by Winnie M. Li
She’s been given the first row of the plane all to herself, and she’s thankful she won’t have to pass anyone else, interact with anyone on this flight. The plane gathers speed for the take-off and lifts itself at a sharp angle, banking to the right as it circles over the harbor.
Instinctively, she looks down at the city, tries to map her recognition of Belfast onto what she sees below. City Hall is visible and Victoria Square, and she can just about make out the Europa Hotel. Further north, set amidst green lawns, there’s the grey hulk of the Stormont, not so imposing when seen in miniature.
She glimpses Cavehill, with Belfast Castle upon it, and her eye tries to trace an invisible line along the ridge of hills. She looks southward, all the way to where a wooded glen creeps up against a plateau of pastures and quarries. To a place where the forest meets a field.
But the plane dips and swings away to the north, abruptly changing her field of vision. She pulls her eyes away from the window, back into the mundane, artificially lit interior of the plane.
Why look over there? What can be gained from recognizing that place from the air?
And the weight of the past 24 hours comes shuddering down around her. She begins to cry again, tries her best to stifle her sobs, and just weeps silently into the hood of her jacket.
Tears come pouring down her face. She must look pathetic to everyone else on the plane, but she can’t help it. She uses up her tissues, searches about for more.
Wordlessly, the flight attendant hands her some tissues, smiles and nods.
She smiles back, and glances out the window. They’ve cleared Northern Ireland. Grey-blue waters drift below, glimpsed momentarily in the sunlight before the clouds close over.
*
That afternoon, all he does is lie in bed. Gerry has some porn mags, but he won’t look at them. Don’t want to be reminded of the fucking nightmare he had last night.
Downstairs, he can hear the television chattering away and Gerry’s brothers and sisters laughing at it. He’ll not be going down there, not with all their questions.
The light changes with the day going by, and end of the afternoon, Gerry comes back. He’s carrying a bundle of chips wrapped up, still warm, and a tin of lager.
“Here, got you something to eat.”
The warm, greasy smell of chips drifts up as he unwraps the bundle, making his mouth water.
“What’d you find out?”
Gerry’s pacing back and forth now. It’s making him nervous, and he wishes he’d just come out and say it. “You’re in pretty deep. Deeper than I thought.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“It’s all over the news. Every Traveller I spoke to knows the peelers been poking round your home. The Glen this, the Glen that.”
“How much they know?”
“Just that it’s a Chinese girl who’s been raped near there, and it’s a teenage boy that done it.”
“Anyone know who?”
“Listen, they all know I’m friends with you. No one’s mentioned your name. Or Michael. But they’re not gonna tell me if they suspect.”
“The Travellers wouldn’t say nothing, would they?”
Gerry shrugs. Steals a chip from his bundle. “Wouldn’t think so, but you don’t know who to trust these days.”
“And the buffers?”
Gerry pauses. “I spoke to some settled folk I know. Some of the girls, some of the shopkeepers.”
“What they think?”
“The girls are all freaked out. It’s like they don’t want to talk about it, not to me. Just keep saying how horrible it is. The shopkeepers, they’re saying other stuff. Like they have a few ideas who it could be.”
“What’s that mean?”
Gerry’s shaking his head. “They’re saying stuff like they know a few lads who fit the description. They got their eye on one or two kids.”
“You think anyone’s gonna blab?”
Gerry looks at him like he’s stupid. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe them shopkeepers you’ve been stealing from? The buffer boys you get in scraps with? You’ve been in Belfast long enough for people to know who you are.”
Nothing to say there. He looks down at the greasy pile of chips in his lap.
Gerry’s still pacing. “Have you had other girls in the Glen?”
“One or two.”
“How recent? Were they tourists or from Belfast?”
“Jaysus, I can’t remember. They were from Belfast, I think. What’s it matter? They didn’t blab.”
“Well, they might now, now that your Chinky has gone to the peelers.”
“Fuck,” he says. “This is shite.”
Gerry sits himself down on the bed next to him. Grabs a few more chips.
“So, I still can’t find Michael.”
“What? Oh, come off it.”
“He’s not answering his phone, no one knows where he’s gone.”
“Well, that’s fucking grand. Me own brother, leaving me in the lurch like this.”
“Maybe he’s shacked up with some sweet beour, or maybe he found some work. I haven’t a clue. So…” Gerry pauses, clears his throat. “I had to call your da.”
Anger flares up and he punches Gerry in the shoulder.
“You didn’t. You fucking didn’t.”
Gerry puts up his hands. “I had to, I had to. You’ve no one else to help you out here.”
“What the fuck d’ya mean? What about you, Gerry?”
“Listen, I’m trying. I’m doing all I can. We just need to get you out of here. Over the border and holed up with your own folk somewhere safe. But I need your da or Michael to help me. Can’t do it on our own.”
“Aw, that’s the last fucking thing I need! Me own da on me case about this.” He crumples the greasy chip-paper into a ball, throws it hard as he can at the wall. It bounces and rolls into the corner, wilting where it stops.
A fierce beating from Da is what he’ll get now. He’s filled with the old hatred.
“It’s better than the peelers,” Gerry says. “It’s that or fucking jail for you.”
But there has to be some other way. Da or jail. How did his life get squeezed down to one or the other?
Two days ago he was fine. And now what are his chances?
He stands up. “I can’t fucking believe it!” he seethes. He thrashes his fists above his head, wants to punch through the wall. But Gerry gets a hold of him, wrestles him back onto the bed.
“Shh… shhh, would you? Me family’s outside. If they hear you shouting, they’re gonna start suspecting. Am I right?”
He growls, low and angry like a dog on a tight chain. No other way to let it out, so he’s punching the bed, then kicking at the ball of greasy chip-paper, wishing it were Da, just asking to have his teeth smashed in. Da and the fucking peelers. Lamp their faces in.
Eventually, he stops, gets his breath back.
“How much you tell me da then?”
“Not too much. Reckon he figured enough out. He’s coming back tomorrow.”
Gerry kicks his shoes off, leans back on the bed. “I started just by asking if he knew where Michael was. I says Johnny was after asking for him, since Michael weren’t around.”
He groans. No way Da would believe that.
“So then he figured something was up. He says, ‘So what’s Johnny done this time?’ And I says, ‘Don’t think he’s done nothing. But the peelers are poking around the halting site and asking all sorts to the Travellers there, so Johnny’s staying with us for a bit.”
He nods. Maybe it’s not so bad then.
“But listen,” Gerry says, quieter. “After your da gets here tomorrow night, you should be staying with him again.”
Fucking hell. Is he being kicked out?
“Not ’cause I don’t want to help you. I’m doing all I can. But me family are gonna start asking questions, bound to. And you never know what kind of rumours are gonna spring up.”
“Your brothers and sisters gonna rat me out, Gerry?”
He stares at Gerry. He is getting kicked out. So much for pavee loyalty, bastards.
Gerry’s still trying to explain, all apologies and shame. “We’ve done well to get this house, we don’t want to be getting on bad terms with the council.”
“Oh, so you’re cosying up to them now?”
“That’s not what I said, Johnny. We just don’t want to give them any reasons to take this house away from us.”
“Jaysus, they’re not going to take a house away from a Traveller family, Gerry! They’re well on their way to turning you into buffers, they’re not gonna stop now.”
Gerry’s eyes harden. “We’re not buffers just ’cause we live in a house.”
“Well, you’re not acting like Travellers now, are you? Turning me loose when the peelers are after me.”
“Oh, fucking stop with the drama, Johnny. Am I not the one helping you here? Getting you your breakfast and tea, tossing away your evidence and all.”
“Yeah. Yeah, and what did you do with me things? You after handing them over to the peelers?”
“Aw come off it! Threw them into a skip the other side of town, I did. They’re never going to find them there. And this is me fucking thanks.”
The blood is pulsing in his head and he stops. Knows he’s being an arse to Gerry, but who else can he get angry with? He just wishes everything could get rewound, back two days. He wouldn’t of gone out and roughed up that Chinese girl. Would’ve just gone home and had a wank.
“Fuck, listen, Gerry. I’m sorry, yeah? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Gerry nudges him in the shoulder.
“Yeah, well, that’s kinda obvious.”
They both laugh a bit.
“Jaysus, what am I gonna do?”
Gerry sighs, picks up the chip paper. “Listen, me mam’s trying to get all us to church tonight, but you’re best off laying low in here. Don’t want people seeing you out and about.”
Church. Jaysus. When’s the last time he’d been to church?
“So I’ll just remind her you’re poorly and she’ll, uh… she’ll just pray for you.” Gerry winks at him. “Gotta go down now, you just take care of yourself in here, all right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nods and watches as Gerry leaves, closing the door behind him.
But he’s not fine. He knows that much. The sun’s set by now, and in the gloom, the dark clawing returns. He thinks of the woman sitting by the side of the trail, eating her apple.
Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.
But you did, you fucking lied. You went straight to the peelers and told them. He wishes she were in front of him all over again. And then he would rape her hard, rape her until he came, pull her black hair and bite into her neck and grab her tits. And then he would squeeze her throat until she stopped breathing, and toss her over into the ravine. He should’ve done that. He should’ve done that.
But he didn’t, and now look where he is.
*
Three hours later, she’s in her flat in London, attempting to get ready for the film premiere. Jacob is with her. He’d met her at the airport as requested, asked no questions, just hugged her tight and chatted along pleasantly on the train back, without expecting her to say much.
Now they stand in her bedroom, looking at the dress she’s borrowed for the premiere. Five days earlier, a designer had lent it to her, and it hangs in its plastic sheeting – a delicate, white, Grecian gown.
Again, she wants to cry. This time, because the gown is so beautiful, yet she knows she’ll never do it justice. Before yesterday, she could have pulled it off. But now she can’t enjoy anything. Beauty and luxury are wasted on her.
“We’ll make it work,” Jacob says, clapping his hands.
She has twenty minutes before the cab arrives. Twenty minutes to go from rape victim to red-carpet guest.
She knows this is an unnecessary amount of stress she could do without. But she’s not backing out. Refuses to let that kid take this from her.
There’s no time to shower, so with a quiet, joyless desperation, she finds her strapless white bra and steps into the gown as Jacob zips her in. And then… her hair. Her goddamn hair.
“Just wear it down,” Jacob says.
But no, it’s Grecian-style, she has to wear her hair up. Only, with the whiplash, it’s virtually impossible to lift her hands up and twist her hair, so she talks Jacob through it.
“Just pull it back, twist it around and secure it with the elastic.”
“Isn’t this going to hurt if I pull your hair like this?”
“Don’t worry about it, just get the elastic in.” She doesn’t exactly feel pain the same way these days.
The hair is up. Sort of. She instructs Jacob to slide in a few bobby pins. She looks in the mirror. Good enough.
And now make-up. After a half-hearted attempt at eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara, she examines the bruises on her throat. They’re fairly dark, so she dabs concealer on, up and down her neck. Does that really cover up the bruises? Not really.
Thankfully the gown is long, so she needn’t worry about the bruises on her legs. Her arms are another matter. She and Jacob sit on the bed and for a few minutes, they both work at applying concealer onto the bruises.
It’s semi-successful. But at this point, she doesn’t have any more time. The cab is down there waiting for her.
She finds the white handbag she borrowed from the designer and instructs Jacob with what to put in it: some cash, credit cards, chapstick. And her camera. Does she really want to bring her camera?
Under any other circumstances, of course she would. The red-carpet premiere of a film she’d worked on for almost two years. Of course, she’d want to capture this in photographs.
But that’s all changed. She doesn’t really care anymore. The film premiere has become secondary in her life, just an obstacle standing between her and a chance to rest. Yet in a previous life – her life before yesterday – it would have been a time to celebrate. So play that role for the next six hours. Smile. Look nice. Engage people in conversation. Act as if you’re proud to be here.
She steps into her silver heels and Jacob hands her the clutch, pearly white with rhinestones.
He nods approvingly. “I have to say, I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to transform.”
She smiles. “See, I can do it when I have to.”
But there is no joy in this, no excitement. Only a sense of anxiety.
Jacob walks her out to the black cab. She gets inside, the driver already knows where to take her, and she watches silently as the Thames, the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye move past her window.
When she steps out of the cab, straight into Leicester Square, there’s a huge crowd gathered for the premiere, hoping to see the A-listers.
In the midst of this jostling crowd, she feels ridiculous in her long white gown and silver heels. The people around her start to stare. I am no one. Stop looking at me.
She keeps her eyes down, fishes out her phone and calls Stefan.
A few seconds later, he comes striding by, looking every bit the part – tall, dark, and handsome, in his dinner suit. He leads her to the entrance of the red carpet.
He asks how she is and she mumbles something, but the crowd is all around, shouting and straining. She shows her invite to the security man at the barriers and he waves them through. Now they’re on the red carpet.
Anxiety and nausea build up inside her. All she wants is somewhere quiet and safe and peaceful, but that’s exactly the opposite of where she is right now. They can hardly move down the red carpet; there’s a hold-up because the press are photographing the stars at the far end.
So they have to stand here, in full view of the crowds on either side of the carpet.
Stefan looks at her.
“Are you okay?”
She nods, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. She still hasn’t told Stefan what happened in Belfast, but now is not the right time. Not on the red carpet. Everyone staring at them must be thinking: who are these glamorous people who got invited to attend the premiere and why aren’t they smiling?
They should be smiling. She should be smiling.
She turns the corners of her mouth upwards, and that’s the best she can do. But she can’t look at anyone or she’ll start crying, so she just looks ahead.
She interlaces her arm with Stefan’s to steady herself. She won’t last much longer on these heels with the crowds shouting and the confusion and the nausea.
They slowly inch forward along the red carpet. There’s someone announcing something, and camera crews, bulbs flashing.
Please don’t turn the camera this way, please don’t. We’re nobodies, we’re not anyone you want to photograph. We’re not here.
They’re almost at the end of the carpet, just another few yards before they can escape into the theatre.
Nisha, their publicist, is in front of her.
“Darling, you look fabulous. Where is the dress from?”
She forces a smile. Racks her brain for the name of the designer and fishes it out from oblivion, somehow.
“Absolutely gorgeous. Can we get a few shots of you two on the red carpet?”
Really? It’s not necessary… we’re not famous.
“Oh, come on, don’t be silly. We’d love to. No harm in taking them.”
And then she and Stefan are thrust in front of all the sponsor logos, and the photographer is crouching down, ready to take the photo.
“Looking beautiful. Smile!”
And all she can think of is the bruises… her bruises… are they visible? And somehow, she forces her mouth into a smile, show those teeth, look happy, look proud. FLASH FLASH FLASH. Who are all these people? FLASH FLASH FLASH. The world lights up white-hot around her and she can hardly see.
She has no idea how she’ll ever make it through the night.
*
That night, he sleeps in Gerry’s bed. Gerry’s snoring next to him, but it’s ages before he gets to sleep. Still thinking about the shite he’s gotten himself into.