Pontypridd 02 - One Blue Moon

by Catrin Collier

  ‘If you find your voice, go ahead, scream,’ he taunted. ‘There’s no one out there to hear you. You wouldn’t be heard in the shop, let alone the street.’ Releasing her hold on her coat and bag, she summoned all the strength she possessed. Heaving herself to her full height, she grabbed the bottom box of a pile, and tugged at it, meaning to throw it at him. But so little stock had moved out of the shop since the closure of the pits that the boxes were jammed tight against the ceiling. She screamed again, loudly this time, but her voice echoed hollowly around her, muffled by the layers of boxes. He laughed, and she went berserk, fighting and spitting like a cornered alley cat.

  ‘Let me out, let me out of here you ...’ she lashed out with her nails, ripping the skin off his right cheek. He lifted his hand, saw blood on his fingers, and his smile dropped as fury burnt in his eyes.

  ‘Why you little bitch.’ He clamped his hand over her mouth and, using his body as a weight, pressed her down on to her back. Her abdomen and limbs were crushed by the weight of him, her nostrils full of the rancid smell of his unwashed body. She tugged his hair, twisting the thin, greasy strands around her fingers in an attempt to get a tight grip. He heaved himself upwards, she took a deep breath as the pressure on her chest relaxed slightly, but the respite didn’t last long.

  He made a fist with his right hand, and using all the momentum he could gain in such a confined space, slammed it hard into the side of her head.

  She was aware only of a wavering black smoke that blotted out most of the glow from the naked light bulb. Then the blackness was superseded by a crimson mist that carried with it an agonising awareness of pain. Bile rose on a turgid tide out of her stomach, but as she hadn’t eaten anything that day, not even breakfast, there was nothing for her to bring up.

  She lay back, stunned and sickened, her head and face burning with pain, utterly helpless as he plundered her body. The sharp sound of tearing cloth resounded in her ears as he caught the neck of her blouse and ripped it downwards, exposing her underclothes.

  ‘Don’t,’ she mumbled weakly, through bruised and battered lips, as she felt his fingers clawing at her bust shaper. ‘Don’t!’

  ‘You little slut, you’re enjoying every minute of this. Girls like you enjoy it day and night. You can’t get enough of it, you fuck because ...’

  She tried to close her ears to the string of obscenities that poured from his mouth. He was kneeling astride her, pinning her arms down with his massive calves. She struggled, succeeded in lifting her legs – a little. He used the opportunity to pull her skirt to her waist. Gripping the elasticated waist of her bloomers he heaved on them until she screamed from the force of the elastic cutting into her back. Finally it snapped. He thrust his hand between her legs, making her squirm.

  ‘That’s it, go on,’ he slavered, saliva drooling from his mouth on to her naked breasts as he played with them. ‘Struggle, fight, go on girl, move ...’ Tears fell from her eyes as she realised he had her trapped. She wasn’t going to escape. And her pitiful attempts to defend herself were only exciting him further. Crying at her own feebleness, vulnerability and impotence, she finally closed her eyes and fell still.

  His hands sought and gripped hers. Pulling them above her head, he pinned them down together using only his left hand. He stretched out on top of her. Sliding his right hand between them he undid the buttons on his fly. She screamed as he thrust himself into her. Continued to scream the whole time he violated her. Until in the end she almost believed that she only existed as an extension of the pain, degradation and misery that he was inflicting on her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Diana lay on the floor of the stockroom and cried. Her tears weren’t slight or silent ones, but great racking sobs that threatened to tear her lungs apart. Even Ben, who had retreated to the far side of the stockroom to button his fly and tuck in his shirt, was unnerved by the primitive, bestial sounds she was making. He combed his hair back from his face with his fingers, staring in horror when he saw blood on them. He touched his cheek tentatively. It was wet. Was the blood his or hers? He yelped as he found a scratch she’d given him.

  He looked at her, disgusted with what he saw. A weak, sordid, crumpled heap of flesh. There were great rents in her blouse, blood on the bloomers that lay, torn and discarded, beneath her.

  ‘Stop whining, you stupid cow,’ he demanded, using the adjective he applied to his wife when they had one of their frequent rows. ‘Pull yourself together. You know you wanted it.’

  Diana felt too used, too broken and too dirty to contradict him. She even began to wonder if she had wanted ‘it’, as he called the eternity of rough, banging, bruising and degrading violation. She’d wondered and dreamed about love and marriage for so long. Well now she knew exactly where all the sweet songs, tender words and poetry led.

  Laying her head down on the musty-smelling floor, she closed her eyes. How could any woman want to do anything like that willingly? How did married women cope? Did they have to put up with it night after night or only sometimes?

  ‘Cover yourself, girl,’ Ben commanded abruptly as he opened the door into the shop. She heard him leave the cupboard. The noise diminished; she didn’t even realise she’d been making it. Tugging down her skirt, and clutching the tattered remnants of her blouse in her fist, she curled into a ball, faced the floor, and wished herself dead.

  The pain between her legs was agonising. His sweat, now cold and damp, clung to her bare skin. The stench and the brutality of him permeated every inch of her. She heard the stockroom door open again, but she kept her face turned to the floor. It didn’t matter whether he was there or not. Nothing mattered any more. She just wanted to die where she lay. It would be bliss to sink into nothingness, not to feel anything, not ever again.

  ‘Here.’ He leant over her and she screamed. It did matter after all! She might not die quickly, and she couldn’t bear to repeat what he’d put her through. She wouldn’t be able to stand it ...

  ‘It’s your coat,’ he announced irritably, dropping it on top of her. ‘For God’s sake girl, you can’t lie around naked. Put it on.’ She struggled to her knees. Careful to keep her face averted from his, she did as he asked. He caught her roughly by the elbow and yanked her to her feet. She stared down at the floor. Her bloomers lay there, torn and stained. He picked them up and tried to ram them into the pocket of her coat, but she screamed again when he stepped near her. Only this time she didn’t stop. She just kept on screaming and screaming, until the noise in her head blotted out everything else. Even his presence beside her.

  He slapped her across the face. Hard. Her cheek stung. The imprint of his hand stood proud and crimson on her skin, but he failed to silence her. He lashed out repeatedly. She went crashing into the shelves again, hitting her head where she’d hit it earlier. He grabbed her arm and propelled her out through the door before she had time to fall to the floor.

  She was aware of a cold draught. Looking down, she realised that the front of her coat was open, exposing her breasts. Her thighs were cold, wet and naked beneath her skirt. Her stockings were damp, stained with sweat and blood. Turning her back to the window, she hit away his hand. Trembling like a leaf she began to fasten her coat buttons, slowly, one at a time. Her fingers were huge and swollen; stiff and suddenly arthritic, they refused to obey her commands.

  The huge brass till clanged open. Ben walked towards her. ‘Here –’ he held out a five-pound note – ‘Here, take it,’ he commanded impatiently, thrusting it at her. ‘After all, you earned it,’ he jeered.

  ‘You ... you ...’ finding her voice at last, Diana could not find adjectives foul enough to express her opinion of him.

  ‘See you, same time tomorrow?’ he asked calmly.

  ‘I’ll never set foot over this doorstep again as long as I live,’ she hissed. ‘But you’ll see me in court. I’m going to the police. I’ll tell your wife. I’ll tell –’

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Diana hadn’t been the firs
t assistant he’d had in the stockroom, and in his, granted somewhat limited, experience, he’d learned that they were generally all right when they got to the threatening stage. And experience had also taught him how to handle the threats.

  ‘Tell them what, dear?’ he taunted. ‘That you stole five pounds out of the till, and when I asked you about it you tore your clothes and threatened to cry rape? Your word against mine, and we all know whose word everyone will believe.’

  ‘You hurt me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I’m bleeding.’ She looked down at her stained stockings.

  ‘Everyone knows that a girl like you has a different boy every night. I’ve seen you myself in the café talking to the Italian boys. Not to mention Wyn Rees from the sweet shop. Now there’s an odd one for you to make a beeline for,’ he taunted. ‘More woman than man. One word about him will be enough to set the magistrate thinking about your tastes in the bedroom department. And then there’s that fair boy you wave to whenever he passes.’

  ‘He’s my cousin!’

  ‘There’s cousins and cousins. And things are not always what they seem.’

  ‘You swine. You bastard ...’ the words she couldn’t think of earlier tumbled out one after another.

  He caught hold of her wrists and twisted them painfully. ‘One more sound out of you and I’ll spread it from the Graig end of town to the Common that you’re nothing but a common prostitute. Only being your mother’s daughter, you fancy yourself. Set your price higher than the vulgar herd who pick up their customers in station yard. A fiver as opposed to the bob they charge for a quickie in a shop doorway.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why I work here for six bob a week ...’

  ‘A girl without visible means of support soon gets picked up by the police. Your mother would tell you that if she was around,’ he sneered. ‘But then she didn’t get it right either, did she? It wasn’t enough that she was Harry Griffiths’ whore. She had to steal as well. Like mother, like daughter. Thief and whore, just like Mam. That’s what you are, a thief and a whore,’ he spat the words at her. And there’s no one who’ll see you otherwise, Diana Powell. Not when I’ve finished talking to them. No one.’

  His laughter and his threats followed her as she ran sobbing out of the shop and down Taff Street clutching her coat over her naked bosom. A couple walking towards her stopped and stared. She ducked into the doorway of an empty shop. There were no lights there, so she felt safe, hidden by the darkness. She took a deep breath, made an effort to still the tremblings of her body, and smoothed back her hair.

  As soon as she was able, she walked on, checking her reflection in the shop windows as she passed. She couldn’t catch a bus or a tram. Not looking like this. If she walked up the Graig hill slowly, sticking to the shadows and the side-streets, it would give her time to calm down. Maud wouldn’t be needing her blouse for a while. She could dump it together with the rest of her clothes over the mountain. If she was quick and careful she could run into the house and straight up the stairs. Change into her nightie before her aunt had a chance to see her. Whatever happened, she daren’t let anyone, especially Will, find out about this. He was hot-headed at the best of times. He’d give Ben a good hiding, and then Ben would see him put in jail too. Better she go into service and away from Pontypridd than that. Better anything than that.

  ‘I didn’t know you came down here.’ Eddie rolled around to the side of the rink where Jenny was sitting talking to Tina, Gina and Will – who had mysteriously disappeared ten minutes after inveigling him into spending sixpence of the money Charlie had paid him for working on his meat stall – in the roller-skating rink in Mill Street.

  ‘First time I’ve been here,’ Jenny smiled, taking the opportunity to move away from the others. Will and Tina were getting on her nerves these days. Always flirting with one another every opportunity they got.

  ‘Haydn picking you up?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. Too quickly.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Eddie murmured. ‘This place must close a lot earlier than the Town Hall.’

  ‘I thought you went training every night,’ she said, changing the subject.

  ‘I do. I’ll probably go down the gym later. I just came with Will after we’d finished on the market.’

  ‘You working on the market now, then?’

  ‘No. Only today. After ... after ... well it was too late to take the cart out,’ he finished tersely.

  ‘I heard about Maud. I’m sorry Eddie,’ she said softly. ‘But as my mother said over tea tonight, you can never tell with lung disease. The doctor told my Aunt Phoebe she wouldn’t live to see her eighteenth birthday,’ she smiled impishly, and Eddie noticed, not for the first time, what a beautiful smile she had. ‘Well Dad says that he’s sure my Uncle Arthur wishes Aunt Phoebe never proved the doctor wrong. According to Dad, he only married her because his family was nagging him to find a wife, and he finally settled on Aunt Phoebe because he didn’t think she was long for this world. They’ve been married thirty years this year, and now she’s twenty stone, and –’ she lowered her voice and put her mouth close to Eddie’s ear, ‘– a right old nag.’ she confided secretively.

  ‘I hope Maud lives to see herself married for thirty years,’ Eddie said sombrely. ‘You’re not having me on, are you?’ he demanded suspiciously, always on the lookout for people making fun of him.

  ‘I wouldn’t, Eddie,’ Jenny protested seriously. ‘Not about something like that.’

  ‘Want an orange juice?’ he asked, looking longingly at the wooden trestle table set out against the back wall where a woman was dispensing drinks into small glasses, and selling bars of Five Boys chocolate from a cardboard box.

  ‘I’ve used my free ticket,’ she said shyly, referring to the one that was handed over for the sixpence that also bought entrance and boot hire.

  ‘So have I, but Charlie paid me today. I’ll treat you,’ he offered generously.

  ‘All right, if you let me buy the chocolate.’ They sat side by side on the fringe of the area set aside for roller-skating, and took off the skates they’d hired.

  ‘My feet feel wonderful,’ Jenny beamed as they walked over to the counter. ‘Like I’m walking on air.’

  ‘I know just what you mean.’ He pulled two pennies out of his pocket. ‘Two glasses of orange juice please, Mrs Williams.’

  ‘And two bars of Five Boys,’ Jenny added, digging into her own purse.

  Eddie dumped his skates under one of the small card tables dotted around the room and went back for the orange juices. He’d expected Jenny to sit opposite, but she sat beside him. Resting her elbows on the rickety table, she wrapped her long, thin fingers round the glass. Her perfume was the same one Maud and Diana used. He found himself staring at her hair. It was blonde, but lighter than Maud’s, almost white in colour.

  ‘So?’ Jenny questioned tremulously. ‘What’s big brother doing these days?’

  ‘Haydn?’ Eddie looked at her in surprise. ‘You’d be better placed than me to answer that question.’

  ‘Not any more.’ She unwrapped first the paper, then the silver paper from her bar. Staring at the faces stamped on the squares, she concentrated on the boy who was crying. He looked as miserable as she felt.

  ‘You saying you and our Haydn aren’t courting any more?’ Eddie stared at her, dumbfounded.

  ‘Haven’t seen him in a week,’ she said with a studied carelessness that she hoped concealed her pain.

  ‘Oh I know you two,’ Eddie coloured in embarrassment. ‘You’ll soon get back together again.’

  ‘Not this time.’ She snapped the miserable boy off the chocolate bar and ate him. It was most peculiar: she felt happier as soon as she’d swallowed the last trace of chocolate in her mouth. ‘But then,’ she gave Eddie a totally artificial smile, ‘there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.’

  ‘So they say,’ he muttered, thinking of the chorus girl Daisy, and the romp they’d enjoyed in Pontypridd Park. Pity there weren’t m
ore around like her, but then, he didn’t often have the kind of money in his pocket that he’d spent on her, and he had the feeling that the likes of Daisy wouldn’t be interested in a man with only two bob. He looked at Jenny’s empty glass, remembered the orange juices and amended two bob to one shilling and ten pence. What the hell, may as well make it one and nine. ‘Want another drink?’ he asked, nursing his remaining half-glass of juice.

  ‘Only if you take me home afterwards. I promised my mother I’d be in by nine.’ She hadn’t realised just how handsome Haydn’s brother was until now. He was still young, a whole year younger than her, but he’d lost the scrawny boyish look that a lot of boys carried, even into their twenties. She noticed his muscles rippling under the patched jacket he was wearing. And in contrast to Haydn he was so dark. At that moment she felt his deep brown eyes and black hair would outshine the looks of any number of blonde Adonises.

  ‘Are you sure I should?’ Eddie asked earnestly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ he added quickly as an odd expression crossed her face. ‘It’s just that if Haydn should find out ...’

  ‘Even if he did find out, it’s nothing to do with him any more. I told you. Haydn and I are finished. He doesn’t want me.’ Jenny fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes with it. ‘He doesn’t even talk to me any more. If he sees me he crosses the street. And I swear he walks down the hill along Leyshon Street and the steps into Graig Street rather than pass the shop.’