by Jennie Ensor
Laura shivered. The bathroom door clicked loudly, making her jump. Martin emerged, unsmiling. He set his jacket over the back of the sofa and eased himself down beside her. He wore a light, inoffensive scent. She waited for him to say something, unsure of what ought to happen next. Noelle hadn’t given her any instructions about private dances, and Sam had been unhelpfully vague.
‘Um … would you like me to dance for you now?’
Martin nodded. ‘Good idea.’
‘I’ll put some music on.’ She went to the tower of CDs beside the stereo and selected Madonna’s greatest hits. Music filled the room. Laura took off her wrap. Her heart thudded. What was she doing here? She walked into the middle of the square of parquet and started to dance to ‘Material Girl’.
‘Come closer,’ Martin said. ‘I can’t see you properly.’
She moved closer. He leaned towards her, forearms resting on his thighs. His face gave nothing away.
A minute or so into the track she took off her bra, and then her pants, leaving only the G-string, stockings and platform sandals. She lay on her back and held both legs up then opened them wide. She glanced at his face. It was alert, waiting. There was a flash of impatience in it, like hunger.
Back on her feet, sideways on to him, she rotated her hips, moving her hands down over her breasts as she did so, and peeled off the G-string. Now she was naked except for her stockings and sandals. In that moment, she was as exposed as she’d been on her first night at the club. She had been naked in front of customers many times now, but in here it was different. She was alone with him and anything could happen.
The music was still playing. Martin’s hand was on his crotch.
‘Come here,’ he said.
She went towards him, swirling her tongue around her dry mouth.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, without concern.
‘I’m fine.’
Did Martin know this was the first time she’d been in private with a punter? Had Ken told him?
‘Sit down,’ he instructed, unzipping his flies.
She did as he said, repulsed by his coldness, his expectation, by everything about him. He reached out and squeezed her breast. She stayed still, didn’t object. But this wasn’t what she wanted at all. Something was compelling her to go along with him – just as it had all those years ago with her father.
Yes, her father had trained her well, hadn’t he? All his little gifts, all his unspoken promises that he’d be nice to her, so long as she did what he wanted and didn’t blab to anyone. Whenever he’d wanted to touch her or ogle her, she’d obliged. It had all come in so handy for this job.
‘You’re beautiful.’ Martin traced his fingers around her nipple.
She wanted to pull away from his hand and run. But she couldn’t. He was smiling now, the same cold smile. He was enjoying this.
‘Come down here and suck me,’ he said. ‘I need to get warmed up first.’
He was waiting – he expected her to obey, to do this as she’d done everything else. She only had to bring her head down and open her mouth.
Horror and disgust filled her. What the hell was she doing? She couldn’t go through with this. Everything about it was wrong.
‘No, I can’t.’ She stared at him, shocked at her own words.
‘What did you say?’ His face was uncomprehending.
She got to her feet. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
He frowned. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’
‘No, you can’t go yet.’ He grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
‘Leave me alone!’ She pulled away from him, about to run for the door, but Martin was ready. He shoved her hard in the chest, sending her reeling backwards. She hit the floor with a thud, landing awkwardly, and cried out in pain. He crouched beside her and pressed down hard on her arms. His face moved closer. It showed the extent of his anger. His mouth was open. He wanted to humiliate her, to pay her back for refusing him. And he was far stronger than she was. She would have no chance.
Instinctively, she scratched his face. The soft flesh did not resist her nails. A trickle of red ran down his cheek. A strange noise came from his throat, not quite a gurgle, not quite a gasp. He tried again.
‘Bitch!’
Before he could retaliate, she’d covered herself with her wrap. Without looking back, without collecting her bag or her underwear, she yanked open the door and fled along the corridor.
The changing room was empty except for a scattering of food wrappers on the floor. Her bag was on the bench, below her outdoor clothes that were hanging on the peg. In seconds, she’d pulled on her jeans and jammed her arms into her cotton sweater. Her fingers stumbled on the laces of her trainers. She grabbed her jacket. She had to get out of here before Martin came after her, or Ken found out what she’d done.
Ken wasn’t in the reception area, thank God. There was no sign of him or any customers. Laura pressed the button to open the front door and slipped out. The street was deserted – no waiting cabs, no passers-by, no girls from the club. She began to run.
Five, ten minutes later she stopped and checked the road behind her once again. No one was coming after her. She could slow down now. For a few moments, she was overcome with relief. Nothing on earth would make her set foot in that place again. Her body felt light, as if she’d been released from a death sentence.
20
Suzanne
Easter Sunday, 24 April 2011
Suzanne pressed the buzzer to flat five and waited. The large communal bin against the fence was overflowing again, she noticed. It was surrounded by bulging garbage bags, sodden pizza boxes and a stack of empty bottles. An unshaven man, wearing sunglasses and a khaki jacket, got into a dirty BMW parked on the street outside the block of flats.
She buzzed again. Finally, Laura’s voice came through the intercom. She pushed open the front door and stepped into the dark hall. The dank smell greeted her as it had the last time, and what looked to be the same pile of unclaimed envelopes lay on the floor against the wall. Slowly, she started to climb the stairs. Her legs were like dead weights. A coldness was spreading into her hands and feet, down into her fingers and toes. She reached the landing and walked towards Laura’s door. Dread circled her, drawing closer, a vulture about to land and feast on her defenceless body.
Laura was draped in a white towel. Her hair dripped water onto the carpet.
‘Hi, Mum. I was just in the shower.’
‘Hello, Laura.’ She stepped into the dark, cramped space, too small to be called a hall. ‘Sorry to turn up at such short notice, but I need to talk to you. Whenever I phone I get your voicemail.’
‘I disconnected the landline so the phone didn’t wake me up. I must have forgotten to switch it on again, sorry.’ Laura waved at the armchair. ‘Sit down, I won’t be long.’
The room was untidy and needed a good vacuum. There was a red rug on the floor now, which jollied the place up. On the coffee table, a vase holding a spray of white chrysanthemums, a wine glass imprinted with red lipstick.
Her daughter reappeared wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. Her feet were bare, exposing polished toenails. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her face had no make-up. She could be seventeen again.
‘Cup of tea – PG tips or peppermint?’
‘I don’t mind, either.’
Suzanne followed Laura into the kitchen. She had an urge to busy herself, to pick up the tea towel and dry the two mugs that were upside down on the draining board, or to wipe up the crumbs around the toaster.
The kettle boiled. She watched her daughter prepare the tea. Under the fluorescent light, Laura’s face looked unhealthily pale.
‘What’s up, Mum? You didn’t come over just for a chat, did you?’
‘Let me sit down first.’ She took her tea to the armchair. The cushion still had a ripped cover. ‘I need to ask you something, Laura.’ She bit the inside of her mouth hard, girdin
g herself to continue. ‘I don’t know how to say this.’
Laura stopped winding the strand of hair around her finger, and perched on the sofa.
‘What is it? Tell me.’
‘When you were growing up, did your father …’ She forced out the words. ‘Did he ever do anything … Did he ever do anything he shouldn’t have done, to you?’
The room darkened as the sun went behind a cloud. Laura sat perfectly still except for the movement of her chest as she breathed. Suzanne was about to repeat the question when Laura found her voice.
‘Why?’ Laura’s jaw tensed. ‘Has something happened?’
‘He’s been accused of something, something awful.’ She readied herself. ‘Jane’s daughter Emma – you remember he was taking her swimming? Well, after the last time they went to the pool, about six weeks ago, he took her back to our house. I was away for the weekend. Emma says your father touched her – indecently touched her. And then he – I don’t know how to say this … He had sex with her.’
A warm, itchy sensation crept up the base of Suzanne’s neck and into her face. She felt ashamed, as if she were the one who had been accused of this crime.
‘At first, I couldn’t believe it. Your father denied it all, said Emma was making it all up. Then I didn’t know what to believe—’
‘Oh, fuck.’ It was little more than a whisper. Laura sat rock-still, eyes fixed ahead, unseeing. ‘I didn’t think he would, I really didn’t.’
Suzanne recoiled.
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ But she knew now, beyond doubt.
‘Yes, Emma’s telling the truth. I had an odd feeling about Dad taking Emma swimming. I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t, I didn’t think you’d be able to cope. I never thought he’d actually do anything—’
‘He abused you too, didn’t he?’
‘You really want to know?’
She tried to speak but only a grunt came out. She cleared her throat and tried again.
‘I need to know, darling. Please, tell me.’
Laura’s face changed. She had an absent, faraway look. The look she’d sometimes had as a child, wandering around the house as if lost in a perpetual daydream.
‘It started when I was about eleven, I guess. He started doing weird things. One morning, he came into my room when I was getting dressed – I only had my knickers on – he didn’t go away, he stood there looking at me. I just looked back at him, I didn’t know what else to do.’ Laura ran her fingers through her hair. Her gaze skittered about the room. ‘After that, he did other things.’
Suzanne’s finger went to her mouth. Her teeth bit down hard, searching for bone.
‘What things?’
The words swarmed from Laura’s mouth like a plague of insects. She wanted to block them out but she listened to the end. So, her husband had lied to her all along. And she had believed him, she had always believed him. She tried to imagine how it had been for Laura, Paul’s hands on her body like that. Bile entered her mouth. She needed to retch.
The next question formed in her mind, one she dared not voice.
Laura bit her lower lip. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, I knew how much it would upset you.’
She had to ask it though. ‘Is there anything else? Did he do anything else? Did he ever touch you … inside?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He used to complain when I wore my black gym knickers. He said they weren’t sexy. What is it?’
‘So, he didn’t … he didn’t ever have sex with you?’ The question erupted from her like a piece of indigestible food.
‘No. The worst thing he ever did …’ Laura’s voice trailed off. She looked uncertain.
‘Tell me. I must know everything.’
‘It only happened once. I was alone in the house with him. He came into my room and took off his dressing gown. He made me do things.’
Her heart stopped. ‘What things?’
‘He asked me to touch him. His penis. Then he asked me to put it in my mouth. He’d been drinking whisky. I was so scared, I didn’t think to say no.’ Laura’s voice was so quiet her words were barely audible. ‘I tried to forget that night, Mum. For years I just tried to forget it ever happened.’
She saw the pain in her daughter’s eyes, borne for so long, hidden for so long, and yet so obvious now. She tried to speak but the words stayed trapped inside her. How could this have happened? How could her own husband have done such an unspeakable thing?
Laura leaned into the base of the sofa, head dropped, eyes closed, her face so pale and beautiful. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
‘It was weird,’ Laura said, as if talking to herself. ‘Like suddenly he’d become a total stranger. It freaked me out. I wish I’d told him to fuck off out of my room, to get the hell away from me. But I didn’t – I couldn’t.’
Suzanne gripped the armrest. The room was breaking up into a jumble of disconnected shapes, as it did whenever she had a bad migraine attack. The vase glittered savagely. Above it, an array of white, stalk-less heads. A rectangular wedge of table floated over a bright red square of rug.
‘Mum, are you alright? Mum? Say something.’
She couldn’t answer. She’d been taken to an alien planet. All that was safe and familiar had vanished. Or was she losing her mind? That would be welcome now. She shut her eyes. Yes, she would just drift off into a parallel world, one where bad things didn’t happen. This one was too difficult, too painful. How was she supposed to keep on going, knowing what she knew?
From somewhere far away came Laura’s voice, now laced with fear.
‘Don’t lose it, Mum. Please, keep it together. I’m here, you’re not alone.’
As if from inside the room, she heard Adele’s strong, resonant voice speaking, as she did at the meditation group: ‘Imagine a light flooding into you, a pure white light, a healing light.’
Later, seconds or perhaps minutes, she realised that Laura’s hand was pressing against hers. Her daughter was crouching on the floor beside the armchair, her long, delicate fingers wrapped over her own. Suzanne opened her eyes. She noticed the flesh of her ring finger, dented, deformed by the wedding band.
‘I’ll bring you some water, hang on.’
Laura stood and bent down to pick up the mugs, revealing a white swathe of back. Her jeans were tight, showing off her slim figure. Even as a little girl she was slim.
So, Paul had been turned on by his own daughter. He had used her to gratify some perverted need; he’d done a terrible thing to Laura, worse in a way than what he’d done to Emma. Laura was his own flesh and blood. She put her hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to throw up.
‘Here, have some of this.’
Suzanne sipped the water offered by Laura. A hundred questions filled her mind. One was pressing to go first.
Why didn’t you tell me?
‘Have you told anyone else about what he did to you?’
‘Only Rachel, a few months ago. After you told me about him taking Emma swimming. She thought I should tell you.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Years ago, I mean.’
‘I should have, I fucking should have.’ Laura lowered herself onto the coffee table. Her eyes glittered, wet now. ‘Ages ago, soon after the first time he touched me, Dad made me promise not to tell you. He said it would kill you if you found out. I guess I was scared he might be right. I never imagined him going after someone else, not once. Not till he told me about Emma.’ A bitter smile caught hold of Laura’s mouth and she wiped the tears from her eyes with a swipe of her fingers. ‘It was stupid of me, I know. But I always had this idea that he did those things because of something about me. He used to tell me I was so sexy, he couldn’t help himself.’
She jolted, a small electric shock through her body. Sexy. The word penetrated to her core. He used to call her that, sometimes. ‘Come here, sexy woman.’ How could he have used that word to their own daughter? Her thoughts swirled, overtaking her. So many emotions: bitterness, anger, resentment,
envy.
Then guilt and self-loathing. Laura was a child, she wasn’t to blame for what had happened.
You’re the one to blame. You’re her mother, you let this happen. You didn’t protect her.
This had all happened right under her nose and she hadn’t noticed. Paul had callously abused her daughter and she’d done nothing to stop him. What mother could let her own daughter go through that, without seeing the truth?
‘I should have protected you,’ she said at last. ‘I should have seen what was going on. You didn’t deserve that.’
Laura looked at her steadily. ‘Didn’t you ever suspect anything?’
‘No, I had no idea.’ A well of unease deepened inside her as a memory flickered to life. That wasn’t true, was it? Not entirely. ‘I just had a feeling …’ She took a deep breath. ‘You and your dad were so close when you were small. He was always making a fuss of you – reading you stories, taking you to classes, buying you sweets and magazines, bits of jewellery – I wondered if that was normal. Sometimes, the way he looked at you …’
She couldn’t get her breath; her lungs were snatching at the air.
Just say it. Tell her the truth.
‘I think I had an inkling something was wrong, way back. Only I brushed it aside and pretended it wasn’t there. I didn’t trust my own judgement. Paul used to say I was unstable, he made me doubt my own mind. I let him convince me that everything was about me, not him.’
Finally, she’d admitted it. She must have known all along that Laura was being abused. Only she’d never been able to believe it.