by Jane Corry
Suddenly I feel a surge of disappointment. Yes, my stalker’s calls seem to have stopped. But it’s been a while now, and I’ve heard nothing from Clive.
Work commitments? He could still text, couldn’t he?
Then again, why am I bothered? I’ve been stupid, I realize now, to imagine I have a chance of happiness. Even if I do find the right person, he’ll leave me. As soon as he finds out what I’ve done.
33
June 2001
Ali
The summer house was at the bottom of the garden. Crispin was still pulling on my hand, gently leading me. A glittering cluster of fairy lights – blue, green and red – strung along the trees overhead, marked the way. The shrubbery made it darker than the part we’d just gone through. The distance from the house meant it was quieter too.
The wooden door creaked as Crispin opened it. No one was inside. A spider scooted out from a corner. There was a smell of apples from a wooden box in the corner. I felt excited and scared all at the same time.
‘Isn’t Robin here?’ I asked, looking around at the wicker sofa and matching chairs with rose-patterned cushions.
‘No. It’s just you and me, Ali.’ Crispin’s voice had an edge of amusement to it.
‘What do you mean?’
But even as I spoke, I had an inkling. I just wasn’t certain. Man-boys like Crispin didn’t go for girls like me. They were attracted to older versions of Kitty. Confident. Beautiful. Poised.
‘Do you know,’ said Crispin, grasping my hand, ‘how gorgeous you are?’
Gorgeous? Me?
‘That’s why I wanted you here.’ His hand was cupping my face and his mouth was so close to mine that I could smell his breath. Minty. Clean. As if he’d prepared for this. ‘You’re the only girl at school who hasn’t thrown herself at me. Now why is that?’
Because you’re way above me, I wanted to say. And even though you are stunning and do something to my insides, you’re not my type. I hadn’t even thought of this before. But now we were so close and his intentions to kiss me were – I thought – becoming clearer, I realized it was true. Crispin was too sure of himself. Too cocky. But above all, I didn’t feel comfortable with him.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for that squirt Robin.’
That wasn’t fair. ‘He’s not a squirt,’ I said. ‘He’s my –’
I was going to say the word ‘friend’ but Crispin’s mouth was on mine before I could finish my sentence.
I’d like to say that I pulled away, but, to my horror, my mouth responded hungrily. Often, I’d imagined what it would be like to be kissed. The nearest I’d come to it was a fumble at the school dance when I was fifteen and a boy had stuck his tongue into my mouth briefly at the end. It had made me want to be sick.
Sometimes, to be honest, I’d wondered if there was something wrong with me. But now I knew there wasn’t. Everything in my body was dissolving at Crispin’s touch. Even though my brain was shouting ‘NO! NO!’
‘Get off.’ I finally backed away as his hands started to undo my jeans belt.
‘Face it, Ali. I can tell that, deep down, you want me, even though you pretend not to.’
That wasn’t true. Was it? I certainly had no intention of going this far. I knew very little about sex except that Mum had always told me it was best to wait until I’d been through university. ‘You don’t want to get into trouble and ruin your future,’ she’d said on more than one occasion. ‘Imagine if all your hard work was wasted.’
Some people might have considered this old-fashioned. But our seaside town was like that. If girls did ‘get into trouble’, they married young, like one of my primary school contemporaries last year. I knew that wasn’t for me. I was going to read history. Everything else could wait.
‘Come on, Ali.’
‘I said no.’ I pushed his chest.
But his force was stronger than mine. Somehow he’d undone my jeans. They were halfway down my legs. Trying to pull them up, I fell backwards. Rolling to the side, I tried to get up. But he was over me. ‘You want me. I can tell that from your kiss just now.’ He was grinning in the dusk. For a minute, there was a glimpse of doubt in his face. Then it went.
‘Please.’ I began to cry. ‘I didn’t mean it. Let me go …’
After that, there were only flashes. His mouth on mine. His skin on mine. Pain. ‘You’re hurting me!’ His grunts. My whimpers. The tapping of the trees outside on the window. Focus on that, I remember telling myself.
The worst thing was that, otherwise, I did nothing. Just lay there. Too shocked to try and run away. Besides, he was much heavier.
When he’d finished, I came back to myself. ‘My mates were right,’ he said, standing over me and buckling up his jeans. ‘You’re nothing special after all. Maybe I should wait until that sister of yours grows up a bit. I only wanted to find out what that Robin kid sees in you. Can’t stand that swot who thinks he’s so clever. At my old school, I was the one at the top of my class.’
So he’d done this to get back at Robin for being my friend.
He pushed my clothes at me. ‘Perhaps you’d better go home now. And if you tell anyone, I’ll say what a slut you were.’ He spat on the ground. ‘You didn’t even try to stop me, so don’t pretend it was rape.’
I didn’t need any further bidding. Weeping, I pulled up my jeans, adjusted my T-shirt and ran. Robin would wonder where I was. But I could hardly tell him what had happened. Maybe it had all been my fault. I’d started off by wanting Crispin to kiss me. Somehow I’d given him the wrong idea. Nor could I go home. How could I let Mum and David see me like this? There was only one place to hide.
My legs ran and ran. Down the street. Towards the bay. Never before had I swum at night. The sea had a habit of being rough at that time – at least recently. But the wind had calmed down. It was wavy but not choppy. I ran in, fully clothed; grateful for the cold and the cleansing salt water which mixed with the tears running down my face.
‘You went swimming in your clothes?’ said Mum when I got home an hour or so later. She and my stepfather were sitting in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine. There was a tense silence between them which suggested they’d had an argument. Recently, this seemed to have been happening more and more. ‘At this time of night?’
‘Hope you didn’t go in for any of that skinny dipping I did when I was your age,’ said David, offering me a glass even though he knew I didn’t drink. ‘Still, it’s nice to see you enjoying yourself for a change, Ali. You deserve it after all that studying.’
I wanted to vomit. Enjoying myself? ‘Mind if I use the bath?’ I said.
‘Take my lavender oil,’ called out Mum as I left the room. ‘David just bought it for me. It smells gorgeous.’
Was it my imagination or was she trying to overcompensate for that post-argument silence I’d picked up on?
I sat in the bath for longer than I’d ever done before. But it still didn’t take away the shame. Or the guilt. As soon as my results were in, I resolved, I’d get out of here. Take a leaf out of my stepsister’s future plans. Find a job in London. As far away from this place as possible. And then go to uni.
I’d make sure I never saw Crispin again.
But then a terrible thought occurred to me. What if I was pregnant?
11 June 2001
There was a note in my locker this morning. In her handwriting.
I can’t bring myself to write down what it said.
She later swore it wasn’t her.
But it had to be.
That’s it.
All-out war.
34
April 2017
Alison
I check my voice messages in the prison car park. There’s one from Mum: ‘Give me a call, Ali. Something has happened.’ But when I ring her back, she doesn’t pick up.
All kinds of possibilities are whirring round my head. Kitty is ill. Kitty and her new husband have run away from the home. (I get this vision of Johnny lumbering be
hind a wheelchair.) Kitty has suddenly got her memory back …
Out of all these, I’m ashamed to say, it’s the last that really scares me.
What should I do now? Drive to Mum’s? Go straight to the home to check on my sister? Either way, I’m in no fit state to make a long car journey to the West Country. I decide to head back to my place instead; go for a jog and try Mum again before making a decision. After being stuck inside an airless building all day, I am always itching to run. It’s my release. I love the feel of the air in my face, even though it’s London-polluted. For a minute, I think back to my childhood swims with Robin. How long ago they seem now.
My mobile rings just as I’ve got my running shoes on.
Mum.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask.
‘The supervisor called again,’ says Mum. ‘Kitty’s upsetting the other residents.’ She gives a short dry laugh. ‘You remember how she could be quite bossy before.’
Oh yes. I remember. I just hadn’t realized Mum had been aware too. She’d never said anything. But I knew why. Mum had been scared of annoying David and upsetting the family life she’d created: anything rather than go back to being a single mother again.
‘She’s started to scream and shout when she doesn’t want to do something,’ continues Mum.
‘Like what?’
‘Eating things she doesn’t like, going to bed, getting dressed.’ Mum sounds weary. ‘The supervisor says she’s got much worse since the pregnancy. The home won’t have her any more.’
Until seeing Kitty again, I’d somehow imagined that she’d have become more mellow since the accident. But Kitty was a strong character before. Why should she be different just because she can’t speak or remember things? Then a scary thought strikes me. What if Kitty can remember, even though she’s unable to speak? How angry that would make her!
‘What about Johnny?’
‘His mother says he is finding it difficult to cope with her mood swings too.’
Their marriage can’t be in trouble already? Then again, it happens to others. Why not to special-needs couples too?
‘But,’ adds Mum, ‘she says she’s prepared to have them to live with them. What do you think?’
‘It could be an answer,’ I say slowly. Once more, I have to suppress the thought that Kitty has got it made. Johnny’s parents are well off. They adore their son. She’ll be loved too – providing she behaves herself. But, of course, she deserves to be happy.
‘I feel guilty about not having them with me – but the house isn’t big enough and I’m on my own. I need to work. How would I manage?’
So that’s why Mum’s so distressed. She needs reassurance that it’s OK for my sister to move in with another family. ‘I think you should let her take this chance.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ And I mean it.
‘Thank you.’ Then she seems to remember me.
‘How is the job going?’
I know she finds it hard to say the word ‘prison’.
I think of the phone calls, which have thankfully stopped since I changed my number – a decision Clive had finally nudged me into. ‘Fine,’ I reply, crossing my fingers. ‘Better go now. Love you.’
The call unsettles me. A jog no longer seems appealing. My fingers are itching. I haven’t done this for a while but I can’t stop myself. The glass offcuts sit in the special drawer, gleaming at me. They are like rainbow icicles: some tall and thin; others short with diagonal corners; blues; reds; greens; yellows.
I select a sharp red.
The left arm. Midway between the wrist and elbow. A nick. Enough to cause pain but no serious damage.
Usually, one is enough. But tonight it does nothing for me. I make a second nick. And a third. Three spots of blood begin to trickle. Yet the satisfaction – it’s hard to describe it any other way – isn’t there.
I know why. The longer Kitty is as she is, the worse the pain is inside me. A mere nick will never be enough.
I need to find something bigger.
‘Be careful what you wish for.’ That had been one of David’s favourite phrases when I was growing up. I never quite understood what he meant until later.
But I was reminded of it when the governor called me in the next morning. The ‘something bigger’ had clearly found me.
He gets straight to the point. ‘We’ve decided to hold a charity fundraising event. How would you feel about spending a whole night in prison?’
Is he joking?
Clearly not. The glasses have come off. He is leaning towards me intently. I wonder what makes someone want to be a prison governor. Do they hope to make their mark on society? Do they honestly feel they can change the way a murderer thinks?
‘We had a writer in residence who did this a few years ago. He held an evening session for the men and then wrote about what it was like to be in a cell all night. We want you to do the same but with a series of sketches or paintings.’
I have to admit it. An excited – if scared – sensation is crawling through me. This could have real possibilities.
‘We’ve got a meeting of the trustees soon,’ continues the governor. ‘This would be a great opportunity to show them exactly what you are achieving here. You could include drawings from your students. Maybe hold an exhibition.’ His voice rises with excitement. He thumps the desk with his fist which makes me jump. ‘We could call it “Twenty-Four Hours in Archville”.’
I’m still getting my head round this. ‘Where will I stay?’
‘In one of the huts.’
‘Will it be safe?’
The governor waves his arm as if physically batting my fear away. ‘Do you honestly think I would suggest this if it wasn’t? Each room in the hut is locked at 9 p.m. sharp. Doors are then unlocked at 8 a.m. Many men share a room. But, of course, you’ll have your own.’
My mouth is dry. My heart is pounding. Spend the night in a prison full of men? I can’t even imagine what my mother would say if I told her. Which, of course, I won’t.
Then I hear the words coming out of my mouth as if someone else was speaking them.
‘When would you like me to do this?’
35
June 2001
Ali
I took my first exam as if I wasn’t there. I tried to tell myself the shivery scared ache inside was just that bug going around. It didn’t happen, that thing with Crispin. If I repeated that enough times, it might be true. Just concentrate on A levels; my passport out of this place.
‘How did it go?’ Mum would ask each time when I got back.
‘Fine,’ I’d answer breezily before going upstairs to ‘revise a bit more’.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ Mum would call up the stairs.
‘Still a bit fluey.’
‘I’ll come up with a hot drink, shall I?’
‘I’m OK, thanks.’ Then I’d shut the door and head for the sanctuary of my desk, closing the curtains so I couldn’t see the view into Crispin’s back garden.
For some reason, Kitty was being nice to me. Goodness knows why. She even offered to lend me her horseshoe charm ‘for luck’. ‘That’s really kind of you, darling,’ Mum said. ‘Isn’t it, Ali?’
Ironically, it was Robin who was being offish. ‘I’m sorry we lost each other at the party,’ I’d whispered in the library the day after.
He’d brushed away my excuse.
‘Actually, I was going to apologize to you. I got talking to some girl. Did you stay late?’
‘No.’
If only I could turn back the clock.
‘Shall we have a swim tomorrow?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Too much swotting still to do.’
It was the day before my final exam. History. After dinner, I went up to my room to do some last-minute revision.
My history file had gone missing. I looked everywhere but it had simply vanished.
I tore down the stairs in a haze of disbelief and sheer panic.
‘What would I want with that boring old stuff?’ my sister sniffed when I demanded to know if she’d seen it.
But she said it with a distinctly guilty look on her face. The day after offering me her lucky charm, she’d gone back to her usual difficult self. Knew it was too good to last.
‘Tell me the truth!’ I demanded.
‘I am – get off me.’
I was tugging at her arms without even knowing it.
‘Ali,’ said David, looking up in fury from the cooker. ‘Stop that now. Behave yourself.’
I was almost hysterical. ‘But I know it was in my room earlier today.’
‘Then you should be a bit tidier. There are books all over your floor. Now leave your poor sister alone and go and have another look while I get on with making supper. Your mother’s taking an evening class.’
If he was my real father, he’d understand, I told myself.
When Mum eventually got back, rubbing her eyes with exhaustion and fending off David’s complaint of ‘You’re later than you said,’ she didn’t know either.
‘That’s your sister’s,’ she said when she saw me picking up Kitty’s English exercise book.
‘Just checking,’ I replied.
Later that night, I heard her talking to Kitty through my sister’s bedroom door. ‘Of course I love you, darling. There’s something very special about the youngest. You know that.’
The next day I had to sit my final exam without having done the revision I’d been banking on. The words blurred in front of my eyes. My mind went blank. I was going to fail.
But the worst thing was knowing that I wasn’t special, in my mother’s eyes, after all.
There was just one consolation. That night, I woke with aching cramps. My period had arrived.
3 July 2001
We’re reading this book about sisters at school. They’re best friends.
But then one of them does something bad.
And the other blackmails her.
