Amy Cooper Forever

by Craig Mullins

  Copyright © 2019 by Craig Mullins

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  Published by CAM Publishing

  Cover Design: Original Drawing by Craig Mullins

  First Printing, July 2019

  ISBN:9781724381453

  www.facebook.com/authorcraigmullins

  Other Books by Craig Mullins

  Novels

  Hard Candy

  Breaking Hard Candy

  No Refunds

  Short Stories

  57

  Unplanned Journey

  For Tina & Tia Maria

  I love you both

  Amy Cooper

  Forever

  By Craig Mullins

  ONE

  And so he began…

  Velvet Heart – An Autobiography

  My name is…

  No, this isn’t about me it’s about Amy Cooper—the girl I loved. The girl whose heart I broke into a thousand pieces. I tell a lie, it was more a case of thinly sliced, sautéed in a morsel of butter with shallots and shiitake mushrooms, deglazed with Madeira, and finished with double cream—delicious.

  But she did break my heart first.

  He looked at the lines of text, pleased with the start to his book; one of his life goals was to write a book and have it published—not for the money, but to tell his story. It was mid-afternoon on the twenty-second of September, the Autumnal Equinox. Now that he had started writing he didn’t want to stop, he had a story to tell and tell it he would. He sat at his little desk, an old school one from the sixties, sloping wooden lift up lid and along the top to the right hand side a circular hole to take an inkwell. He had a row of HB pencils, each sharpened to a lethal point and ready to go lined up to his left, his writing pad in front of him—a two hundred page A4 ruled one with margin. The only natural light seeped in through the portal window, a twelve inch circular grill covered lens his only sight to the outside world.

  The crudely scribed top of the desk with decades of inscriptions from hormonal teenagers hid the contents of his upcoming writing career, a further bundle of pencils tied with an elastic band, two more pads—numbered two and three—the one on top of the desk had a neat ‘one’ written on top of it and half a dozen erasers. He’d planned this book for nearly six months, he built up his supplies so that there could be no excuse not to finish his masterpiece, and now he just wanted to get started.

  He stared back at the sheet of paper with his seven lines just as the inmate across from him broke out into song. Out of tune and in a key beyond any standard scale she belted out ‘I will survive’ by Gloria Gaynor.

  “Shut the fuck up Nursey, I’ve heard better tunes come from Homo’s arse,” Chef said from the cell next to Pinky’s.

  “What you talking ’bout? I coulda been the next Aretha Franklin when I was younger, you tosser.”

  “Can the pair of you shut the fuck up, I’m trying to write in here,” Pinky said. After a short stint of whistles and name calling the block was silent. He returned to his page, the pencil hovered over the last sentence and he started to write once more.

  I should probably start at the beginning; I usually find it is the best place. I won’t go right back just yet, I will go to the most important starting point—the day I first laid eyes on her, the day I fell in love.

  I remember it like it was yesterday, I will never forget it. Mid June in nineteen eighty-nine and I had just turned eighteen, we were working at a house on a private estate. I say we, I should explain, I was an apprentice carpenter working with this oaf of a man. Pete was twenty stone of beer and takeaways, he would belch and fart his way through the day but he was an exceptional chippy. As I said we were working at this house, one of the more modest ones on the estate, five bedrooms and we had the task of fitting a new kitchen.

  Me and Pete had custom built the units at his workshop and today was the first day working on site. Evie and Rob were there when we arrived, they made us a coffee and left us a plate of posh biscuits before going to work (the kind I never had at home). It was a pretty uneventful day until three-thirty came around, Pete decided it was time to begin clearing up and packing the tools away. My back was to the door as I placed the screwdriver in the toolbox before the clasp snapped shut, I turned as I heard someone come in—and that was when I saw her, a vision.

  She stood there framed in the doorway, navy blue pleated skirt with matching blazer (I even remember the Langston school badge), knee length navy socks and a white blouse. The material so thin I could see the outline of her bra, but it was the eyes that had me, a rich coffee, and her crooked front teeth. She didn’t need to speak, I knew I was in love.

  He placed his pencil on the desk, the inscription below it scratched into the wood was of a heart with the words—Amy Cooper Forever—written across it and finished off with the ‘o’ of Cooper pierced by a crooked arrow. He did this a couple of years ago; it was one of a few dozen which covered the desk. The last few lines he wrote brought back vivid images of that day, he could smell her hair as if she was in this very cell with him. If he closed his eyes he would swear he could touch her. And at that very moment he had the deepest urge to do just that—to touch her, to caress her, to fuck her.

  One of the things he hated about this cell was the lack of privacy; all his daily rituals could be heard from the other six in the corridor arrangement of rooms. Relief would have to wait until later.

  He was located in the first cell to the left of the security door into which all visitors and personnel entered. In the other three on his side were Chef, Homorapien and Fiddler; the other side were Nursey, Babyface and The Crafter which left the cell directly opposite spare. It was used as a general dumping ground, cleaning materials and supplies for the inmates, soap, toilet paper etc. All cells had steel doors, two slots were cut into each, one at floor and one at waist level, each twelve inches by six, the uppermost had a drop down flap. The inside of the cells had changed little since its construction in 1899, the dirty cream padded walls with arm and leg straps still attached to the wall opposite the door. Since it changed its use to a private facility each cell had the addition of a single metal framed bed, a toilet, a basin, and a desk with a chair.

  He began to write once more.

  “Hi, I’m Amy,” she said, placing her bag on the recently fitted worktop to her left.

  I couldn’t get up quickly enough, offering my hand before realising that it was already hot and clammy but it was too late to take it back, she took it and we shook hands, “I’m Pinky by the way,” I felt the electricity flow from her straight into me, the jolt to my heart was real, I just hoped it was the same for her.

  “The kitchen’s looking good, you’re very talented.”

  “Like fuck he is miss,” he just had to butt in, I had almost forgotten he was there, in my head it was just me and Amy, then Pete had to ruin it.

  “Ignore him Amy, he’s just an oaf,” my brain knew what I was saying wouldn’t end well, but my heart was so swollen with love I didn’t want to let this moment end. Before I knew it Pete had given me a slap round the head.

  “You ain’t got time to be chatting up no lass boy, go start loading the van,” he said. “Sorry about that miss but he’s a lazy little cunt.” That was all I heard as I carried the large toolbox out to his clapped out old Vauxhall Combo van, it used to be white but was now indistinguishable from the burnt orange and brown of the rust. I placed the box in the van as quickly as possible, wanting to get back to the kitch
en, I almost stumbled over the door frame in my haste before realising that she was no longer there. Her schoolbag had gone, she’d gone and all that lingered was her scent, her innocence and purity evident in that one small part of her left behind.

  CHAPTER 2

  He decided to call it a day and start fresh tomorrow with the new chapter. He lifted the lid of his desk to place his writing tools inside, the manuscript (200 page ruled pad) he handled with delicate precision as it took pride of place in the centre of the desk on top of the two other pads, he noticed that during the day he must have doodled on the title sheet of his work as there were literally hundreds of tiny hearts surrounding the big bold letters of the title ‘VELVET HEART’

  TWO

  Eight in the morning and Fiddler was already ranting about the lack of air he gets, after fifteen years he should be used to his one hour a week in the tightly controlled outside space, All the inmates have the same allotted time. Every Friday each inmate is escorted in turn to the other end of the corridor where a new door was installed when the private firm SIC took control over twenty years ago. Beyond the door was heaven as far as the inmates were concerned, the reality was a ten foot square steel cage, constructed of a special frame into which blast resistant glass was fitted, the same material completed the box. Holes were placed at uniform intervals to allow some freshness to pass into and out of the box. It was not ideal but with the danger the inmates posed it was the best they’d get.

  “Hey Fiddler, you were out there yesterday, you do this every fucking Saturday. I don’t really see the difference to being out in that box to the one in here—either way, you ain’t going anywhere. If you didn’t want to be locked up for twenty-four hours a day you should’ve left those little kiddies alone,” Babyface said.

  The other inmates joined in jeering at fiddler, of all the prisoners he was the least liked, though all are in for the most heinous of crimes there was still a hierarchy among them. And paedophile was definitely at the bottom, the most revered of the group was Chef—they all admired him.

  “Fuck the lot of you.” He said and those were the last words he uttered that day, he had a tendency to take things to heart which considering his crime was quite an achievement. He was also the oldest of the group at fifty-seven; he’d been here just over twelve years. He was caught when a group of former pupils got together and went to the authorities about the abuse they had suffered during their time at the Westwood boarding school for boys on the outskirts of North London. His features were that of a rodent, small hazel eyes set too closely together, dark brown hair finished just above his shoulder in a strange kink. And his nose appeared to come from a much larger face, completely out of proportion for his own.

  Inmates were allowed their own clothes within certain guidelines, Fiddler always chose to wear the same—a pair of grey flannel trousers, white shirt with a dark grey tie drawn on (a real one was a prohibited item for obvious reasons), he finished his look off with a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles with a spiders-web crack in the top left corner of the left lens. SIC had offered to get them replaced but for some reason Fiddler was adamant that they were not to be touched. Pinky had asked him once about why he wouldn’t get them fixed and Fiddler’s response had been to remove them and caress them in his hands with a strange smirk on his face.

  It was gone lunchtime before Pinky got back to his novel, annoyed at himself for wasting so much time that morning chatting, he decided that the afternoon was going to be a much more productive session. With the tools of his trade set out in front of him he began once more.

  Chapter 2

  The second time I saw her wasn’t an accident. It was nearly a week since my first encounter with Amy, each day I had hoped she would once more walk through that door, but no, one day we didn’t finish until five-thirty and still she hadn’t come home. To be honest I was worried about her, there were lots of boys that would take advantage of a girl like Amy. So come Friday I decided I would call Pete and tell him I was sick, this didn’t go so well, I got a mouthful down the phone telling me what an ungrateful cunt I was (I hate that word, but he uses it in almost every sentence) and if I didn’t want the job I should just fuck off. After I had listened to his tirade I apologised profusely and told him that my mum was taking me to A&E because she was worried and I hated letting him down. This seemed to placate him somewhat—he had a thing for my mum, the dirty old perv.

  It was seven-thirty when I got off the phone with Pete, I just had enough time to get to Amy’s before she left to catch her school bus at eight. I was going to have to be careful as Pete would very likely arrive while I waited for her. I left the house, a three bed semi on a rough council estate where I lived with my mum and brother, two slices of toast, one in my mouth and one in my hand. I got in my car and it coughed and spluttered before it finally burst into life. The rain was light and the skies were dark, a storm was brewing and it took me less than fifteen minutes until I was pulling up in a side street thirty seconds from her house. I knew Pete approached from the other direction so I would be safe as long as I stayed where I was, and Amy had to cross at the end of the road so I would see her before she got on the bus.

  It was about fifteen minutes before the familiar figure walked less than fifty feet in front of me, I would recognise her anywhere. Even in the thick coat she wore I could only imagine what was hidden beneath if what I saw the other day was anything to go by. It was twelve seconds I got to see her for. Each one burned into my retinas.

  It was another five minutes until I watched as the bus passed by the end of the road, I started my car once more and pulled away—I followed her. I tried to stay a couple of cars behind like they did in all the cop shows; my favourite was always The Professionals with Bodie and Doyle. When the bus pulled off the main road and onto the road leading up to her school I was directly behind it. I could see the back of her head in the middle of the back seat, if she turned round there would be no way she would miss me, my car stood out. It was a Ford Fiesta in midnight blue with white trim and wing mirrors and huge front fog lights. It even had white fluffy dice.

  As he typed the last sentence he heard the familiar sound of the first security door catch being released, Pinky looked at his watch—surely it wasn’t time for tea already. The day had flown by, half a dozen screwed up balls of paper on the floor and two more completed added to his previous ones. He hadn’t realised how easy this writing lark was, all those famous authors making shit loads of money from something he was doing here in this cell with limited resources. He had a wry smile to himself at the prospect of his upcoming notoriety when the day finally came when his book was published.

  THREE

  Friday 18th June 1982

  The graduation ceremony had gone well, the weather had been warm but not too hot, the final count of recruits in her class had been fifteen. It had started off with twenty seven, but over the twelve weeks it had dwindled. Sian had been one of five female recruits, graduation day and she was the sole survivor of her contingent. In fact the last four weeks she’d been the only one. The men on the course didn’t like the idea of women training with them, in fact Sian knew why one of the women had quit. Six weeks in there had been a night out for the halfway point. The group had consisted of nineteen young men and three young women, they had gone to a local club. It had started as a really good night, lots of banter between the recruits. Around eleven a couple of the immature guys started to get out of control. As much as some of the others tried to calm them down it wasn’t until the next morning that Sian had discovered the truth about the previous evening it was seven a.m. when she woke to find her roommate packing her bag.

  “What’s up Kelly?” Sian asked her.

  “I’m done, it ain’t worth it.” Her south London accent came through as the tears began to flow. Sian grabbed hold of her and pulled her close. She just held her, she knew how tough the training was and it had obviously got too much for her. What puzzled Sian though was they had got past the first half and
last night was about celebrating that achievement. Why then was she so upset this morning, something must have happened.

  “What happened last night Kelly?” She decided to go straight for the killer question.

  “Nothing.” She still had her head buried in Sian’s neck.

  “Don’t give me that shit Kelly, last night you were enjoying yourself, them you disappeared, Tom told me you weren’t feeling well, that you’d had a bit too much to drink and that you went back to sleep it off.”

  “Fucking Tom would say that wouldn’t he.”

  “You’re not making any sense, have they been harassing you?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Sian pushed her away and held her at arms length so that she could look into her bloodshot blue eyes. Kelly was your typical blue-eyed blonde stunner, curves in all the right places and in Kelly’s case she had brains. She was by far the smartest recruit on the course.

  “Tell me – now. What happened?”

  “What’s the point, they told me they would stick up for each other and that the rest of them would swear they never left the bar.”

  “Tell me, I will believe you. We’ve spent the last six weeks together; I know you aren’t a liar.” She guided her over to the bed and sat down beside her. Sian was nineteen, but despite her youth she had a maturity much older than her years. She was pretty but not in a conventional way, her black hair gave her a goth appearance especially the brightness of her green eyes.

  They sat like that for maybe fifteen minutes; Sian just held her hand and waited for her to begin.