Matilda Wren

by When Ravens Fall

  Before she could ask him anything else, she noticed the look that crept across Nathan’s face and then she felt Sean’s arm around her back.

  “What you doing out the car?” Sean’s low voice had an ominous undertone to it.

  Rachel observed the cold stare that he was giving Nathan. She didn’t like it. An odd, disturbing feeling begun to escalate within her chest.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to stay in the car.” She retorted back curtly.

  The hostile response was not lost on Sean and he told himself to keep calm. His eyes did a quick survey of the station and taxi rank. They were not noticed, inconspicuous to the busy activity of a Saturday afternoon.

  He pushed Rachel quite firmly behind him and stepped towards Nathan, who in return very quickly backed off a few paces.

  Sean willed himself to remain calm but he could feel the rage that was racing through his blood intensify. He made a conscious effort to keep his arms by his side, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hands in an attempt to keep his control.

  “Jog the fuck on.” He sneered at him. His whole face screwed up in complete repulsion.

  Nathan didn’t need to be told twice and he scurried away like a gerbil that had been put back in his cage.

  Rachel grabbed hold of Sean, her eyes flared in temper and indignation. “We were just talking.”

  “I didn’t like it.”

  He was husky and importunate; his shoving of her backwards, past the car, amplified that bubbling disturbance around her chest.

  She let out a small gasp, when the wall she stumbled against broke his force. She looked into Sean’s eyes, seeing the urgency and wanting he had for her. Her whole body felt like it was pounding in time with her heartbeat. She felt his grip on her loosen and the concern that he hurt her was written all over his face. She held onto him tighter.

  She couldn’t breathe. Something was overriding her every sense.

  He felt it too. She was driving him crazy just looking at him. To be so close to her and not just take her was the hardest thing he had ever done. Sean fought every instinctual drive he had not to kiss her and rove her body with his hands. The more her eyes bored into his, the harder it became to resist.

  He knew she was mentally begging him to give in, but he also knew that if he did, he would possess her for the rest of her life; because once he had her completely, he knew he could never let her go.

  Rachel’s head was swimming. Everything around her was cloudy and insignificant. It was all getting too fervent and obsessive. The voice in the back of her head, which had started off as a slow quiet warning, rising every now and then only to be stifled and pushed away, was now screaming at a crescendo.

  “It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t be so intense.” She whispered.

  Sean heard the croakiness in her voice and stroked the outline of her face. She had never wanted to be kissed, yet not be kissed in her whole life. The conflicting thoughts and feelings adding to her dizziness.

  “I knew him. I’ve known him since I was little. He is almost family.” Rachel protested; her indignation somewhat overzealous.

  “I don’t like you talking to anyone, especially junked up shit like that. I can’t stand anybody else having your attention if only for a second.”

  She moved her hands up to cover her face. She couldn’t think straight. The possessiveness he had over her should have been enough to jolt her into getting as far away from him as she could, but in all honesty, she secretly cherished it. Nobody had ever made her feel as important as he did.

  Her every instinct was tingling with desire, longing for him to fight the persistent voice in her head, which still screamed at her to run.

  He knew that he had to let her go. He knew that she knew it to. He would ruin her life if she stayed, he was only too aware of that. For the first time in his entire existence, he felt the sting of tears well up in his eyes. He had never had to let anything go before and it was hard. So much harder than he had ever thought.

  Sean had always taken what he wanted, but he knew he couldn’t have Rachel. She was too pure and unsullied to be anywhere near him. He was actually humbled that she had spent any time with him at all.

  “It’s over… isn’t it?” Sean said, freeing his grip on her completely, to pull away her hands from her face.

  Rachel closed her eyes and let two tears roll down her cheeks. “I think it has to be.”

  She put her hand up to wipe the tears away and when she opened her eyes, she knew he wouldn’t be there, that he had already gone.

  The regret set in about ten seconds later.

  Chapter 8

  January 2000

  Rachel pulled the bud of marijuana apart with her fi ngers; the oily residue layering her skin. The smell of fresh nettles wafted up her nose and she stifl ed a sneeze. Pressing it into one half of the plastic grinder and fi tting the other half on top, she begun to twist it back and forth; crushing the contents into a soft fl uff y mound that always reminded her of moss covered stones.

  Emptying it into a small plastic pot, she began her morning ritual of rolling a joint to go with her cup of tea in bed, before Adam would come bounding in, wanting to play and have his breakfast. At almost three years old, he was the most perfect thing she had ever done.

  Taking a Rizla out of its packet, she embarked on ripping open a cigarette and interspersed the tobacco and ground weed on the fl imsy paper. With an experienced hand, she rolled it into a perfect cone.

  She smoked a lot of weed; she would be the first to admit that. But since she had made the decision to keep her baby, she hadn’t touched any other drug of any kind.

  She even stopped smoking while she was pregnant. She was determined to be a good mum and believed she was.

  Adam had every educational toy there was to buy; she limited his television viewing, made sure he got plenty of fresh air, attended every postnatal appointment and had just enrolled him in a playgroup near where she lived. She smoked weed but she loved her child to the ends of the earth.

  Her home in Brentwood was clean, albeit messy; she liked to think of it as ‘lived in’ and her child was happy, secure and loved. It was in a new housing block that was just a few roads behind the high street. Compared to the damp bedsit in Shenfield, which Social Services had dumped her in a few years ago, she thought she had done okay.

  She believed that as long as Adam was well looked after, she was doing a good job. She didn’t drink; she hardly ever went out anymore. She lived for her child, so in her eyes she could warrant her cannabis use.

  Her bedroom was surprisingly spacious, relative to the rest of the small two-bedroom flat. The walls were a pale yellow, painted on top of woodchip wallpaper. The bed frame, dresser and wardrobe had all been stained in white, giving the room a sense of harmonic stillness. Only the red love hearts, which stamped a border around the top of the walls and the blush red of the duvet set, disrupted the tranquil ambience.

  Lighting the joint, Rachel leaned back against the headboard, as she inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs.

  She looked down at the sleeping body next to her. She would have to wake him soon and get him out. The last thing she wanted was a three year old asking awkward questions, as to why there was a man in mummy’s bed.

  Children have a funny way of calling things how they are, they learn tact and subtlety much later and Adam was getting more astute by the day. It was fine when he was a baby and unaware of who was around him but trying to hide things from a very inquisitive toddler was a different ball game altogether.

  The sleeping man stirred slightly. As she watched him, she thought about the previous night. How he had gone all out to impress her, turning up with flowers, wine, a Chinese take-away and some sweets for Adam, which were put in the cupboard out of the boy’s sight and reach. He made her laugh while they ate and paid her compliments throughout the evening.

  She knew she should have made him leave when it had got late, but she liked this man. He was kin
d and he looked at her with complete adoration. Normally this was around the time she would stop things going any further. Since Adam had arrived, she hadn’t let herself become attached to any other man.

  As soon as anybody begun to get vaguely serious about her she would stop it dead. She wasn’t interested in any kind of significant relationship. She convinced herself that, if she just focused on bringing up Adam and providing for his needs, she wouldn’t have time to let her mind think about what she had banished four years ago.

  It had worked to some extent. If she kept her mind occupied, then she could go a good few hours without thinking about it; about him. So relationships were not part of the plan. She wasn’t any good at them. Sean and James had both shown her that. But this one was different.

  She enjoyed being in his company. She felt at ease with him and they always found they had something to say to each other. It felt natural.

  This was a new experience for her and she wasn’t too sure how to handle it. Forming relationships, of any kind, had always been a struggle for Rachel. It’s what happens when you grow up in care. Her mother was an alcoholic and had spent Rachel’s childhood in and out of various rehab clinics.

  She never knew her father, so as a result Rachel had spent a lot of her teenage years with different foster families.

  Just as she had begun to feel a little settled with one, her mother would decide she was sober again and request her back. Then, after a few months, her mother would resolve to no longer being able to face the world without a drink and hand her daughter back over to the care of social services.

  This went on for as long as Rachel could remember. It was a familiar pattern and was probably why Rachel never felt comfortable with anything that was too permanent.

  Sex was carefree and abundant. It was something she used to escape the trials of life but men seemed to want more, the ones she had come across did anyhow. So she would conclude the affiliation between them and move on.

  She didn’t see any point in continuing, as they would never be able to take away the longing that sat around her heart.

  But the sleeping man, he had turned her head. He hadn’t pestered her in a puppy dog way. He had very much left it all up to her. He didn’t call; he waited till she got in touch. He didn’t sit on her every word or try to impress her with declarations. He looked at her in a way that bore into her soul; it was like he knew she was fighting some inner struggle, which he didn’t push her to reveal.

  Maybe, she thought, it was because they had some sort of shared history between them. Maybe that explained the connection she felt to him. Something that reminded her of the old her; from before she made the choices that she was still paying for now.

  She should have told him to go the previous night but she hadn’t. She had let him take her hand and lead her into the bedroom. She had let him undress her and make love to her. He had smelled of fastidious self-maintenance; that detergent fuelled haze that shrouds you sometimes, when you walk past a launderette. It was virtually edible. His hair; limp with freshness. The vanity of youth or perhaps the anxiety of it.

  She had let herself fall asleep with him holding her, caressing her as she slept. She wasn’t sure if she had made love to him back. But she knew she definitely liked being held afterwards. That was a first for Rachel and she had enjoyed it. She felt safe and relaxed. Now though, she wasn’t so sure.

  He opened his eyes to see her watching him, screwing his face up to the light he groaned.

  “Good Morning. How long have you been awake?” He tried to stifle a yawn.

  Rachel blew out the last lug of her joint and threw it into the ashtray. She put it on the dresser next to the bed and tried not to catch his gaze.

  “You have to go. Adam will be awake soon and he can’t see you.” She pulled the sheet around herself and moved to get out of bed. “You should get dressed.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his arms.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t give up without even trying.”

  She didn’t want to deal with the confrontation. She just wanted him to go; although she didn’t really. The confusion was immense. Being put on the spot made her feel like a giantess who had blundered into the wrong house.

  The atmosphere became blinded by awkwardness and her discomfiture was so physically evident.

  “Greg… I can’t…” She tried to push him away but he wasn’t having any of it.

  “I know I am not him.” The words made her stop struggling against him. They pounded into her brain.

  Nobody had ever said that to her. Nobody had ever acknowledged him; the elephant in the room.

  “I don’t try to be, I won’t try to be. But I can make you forget him. I can show you there is more, than living half a life; because that’s what you are doing. Is that fair to Adam?”

  He looked at her so intently and when she leant forward and kissed him in urgency, he finally managed to breathe out. Greg Carson had known Rachel for quite a while.

  He knew her from when she was with Sean; that was a particular circumstance which he had never understood.

  She had always seemed quiet, shy. Not at all like the other girls that threw themselves at him.

  Greg had gone away to university and when he came back he had bumped into her again. They had chatted for a while and she had told him about Adam.

  He had known Sean from school, although never as friends. Sean never seemed to hang around with the boys, only the girls. They both lived in Brentwood, although Greg’s parents lived in a much more affluent part than Mick and Maureen Fergus’ modest council estate. The distinctive, post sixties, end terrace house which Sean grew up in, was a far cry from the large detached dwelling of Greg’s childhood.

  Rachel had not mentioned who the father was and Greg had automatically assumed that he was Sean’s. She had not mentioned Sean full stop and that just gave confirmation to what he already thought. It had been the 1990’s and the ‘raving scene’ had exploded across the country. Essex is a small place; inadvertently paths cross.

  Greg had met Sean again through some of his friends, when they made purchases from him, so he had also met Rachel. She didn’t look twice at him though. She had been too blinkered by Sean and if he was honest with himself, he knew she still was.

  Sean had taken Rachel with him everywhere he went.

  She would always be sitting in the front of his little red Renault 5 GT Turbo whenever he was gallivanting across the county on one of his drug running assignments.

  They would be at the same raves that Greg went to, where Sean would have her hanging off his arm. It always gave him the impression that she was worn as a trophy. He had no doubt that Sean had no respect for the new music and culture that was emerging around him; they were just platforms for him to step off from.

  To Greg it was the beginning of a whole new world.

  Raves were free parties; free from the restrictions of the legal club scene. Raves were autonomous, where all the revellers created and enforced the rules.

  This meant that drugs were readily available, noise levels were illegally high and there would be no age limit. Clubs had a legally required age limit of either eighteen or twenty-one. The rave scene catered for the population under these brackets.

  It was the lack of restrictions and law enforcement that initially attracted, but ultimately it was the music; a new age of music and experimentation. He thought it must have been what the swinging sixties would have been like. The country hadn’t had anything quite as dramatic.

  It was a new sound and a new scene. Creative art, backdrops, sculptures, mobile visuals, graphics and lasers, such as had never been seen before. It became more than just a few flashing lights and machine generated smoke, as it was in the acid house parties of the 1980’s. There was more love, more determination and more loyalty on the side of the ravers.

  They would have to travel miles to get to an event. Most of these parties were illegal. There would be no guarantee that it was even
going to happen, as police would often get there before the masses and shut it down.

  The location would be kept top secret right up until the last minute in order to try and prevent police intervention.

  After the chaos that ensued during an Easter bank holiday rave in London, rave organisers were very much alerted to what could happen when the police got involved.

  Greg was too young at the time to remember what took place that night, but his older brother Matthew had been there and had filled him in when he was older.

  A thousand revellers had been at the rave. Police sealed off the building. There had been no trouble and no complaints, the party was free and open to all, there was no explanation from the police as to what their intentions were, nor indeed any justification for what had happened next.

  The police prevented anyone entering or leaving the premises. Anyone who did attempt to was maliciously beaten to the ground. Riot police, wearing padded jackets and helmets, wielding shields and batons stormed the building.

  No warning was given. Sledge hammers and a JCB digger were used, to collapse the walls in on people trapped inside. When they finally got into the building, they indiscriminately beat up men, women and children.

  People were trying to escape the vicious onslaught from the police. There was panic as people tried to crush through one small exit. Instead of alleviating the crush, the police pushed up hard behind everyone, hitting out and forcing everyone face down onto the ground.

  Some people were singled out and given further severe beatings. The police started on the equipment, which had been lent or donated, destroying it needlessly. The local hospital reported hundreds of casualties amongst the party goers; just one policeman injured. Arrests were made, for assaults on police officers and for breach of the peace.

  By the time Greg, Rachel and Sean got involved with the scene four years later, raves were arranged on a need to know basis. This would entail a process of first the date and D.J’s being advertised on posters. These would be plastered around the county, on walls, bus stops, lamp posts, telegraph poles, on roundabouts, over road signs.