by Mary Hayward
I glanced over at the door.
He saw me look. Grabbing my throat once more, he held me down.
Summoning all my courage and strength I struck a sideways blow across the bridge of his nose with my fist. I pushed him away once more, grabbing his hand as tightly as I could, and pulling at his little finger until I succeeded in breaking his grip on my throat. For a brief moment, I was winning.
Gasping for breath, I shouted: “Sounds to me like you haven’t thought this one through at all, Tony.”
He didn’t answer. He grabbed at me again, holding my hair this time, pulling it back and holding it tight in the hope I would give in. No chance, I thought to myself.
“I don’t care!” he shouted. “Now do as you’re fucking well told!” he screamed.
“Girls don’t want to be dominated, Tony! Are you prepared to live with the memories of hurting me?”
He grabbed my free hand, and pinning the other down with his knee, he tried to force me into position, but he couldn’t keep me down. As he struggled to get an erection once more I saw my chance. I raised my leg into his groin and snatched my hand away from under his knee.
“You fucking bitch!” He grappled to regain control.
I pulled at his little finger again.
“Now you just do as you’re told before you get hurt!” His hand clamped round my throat, squeezing hard, until suddenly the room was in black and white.
I pulled his finger as hard as I could, and I swear I heard something snap. My vision returned once more.
I sucked in a deep breath.
“You”—gasp—“going to dump me somewhere. Tony?”
He didn’t answer.
“What do you think….” my voice strained as I pushed against his weight “…that I will do..” gasp “…after this?”
He stopped the attack and started to listen to what I was saying to him.
“Most girls don’t give a damn,” he said.
“It matters to me a great deal and I want to make love to the person who loves me, cares for me as a person. I don’t want to be dominated and raped.”
“It seems to matter to you a lot though,” he said.
“How will you face some girl you want to marry after raping me?” I turned and looked at him directly until our eyes met.
I held him there with my stare. I demanded an answer.
He glanced back at me, then out at the door, and the noise outside.
“I don’t know!” He shuffled his knee.
I felt a crunch as my knee caught him off-guard.
Bang, bang, bang.
I didn’t know which was louder, the sharp intake of breath, or the groaning noise from Tony desperately nursing his balls.
Keith made a sudden appearance, stripped down to his white underpants and black socks. He stood by the door.
“Come on Tony, you said we could both have her.”
Tony was still on top of me, his jeans down at his ankles, nursing his crotch. My blouse was all undone, and my breasts naked for the entire world to see. It didn’t look good for me, but Keith looked pleased.
I didn’t know if Keith was aware that Tony hadn’t got anywhere with me or not. But he grabbed hold of Tony and started to argue with him.
“Come on Tony, why don’t we take it in turns?” Keith suggested. “You hold her down and I’ll have her, then I’ll hold her down and you can have her.”
The idea seemed to excite Tony, but it worried me.
Not with the two of them! I couldn’t win against them both.
Tony was distracted by the conversation with Keith. It was stay and die, or break for freedom.
I grabbed his balls in my hand and squeezed as hard as I could, digging my sharp fingernails in until they sunk deep into his flesh, my knuckles clamping shut like a mollusc shell.
I broke free and ran over to the window, and picking up the nearby wooden chair I held it close to the windowpane.
Tony jumped off the bed and quietly pulled up his jeans.
“I’m going to smash the window if you come any closer.” I lifted the chair as if to swing it.
Tony grabbed Keith by the arm, pulled him over to the side, and opened the door.
“Now fuck off!” He shoved him out and closed the door behind him.
All this time I stood by the window.
“I’m going to jump! Don’t you come any closer! Else I’m going to smash this window and jump.”
“Don’t—we’re on the second floor.”
“Then stay away. I’m warning you...”
“Don’t do anything,” he said. “All right, calm down, I’m staying here.” He jumped back holding up his hands, palms open and fingers spread wide, as if desperate to get me to stop. “You don’t have to do that,” he said calmly. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you.” He was still holding his hands in the air as if pushing against an invisible wall. “It’s okay, I won’t do it!”
He backed away.
I lifted the chair higher in the air.
“I won’t do it!” he shouted again, as if somehow trying to reassure himself. “You seem like a nice girl, Mary,” he said, “not like all the others that I’ve met.”
I lowered the chair, not because I had surrendered, but more because I was growing tired.
“All right,” he said, “get dressed. I’m not going to hurt you.” He did up his jeans and stared at the ground like a little boy caught out in a lie.
I had won. He knew that he couldn’t force me to have sex with him. I did up my blouse and straightened my clothes, gathered my things from the bed, and stormed out to the toilet, promptly locking myself in.
I didn’t know if it was the shock, but I found myself shaking so much that I couldn’t do up the clasps on my bra. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. I just sat there for what seemed ages. Thoughts were tumbling around my mind, like particles in a cement mixture. One minute it felt like panic, then fear, and sweating like I was on fire. Then my whole body trembled, my heart pounded, and fingers tingled so much, that I couldn’t control anything…
I reached up and grabbed my head with both hands, pulling my hair in an attempt to make it all stop. It didn’t.
Silently, as if held in a dam of all my life’s sorrow, my tears burst out like blood dripping from a wound so deep I would surely die.
I took hold of myself, until once again I was calm. I dried my eyes as best I could and told myself I would soldier on.
There was a banging on the toilet door.
“Have you finished?” It was a man’s voice.
“I’m coming.” I unlocked the door and peered out.
It was one of the other guys who was dancing with the girls in the living room. I checked down the hallway to find out where Tony was. I couldn’t see him, so I assumed he was still in the bedroom. I could hear the music, but I didn’t know if Joyce was back yet.
The thought of going back into the bedroom terrified me, and yet I had to do it.
As I reached for the door my hands trembled uncontrollably. The handle was shaking and clanking like the clappers on a fireman’s bell and for the first time in my life, I felt helpless. One of my hands had rebelled against my mind. It must have been the sensible one. It voted not to go in there again, but it was Hobson’s choice. I didn’t know where I was, let alone be able to get home.
The door burst open. Tony was sitting on the chair by the window, fully dressed smoking a cigarette. He was calm. Keith sat on the bed, and they chatted as if nothing was wrong. They both swung round to look at me.
I didn’t think Tony wanted to let Keith know he hadn’t raped me—because he marched Keith out of the room and told him to fuck off and leave me alone. It stopped Keith from asking questions, which Tony didn’t want to answer. Well, certainly not answers that I would confirm. He couldn’t risk letting his mate know he lied to him; after all, he depended on Keith to drive him home!
Tony sat in the room for a little while. We chatted about things. He told me a litt
le bit about himself and the girls he had known up until he met me. For some reason I didn’t understand, he felt comfortable talking to me. It was as if somehow I had shown some understanding of his world and his struggle to make relationships. He started to ask me about how to deal with women, seeking some insight into the way to treat a girl, and their needs.
I wasn’t sure if he was winding me up or not, but I went along with the chat and stayed friendly; after all, I wasn’t home yet.
It must have been about an hour before I heard all the commotion when Joyce entered the flat.
Furious, I flew at her with so much anger.
“You bloody knew! You bloody knew, didn’t you? What he was going to do, you knew, didn’t you?” I waved my finger at her, thrusting it into her face.
“Well, I was frightened what he was going to do to me—I didn’t…” She flinched and darted back as I waved my fist at her.
“You bloody well knew and you left me with him! Didn’t you?” I clenched my fist and held it close to her face, as if to smash it into her.
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t have much choice? You had every bloody choice!”
I was certain in my mind that Joyce knew fully well what was going to happen, and I discovered a new facet of her character that I didn’t like. She skulked off out of the room and avoided eye contact, which was just as well, for otherwise I am sure I would have torn her, limb from limb.
Tony suggested that we all sleep together that night for safety, just in case the other guys came in, and we all agreed. So that night we all slept together in the same bed, Joyce, Tony and I. But nothing happened.
The details of the journey home were a bit vague. I didn’t speak to Joyce for some time after that. At least not until the bruises between my thighs had gone.
When I got home, Mum didn’t know where I had been or anything, and as far as I know she never found out.
If this was growing up—I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
23
Elsey’s Sports
I WENT TO WORK as a general secretary for Elsey’s Sports Shop, which was just down from the Spurs Football Ground at White Hart Lane. I say secretary, but I was also responsible for serving in the shop from time to time. I also used to work in the mail order department, preparing the football kits ready for despatch to customers.
The shop sold sports clothes, and all things connected to football. It had two departments, one that looked after the ancillary materials, bats, balls, and other paraphernalia necessary to play the sports, and a boot department. Upstairs there was a toy department, which sold a full range of children’s toys, quite separate from the sportswear. In addition to the actual physical premises, the company ran a thriving mail order football kit business, and on the opposite side of the road, there was a showroom for Scaletrix cars and tracks, owned by two brothers like Laurel and Hardy: the slim one looked after the shop side of things, and the other looked after the office and accounts.
I got on really well with both managers, although sometimes it was a battle. Laurel used to like me working in the shop because he noticed that sales went up whenever I was in the boot department. Hardy, on the other hand, always wanted me in the office to do his typing.
I didn’t know why, but Laurel always sent me up the ladder. I think he liked looking up my short skirt, and perhaps the customers, who were mostly fit young men in training full of hormones, probably thought the same.
It was a hot sunny morning as I quietly waited outside the shop. I was busily eating an ice cream as part of my breakfast when the brothers arrived. Hardy put the key in the door and turned to look at Laurel.
“You pregnant?” Hardy said.
“No, I don’t think so! Why?”
“Well, it’s...”
“It’s what? You think I look fat?”
I looked down at my tummy.
Laurel fumbled with the door, toppled in, disappeared into the office, and switched on the piped music.
My day was immersed in the smell of leather, of dubbin, and the subtle blends of polished oak that I remember from the library. I listened to the pop music that was piped throughout the shop.
Rob, one of the guys who worked with me, came in looking a bit glum. The managers were in the back office. I was alone in the front shop, singing along to the hit, ‘Glad All Over’ by the Dave Clark Five.
“Hey Rob,” I said. “Did yer know Mike Smith lived down my street? Me and Joyce looked up his house and knocked on his door one day.”
He didn’t answer.
“So what’s up then?” I soaked up the lively music playing, singing and dancing behind the shop counter. “Boom, boom, glad all over… yer!” I was singing out loud.
“She’s just packed me in!” His head sank like a dead parrot.
“Oh no!” I stopped singing.
He ran off into the stock room and I was left alone at the counter once more. Rob was a bit quiet for the rest of the morning. I took him a mug of tea.
“Have you got any lunch?”
“Forgot it.”
“Come on then, let’s go and get a Wimpy burger together.”
We were good mates, Rob and I. We talked over lunch, and he seemed a little brighter after that.
It was quiet in the shop when, suddenly, a group of lads tumbled in off the street, making a load of noise and generally larking about. This good-looking young chap came up to the counter, stroking his hair with his hand, beaming and full of confidence. I thought he was about to chat me up, chance his arm, and ask me for a date.
“Hello.” He casually lent on the counter top. “Have you got a Jock Strap?”
“Yes sir,” I said. “What size would you like?”
He just stared at me. The room went so quiet I swear I could hear his brain, like some clockwork toy cranking up what to say in front of his mates. A bright crimson rash slowly spread across his face. It was like the sort of shaver’s rash I had seen on one of the guys in the office.
Quick on the pitch and scoring a goal might have been a strong point. But he didn’t know what to do with the question. He stood at the counter alone; he didn’t know what to say in reply.
I heard a bit of a shuffle and muffled laughter coming out from the back office. All his football mates, who up until then were just browsing, stopped spontaneously and a hushed fog like silence crept across the crowded room.
Only one person failed to turn and look at the lad as he stood at the counter—me.
The room was like a crowd from bonfire night watching a damp squib—simmering, farting and spluttering until, suddenly, it reached a dry patch, and exploded in laughter louder than Spurs winning a goal on home turf. The whole place cracked up.
I died there and then. I felt my embarrassment rise and I slid down behind the counter refusing to come up.
“Where’s she gone?” they all asked, probably thinking this would be a good laugh.
“Don’t know,” one said. “Maybe she’s looking for a bigger one.” The sound of another rousing cheer followed a bout of giggling, winking and nudging.
I was still hiding on the floor when one of the managers came out of the office.
“Watcha doing down there?” He knew full well what had happened.
Roars of laughter erupted and someone reminded him what I had said.
“She wanted,” he paused for a moment to contain his laughter, “to know his size!” He blurted the words out quickly before his face screwed up into another laughing fit, and pointed to the Jock Strap now lying on the counter.
Soon the whole shop deteriorated into pandemonium as they all doubled up in agony, rolling around as if an unexploded grenade of laughing gas had been thrown amongst them.
Hardy came over behind the counter and bent down to talk to me.
“Get up here!” He beckoned with his hand, splitting his embarrassed gaze between me and the customer, like someone at a tennis match.
“I can’t.” I
refused to come out of hiding. “I don’t know what size to give him!” I was frantically waving for him to go away and leave me alone.
“I think he wants a big one, love!” another shouted out. Well, that brought a smile to Hardy’s face, and he was unable to help himself and soon joined in the fun, and at the same time tried to cajole me into getting back up.
“Come on, its okay,” he said reassuringly. “Just get them out and let him pick one.” He handed me the tray for good measure.
Reluctantly I rose from my hiding place amidst all the applause from the little crowd that had now gathered.
I placed the tray on the counter for the customer to choose and promptly disappeared into the back office. I heard his mates still making comments as they all bundled out of the shop and spilled into the High Street, laughing and joking.
I thought it was high time I changed my job!
24
Leaving Home: Just 17
I WAS SITTING IN THE WIMPY BAR in the High Street, Edmonton, sipping my coffee and waiting for Joyce. It was about six o’clock in the evening. I had come straight from the office, dressed in my pretty white blouse and navy blue skirt. She said she wanted to meet up and talk about something.
I was daydreaming about my plans for the future when Joyce rushed into the Wimpy at about ten past six and sat down at my table.
“I’m going to Scotland!” she panted, as if she had run all the way from home.
Coffee slopped onto the table as she drew up the wooden chair.
“Okay,” I said to her. “You’ve got my attention!”
“I’m going to stow away on a train and I want ye to come with me.”
“Not sure about that, Joyce!” I felt the warning signs.
I saw the look in her face that spelt danger. The moment when her eyes were so clear, they glistened like morning dew.
“Aye, come on!” she said, flicking the hair from her face. “Do you no’ want a laugh?”
“Still not convinced.” I stared into my coffee cup.
“Why?”
“Well...you said that the last time, and look what happened. I still haven’t got over that, Joyce.” My eyes narrowed.
