Normality was what Antimone craved the most. The initial shock had abated to the extent that it was now little more than a foreboding thought lurking in the back of her mind. Every so often it would creep to the forefront. When that happened she would descend once again into a dark pit of despair. It was the mundane activities of home life and school work that helped her to maintain an even keel. She worried that if she didn’t keep herself occupied, she would give up and descend into a spiral of depression.
She had not attended athletics training since she had discovered she was pregnant. Thoughts of the Paralympics were now a distant dream. By the time October came around she would be six months pregnant and in no state to compete. She didn’t think she could even tolerate watching coverage on the television. It would be a painful reminder of what could have been. Her coach, John Marshall, seemed the most disappointed. It was clear he knew nothing about her condition. Shortly after her return to school he had cornered her in the corridor and asked what was going on. She had spun out some story about commitments to examinations getting in the way, but her explanation had sounded unbelievable even to her own ears.
The solid wooden door opened and the figure of a tall man, wearing a dark suit and red tie, emerged. Two patches of grey hair, one on either side of his head, framed a bald patch on top. He wore a pair of frameless, rectangular-shaped glasses, the strong lenses exaggerating the size of his eyes. The slightest hint of body odour wafted through the open doorway.
“Mr and Mrs Lessing, Antimone,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in.”
Dominic and Helen Lessing rose from the low-slung, red armchairs and followed their daughter across the deep pile of the blue carpet.
Two wooden chairs with black leather seats occupied positions in front of the large oak desk, the surface of which was empty apart from a black computer display and matching keyboard perched on the left side. Framed certificates ringed the walls and sunlight streamed in through the wide, floor to ceiling windows.
“I’m John Weaver,” he said shaking hands with each of them in turn. He had to stoop to shake Antimone’s hand. “I think we’ve met a couple of times before. Do take a seat.”
He rounded the desk, sank into the high-backed swivel chair then leant forwards, his elbows resting on the polished surface. “I wanted to start by saying what a wonderful student Antimone has been but … um … I was shocked and saddened to hear about what happened. I understand they’re still looking for the man responsible.”
“Thanks,” Dominic mumbled. “He seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet, but the police are still searching for him.”
“Well, I hope they find him soon. Anyway, there’s something else I need to discuss with you today. I know Antimone’s scholarship was established to cover the fees until the end of her secondary education, but it is the duty of the trustees to ensure that the funds are used effectively. Given Antimone’s condition, I imagine she won’t be pursuing her athletics career, and that was one of the major factors in deciding to offer the scholarship in the first place. It also seems unlikely she’ll be able to complete the academic side of her education. I feel the other students will find it unsettling to have Antimone sharing the classroom with them in her current condition so it’s with regret that I have to inform you the trustees and I have decided we will be withdrawing Antimone’s place at this school with immediate effect.”
Dominic turned to Helen, who reflected his own shocked expression, then back to the tall man seated opposite. “What? So you’re expelling her? I don’t believe this. There are only six weeks of term to go.”
Weaver appeared flustered. Antimone noticed that his left hand was trembling until he clamped his right on top. “I wouldn’t call it an expulsion, but we do have to consider the welfare of our other students.”
“You mean your other fee-paying students,” Dominic spat. “My daughter is sexually assaulted, gets pregnant through no fault of her own and now you want to kick her out of school a week before she takes her exams in case it upsets your other students. What about upsetting us?”
“Look, I’m sorry, but the board’s decision is final. Also, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about the non-disclosure agreement you signed when we offered Antimone the scholarship.”
“What, because I might want to tell the press about the despicable actions of this school?”
“Dad, just leave it,” Antimone interrupted. “It’s not worth it. It’s not as if the qualifications will be any use to me anyway.”
“That’s not the point,” her father said.
“My hands are tied,” the head teacher said. “Regretful though it is, there’s nothing I can do. Of course, all fees are covered to date.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Dominic said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t put it past you and your friends on the board to send us a bill.” He rose to his feet. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
Weaver came around the desk. “Once again, I’m really sorry. Our thoughts will be with you.”
“Yeah, right,” Dominic said turning his back on the man. He strode towards the door, followed by his wife and daughter.
When they had left, Weaver turned the key in the lock and exhaled deeply. He returned to his desk, withdrew a phone from his jacket pocket and selected a number. The call was answered after a couple of rings.
“Hello, it’s John Weaver. Can you let Mrs Baxter know that I’ve told them?”
Chapter 17
Monday 2nd August 2032
Antimone’s phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number, but she could tell from the code that it was another mobile. “Identify,” she murmured on the off chance that some public database held the details. Two seconds later, the screen displayed a ‘not found’ message.
“Oh, what the hell,” she muttered and pressed the answer button. “Yes?”
“Antimone?” a male voice said.
Her finger hovered over the disconnect button. “Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Jason, Jason Baxter. You’re quite hard to track down.”
Antimone didn’t respond.
“Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“So, how are you? I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye when you left school.”
Antimone wasn’t sure whether Jason was aware of the pregnancy. She figured it was likely that he was because the police had interviewed him, and his mother certainly knew.
“Alright I suppose,” she answered tentatively.
“Erin Riley said you’d been expelled.”
“Yeah, well you know what she’s like. Let’s just say they decided I wasn’t worth the cost of the scholarship any longer.”
“Bastards. I’ll have a chat with my Mum. She’s on the board of governors.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not sure I’d want to go back anyway.”
“Look, I’m so sorry about what happened at the party. I had nothing to do with it, but I still feel partly responsible. If you hadn’t sat with me and the other guys …”
So he did know. “It’s okay, Jason. I don’t blame you if that’s what you want to hear.” She immediately regretted her harsh words. “I’m sorry. I appreciate the call.”
Jason sounded relieved. “So what are you up to?”
“Oh, you know. Watching vids, listening to music, reading. Nothing much really. What about you?”
“Much the same. Hey, look. Mum’s said I can take one of the cars this afternoon. I was thinking of going to the seaside. Maybe Hunstanton. Do you want to come?”
“Just you and me?”
“Unless you think you need a chaperone.”
“It’s a little late for that I think.”
Jason laughed nervously. “I’m glad you’ve still got your sense of humour.”
“So when? Now?” Antimone asked, glancing at her watch. It was already twelve thirty.
“Yeah. I can be round in ten minutes.”
>
Antimone hesitated. She didn’t really feel like socialising, but the more she contemplated Jason’s offer, the more the idea of getting out of the house grew on her. Both her parents were at work, and she was starting to get bored being on her own. She might not be able to feel the sand between her toes anymore, but the seaside always brought back happy memories. “Go on then, why not? But make it twenty minutes. I need to grab a bite to eat before we go.”
“Great. I’ll be there around one. Get your beachwear on.”
***
The journey took nearly two hours, but Antimone hardly noticed. The car was a far more expensive model than the one owned by her parents and was equipped with a state of the art entertainment system. They spent the first half an hour playing with the various controls as the onboard computers navigated them through the Cambridgeshire and Norfolk countryside. Jason was a witty and entertaining companion, and he soon had her laughing at the outrageous stories of what he had witnessed at his mother’s parties.
Eventually, the conversation moved on to parents.
“So, do you see your Dad?” Antimone asked.
Jason suddenly became serious. “I was adopted as a baby. I don’t remember my biological mother, and my father apparently died from cancer before I was born. Mum’s never really told me much about them. I’ve always wanted to find out more, but every time I ask she changes the subject. Either she doesn’t know or she doesn’t want to tell me.”
Antimone was silent for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but your Mum doesn’t seem like the type to adopt a child.”
Jason laughed. “Well you know my Mum. She’s so busy she wouldn’t have found time for a pregnancy so getting a readymade baby was probably the ideal solution for her.”
“So what’s she like? I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she seems very … um … serious.”
“Mum? If there’s one word to describe her it would be driven. For the first ten years of my life, I was closer to the nannies she brought in to look after me. She began to show more interest once I could hold an intelligent conversation with her, but even then, the business always seemed to come first. That’s just the way she is. Sometimes I think she’s more attached to that little toad, Julian Stefano.”
Antimone giggled. “Yeah, he’s got a really slimy handshake. It felt like shaking hands with a slug. I wanted to wash my hands afterwards.”
“I know exactly what you mean. He’s like her poodle. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging every time she spoke to him.”
Antimone did an impression of a dog barking as they both descended into fits of laughter.
***
The car navigated itself to a parking spot a hundred metres from the seafront. Jason slipped on his sunglasses, retrieved Antimone’s wheelchair from the boot and helped her into it. He was wearing a multicoloured T-shirt that would have looked out of place anywhere but the seaside and a baggy pair of beach shorts.
“Let’s head towards the promenade,” Antimone suggested, the wind tugging a wisp of hair across her face. She wore a tight pink T-shirt and blue jeans but felt slightly drab compared to Jason’s garish attire.
“Good idea.”
They navigated their way across several roads, following the brown tourist signs that pointed to the south promenade. When they reached their destination, Jason ran on ahead, dodging between the tourists who strolled along the pedestrianised road adjacent to the shore.
“I thought you were supposed to be a wheelchair athlete,” he called over his shoulder.
Antimone laughed as she steered around the pedestrians. “I could wup your ass anytime in a straight race, spear boy.”
At a point where the beach was at the same level as the road, Jason slowed and allowed her to catch up. “How about here?” he asked.
“Yeah, why not.” She propelled herself onto the soft sand until the wheels sank deep enough that she could no longer move forwards.
“I think the lady’s got a problem,” he smiled. “Do you want to stay in that contraption of yours or sit on the sand?”
“Could you assist me to the ground, sir knight?”
“Yes, my lady.” Jason picked her up, surprised at how little she weighed, and deposited her on the sand. He flopped down beside her. They both stared out in silence towards where the cloudless blue sky met the darker shade of the sea. The tide was on its way out, revealing the wooden groynes that seemed to pen in the holidaymakers like sheep in a field.
After a while, Antimone turned to Jason. “Thanks for bringing me here. I was starting to go a bit crazy stuck at home.”
“You’re welcome.” He placed his hand on top of hers. When she didn’t remove it, he leant sideways and kissed her gently on the cheek. She turned her head sideways, and their lips met.
After a few seconds, Antimone pulled back. “I really like you, Jason, but are you sure you want to do this? I’m not going to be around for much longer. We both know how this ends.”
Jason took her face between his hands and kissed her again. “I really like you too. I know this can never be a long-term relationship, but I want to get to know you better in whatever time is left. I’m a good listener, and I’m here for you if you need me. So how are you bearing up?”
“Well, it’s like … um … it still hasn’t sunk in yet. I know I’m going to die in five months or so, but it still seems a long way off. I feel like I’m in a car hurtling towards a cliff, and I know the brakes don’t work. It’s like I’m still far enough away that I don’t need them yet. But when I do … well, I don’t know how I’m going to feel.”
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“Your mother did put me on one of her experimental programmes. One of her doctors gave me some pills, but he wouldn’t say what they were. He did warn they might be a placebo, and even if they weren’t, the chances of success were extremely small.”
“Well, they’ve certainly got good facilities there. She’s always moaning about how much the equipment costs.”
“Yeah, it was also part of the deal that I went to her hospital for the birth.”
“I’m sure they’ll look after you well.”
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” Antimone said, brightening. “What sort of music do you like? Not that crap you had in the car I hope?”
Jason laughed and dropped a handful of sand on Antimone’s lap. “You better be nice to me. Just remember you need me to get home.”
“Yeah, that crap music was really great,” she replied, returning the gesture.
***
The sun was getting lower in the sky. Antimone glanced at her watch. It was just before five o’clock. “We need to think about getting back. I haven’t told my parents where I am.”
Jason turned to face her. “Do you tell them everything you do?”
“Ever since the accident, they’ve been a bit over-protective. Anyway, I’ll give them a call so it’s not a problem.”
“Time for an ice-cream before we go?”
“Why not? It wouldn’t be the seaside without one.”
Antimone brushed the sand off her jeans, and Jason helped her back into the wheelchair. He pushed the chair back onto the firm surface of the road.
“I can manage now,” she said sharply.
“Um … I guess you don’t like people pushing you.”
“Not really. It’s like … I don’t know … like somebody playing with your hair or something … or prodding you in the back when you’re walking to make you go faster.”
Jason raised his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
Antimone silently cursed herself. She seemed to have developed this habit of pushing people away when they were only trying to be helpful. “Don’t worry about it. Look there’s an ice-cream van just there.”
“I’ll get them. What’s it to be? A cone?”
“Yeah, thanks, with one of those chocolate flakes in it if they’ve got one.”
The white van was
parked to the side of the pedestrianised road. Jason ran ahead and joined the queue of holidaymakers. Antimone turned her wheelchair to face the sea. At this spot, the promenade was two metres above the beach with stone steps leading down to the sand. She watched as families packed up their belongings in preparation for the journey home.
Her observations were distracted by somebody grabbing the wheelchair handles. “Jesus, Jason. I told you I don’t like that.”
“It’s not your boyfriend, you little whore,” said a voice deeper than Jason’s. “If you scream, I’ll push you over the edge. Come to think of it, I might just do that anyway.”
Antimone jerked her head around. A man wearing a pair of large aviators and dressed in a navy blue T-shirt stood behind her. Even without the beard, she recognised his face instantly as that of Daniel Floyd, the rapist.
“What do you want?” Antimone asked, her voice quivering with fright.
“What I want is for you to tell me why you set me up.”
“Set you up? What’re you talking about?”
“Give it a rest, alright. Was it that harpy, Rosalind Baxter? Was it her idea?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh come on. You can’t keep your bleeding legs together, get pregnant and then blame me. Haven’t you heard of bloody contraception? It was that boyfriend of yours, wasn’t it? I should have known the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree.”
Antimone finally understood. “You think Jason raped me?”
“Raped?” the man said angrily. “It didn’t look like that to me. I saw him come out of that bedroom looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. You followed him a minute or two later, and you certainly didn’t seem distressed.”
“What bedroom?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, I saw you. How did you convince the police it was me? They must have done blood tests. Who did you bribe, or was it that witch, Baxter?”
Decimation: The Girl Who Survived Page 8