, which Jack wanted after his mother and Boadicea that I wanted. So the little one's name will be Anne Boadicea Lucia Eleni Maria Lea Sofia Emily Mia Alice Helena Ariana Eva Lara Louise Austèja … Rees-Montague.”

  Jack's eyes rose to meet Paige's. “Rees-Montague? I thought you said that our baby wasn't having my surname until you did.”

  “Yeah. Well I am happy to give Baby Anne your surname if I was engaged and we were planning the wedding. But it has to be a naturist wedding. I am not subjecting my guests to the indignity of having to pick wedding outfits and then squeeze into bridesmaids dresses. Naturist wedding.”

  Paul bellowed at the young singer. “What in the bleedin' hell in a naturist …”

  “Oh really?” Paige snapped, startling her young child for a second time in as many minutes. “Just think about that for a moment.”

  “Surely, every girl wants to be a princess on their big day,” Jack's mother cooed patronisingly. She glanced at Paige. “Or maybe not.”

  “Yes, maybe not!” She turned her attention to Jack who smiled, held his girlfriend's spare hand and asked. “Will you marry me then?”

  “Go on then,” she replied with a smile. “Although, it took you long enough to ask, didn't it?”