on her own, you took a chance and it’s backfired. That’s got nothing to do with me.” She’s sniggering
down the phone. “I don’t know why you bother. She wouldn’t give you a second glance, even if you
were the last man on the planet. She’s out of your league champ.”
“No she isn’t. She’s right here…”
There is silence. “There … where’s there?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he huffs.
“”Frankly, I couldn’t care less. I have Plan B to fall back on, remember?”
“No I don’t. I’ve got my own little Plan B going on here, and it’s looking mighty juicy …”
“You’re so full of shit! Where are you, in some seedy bed and breakfast, wanking off to a faded
photograph?”
“Fuck you Elise! I’m at Harrow Hall Grammar and about to reintroduce Miss Parker to my cock if
you must know.”
She’s laughing down the line. “Well, good luck with that Dan. Give her my best.”
Long after the call ends, all Dan can hear is her laughter; he’s screwing up his eyes, shaking his
head, but it will not go away. With his ego crushed, there’s only one thing that will rid him of his
debilitating affliction, and she’s ripe for the picking.
Preparing to leave Sloane Street behind I’ve flagged down a cab. The journey to Harrow Hall
Grammar School will take around 15 minutes. Time enough for me to read the instructions on my
pregnancy testing kit. All it takes is a small urine sample and five minutes of my time, apparently; an
insignificant amount of time for such a substantial discovery.
In the school car park there are only two vehicles, neither of which I recognise. One belongs to a
carpet fitter and the other to a company of Better Builders. I give them a sideways glance and enter the
building via the rear door that has been wedged open. Bypassing my classroom, I head straight for the
ladies bathroom on the first floor. In the empty hallways my feet echo on the polished tiles, striking a
merry beat to accompany the sound of distant whistling.
Hiding in the bottom of my handbag is an eyebath; the perfect, little receptacle for my steaming
urine sample. With some careful trickling I half fill it and place it on top of the cistern while I make
ready.
The small white stick sits comfortably in the golden liquid, requiring nothing more than patience to
develop.
Turning my back on the experiment, I lower the toilet seat and sit down. I have five minutes to
consider the implications of a positive result too mind-blowing to even contemplate.
Four minutes.
I rummage through the contents of my bag, not looking for anything in particular, simply filling the
time with a seemingly worthwhile task.
Three minutes.
The second finger crawls around the face of my watch like the shadow on a sundial. I’m fingering
the kiss and the heart charm on my bracelet, occupying my mind with a memory of an airborne space
not much bigger than this. He is miles away but he’s here with me in spirit.
Two minutes.
I think I might stand but I won’t turn around to look. Not yet.
One minute.
My heart is racing. Pesky little butterflies are stirring in my stomach. My thumb nail is between
my teeth. I’m as nervous as hell.
It’s time.
I take a life affirming breath and lift out the small white stick from the tiny puddle of pungent
liquid, and stare at it. To my utter amazement, there are two deep blue lines in the test response area.
That means only one thing …
With a thud, I land on the toilet seat, flipping the tell-tale indicator over and over between my
finger and thumb.
“Fuck!”
After a couple of minutes of numbness I pack away my things. In my hand sits my phone. Do I call
Ayden now? No. I’ll tell him later tonight, at a time and place more suited to the occasion.
I check myself in the mirror over the sink. I don’t look any different but I sure as hell feel different.
I’m smiling and watching the skin crease around eyes that are glistening with joy. The afternoon sun
cascades through the window, picking out blonde streaks in my hair and illuminating my face. I’m
blooming already.
Clever Ayden. How did he know?
It’s 1.30pm. Corridors usually bustling with noisy adolescents are deserted; the only sounds
echoing through the empty spaces come from power tools somewhere. With work to do, I envelop
myself in music and uplifting thoughts. On my desk are schemes of work, the inevitable tower of
books waiting to be checked and essays waiting to be read.
I glance at my phone. There’s a message from Charlie, asking about the joys of married life and one
from my husband:
Darling wife, it is with great anticipation that I look forward to your return this evening. Should
I bring anything home other than myself for your delectation? I love you. A. X
I quickly text back:
Darling husband, you need not concern yourself with my bodily or nutritional requirements. I
can assure you they are being well met. See you at home. I love you more. B.X
The phone sits in my top drawer. The sooner I complete my chores, the sooner I can leave, jump in
my car and head home.
By 3.00pm my brain is fried. To the music on my desktop computer I’ve marked, commented and
set targets for sixteen pupils. I’ve had enough. It’s time to call it a day. I close my eyes and listen to
the dulcet tones of Carly Simon singing The Right Thing To Do, smiling at the appropriateness of the
lyrics. Preparing to shut down I hear my classroom door opening but pay little attention to it, focusing
on the computer screen. “I’m about to leave. Are you locking up?” I ask.
“No,” growls a voice from across the room.
I look up, hearing the unfamiliar voice and what I see causes my heart to miss a beat and blood to
freeze in my veins.
Fuck! It’s him.
“Hello Princess. We meet again. Have you missed me?”
Out of sight, I drop my hand into the drawer and with a couple of sideways glances, text two words
to Ayden:
Save Us.
With it sent, I press Speed-dial 1. I hear Ayden on the other end but his voice is a garbled hiss of
indistinct words. I speak for his benefit and for my life.
“No. I haven’t missed you and I’m not your princess. You should leave.”
He approaches me with a lascivious grin and I lurch back reflexively. “Now that’s not what I’d call
a warm welcome. I thought you’d be pleased to see me, after all this time.”
“Well, you’d be wrong.” I throw down my pen to make a point. In actual fact, I could piss my pants.
All I have are my words. I glance at my phone and read the text. There are three words:
WHERE ARE YOU???
“What are you doing here? This is a school. There are people everywhere.”
“No, there isn’t. We have all the time in the world to get reacquainted. We have a history, you and
I.” He tips his head to one side and fixes me to the spot with a monstrous sneer.
“No. We haven’t,” I say sternly, watching him throw down a heavy rucksack that rattles before
hitting the carpet with a noisy thud.
He approaches my desk. “What is it they say princess? Two’s company, three’s … you know the
rest.”
He towers over my desk and positions hi
mself on the edge, undressing me with his lecherous eyes.
“You haven’t changed. Maybe you look a little less innocent since Stone’s been sinking his cock into
you but no worries. I can live with that.”
“You’re disgusting. Ayden Stone is my husband.” His words are making my skin crawl and he
hasn’t even laid a finger on me – yet.
“Yes, he is and I will take great delight in taking away from him what belongs to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I hiss, pushing back my chair, edging away.
He’s laughing. “Frances, you always were a fighter. That’s what’s so special about you. I like a girl
who’s prepared to fight back. But …” He reaches out to touch my hair and I duck to avoid his
enormous hand. “But a smart girl knows when she’s beaten and stops fighting or …” He moves
quickly and takes a handful of my hair in his left hand. “… Or, princess, you might get hurt.”
By my hair, he drags me around the desk. Only now can I appreciate the gravity of my plight: he’s
enormous. And, more worryingly, he’s deadly serious.
To think, minutes ago I was contemplating an evening spent in the arms of the man I love, breaking
the news that we are having a baby, and now my perfect life is about to come crashing down around
my ears. The last voice I will hear could well be that of my demon.
Ayden’s three words come back to me. He must know where I am now. I have to keep him talking
because out there on the roads of north London, there will be a silver Rolls Royce mounting curbs,
overtaking on the hard shoulder and doing 90 down side streets to get to me . He’ll be out of his mind.
Save us Ayden …
I take a courageous breath and ask softly, “What do you want?”
“You know.” He leans in, pressing my back against the white board, flattening his body against
mine. I feel small and helpless. He licks my face. “I want to be inside you and to taste you. Like last
time.”
“But why me?” I turn my face to one side to avoid his tongue.
“Because you’re perfect.” His hand drops from my hair and finds its way around my throat. I am
pinioned against the wall by a rough, heavy hand; the vice like grip could tighten and crush my
windpipe in a single movement.
With his remaining hand he fondles my breasts and tears open my blouse. I reach up to beat away
his hand but he stares me out and tightens his grip, causing me to choke. “Now, be good Frances.
There’s no reason why we can’t be friendly about this. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, not
like last time.” He runs his thumb across the lace of my bra and slips it inside, applying pressure to a
hardening nipple.
I close my eyes, pretending this isn’t happening. It’s not real. In my head I hum along to the last
song I heard, The Right Thing To Do. But the pain he inflicts, squeezing my nipple between his finger
and thumb brings me back to the present with a jolt.
“Stay with me princess. It’s no fun if you’re not here.” I try to speak. “Do you have something to
say?”
“Do you get off on hurting helpless women? Can’t you get it up any other way?” I see flames
sparking in his eyes. What have I ignited?
He releases his hand from my throat, takes a step back and slaps me across the face. My head
judders to the side and my left cheek stings from the force of a single, heavy-handed blow. I’m left
with the metallic taste of blood in my mouth but at least I’ve bought myself some time.
“Less of the fucking attitude. Don’t make me hurt you. It’s taken me a long time, a lot of effort and
a shit load of cash to find you and I will get what I deserve. See this.” He tears open his shirt to reveal
four recently engraved letters across his heart, scabbed over and framed by unsightly skin that’s red
and inflamed. It’s a grotesque image. “See? You’re mine. Now, get on your fucking knees.”
I stand my ground and meet his eyes with equal ferocity.
Ayden save us …
“I won’t tell you again.”
I remain standing.
In a flash, he throws a punch and I fall to my knees coughing and spluttering. The impact of his fist
against my stomach is indescribably painful. I may never walk upright again.
Whilst I’m doubled up, he crosses the room and opens his rucksack. I lift my head a fraction and,
when I see the blade, I die a little inside.
He strides over to me. “Now see what you made me do. I did warn you but you wouldn’t listen. Just
had to smart mouth me, didn’t you?” He tips up my head, witnessing the scars of his brutality. My
face is bruised and my eyes are swollen from holding back tears. But I’m alive.
“I think it’s about time I taught you a lesson. Stand up.” One handed, he pulls me upright by my
arm. In his other hand, there rests the deadly weapon. I have to make him lose the knife. A man I can
fight, but a blade? I have no defence against that.
I begin to laugh; it’s a sardonic roar that eats away at his ego like paint stripper. It’s contrived, but
it works.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
I stop momentarily to construct a sentence that will inflict a psychological blow. “You. Here you
are, all six foot whatever, and you need a knife to control a little thing like me. It’s laughable.”
My insinuation touches a nerve. “I don’t need a fucking knife, not for what I’m going to do to you
Princess.” He brushes his cheek against mine to find my ear and I catch the scent of an intoxicated
man uncultivated and over-heated.
“But afterwards, who knows? We may indulge in a little knife play at my place. I’ve got it all ready
for you. You’ll be very comfortable there. Now you keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll fill it with
my cock and come so hard, you’ll choke on it.”
I hold my tongue.
“Now we’ve sorted out the ground rules, we can get started.” He throws the knife across the floor to
his right, spins me around and plasters my face against the white board. With his free hand, he’s
lifting my skirt. I become aware of his erection slammed against by lower back. Dear God!
“How does your rich boyfriend like it? I bet he likes to bend you over and stick it to you, doesn’t
he? Can’t say I blame him. You’ve got a sweet little arse Frances.”
“The name’s Beth,” I mumble between crushed lips.
“No, it isn’t. You’ll always be Frances to me. Get used to it.”
His free hand is squeezing my bottom and eager fingers are sliding beneath me. I try to wriggle free
but it’s impossible.
“Very nice,” he purrs. ”Even through your panties I can feel you’re wet for me.”
My stomach churns. “I’m not wet for you, you crazy bastard,” I growl. “I’m wet for my husband
and when he gets here he’ll fucking kill you.”
He stops fondling and smothers my neck with wetness from his mouth and his tongue. I could
vomit.
“I’ll be done with you by the time he gets here and he won’t want you then, will he? You’ll be
damaged goods.” He takes a handful of hair from the scruff of my neck and marches me to the nearest
desk. In a single lunge he places me over it and grabs both my hands behind my back; my slender
wrists fit easily into his one-handed grasp.
“I won’t lie, this may sting a little but there’s nothing I can do about that, I’
m afraid.”
He’s distracted, fumbling around for the top of my panties. I sense an opportunity. With every
ounce of strength I have, I throw myself off the desk and onto the floor. My head hits the carpet with a
thud and I’m temporarily stunned. The grip he has on my wrists slackens as I fall and I wriggle free. I
crawl backwards away from him but he’s incensed. Like a raging bull he tosses desks left and right to
get to me. I fear for my life.
Tears erupt from my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks like lemonade from a bottle; my body
hurts, my face aches …
Ayden, please save us …
As if I’m no more than a rag doll, he picks me off the floor single handed. This time he has no
desire to communicate with words, his actions speak for themselves; he’s driven by an insatiable urge
to fuck me. Now!
“Please, don’t do this … I haven’t done anything to you … you don’t have to do this … please …” I
am quietened by the force of his hand against my cheek. It lands with a crack and sends my head
careering to the side. I have nothing left. Nothing to fight with. No strength. No hope.
Like a toy with the stuffing removed I fold over the nearest desk, my face pressed into the veneer;
his splayed hand is flat against my back and his free hand is tearing off my panties …
I am beyond rescuing …
As my world folds in on itself, all I am left with is a black hole of nothingness; an empty well into
which I’m about to fall. Everything that was good is a faded memory. There’s only one word in my
head and I sob and scream it for all I’m worth. “Ay-den!”
The door flies open. I can just lift my head high enough to see Ayden standing there. He’s
perspiring and breathing heavily, nailed to the spot by this act of sexual cruelty.
Lester is by his side. He steps forward. “I know this guy.”
Ayden holds him back with an outstretched arm. “No. I’ll deal with this. Call for an ambulance and
the police. Go!”
For a split second our eyes meet. I see the love he has for me there; it’s like an ocean, wide and
deep. There’s compassion for my suffering but, in a flash that softness is gone. In its place is a steely
resolve to hurt someone, to hurt this crazy bastard who was seconds away from brutally raping me.
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 49