by Wendy Reakes
By the time Donny had arrived at the house in his white Triumph Vitesse convertible, Teresa was smitten by the thought of his lean body pressing down on hers. She’d bounded down the stairs in her new yellow platform shoes, flared jeans and a lime green cotton shirt under a purple tank top, but her father had stopped her before she had chance to cross the hall to the door. “Where are you going?” he’d demanded in one of his forced foreboding voices.
“Out!”
He’d blocked her way. “Out where?”
“To the fair. It’s the last night.” She’d looked straight into his eyes. They were the same height, and Teresa guessed he really hated that.
“Who are you going with?” he’d spat.
“Stacey. She’s outside now, so if you don’t mind, dad.” That was when she’d barged past him and ran for the entrance. She’d turned back before she opened it. “Don’t bother to wait up. I’ll probably be late.” Then she’s darted through the door and slammed it in her wake.
Donny was just about to get out of the car. “Stay where you are,” she’d screamed as she’d jumped over the passenger door and landed in the worn red leather seat. “Just drive for god’s sake. Get us out of here...”
She saw her father on the top of the steps leading to the main entrance. “TERESAAAAA!”
“Drive! Drive....” Teresa had shouted as Donnie slammed his foot on the accelerator. She’d turned to see her father kick the wall next to the door. He must have forgotten he’d been wearing slippers. “Ouch, that must have hurt,” Teresa had said to herself with smug satisfaction as Donnie raced the car down the drive and through the gates to the main road to town. She’d settled back into her seat as her hair flew out behind her as if it was waving goodbye to the prison she called home. Donny had positioned his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. “Maybe I can meet them next time,” he’d said.
As the noise of the engine overtook any chance of discourse, the car sped towards town when Teresa muttered, “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Now, sitting in the station, waiting to be collected, she looked up, as her father forced his way through the police station’s door. “Teresa!” he called when he spotted her in the waiting area. He stopped short when he saw the state of her face. “What the hell have you done now?”
That was the comment that pushed her past all reasonable limits. “Me!” she screamed. “That’s right, daddy, it’s always me isn’t it?”
“What do expect me to think? Your mother is at home frantic out of her wits.”
“Scared.”
“What?”
“Scared out of her wits.”
“I know...” A police officer approached him from behind the desk. “Mr. Bentley?”
“Yes! Yes, that’s right.”
“We just need you to sign some forms and then you can take your daughter home.” Her father took the papers from his hands. “This has been a shock for her mother.”
“I understand. I’ve got a daughter myself.” They both turned to stare at her and then looked away again, as if she was rubbish. “She’s been seen by the nurse and there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. If you could bring her back in the morning so that she can make a statement...”
“Yes, of course. What happened exactly?”
“I’ll leave it your daughter to explain. We have the young man in custody and he’ll be charged tomorrow with attempted rape.”
Her father went pale. “Attempted...”
“Can we get out of here, dad?” Teresa felt exhausted and frankly her father’s reaction was completely pee-ing her off. Just as they reached the door Teresa turned about. The girl who’d saved her from Donnie Baroque’s urgent and violent caresses was still sitting on the seat with her long legs crossed elegantly in front of her. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Katherine,” the girl replied. “Katherine Killa.”
Chapter 3
Annie Killa took the package from the postman’s outstretched hand. “Sign here, Mrs. K!” He tapped a parcel wrapped in brown paper with the tip of his pen. “We haven’t seen you down at the cookery club for a while. How are you?”
After the time she’d had lately, Annie accepted his concern with good grace, but normally she hated talking about her health. Some people thought it odd, since most folk took pleasure in going on about their own minor ailments, but Annie considered the state of her wellbeing much too tedious to talk about. “Oh, you know, still plodding on.”
With the package in her hand, Annie closed the door. The parcel was addressed to Kathy; Miss Katherine Killa. When she turned it over she could see no sender’s address on the underside. Strange. The Royal Mail usually demanded a return address, especially after all the bomb threats from the IRA. She dropped it onto her lap and wheeled herself back into the kitchen where a pot of rabbit stew was simmering on the stove. The brace was compliments of their local butcher, ‘You’ve won our prize-draw, Mrs K’ he’d said. Annie thought Rose must have bought the raffle tickets, because it certainly hadn’t been her. And Kathy wouldn’t have entered. If her daughter had bought the ticket they wouldn’t have heard the last of it, seeing as she’d be hell-bent on winning the top prize. Kathy. She was studying catering at college in Reading, so who would send her a parcel to her home without a return address?
Annie took the lid from the giant pot as it simmered on the back of the stove. The smell was aromatic as the broth fused with the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven. She’d skinned the rabbits yesterday and soaked them overnight in some salt water to get the blood out. Kathy had prepared the vegetables last night before she went off to college for the week.
Annie had taught Kathy how to cook from when she was just five-years old. The dishes were all homemade, good nourishing fare, not like the fancy dishes she was learning to make in college. “You can’t start too young,” Annie had said, just as Annie’s mother encouraged her to cook when she was Kathy’s age. “And never buy anything you can’t make yourself. Shop-bought ingredients will never replace the real thing. Even stock! No point buying those Oxo-cubes. We’ve always got a few beef-bones and bits of fat left over in the fridge and we’ve got vegetables and herbs in the garden. Huh! Oxo-cubes! That Lynda Bellingham had a lot to answer for,” Annie had finished.
She guided her wheelchair next to the table at the side of the kitchen and applied the right hand brake. She never bothered with the two; it took too much time to pull them on every time she stopped. The table had been pushed up against the wall, allowing her enough space to get about without crashing into things. She hated how crammed the kitchen was now, but they were left with little choice since they had to change the area behind the sitting-room into a bedroom. The toilet facilities weren’t ideal, since she had to use a commode, but it was easy enough to have a good wash in the kitchen sink.
She took the parcel from her lap and gave it a shake.
“What have you got there?”
Annie jumped. “Mam! I didn’t hear you come in.” She put her hand to her chest. “You gave me such a fright!”
Rose leaned down and read the address. “It’s for Kathy?”
“Hmm. Yes, it is. No senders address.”
“Are you going to open it?”
“No, of course not. It’s hers.”
“She’s not back until the weekend. Don’t you think you should?”
Annie was still holding the little package in her hand. She had to admit to being a little curious. She couldn’t remember Kathy ever receiving a parcel in the post before. Maybe it had something to do with college...But why wouldn’t they send it to her digs in Reading. “Well, she’ll probably tell me to open it anyhow.”
Rose gave her a nudge. “Go on then. I can’t stand the suspense.”
Annie smiled as she snipped the tape with some kitchen scissors and unfolded the brown paper. Inside was a small black jeweller’s box with gold scrolls etched into the lid. She opened it slowly with a feeling of unease in
her stomach. It’s a bracelet…gold! She removed it and held it up for Rose to see. The gold chain held diamonds between knots of gold. It was beautiful and it was definitely real. Annie gasped. “Well, I never.”
Rose remained untypically silent as Annie searched the parcel for a note. But there was nothing! “Who do you think sent it?”
“No idea.”
Rose went to the pot simmering on the stove. She lifted the lid and prodded the rabbit with the tip of a sharp knife.
“Mam, aren’t you curious? Who would send our Kathy a bracelet like this? It must have cost an arm and a leg.”
“This soup’s done. I’m turning it off.” Rose turned the knob to extinguish the flame. “I’ll keep the lid on. It’ll still be hot for our tea.”
“Mam? What shall I say to Kathy?”
“I wouldn’t worry her with it, but it’s up to you.”
Despite the mysterious bracelet hanging from her fingers, Annie was more interested in Rose’s lack of interest. She couldn’t decide if her mother-in-law wasn’t concerned about Kathy receiving an anonymous gift or that she was so upset, she couldn’t talk about it. “Mam...”
“I’ll lay the table. Come on, Annie love. Grab those gloves and let’s get the bread out of the oven.”
Chapter 4
After their meal, while Annie rested, Rose slipped on her coat and let herself out through the back door. She’d casually mentioned to Annie that she was going for a stroll. She couldn’t have told her the truth; that she was going next door to speak to her employer, Gordon Bentley. Not without explaining why. For the time being, Rose wanted to protect Annie from the truth…for as long as possible.
She walked along the garden path to the road where she turned right and carried on, with her hands deep in her pockets. She could still taste the rabbit stew they’d eaten earlier for their tea. It had tasted delicious, as usual, but even though Rose had mopped up the juice with the warm crusty bread and left the bones clean at the bottom of her dish, she still felt like she hadn’t completely enjoyed it. Not with so much on her mind.
Within minutes she came to the long drive flanked on each side by tall fir trees, evenly spaced and darting skywards to the dimming afternoon light. She’d left the cottage bang on 7.00pm, figuring the Bentleys would have already dined and that Mr. B would probably be tottering around the house or garden. He was always tottering! ‘Can’t stay still for two minutes,’ his wife always said.
As Rose walked the familiar route up to the house, she relished in the scent of hollyhocks growing in abundance at the top of the Bentley’s drive. They produce a marvellous display at the entrance to the house before the stone walls begin either side of the track, and where broken down pillars held grand iron gates that were never closed. How many times had she walked that same route? The gardener, Will, often talked about putting a small gate in the hedge that divided the main house from her cottage, but Rose hadn’t been keen. She already lived next door to the Bentleys. She didn’t need any more access than that.
The house was a mansion. Victorian! The interior and exterior retained features in-keeping with the era with a dash of modern living, like Alice Bentley’s dressing room lined with fine wooden cabinets and drawers to house her expensive clothes from London. Not forgetting Gordon’s small gym in the basement. In it he kept a rowing machine and an exercise bicycle. He used it every morning and often said that one day everyone will work out, when people realised the benefits. Work-out! Rose pondered at the time. The oddest turn of phrase! ‘The in thing at the moment is jogging,’ Mrs Garford had said over a cuppa the other day. ‘Jogging!’ Rose had laughed. ‘High Jinx I call it.’
The main house had been constructed from natural welsh stone blocks with thick dark green painted wooden window frames. Someone had once said that the lintel over the front entrance above the arched wooden doors were made from the same stone used to construct Stonehenge, but still, no one could explain how it had been transported, since it weighed several tonnes.
Rose took the path leading from the front to the side entrance and the domestic quarters at the rear. She always walked the same route, each day (except Sundays and bank holidays), keeping her eyes front, in case she happened to look in a window and catch the eye of a Bentley.
When she pushed open the back door and stepped into the kitchen, she saw Mrs. Garford clearing away the last of the plates from dinner. “Hello, Nell Bach,” Rose said. “Are they here?”
“Rose?” With a dinner plate in one hand and a tea towel in the other, Mrs. Garford kept rubbing while she spoke. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I just need a word.”
“They’ve just finished dinner. The misses is upstairs.”
“It’s not her I’m looking for. Is he here?”
Nell looked curious but Rose wasn’t surprised. She didn’t normally have dealings with Mr. Bentley.
“I think he’s in his study, love.”
“Thanks, I’ll go through.”
The house was quiet except for the sound of the Bentley’s daughter, Teresa, upstairs in her room on the second floor, playing her records. The sound of Iron Maiden screeching their guitars did nothing to enhance the Victorian splendour of the house. In fact, it made the antique pieces seem fake, as if they’d been taken from the shelves of MFI and assembled from a flat pack. Rose chuckled to herself at the notion but it was not something she would dare to say aloud, of course.
Walking along the hall, past the grand staircase, she’s forced, once again, to remember that morning, a week before, when she went into the kitchen to grab a cup of tea before she started her chores. Nell Garford had been up earlier than usual, so they’d taken five minutes over their tea for a bit of a natter.
“You’ll never believe what went on here last night, Rose Bach.”
Rose wasn’t one for gossip, but that hadn’t been the first time she’d listened to the staff’s idle talk about the family. “What now?” Rose had said as she put a spoon of sugar into her cup and stirred it once. “Teresa again, I suppose.”
“Of course. It’s always about her. The two of them…” She turned her eyes to the ceiling “were waiting for her to get home, when the police rang. Ten-past-one in the morning it was, Rose. Middle of the night.” She leaned forward and whispered the next part. “Teresa got herself into a bit of trouble…” her eyebrows twitched, adding a little more drama to the statement.
“Not…”
Nell puckered her lips and shook her head. “Not quite. But she was molested, nearly raped.” Mrs Garford waited with bright eyes, watching the expression on Rose’s face.
“Oh my God,” Rose muttered. “That poor girl.”
“Ooph, nothing poor about her. Asked for it she did. The way she went out, dressed to the nines, with some bloke from the fairground.
Rose clucked her tongue. “That fairground lot are bad news. I’ll be glad when they’ve moved on.’
“It was him who done it,” Nell said. “The long haired lout!”
Rose shook her head. It was a terrible thing to happen to the family. She knew Gordon and Alice well enough to know they’d be devastated by such a scandal. Well, the shame of it, Rose thought.
“And now he’s going to marry her off. He’s had enough he said. I don’t think the misses were very happy, but you know what he’s like when he gets a notion in his head.” Nell nodded her agreement to her own question.
Later that same morning while she’d been polishing the wood of the grandfather clock in the hall, Mr. Bentley had called Rose to his office. She wasn’t one for mixing with the family on a social level. She was their cleaner and that’s where she liked to keep herself. Going into his office was bound to be bad news, she’d pondered at the time. Maybe they were letting her go. If she lost her job, she didn’t know how she and Annie would manage, not whilst they were paying for Kathy to go through college.
Gordon Bentley had been standing next to his desk. He was taller than Rose since she was only five-foot
three, but it was the air he had about him that made her feel intimidated. He’d always been a kind employer, but there was something she was never too sure about, since he was an unpredictable sort.
He got straight to the point. “I have just learned today that your granddaughter, Kathy, was involved in the incident last night.”
Rose hadn’t heard anything after that. She’d suddenly felt faint and needed a chair before she fell to the floor.
“For goodness sake, Gordon...” Alice Bentley had rushed to Rose’s side and offered her a seat right next to the desk. She’d poured her a glass of water from a crystal decanter on the sideboard and made Rose drink it quietly before they explained the rest of the story.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Alice had said. “We should have come to the house to see you and Kathy’s mother, but since you are here...”
The mention of Annie made Rose feel stronger. The thought of her daughter-in-law - a daughter really- hearing what she just heard made her nauseous. She needed to get a grip and find out what the whole matter was about. “What happened?” her voice sounded like a croak.
Alice Bentley sat down in a chair next to hers and spoke with gentle tones. “Teresa got into some difficulty with a boy. He was a fairground hand...not suitable at all...” She looked up to her husband standing near his desk.
Gordon had been sitting half-on with his leg draped over the side. “It seems Teresa was being attacked by the boy behind some fairground stalls. He punched her in the face and forced her to the ground...”