A Family Scandal

by Kitty Neale

  ‘She ain’t coming round is she?’

  Rhona thought the voice was familiar but she was too uncomfortable to place it immediately.

  ‘Nah, she’s still out cold,’ said another voice. ‘Anyone would be after what you did to her head. She ain’t waking up any time soon.’

  ‘Good. Make sure she stays that way.’

  ‘Yeah, we can’t have anyone getting in our way, but what was she doing down here? I thought you said the place would be empty by now.’

  ‘It should have been,’ replied the first voice. ‘It always has been before when I’ve checked it out. Sunday night it empties out at ten thirty, they lock up, and all the takings for the whole weekend get bunged in the safe. They don’t open on Monday, so with any luck it’ll be Tuesday morning before they find anything’s wrong. I hadn’t reckoned on everyone hanging around, nor that any of the punters knew about this office in the cellar, so how the hell did she find her way down here?’

  ‘Could she have got a tip-off?’

  ‘Who from? The only one to know apart from us was the guy behind the bar, and he wasn’t going to say anything, or they’d know it was partly an inside job. He hates his boss, he wouldn’t bother to help him in any way. No, I reckon this one likes to find and make trouble.’ The feet came closer to her face.

  ‘What do you mean? Do you know her or something?’

  There was a pause. ‘Yeah,’ said the first voice heavily. ‘I know her all right so it’s just as well she didn’t get a look at me before I knocked her out.’

  Rhona forced herself not to moan, even though the gag was holding her mouth tight. Cautiously she opened her eyes a fraction. She could just about see through her lashes and make out the two figures. Now she knew why the voice had sounded familiar. One of the men was Andy Forsyth. She hadn’t seen him since she’d ditched him months ago.

  He was moving around again now, putting bundles of what she thought must be the banknotes into a bag.

  ‘What are we going to do with her?’ the other man demanded. ‘She’s not a friend of yours, is she?’

  ‘You got to be joking.’ Andy zipped up the bag. ‘I wouldn’t call her a friend if you paid me a million. Seriously, she’s trouble, but as long as she doesn’t get a look at me, we can just leave her here.’

  The other man turned and came back to where she was lying on her side. He bent down as if to touch her. ‘Why don’t we have some fun with her while she’s out cold? You can go first seeing as you know her. She can’t put up a fight now, can she?’

  Rhona trembled at the threat and the lewdness in his voice. She was totally defenceless, her hands bound behind her. She prayed that he wouldn’t come any closer. She couldn’t stand it, being raped in this stinking cellar, and there was nobody to hear her even if she did manage to cry out for help. The man bent down and she felt his hand on her breast. Somehow she managed not to make a noise or react in any way.

  ‘See? She can’t do nothing. Do you want to have a go? She’s a bit thin and there ain’t much of a handful, but who cares?’

  Rhona flinched as he moved his hand, dreading what was going to happen next. Was he going to touch her again? She tried desperately not to shake with fear. Now she couldn’t see where he was unless she fully opened her eyes. She didn’t know what would be worse – should she show them she was awake? Would that put them off or invite them to treat her even more cruelly? Would they take pleasure in hurting her? Or if she kept on pretending to be knocked out would it be worse, would they do whatever they wanted assuming that she’d know nothing about it? She didn’t want to begin to imagine what that could be like.

  ‘Leave her.’ Andy spoke again.

  ‘What? Are you kidding? A real live woman, not a bad looker, just lying here and nobody to stop us? Don’t you want to fuck her? I will if you don’t.’

  ‘I said leave her.’ Andy’s voice had a harsh edge to it. ‘I don’t want her coming round, and anyway you don’t want to go near that. She’s been with half of South London. She’s scum, she ain’t worth it. God knows what you’d catch if you fucked her. I came close, but thank my lucky stars I saw sense and found out in time.’

  ‘Nah, come on, she can’t be that bad and I’m in the mood. We’ve got the money so let’s celebrate and we can start with her.’

  ‘Will you listen to me, for Christ’s sake?’ Andy snarled. ‘She’s worse than a dog. It ain’t worth the risk. You’ll be paying for it with a dose of the clap and that’s if you’re lucky. With this money we can go and buy ourselves any whores we like, and they’ll be a darn sight cleaner that that bitch.’

  ‘You’re just saying that ’cos you don’t want me to have her,’ the other man said aggressively.

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Fine, be my guest, but if she starts to come round you’ll have to knock her out again and quick. Just don’t come running to me when you get scabs all over your dick. You’ll be crying to your mother, you’ll be in such a state.’ Andy couldn’t contain his impatience. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ The other man gave in. ‘Let’s go and give some of those women up in Southwark a seeing to. I know one I’ve wanted to try for ages and you wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard she can do with her tongue.’

  Andy picked up the bag. ‘Turn out the light and let’s go. Just check her ties and then we can be off. It’s a relief she hasn’t woken up or we’d be stuck with getting rid of her permanently and that’s a complication I can do without.’

  ‘We! It’d be you who’d have to put her lights out. She doesn’t know me so I ain’t got nothing to worry about,’ the other man said as he tugged at the ties that bound her wrists. ‘She’s still out cold, but I’ll make sure she stays that way.’

  It was the last thing Rhona heard as a boot smashed onto her skull.

  Rhona finally regained consciousness. She opened her eyes but that didn’t do much good. It was completely dark, black, and she couldn’t even see a glimmer of light. She groaned into the gag, finding it difficult to breathe and fighting panic. Her head was ringing with the pain and she couldn’t think clearly. She attempted to bring some life back into her arms but they were bound so tightly behind her that all she could do was wriggle her fingers. Exhausted with fear, she felt like giving up. Her head was pounding and maybe if she just lay there she would lose consciousness again, and then she wouldn’t have to think about anything.

  Then her survival instinct kicked in and she gave herself a mental shake. Her thoughts began to clear. So, she couldn’t move her arms, and her mouth was gagged, but she could breathe through her nose, which was good. What about her legs? She moved them, relieved to find that they hadn’t been tied together or to anything else. She rolled over and managed to sit up, dizzy for a moment before she began to orientate herself. Where had she come in? She wasn’t sure, but felt that the door was probably behind her and surely there’d be a light switch beside it.

  Rhona tightened her lips in determination. Agonisingly she got to her feet, nearly falling without being able to use her hands and arms to balance. She stepped forward and if she hadn’t had the gag between her teeth she would have screamed as a sharp corner dug into her thigh. It felt like a corner of something, maybe a table or desk. She couldn’t remember the layout of the furniture as she’d only had a moment to take it in before she had been grabbed from behind. Now she kept the edge of whatever it was to one side and used it to direct herself forward, inch by inch. She was shaking with the effort, not to fall, not to panic. She came to the end of what maybe was the desk top and cautiously moved on, waiting to hit the next obstacle. There was nothing. She went on. Still nothing. Another couple of shuffling steps and her toes met something solid. She kicked it, and it made a dull thud, which she thought might be wood. She kicked to one side of it, and that made a rattle. It had to be the door, Rhona thought, as she turned her back to it and moved her bound hands over as much of the surface as she could. She touched a panel, and then what felt like a f
rame.

  Rhona tried to lift her arms higher behind her but they wouldn’t move far so she turned again to face what she was sure, now, was a door. She brought her face closer, using her nose to search for the frame, and then moved to one side of it until she felt that she was touching the wall. Slowly, edging upwards, she moved her nose back and forth slightly from side to side until she felt the slight protrusion of a light switch. Rhona knew this was probably going to hurt so braced herself, and with nothing else to use other than her nose, she put her weight behind it, groaning and hoping that she hadn’t torn her nostril as she managed to push the small toggle down. It worked. The light came on.

  Rhona turned again, dazzled, as she took in the untidy office, the open safe – now empty – the overturned chair, the cabinets with their drawers agape. All she wanted was to get out of there, but to do that she had to get her hands free. She walked back to the desk, saw a telephone, but then her heart sank when she saw that the wire had been cut. Her eyes scanned the top of the desk, looking for something sharp amongst the various scattered articles; pens, a ruler, a stapler, but then her eyes lit up when she saw a paper knife. It took her a while to work out how to get it where she needed it, but finally she approached it backwards and wedged it into a corner of the desk drawer, making it fast by pushing the desk chair against it. Now, as long as she was careful not to dislodge it, she could move the knot against it. Gradually she cut through the material and, after what felt like hours, her hands were free.

  The muscles in Rhona’s arms protested against being forced into an unnatural position for so long and she moaned in pain as she rubbed some life back into them. She then set about loosening the knot to untie the gag which, when removed, turned out to be a disgusting piece of unrecognisable material. She threw it to one side in and looked around the office again, desperate for something to drink and to get out of the dank cellar. Her watch told her it was three in the early hours of the morning and all she’d had before the pub closed were a few glasses of Babycham. She went to the door again, turned the knob, only to find that it was locked. Desperately she scanned the room again and saw another door, which thankfully opened onto a small hall. But the door at the end of it was locked too. Rhona kicked it in frustration before her lips set in determination again and she hurried back to the office to grab the paper knife. She tried to use it like a key, but it was too thick to fit into the lock, so she wedged it into the frame and tried to lever the door open. Again and again she tried, but then the knife snapped and she fell back, exhausted.

  There were no windows; there was no way out. She had heard the men say that the bar wouldn’t be open again until Tuesday, yet surely the owner would turn up before then to bank the takings that had been put in the safe. It was her only hope, but until then she was trapped. Her parents wouldn’t know she wasn’t back; she’d told them not to wait up. Nobody would miss her for ages.

  Thirst raged, and desperately Rhona looked around again, tried the desk drawers and at last, under some papers, she found a half-drunk bottle of lemonade. She brought it to her lips, but realising that she could be trapped in the cellar for a long time, she somehow managed to refrain from drinking all of it in one go.

  Rhona held back a sob as she flopped onto the office chair, exhausted with terror and misery and only then did she think back to what the men had said. She didn’t know what to feel. She’d been deeply afraid Andy’s friend was all set to rape her, but then Andy had said those awful things about her. She was relieved and disgusted all at the same time. How dare he say that? What right did he have? But the other side of her could have cried at the shame, knowing this was how she was talked about. It didn’t matter that they were two scumbag criminals; this was her reputation. Tears fell down her cheeks as she prepared to face a night in the stinking cellar.

  ‘I’ve done it, Uncle Tommy!’ Grace was shouting, jumping up and down and waving a big piece of paper. ‘Come and see.’

  Tommy laughed and went to do as he was ordered. He’d found the perfect cover for hanging around the seafront not too far from the stamp shop. For several days now they’d noticed an artist by the harbour, setting up his easel and selling charcoal portraits of visitors, which he’d sketch right in front of their eyes. Over the weekend he’d been very busy, but probably expecting trade to be quieter on Monday, he’d put up a sign offering a one-hour drawing lesson that was to start at eight thirty in the morning. The sign also said where he’d be setting up and Tommy was delighted to see that it would be just down the road from the shop. It was ideal. Grace had been desperate to have a go and Tommy had agreed at once, even though Lily had said it was a waste of money with the little girl being too young to know what she was doing.

  Tommy knew he was probably making a rod for his own back in agreeing to her demands so readily, but he couldn’t have come up with a better idea if he’d tried. So he’d volunteered to sit on a nearby low wall while Grace solemnly picked up her charcoal and got covered in it in moments. She didn’t fuss, though, and had taken the whole thing very seriously, and while she was engrossed, Tommy had been watching the shop.

  Nothing had happened for the first fifteen minutes. A couple of dog walkers went past, and a postman. Further away a few people were beginning to set up for another sunny day on the beach. Tommy had promised Grace that as this was their last day in Torquay, they would go down there later for a final paddle.

  A few customers came and went to the tobacconist’s next door, emerging with newspapers or packets of cigarettes which they shoved into their pockets. Gulls wheeled overhead, calling out to one another, sometimes swooping down to see if any food was on offer, then taking off again in search of richer pickings. The sun grew warmer and Tommy put on his sunglasses.

  Finally, nearly half an hour after he’d taken up his position, a figure approached the stamp shop. Tommy drew in his breath sharply. He reminded himself to keep calm and take careful note of what he saw; he couldn’t get this wrong. But there was little doubt in his mind that this was indeed Alec Pugh.

  He’d never been introduced to the man but he’d seen him around when he’d visited Stan and Jenny’s house, back before he realised it was Mavis living next door. There was no mistaking him. His hair was thinner, he was a little more stooped, as if working behind a counter had affected his posture, but it was Alec all right. Tommy exhaled heavily; he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath. Now he had to keep his cool and get Grace back to the others before he could talk to the man.

  ‘Do you like it?’ she demanded, showing him what she’d done. ‘Guess who it is.’

  The artist beamed at him. ‘She’s very good. I wouldn’t have believed how young she is if I’d only seen her picture.’

  Grace nodded, as if this was only to be expected. ‘Guess, Uncle Tommy.’

  Tommy looked at the picture and was amazed. It was recognisably a head and shoulders portrait, just like the artist produced for the tourists. There was a mop of curly dark hair on top and the face had a big smile. ‘Give in,’ he said, to prolong the game.

  ‘Silly!’ Grace exclaimed. ‘It’s you! That’s your hair.’

  Tommy ran his hand through his wavy hair, so dark it was almost black. ‘So it is,’ he said. ‘That’s very clever. Shall we go and show Mummy and the others?’

  ‘She should go to art classes,’ the artist said as Grace took hold of Tommy’s hand. ‘Can’t start them too young. Does the talent run in the family?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tommy shortly. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done as a teenager, destroying Mavis’s own painting of her grandmother, out of sheer stupidity, he realised now. ‘Her mother’s very good,’ he told the man.

  Walking along with the little girl, he vowed he would make it up to Mavis by sorting out Alec Pugh. Maybe he could manage it so that she would never know. Somehow he was going to resolve this desperate situation and persuade the odious Alec to grant his wife the divorce she so desperately wanted. Then, and only then, would Mavis
finally be free.

  Alec Pugh gazed in fury at the two figures walking along the seafront. For days he had been watching the group of holiday-makers: his former neighbours, his detested tart of a mother-in-law, her thuggish husband, and worse, his wife and children, who seemed very cosy with this tall man. It had come to Alec that it was Jenny’s cousin, who sometimes had taken up a parking space in their old road with his brash white van. What he was doing with them he hadn’t been able to imagine, but after a few days it had become obvious. He and Mavis couldn’t keep their hands off one another. They canoodled on the beach, they linked arms as they walked along, they held hands, and all of this in front of the children – his children. Now the man had the nerve to stride down the pavement holding hands with his daughter. His daughter.

  Alec had absolutely no desire to have his wife back, much less his children, but he didn’t see why another man should have them. That was too much to bear. His pride would not stand it. He felt less of a man as he stared at the receding man and little girl, who was skipping along. How dare they be so happy and carefree, when it was he who had brought that child into being? What right did that stranger have to hold her hand? He was most likely spoiling her, letting her run riot all over the place. Like all females, Grace needed discipline and that had been obvious from the very start.

  Alec could feel something slipping in his mind, the old anger and the black pit of betrayal that had haunted him when he discovered first his mother’s lifetime of lies and then that his wife had upped and left him. The world seemed to slip into a different kind of focus. He turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’, picked up his jacket and, at a safe distance, began to edge his way along the seafront, keeping the tall man with dark hair and little girl always within his sight.

  Alec hated the way they were so at ease with each other, as if they were entitled to be happy. His daughter had never been like that with him. As soon as she had learned to speak she had answered him back, never obeying him without a fuss, her contrary nature calling out for correction and punishment. Alec ducked behind a tall van as the man glanced round, wondering if he’d been seen, but the little girl pointed and laughed, and he realised they’d been looking at a particularly daring seagull. The bird was rummaging in a litter bin, pulling out paper wrappings from fish and chips, and his daughter found that amusing, rather than the disgrace it really was.