No Easy Road

by Patsy Whyte

  I saw his point. There wasn't much space in the living room. It was all but taken up with the double bed I slept in. He said he was always getting disturbed by us coming in late. Because he was changing his shifts to the early shift, he needed his sleep. Mick understood and told them he would try his best to get us somewhere else to live as quickly as possible.

  Over the coming days, Mick scoured the newspapers. He kept asking his friends if they knew of anywhere and chased up lead after lead. Finally, he found a flat we could afford, in the Stobswell area of the city. The only problem was they wanted a deposit and a months rent in advance before handing over the keys. Mick explained the situation to his uncle who hummed and hawed and finally agreed to lend us the money.

  The small ground floor flat was the first place I could truly call my own home. It was reasonably furnished with a combined sitting room and kitchen and a bedroom. Every day, I scrubbed and cleaned it, to keep the place spick and span. I was so proud of my new home.

  Within days of moving in, Mick started disappearing for hours on end. He always left the flat smartly dressed, in a three piece suit. I had no idea where he went. Whenever I asked him, his reply was always vague. He was he was meeting his friends. So I pottered about the flat looking for things to do, just to keep myself occupied.

  One afternoon, he came back with one of his friends in tow. They both looked hot and sweaty and out of breath, as if they'd been running for miles. Mick seemed different, excited, animated. He told me to get ready because we were all going into town shopping to buy some new clothes.

  Then he turned to his friend and they began speaking to each other in a strange sort of language. I never heard him talking this way before and didn't know what to make of it. Later, I learned it was called eggy. They put the word egg before every vowel, hiding the meaning of the sentence. I hated it when he talked that way.

  "By the way, this is Franky, my best mate", said Mick, casually, realising we'd not been introduced.

  Franky was small and stocky, with short brown hair. He never spoke much to me as we all walked into town. I asked Mick where he got the money from. He said he backed a couple of horses at the bookies. Both of them were 100-1 outsiders, but they still won. I didn't know what he was talking about, never having been in a bookies in my life. He pulled out a wad of cash and held it in the air and kissed it.

  "We're rolling in it", he announced, with a big grin on his face.

  There must have been hundreds of pounds in his hand. I never saw so much money in all my life. We descended on the shops wide eyed, like a bunch of excited school kids. Franky still never said anything. I got the feeling he felt left out with Mick heaping all the attention on me. It felt fantastic, walking around the shops knowing I could buy whatever I wanted. But it soon became clear Mick had other ideas. For he began to pick dresses for me, holding them up for me to wear.

  "Try this one on", he said, as if giving me an order.

  So I found myself doing exactly as I was told, trying on the clothes which Mick chose for me. I didn't have a say in the matter. Whenever I tried to choose something I wanted, he said he didn't like it and wouldn't pay for it. He pulled some boots from a shelf and told me to put them on. They were really expensive, made of suede. When I zipped them up, they reached just above my knees. Mick slowly eyed me up and down several times. I felt uncomfortable.

  "Right, we'll buy them", he said.

  His behaviour angered me. It began to show. Although the clothes he picked for me were lovely, I wanted to choose something that I wanted, not what he wanted. He noticed how upset I was becoming. So he gave me some money and pulled Franky over to the men's department, leaving me to look at some coats. I picked out a lightweight raincoat with a red silk hanky sewn into the pocket. It was a really smart looking coat. So I bought it. Mick came back after buying some shirts and was furious when I showed him the coat.

  "That's for fucking skinhead girls. You're not wearing that!", he roared out.

  I felt very hurt and embarrassed. Everyone in the busy store was now watching us intently. But there was nothing he could do because I had already paid for it. By the time we all got back to the flat, Mick had cooled off, although he still warned me I wasn't ever to wear the coat again.

  Next day, he made an appointment for me at the hairdresser. Again I had no choice in the matter. He did it without telling me. I just had to drop everything and go. He even left the hairdresser instructions how my hair was to be cut and styled. Then he dragged me along to the dole where he claimed money for us both, but I never once saw a penny.

  Mick disappeared more and more over the coming days and weeks. I still had no idea what he was up to. But I trusted him. Our relationship, for the most part, was tender and passionate. When we made love, beautiful shades of blue and pink flooded my mind, immersing me in some strange, mystical power over which I had no control. But there were other times I was left feeling dirty and vulnerable, when he ordered me to stand naked in front of him holding a lit candle.

  "Turn towards the window", he shouted out.

  I turned slowly in the semi-darkness, scared witless, playing out some weird scene he conjured up in his head. I felt his eyes lusting over my naked form in the soft glow of the candlelight. But I wasn't playing the part properly.

  "Do it again. Walk slowly towards me. Hold the candle higher", he screamed.

  I wanted desperately to grab a blanket to cover myself, to hide my vulnerability, to wrap it around me so I felt safe. But I didn't want to displease him either. His eyes feasted once more on my naked flesh until he felt aroused enough and I was sufficiently degraded. He enjoyed the power he had over me.

  One afternoon, he said he had to see someone and asked me to go with him. He took me to a large office block in the centre of town. The person he was supposed to see was still busy with another client, so the receptionist told us to take a seat and wait. I still had no idea why we were there. I kept asking Mick but he never gave me a straight forward answer. He looked uncomfortable.

  A middle aged man finally appeared in front of us and Mick told me to sit and wait outside while he went in. This wouldn't take very long. The man obviously knew Mick and that I was his girlfriend, so he also invited me to join them. Mick wasn't happy at the idea but appeared to have no choice. Inside, the man introduced himself as Mick's probation officer. I had no idea what that meant. He asked Mick if he was keeping out of trouble. Mick said he was. Then he asked him if he had found a job yet.

  "No", said Mick.

  The probation officer, who was sitting behind his desk, turned slightly and looked at me. I was sitting directly in front of him, on the only chair available in the office. Mick was standing at the side of me.

  "And what about your girlfriend. Does she know about you?"

  Mick squirmed and shifted his weight from one leg to another.

  "No. I haven't told her anything."

  A Pandora's box opened up as the probation officer reeled off a list of past misdeeds and crimes stretching back many years. Now I knew it all, Mick's dark secrets, the mindless acts of vandalism when he was a young kid, the assaults, the drug dealing, the stretches inside. He'd hidden everything from me so well and now I didn't know him.

  My gut instincts were right all along. He really was trouble. But by the time we arrived back at the flat, Mick convinced me he'd changed his life around. He was now on the straight and narrow and determined to make a better life for us both. And I believed him. After all, I convinced myself, I never once saw him doing anything wrong.

  Up until that point, when Mick disappeared for hours, it was always during the day. When he came back at night, we usually went out somewhere, often to the pub, or sometimes to the dancing or to see a film at the cinema. But then he started going out by himself at night, first picking an argument with me so he could storm off.

  He returned home drunk but was usually happy and chatty and full of apologies. But one night, there was something different about him. I couldn't
put my finger on it. He looked preoccupied, broody, and wouldn't tell me what was wrong. There was no apology either.

  "Who've you been screwing when I'm out?", he suddenly screamed out.

  I was stunned, frightened, frozen to the spot. His faced was changed. He was suddenly transformed into a monster and I felt helpless. I didn't understand what was happening. I watched horrified as he ran through to the bedroom, peering under the bed as if looking for someone or for some evidence. Then he ran to the window.

  "Where's the fucking cunt hiding?"

  He kept on and on, screaming out the same question. Then he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me around the room. I yelled out in pain.

  "Where's he hiding?"

  "Honestly, there's no one here", I cried out, begging him to stop.

  But he didn't believe.

  "Lying bitch!"

  He smacked me hard across the face with the back of his hand. I stumbled and fell to the floor. Then he kicked me again and again. I curled up into a tight ball to protect myself. When the beating finally stopped, Mick walked over to the settee and lay down without another word and stared up at the ceiling.

  How long I lay there, on the floor, feet away from him, terrified, I don't know. I watched his face through half-opened eyes, not daring to move an inch. Eventually, he fell asleep. I crawled across the floor to the bedroom and managed somehow to pull myself up onto the bed. I ached all over. The darkness felt comforting and safe. I tried to work out what had just taken place. Why had he acted this way, with such violence, when I had done nothing wrong? There were no answers. I sobbed my eyes out until I fell asleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cold water felt soothing as I gently splashed my face. At first, I was too frightened to look in the bathroom mirror at my reflection. I knew I wouldn't recognise the 16-year-old girl staring back at me. She looked battered and bruised, a real mess, with red swollen lips and eyes. I turned away and pulled a comb through my hair and winced in pain. My scalp still hurt too much. I gave up.

  Mick was in the kitchen when I went through, scrubbing hard at the cupboards, hardly able to look at me. He scrubbed so hard I got the feeling he was trying to do some kind of penance for what he did, attempting to wash away the stain, the memory of last night. I couldn't talk to him. I didn't want to. He knew what he did to me and he'd have to deal with it himself, without any words of comfort or forgiveness from me. I made myself a cup of tea and left him to get on with it. Later on, he tried to make amends by suggesting I go back to Aberdeen and visit my sister.

  "It'll do you some good. You've not seen her in a while. You can spend some time with her. What do you think?"

  "Yes", I replied, grudgingly.

  It would be nice, I thought to myself. I hadn't seen Lottie or the boys for a few months now and I missed her company, talking late into the night over many cups of tea. More than anything, I needed some space, to get away and to think whether my relationship with Mick was worth continuing. But I didn't want my sister to see my face like this. So I decided to wait until the swelling died down. Over the coming days, Mick couldn't have been nicer to me, saying sorry all the time and promising never to hit me again. Our relationship seemed better than ever.

  Early one morning, he asked me to get ready. We were going out for the day with his friend Franky. I asked him where to, but he was evasive, saying only I would see. We caught a bus across the Tay Bridge to a small picturesque village somewhere in Fife. I didn't know where we were as we strolled along quiet streets with old quaint cottages on either side. Brightly coloured flowers tumbled out of window boxes set against white washed walls. The smell of lavender hung in the air as we passed by neat and tidy gardens filled with lupins and roses.

  We came to a small hotel and went around the side and up a narrow dimly lit staircase. Mick said he had to meet someone in one of the hotel rooms. So I followed him and Franky without thinking much about it. I found myself in an empty room and Franky stood outside as if on guard. Mick put a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet before bending down and pulling out a large suitcase from under the bed. It was as if he knew it was already there, just waiting for him. I felt uncomfortable. Something didn't feel right.

  Mick opened the suitcase and pulled out tight bundles of money, each one secured by an elastic band. He stuffed them into his suit pockets. After pushing the suitcase back under the bed, we hurriedly left the hotel the way we came in. My mind was filled with dark gloomy thoughts as we sat on the bus taking us back home. Mick and Franky seemed on a high, talking eggy so I wouldn't understand them. What were they hiding from me? Mick promised me he was going straight. Now I felt I was being sucked into some kind of seedy shadowy world. He was up to no good. I felt helpless.

  Not long afterwards, Mick took me to a pub I'd never been to before. It was dark and grubby. The atmosphere felt cold and unfriendly, nothing like the pubs we normally went to. I sat down. Mick walked up to the bar to get me a vodka and orange. Then he said he had some business to sort out, which wouldn't take very long.

  All about me, small groups of men huddled around tables, talking and arguing amongst themselves. Their voices rose and fell, then tailed off into whispers. I felt like a duck out of water. But I was also fascinated. Suddenly, there were handshakes all round, as if deals had been struck.

  When Mick came back, we went downstairs to the basement where some man with a larger than life personality was talking to everyone. The man wore a white suit with a bright red carnation through the button hole. Mick introduced me as his girlfriend. Then he wished him a happy birthday. There was something dark and menacing about the man as I shook his hand.

  He smiled, showing a mouthful of gold fillings. Mick appeared nervous and edgy. I never saw him act this way before. He made some excuse about finding a seat, but I knew it was just to get away from this man. I didn't like the people or the pub and just wanted to go home.

  But Mick warned me the man in the white suit would take great offence if we just walked out and left. He wasn't the sort of person to cross. I wasn't sure what Mick meant by that. But later, when everyone was up dancing, we managed to slip away quietly, without anyone noticing. When I asked Mick who he was, he said it was best I didn't ask any more questions.

  * * *

  By now, the swelling on my face had died down enough so I could go and visit my sister. I kissed Mick goodbye at the bus station and told him not to worry and that I'd see him again in a week. I was very glad to see Lottie and to catch up with all her news. If she noticed anything wrong with my face, she never mentioned it.

  As I walked along the familiar streets of the city centre, looking at all the shops, I bumped into Doreen, who I last met at the YWCA hostel. I told her I was pleased to see her and I bore her no grudges for involving me in the cheque book incident with Cathy. But there was something different about her. She'd lost her spark. I asked her if she was feeling all right.

  "I'm OK", she answered, sounding hesitant and depressed.

  "Where are you working?", I said, trying hard to keep the conversation going.

  Her eyes turned away and looked at the ground. She spoke almost in a whisper.

  "I'm a prostitute", she said.

  Hardly believing what I heard, I said, "Oh Doreen, that's awful. You can't do that! What made you do it?"

  "Money. Can't live on fresh air."

  "But there must be something else you can do?"

  "Well, there isn't!".

  She was getting annoyed at me, thinking I was condemning her. But I wasn't. I was just really surprised and saddened. Then I told her about my flat in Dundee and about Mick.

  "Why don't you come back with me? I'll help you until you find a decent job and get a place of your own."

  She was taken aback by the suggestion. I saw she was thinking hard about it and wanted to reassure her.

  "You've nothing to lose. Go on, give it a try", I said, hoping to persuade her.

  She shrugged her shoulders and answere
d, "I'll see."