Lethal Ties

by Christmas, Helen

  “That’s right,” I mumbled.

  An icy leaden weight bound me to my chair. I didn’t want to think about that flashback, but it insisted on its own presence, an invasive shadow crouching on the edge of my mind.

  “There’s something else I recalled,” I began, and told her the rest.

  The million dollar question was why Joe had locked me in the laundry room.

  More to the point, why had he taken such a brutal punishment?

  Describing the scene wasn’t easy but I had to force myself to keep talking. An image of his stricken face tore through the void of darkness, a zigzag of black welts.

  “He looked so broken that day, as if all the fight had been beaten out of him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah sighed. “You obviously cared very deeply for this boy and yet you were powerless to do anything to help him?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “So what would you say to Joe now, if you met up again?”

  “I’d ask him what had happened, and how sorry I am he was hurt. Joe and Sam were the only boys I ever really bonded with, you see, but Sam disappeared and I have no idea where Joe went. He ran away, that’s all I know. He could be married with kids by now...”

  “Yes,” Hannah murmured and I could hear the smile in her voice. “There is every chance Joe has moved on, so stop torturing yourself. You can’t hold yourself responsible for what happened to him, Maisie. But what about you?”

  “Me,” I whispered. “What about me? I came out of it okay, didn’t I?”

  “But did you?” she pushed. “You still harbour painful feelings, or this wouldn’t be on your mind to the extent it is. So tell me... when you say ‘these were the only two boys you ever bonded with,’ does this mean there was no one else you trusted?”

  My brow buckled into a frown as I considered her question.

  “It’s funny you should ask, but I don’t think there was, which is something my foster parents brought up too. They can’t understand why I’m not in a relationship.”

  “What about your teens? There must have been a boyfriend or two, surely?”

  I’m not sure there was.

  Growing up an anxious adolescent, I tended to shy away from boys at my secondary school.

  “They were more like friends who happened to be boys. I was so aloof, I didn’t have a proper boyfriend until I went to college.”

  “College... right, so can you tell me how you felt when you first met him?”

  Tears pooled behind my eyelids. I didn’t want to think about my ‘first love’ but the memory was rising faster than a tsunami.

  “There were lots of nice-looking male students at FE college, and they were so much more mature than the boys I’d met at school. There was one in particular though. Simon.”

  As I said his name, the man himself leapt into my thoughts. Tall, slender, broad in the shoulders, he moved with a natural loose-limbed grace. Where other boys seemed awkward, Simon behaved as if he didn’t give a toss, and it was that easy-going confidence I liked about him.

  “We were huddled in the cafeteria when a group of boys joined our table, Simon among them. I remember how excited I was, because all my friends fancied him. He could have had his pick of any one of us but it was me he singled out...”

  For all that he seemed not to care about a thing, there was something in Simon that caught me off guard. Oh, those deep blue eyes... the way they shone when I introduced myself.

  ‘Is that your natural hair colour?’ he asked me. ‘It’s stunning.’

  I remember laughing. ‘Well, yeah! Did you think I’d dyed it?’

  Stupid answer! I felt a flood of heat in my face when I should have been swelling with the compliment. Grinning at my coyness, he inched his chair a little closer, the musky essence of his aftershave sending flutters through my stomach.

  “He seemed to like the fact I was one of the quieter ones,” I said to Hannah. “I mean, I didn’t wear much makeup but he said he preferred the natural look and was intrigued when I told him I had been fostered...”

  “How fast did the relationship develop then?” Hannah asked.

  “You mean did we - we - sleep together?” I faltered.

  It happened within two weeks. I had never fancied anyone so much, the way he flirted and laughed with me. Every date brought a warm bubble of anticipation and I loved the way he kissed me. The smell of him, the touch of his skin made my head spin... it was inevitable he would want to take things further.

  “At eighteen, I was late losing my virginity, but it was bound to happen one day...” A sob caught my throat. “For someone who claimed to love me though, there was so little tenderness when it did happen.”

  “Maisie, I hate to pry but can you bear to describe what went wrong?”

  A blanket of shame clung to me now. “I’ve always blamed myself but I-I sort of froze. Every part of me tensed up, my mind in a very dark place...” I squeezed my eyes shut to block the tears. “A few kind words might have helped. I wish he had cuddled me, tried to comfort me, but if anything he seemed angry.”

  His harsh voice barged into my thoughts even now: ‘For Christ’s sake, just relax will you, can’t you at least pretend you’re enjoying it?’

  I felt wounded.

  But as the walls of amnesia started to crumble, so the horror continued to escalate: the way he thrust into me was almost mechanical, as if I were no more than a means to an end.

  “I just wasn’t enjoying it. There was no emotional attachment. It felt like a part of me had shut down, and I zoned out. Just lay there, waiting for it to be over...”

  “But that sounds quite traumatic,” Hannah tried to pacify me, “and why do you assume it was your fault? Maybe he wasn’t as experienced as you thought.”

  “Maybe,” I sobbed, “but at the end of the day, I was the one who hated it and that’s why he got upset. I hurt his pride...”

  What I didn’t want to tell her was it felt more like consenting to a rape.

  A tear squeezed its way out but I wiped it away. To think how I had worshipped Simon, how thrilled I’d been to be going out with him.

  “Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Hannah persisted. “From what you describe, it strikes me he wasn’t that gentle with you.”

  “No,” I whispered. “He wasn’t, and that’s what killed our relationship.”

  There was more, I knew that now, but how could I explain it? That on the night in question I was afflicted by a darker fear that had nothing to do with disappointment. More a sense of victimhood. That to me, sex embodied nothing more than power, degradation and pain.

  “Do you want to know what was really hurtful?” I choked. “He told his friends I was a rubbish lay.”

  ******

  By the time I left I was still tearful, but aware of an overwhelming force of anger. It called to mind everything Sarah had said about Connor building a wall around himself.

  Wasn’t this exactly what I had done over the years?

  Fearful to allow anyone to get close to me, I had grown a shell as thick as a turtle’s.

  I never wanted to come across as ‘needy’, but looking back, I’m sure Simon could have handled the situation better and as for the way he insulted me... I should have kicked him in the balls.

  Sure, there had been other men in my life, but in the aftermath of that experience, I was lacking in sexual confidence. If a man tried it on too soon, I turned into an ice queen, the one thing I had never wanted to admit to my foster parents.

  Because it wasn’t so much I hadn’t found anyone I liked enough to settle down with. I was scared stiff, my single status at thirty-two living proof I was still damaged and lived in fear of intimate relationships.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Hannah asked. “You know you can always talk to me. Any more flashbacks, I’m only on the end of a phone.”

  “Thanks, Hannah.” I forced a smile.

  Yes, that session had been quite an
emotional upheaval.

  Except I was no closer to understanding what lay deeper.

  Leaving her house, I caught the shadow of a black car lingering on the periphery. It hadn’t been there before, and I barely took it in, my mind a maelstrom of personal worries.

  Probably Hannah’s next appointment.

  Then, at last, I switched my mobile back on.

  Ping after ping, the notifications burst from the handset like machine gun fire. I stared at the screen and sighed at all the missed calls. A second later, it started ringing.

  “Maisie!” a voice shrieked from the earpiece. “At last! I must have left a zillion texts! Where the bloody hell have you been?”

  “Jess,” I spluttered, the guilt coursing through my mind. “How are you? I’m so sorry I never got back to you, but I booked some time off work to visit my family. Then something else came up. I guess I’ve been a bit pre-occupied.”

  “And you never thought to switch your phone on?”

  I bit my tongue. Of course, I always had it switched off during therapy, a matter Jess wasn’t even aware of. I just could not bring myself to tell her. Best friend or not, Jess would be desperate to hear all the juicy bits – today’s session, for example – and I had a hell of a lot more psychological issues to resolve before I was ready for anything like that. So everything that emerged in Hannah’s therapy room would stay under wraps for now.

  “You can talk!” I tried to humour her. “When I called you the other night your phone went straight to voicemail. So what’s the latest gossip?”

  “Oh Maisie...” There was no denying the smugness tucked in her voice. “I can’t wait to tell you.”

  Pausing mid-step, I knew what was coming. “Go on then, who is he?”

  “How do you know it’s a man?” she laughed. “Ten out of ten though. That hunky jazz musician, Steve, texted me and we had the most amazing date.”

  “Really?” I said. “Lucky you! Anywhere nice?”

  “Steve lives in Portsmouth, a bit of a trek from Bognor, so he only went and booked a romantic love nest in the New Forest! You should have seen it, Maisie. Marble pillars and chandeliers, champagne in the bedroom, a whirlpool bath... In fact we’ve only been apart for one night since, and I’m missing him already.”

  “Sweet,” I kept indulging her. “I hope you took some pictures.”

  “I did. I sent you a couple but you’ve obviously been too pre-occupied to look at them...”

  “Oh, stop it,” I tittered. “I’ll look later! Give me a chance.”

  “I saw you posted on Instagram,” she challenged me. “So what’s with the orchids? Where were they taken?”

  “Champneys.” I smiled with the memory. “I bumped into a family friend in Swanley, who suggested a spa day, and that’s the other reason I’ve been offline. Google it, Jess, it’s stunning! We could book a pampering day ourselves for just the two of us.”

  “I know Champneys. I’ve been there and you’re right, it’s heavenly!”

  Phone glued to my ear, I kept walking. Just five more minutes and I would be back at my flat. I had to admit it, the sound of my friend’s voice felt nourishing, like a breath of fresh air...

  “What are you up to tonight then?” I asked. “Fancy popping out for a drink?”

  An uncomfortably long pause siphoned all the hope from my heart.

  “Um - I’d love to,” she faltered, “but I can’t. It’s Friday night and Steve’s got a gig in Midhurst. I promised I’d go along and support him. Any chance we could catch up another time?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I responded, keeping my voice light.

  I didn’t want to sound disappointed but the thought of spending another night alone in my flat seemed ever more daunting.

  That feeling was exacerbated as soon as I returned home. I had only just stepped into the hallway when Paula almost barged into me. The two of us froze, the air choked with tension.

  “Evening, Paula,” I greeted her curtly.

  “Well, you’ve got some front,” she spat. “You two-faced bitch.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Thrusting her head close until it loomed inches from mine, she lowered her voice to a snarl. “I ‘eard ya. You and that old fart upstairs. Having a good laugh about me, were ya?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” I protested. “I wasn’t laughing...”

  “Yes, you were,” Paula sneered. “I ‘eard ya! And for the record, I wouldn’t entertain that miserable old git if he offered us a million quid, so tell him that the next time you have one of yer cosy little chats...”

  With a final glare, she brushed past me and out of the building.

  I exhaled a bitter sigh. I loathed confrontations, no matter how small, and the toxic exchange had left me cringing. Perhaps I should have stuck up for her; perhaps I might have seized the opportunity to tell her exactly what I thought of Mr Lacey.

  Spiteful, cantankerous, bigoted.

  Except he was the last person I wanted to be reminded of right now.

  The evening passed in torturous slowness. Devoid of Jess’s company, I found myself binge watching old comedies on ‘Dave.’

  Anything to avoid the news.

  At one point I even contemplated taking a walk down to the Waverley, since I was bound to bump into someone familiar.

  On the other hand, did I really want to risk being surrounded by strangers? It wasn’t the same without Jess, an expert in small talk and always the one to get the conversation rolling... How I wished I could be more like her.

  I retired to bed that night with so many thoughts racing around my head.

  It was nice to hear from Jess, even if she had rung for no other reason than to boast about her love life. True, she’d made no mention of the steamy sex, but that hadn’t stopped it oozing from her voice with every other description.

  Champagne in the bedroom, a whirlpool bath.

  And how could I forget ‘Hunky Steve?’ I could picture him at the Waverley on the night their band had played there. Steve with the blue eyes and the pierced ears. Steve who wore his glossy brown hair in a man bun, hassling me for her mobile number.

  I felt a prick of envy but it was hard not to fantasise.

  Oh, to be swept into a whirlwind romance like Jess. The stuff you read about in fiction, of finding your perfect love.

  At the same time the memories drawn from therapy were still haunting me – not just my disastrous first relationship, but the stain of degradation that clung to me every time I thought about intimacy. Why it prevailed even now still baffled me, and for some reason, threads of the conversation I had shared with Sarah drifted back to me.

  What dark secrets hid behind the dreams and the flashbacks?

  Head heavy from too much wine, I gradually began to doze off. Exhaustion dragged heavily on my mind and my limbs, my chest knotted with anxiety.

  The last thing I recalled was Paula’s bloated red face - her taunts about Mr Lacey - the echo of Jess’s laughter...

  Chapter Nine

  There was no escaping it. The Pandora’s box had been opened a crack, and I could no longer slam the lid down.

  The forest began to materialise, more threatening than ever. Trees swayed in the breeze. The sound of whispers pulsated through the darkness, while in another secret corner of my mind lurked an even greater fear.

  Those strange hooded figures were coming for us.

  A red ribbon fluttered in my mind’s eye before something else jolted me. An icy breeze skimmed across my bare stomach, where my dress was rucked up. With the realisation that my body was exposed, a terror sharpened my senses, the whispers beginning to form words.

  “For Christ’s sake, just relax will you...”

  “Simon?”

  His voice lapped on the shore of my consciousness, yet it was tangled up in my dream. Sure, it had been very dark when he leant over me.

  Staring up above though, I saw nothing but bare branches threaded across the night sky like capillaries, a circle of
grasping fingers. Trapped in the forest, I had no idea what I was doing there.... only that it was no longer Simon bearing down on me.

  The shape of a hood loomed close. Drawing in a gasp, I crammed my lungs with air as the horror suddenly struck me, and a moment later I cried out.

  “No!”

  My head whipped sideways, but my arms would not move. Looking down, I noticed the red ribbon again, wound around my wrists to restrain me. The whole forest seemed to shudder, before another whisper lashed through the darkness.

  “Silence her!”

  Semi-delirious with shock, I felt a palm press over my mouth, followed by the sting of a needle. But that voice was too deep to be Simon’s, and it chilled me to the bone.

  ******

  I stirred in my sleep, hands clawing at the duvet, until the scene dissolved into a haze of daylight. Staring at my bedside clock, I gasped when I saw what time it was. 10:00? It was rare for me to sleep so late.

  Taking deep breaths, I felt relief flood through me. The welcome magnolia walls of my bedroom unfolded around me, but even as my eyes followed the curls of stencilling, fragments of the dream came back.

  It had been worse than ever before.

  Desperate to use the loo, I flung back the covers and staggered towards the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door I started shaking. Lying beneath those spidery trees, I had never felt more vulnerable. This was precisely the feeling I had described to Hannah.

  A feeling of victimhood.

  The dream had left me feeling as violated as the night Simon took my virginity, and I couldn’t escape the idea that it had originated from something real. My mind was drawn to a party Joe had tried to shield me from; six girls, myself included, driven to a remote place, oblivious of how the event would end.

  If only I could recapture the detail.

  Stripping off my nightie, I climbed into the bath and turned the shower on, still thinking about my youth. Even then, the concept of sex had unnerved me, listening to my school friends bragging about their conquests.

  ‘How far did you go last night?’