by KERRY BARNES
She hated Rhonda and Dr Shelby nearly as much as Spinks, and she also detested her teacher, Mrs Lyons, who always insisted she sat at the back of the class and refused to believe a word she said. Still, what did they know? They never had to take the vile gag-inducing pills. They were probably all being bribed by her father, Les, anyway, to pretend she needed psychological help. She put up with the shit until she was old enough to change it all.
Naturally, as a teenager, she found men were extremely attracted to her. Not only could she turn a head or two, but she had the guile and the confidence to wrap any man around her little finger. She’d already had practice when it came to sex, as she believed her father had sold her to his friend. For most young teenagers, it would have been a terrifying, traumatising experience, but for her, it wasn’t. Now, at thirty-one years of age, she looked back and concluded at that time it was rape. Of course, it was. And yet her rapist didn’t pin her down or hurt her.
Carl was his name. A man in his twenties, he was smart and handsome. From the weekly gatherings, which Les called their poker night, she soon realised that Carl was a villain. Carl would eye her up and pay her the most flattering compliments, which she wasn’t used to, but which gave her butterflies from all the attention. He was much younger than her father, and he had a sleekness about him and soft eyes that could make him everyone’s friend when he needed to put on the charm.
After she poured their drinks, she hid in the shadows, but all the time she did so, she listened to their conversations of money scams and prostitution and her eyes lit up. She was well on her way to becoming a minor player in the life before most boys her age actually knew where to find the hidden jewel of the female anatomy.
So as the years went by, her knowledge of the criminal underworld gave her the self-assuredness to think about getting into it herself. After all, it was easy money. And besides, who would stop her? Her own father could hardly look down on her for it, and he didn’t care about her anyway.
Then, one evening, when she was fifteen, she endured a particularly bad weekend, although her memory of the events was not clear in her mind. After she’d been out with her friends to a party, she put the key in the door only to be dragged the rest of the way into the house by her hair. Her father’s thick sausage-like fingers gripped her arms and shook her so hard she bumped her head on the back wall. He was screaming. As foam and spittle left his mouth, his eyes were red and violently angry, and his voice held an ear-piercing screech to it. In his rage, he threw her to the stairs and demanded she stay in her room, or she would be locked in that metal cabinet.
The recollection was vague, but the next morning, he gave her some pathetic lecture about her being drunk and rolling in at all hours, not knowing where she’d been or who she’d been with. How he was sick of her going so late and he was going to get someone to give her a good talking-to, who may knock some sense into her. Never mind what he said, she was convinced that the marks on her face were caused by him manhandling her. Okay, she’d had a little to drink, but she couldn’t have given herself the bruises.
Shortly after her perceived assault, the men had another meeting at her home. She had been getting ready for another night out, secretly downing a few shots of neat vodka before she applied more make-up to hide the bruises. The sound of the men downstairs seemed more appealing than the invitation to a house party put on by a few of her mates.
Carl noticed the marks on her face, and he immediately curled his finger for her to come closer to inspect the bruises. As she approached him, she noticed the compassionate smile that spread across his face.
‘You need to be careful, Lucy. Don’t you go ruining that beautiful face of yours,’ he uttered, quietly. Amazed at that time by his concern for her, she’d put it down to the fact that he’d been drinking, and yet, she felt goose bumps all over her arms and her face went bright red with embarrassment. He must have noticed how coy she was, and he played on it, running the back of his hand down her cheek. She didn’t move.
His eyes then darted to Les and then down at the cards in his hand. With a low sarcastic tone, he said menacingly, ‘You owe me now, Les. I don’t think you can trump three aces, can you?’ His eyes darted to the pot of money on the table.
Lucy looked at her father who appeared to be nervously chewing his bottom lip as he focused on the cards in his hand. He suddenly shot her a look and shook his head in disgust. She hated that expression.
‘Right, I think I will call it in. Come on then, pay up, Les – ya can’t beat my hand.’ Not looking at Les, he ran his hand down her face again.
Once again, Lucy looked at her father who lowered his eyes, studied his own cards, and then nodded with a heavy sigh. She never really knew if it was shame, guilt, or humiliation. Did he look down because he had sold his daughter, or was it because he’d reached the depths of fear of the repercussions if he had said no? Either way, as far as Lucy was concerned, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. In her head, she guessed what he meant when he said, ‘pay up’.
The meeting over, the men left, one by one. Les took Carl into the kitchen and then re-emerged, giving her another one of his critical looks. ‘Carl wants to talk to you.’
With that, Carl nodded for Les to leave the room.
‘Come and sit by me, beautiful.’ He winked. Those words were like wandering into a Disney world, a magical place. She did as he said, and as he stroked her hair, she felt alive, with his warm breath on her neck and his gentle words of affection. Her ears buzzed, and her heart rate quickened. Whether or not it was the alcohol in her system or the closeness of a real man, she didn’t care: it felt good either way. That longing look of his sucked her in, and as he leaned in to her, she detected the subtle sweet-and-sour aroma of his aftershave.
She closed her eyes, as his words reverberated somewhere in the distance. Her hands covered his, easing them inside her school blouse. Immediately, he pulled away, but not before his eyes narrowed, sending a cold shiver up her spine. She hated that look of disappointment; it was the same one her father constantly wore. She wanted, longed even, for the attention, and could have cursed, just when things were getting interesting.
Get a grip, Lucy, she told herself. This is big school not play school and those soothing fingers and wanting eyes were sending furious signals to her brain. Leaning in to him, she arched her back, encouraging him to caress her. He held back as she urged him to touch her. All she could hear were words of adoration; those kind, sweet words were like music to her ears, words that flooded her mind with candy and lifted her spirits to a new height. It didn’t matter what he was saying; his voice was somehow hypnotic and addictive, like a drug.
If this was Les’s way of “paying up”, then she was going to ensure it was well and truly paid, and her father could live with the guilt for the rest of his miserable existence. It was then that she realised she could have this effect on men. She would become a player by using her looks and sexual powers to control them. But not just any men. They would need to be charismatic, wealthy, and stunningly good-looking, just like Carl. She wouldn’t settle for less.
He left that evening with a warm smile and an incredibly seductive wink. She remembered giggling and him saying, ‘Goodnight, my little darling, sleep well.’ And she did – for the first time ever, she slept like a baby.
By the morning, she felt alive, although, for a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. Les staggered into the kitchen, still reeking of booze. She had her back to him and snatched the toast as it popped from the toaster. In her head, she was singing a tune, but not aloud; he would hate any noise in the morning, usually suffering from a hangover. She placed the buttered toast on a plate and slid it under her father’s nose. This time, she didn’t feel so petrified of him. That morning was probably the first time ever he’d said, ‘thank you’. She then placed the coffee by his plate.
She didn’t have to look at his chunky, puffy face to know he was tormented with guilt; she could hear it in his breathing, by t
he way he quietly sat down, and by the tone in his voice when he asked if the talking-to from Carl had helped her in any way. She rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Some pep talk, eh? My fucking arse. You know what he did to me? Call yaself a father. You should be ashamed of yaself!’
She glared at her father’s expression of resignation, rolling her eyes once more when he asked if she had taken her tablets again. Finally, she stomped off, after he accused her of such mad and disgusting lies. They weren’t mad, and she wasn’t going to stand there and allow him to fill her head with bullshit.
A week later, the firm gathered again for their poker night, but Les ushered her to her bedroom. ‘Stay up there and don’t make a fucking sound,’ he demanded, before he opened the front door to let the men in. Lucy listened at the top of the stairs and then she heard Carl. She could visualise his smouldering eyes, his command for attention, and then the soft glance he would give her, but she was upstairs, hidden away. She wanted him and pondered how she could let him know she was there.
She added another layer of mascara and lined her lips with red lipstick, swigged another mouthful of neat vodka, and waited for her chance. The problem was, if she made a sound, her father would beat her or send her to the metal cabinet. Then, she heard her Prince Charming. ‘You fucked up again, Les,’ came the sarcastic laugh from below. There was a long pause, as she strained to hear.
‘No matter, Les, I suspect you are holding an ace up your sleeve or calling my bluff. How’s Lucy, and where is she this evening?’
Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to yell down the stairs, ‘I’m here! Come and get me, take me away. I will do anything, but just get me out of this fucking house away from my monster of a father.’ But she said nothing and waited whilst imagining her father sitting there counting the ten-pound notes that Carl was carefully slapping in front of him, all to have a piece of her. She took another swig from her bottle of Smirnoff.
‘She’s upstairs,’ her father uttered, defeated.
Lucy remembered the grin on Carl’s face, as he stood there in the doorway to her bedroom. The butterflies were back, along with the fast beating of her heart, and she was ready for him. Looking back at that time, she shivered. Her father had sold her again.
Before Lucy’s mind returned to the present, a chilling thought entered her head. Where was her diary? She couldn’t leave that lying about for Justin or anyone else to find. It contained her innermost personal thoughts and feelings. Years ago, Dr Spinks had suggested that she made a diary to help her control her somewhat aggressive tendencies and fanciful recollections. It had been the only good advice she felt he’d ever given her. She knew her head was still in a mess. But she truly believed that until her present plans came to fruition, she would not become the person she had always wanted to be … she needed to be … for her own sanity.
Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present. Leaving the bathroom, she hurried to the bedroom, where she quickly got herself dressed in a soft woollen dress. She liked to feel wrapped in cotton wool, but the long black dress would have to suffice. She would allow Justin his space and work on him slowly but surely. She had come this far now; she wasn’t going to give up on such a good catch so easily – not without a damn good fight, anyway.
Chapter 5
The exercise yard was a bleak place with the high barbed wire walls and the officers keeping a keen eye. Groups of women stood smoking and talking. Kara was alone and had no idea where she would fit in. A few necks craned her way, and she could feel the tension as the other women whispered and laughed. Her blood was rampaging through her veins like spears of ice, and she could feel her heart beating wildly.
Then, she saw Vic and didn’t know whether to go over or keep away. She was surrounded by a crowd of hard-looking women, with tattoos, meaty arms and scars, cold smirks, and toothless smiles. There was no one like herself. The black inmates huddled together, a few Chinese formed their own group, and then there was Big Vic. She was like a showpiece, with a following all looking up to her.
Kara was completely out of her depth. She looked who she was: a well-off person who would have been at home perhaps in one of the enclosures at Epsom Racecourse, but here, standing on Larkview Prison’s exercise yard, she was ill at ease. What was even worse was the rest of the inmates knew it. But try as she might to find someone like herself, she couldn’t.
But, then, who was she? All she’d ever been was Justin’s girlfriend. She didn’t have friends, too busy with her head stuck in a book. Now, she was still a nobody, but she was a nobody who was caught in a car’s headlights, ready to become roadkill. Vic looked her way, and for a second, Kara was gripped with fear. Had the cream worked? God help her, if it hadn’t. Vic flicked her head for Kara to join her. Reluctantly, she ambled over and smiled nervously, searching her face for any small indication that she was about to get her head kicked in.
‘This is Posh. She’s a doctor, a friend of mine.’
As if all her fears collapsed at once, Kara could breathe. She acknowledged the others, with a shy nod.
The short heavyset skinhead, with massive jowls, laughed. ‘Ya mate? Yeah, Vic, she don’t look like your kinda pal.’
A deliberate glare from Vic to the skinhead changed the atmosphere immediately and everyone stood around feeling tense. ‘Listen, if I say she’s me mate, then she’s me fucking mate. Now, if ya wanna argue the point, Teri, me and you are gonna fall out big-time.’
Teri, the skinhead, stepped back, realising she’d engaged her mouth instead of her brain. ‘Ahh, nah, nah, Vic, I was just saying she looks, well, ya know, soppy, like.’
With a deep, raspy laugh, Vic heavily patted Teri’s shoulder. ‘Posh, ’ere, is far from soppy. She will burn ya in ya fucking bed, if ya even look at her the wrong way, and if she don’t, Teri, I fucking will. Got it?’
Teri’s eyes widened, as she peered over at Kara. But Kara knew what Vic was doing. She was protecting her, by giving her a reputation that she didn’t really deserve. She’d never had a fight in her life.
‘Er, sorry, Posh, I mean, not that you look soppy, ya just look kinda cute, if ya know what I mean.’
Another wrong move. Vic’s hand gripped Teri’s shoulder, pushing her down. ‘And she ain’t into women either, so touch her, or even wink her way, and I will seriously fuck you up.’ She eyed the others in the group: it was a warning to everyone.
Vic walked away with her arm around Kara. ‘It worked, kiddo. That silly ol’ cunt of a doctor put his glasses on and had a closer look, and then he gave me the cream, just like you said.’ The older woman looked at the downtrodden expression on Kara’s face and sighed. ‘I know, love, it’s hard, trust me. I’ve spent most of me life inside. Ya don’t belong ’ere, and that’s a fact.’
She stopped talking and turned to face Kara. ‘I must be going soft in me old age, but ya did me a favour. I owe you one, not that I ever owe any fucker anything, like, but you, I do. Any nonsense from the bitches in ’ere, you tell me, all right?’
Kara was nodding like her head would fall off. ‘Thank you, Vic, you’re right. I’m so out of my comfort zone, I’m scared to death, to be honest. Those women look as though they could eat me for breakfast.’ She looked back at the coven of inmates whispering in their little circle.
Vic laughed out loud. ‘That lot are a bunch of fucking pussies, but ganged together – ’cos they can’t fight one-on-one – they are nasty. You stick with me and you’ll be all right … Aw, before I forget, ol’ Deni is sick. She ain’t left her cell. In agony, she is, the poor cow. The doc reckons she’s got a migraine, but I’ve never seen her cry in pain before, so take a look for us, will ya?’
‘Deni?’
‘Yeah, everyone calls her Deni. Her real name is Denise Rose Denton – famous, her crime, ya know.’
Kara swallowed hard. She wasn’t a GP and had only received three years’ training in medicine before she became an epidemiologist, but how could she say no? ‘Yes, of course, I’ll take a look.’ Her upbeat ton
e, she thought, should instil confidence, if not in herself, at least in Vic. She closely followed her new best friend, hoping that she wouldn’t get stopped by one of the officers because she had absolutely no idea of the rules. She was still in shock and struggling to take it all in, although she needed to learn fast.
However, Vic seemed to know the ropes. She wondered what she was inside for. It must have been pretty bad, if she’d spent most of her life locked up. Her thoughts returned to her own predicament and what her life had mapped out for her. She wouldn’t hold her breath, that was for sure.
Just as they were about to enter B Wing, an officer, Vic’s personal officer, came up behind her. She was a tall long-legged woman, with a red short-back-and-sides style, thin features, and eyes that turned down at the corners. ‘Meadows! A woman called Julie Meadows has arrived from court this morning on remand. She says she’s your sister. I’ll put her in with you, yeah?’
Kara stepped back. This was none of her business. The officer looked her up and down. ‘What are you doing here? This ain’t your wing, is it?’
Kara put her head down, not knowing what to say or do. The tall woman looked spiteful and ready to lay down the law.
‘Look, Gov, she’s on B Wing to see Deni, her aunt. All right with it, are ya?’ dared Vic, giving the officer a hard stare.
‘Her aunt? Oh, yes, and me mother’s a monkey’s uncle,’ snorted the officer.
With a quick laugh, Vic replied, ‘Well, with a face like yours, it don’t surprise me, and no, Julie ain’t sharing with me. For Christ’s sake, what has she gone and done now?’
The officer shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not sure, GBH, ABH, maybe. Well, anyway, I’ll tell her she’s on her own, on C Wing. Right, you take this inmate over to see Denton. Her aunt, my arse. Don’t like your sister, I take it?’