by Maggie James
But it’s nothing compared to what comes next.
‘He used to make me suck his prick.’
Shock hits me doubly hard. He didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have said something so awful.
‘He’d grab my head and fuck my mouth.’
I can’t deal with this. I can’t. It’s too abhorrent, too vile.
‘He didn’t stop there, either. He took it further.’
I pray to God to strike me dead so I can escape such unspeakable horror. I can’t believe this can get any worse.
But I’m wrong.
‘He’d fuck me as well. You know, fuck me, up my ass, and it hurt like hell, and I’d want to die, it was so awful.’
You and me both. There can’t be a God. I know that beyond all doubt now. If He existed, He’d let me die, and I wouldn’t be finding out that my husband raped my beloved child. An eternity in Hell would be better than hearing my Daniel, who I adore beyond anything, telling me this.
‘It went on for years. All the time I was a teenager. Every time it happened, I thought about killing myself. I was scared shitless of him. I kept quiet for you, you see. Thought you’d suffer a complete breakdown if you ever discovered what a bastard you’d married.’ He laughs, a bitter quality tainting the sound. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? I endured years of hell, because I wanted to protect you. Turns out if it hadn’t been for you, I’d never have been in that position anyway. Now do you get why I hate you?’
Yes. Yes, I get it, I really do. For once, I can’t bear to look at him, and I’m glad he’s still turned away from me.
‘So the least you can do, you bitch,’ he continues, ‘is tell me why you kidnapped me. Why you ruined my life.’
But I can’t. My tongue is frozen, but this time it’s because of the knowledge of what I’ve done to him. His anger held me silent before. Now, the mental horror inflicted by Daniel’s words renders me unable to speak, even though he wants me to.
‘Someone told me I should try to understand. To feel compassion towards you. But I can’t. I have no redress, you see. I endured years of abuse and there’s nothing I can do to get back at the bastard who hurt me. It all happened years ago and it would be his word against mine. My mother’s suffered enough. I don't want her hurt anymore, and if she found out about this, well, I don’t think she could handle it. I won’t do that to her. I won’t, you hear me?’ He’s shouting now.
He continues to stare out of the window, and I look back at his jacket, at the pen tucked in the pocket, at the spare button hanging by a few threads. It would be so easy to pull it off, and then I’d have a tangible reminder of my beloved Daniel with me, something I don’t possess right now. It’s not much, but better than nothing.
My fingers stray towards the jacket.
‘For God’s sake, tell me. You owe me that much. You lied to me for years. You can at least tell me the truth now.’
But I can’t. I want to tell him, but I’m too much in shock over what he’s said. I realise I’ve been existing in a dream world, thinking Daniel would come to me one day, and I’d tell him how it was, and how he’d understand, how the hatred would fade from his eyes.
Yes, I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise. I didn’t understand the truth before, and now I do.
So I stay silent.
‘Fuck you. Guess you’re never going to tell me. You selfish bitch.’ With one quick move, he grabs his jacket and then he’s banging on the door, shouting for someone to open it. Then he’s gone.
32
ALL SCREWED UP
Daniel peered at Annie’s digital clock. He hadn’t intended to sleep in so late but then he’d never thought he’d end up back at her flat last night. That had been before the abortive visit to Laura Bateman, though; after he’d stormed out on her, a desperate urge to offload his pent-up fury overwhelmed him. Getting plastered again on cheap beer back at the flat held little appeal these days. He’d gone to the bar later on in a funk, furious and in need of another comfort fuck, hoping Annie would be working that night. She’d clocked his dark mood immediately but didn’t say anything, merely poured him the first of a couple of Scotches before telling him he’d be on soft drinks for the rest of the night. Later on, she’d informed him he’d be coming home with her after the end of her shift, her tone not giving him the option of saying no. Not that he would have done. He’d bundled her into the bedroom as soon as they got back to her flat, pulling off her clothes and shagging her as hard as he knew how until both of them collapsed into an exhausted sleep.
She stirred, and he leaned over and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly eleven. Thank God it’s my Saturday off.’
She threw back the covers and got out of bed. ‘Breakfast coming up. Don’t go anywhere.’
Half an hour later, she came back, carrying a piled tray. ‘Move over, sunshine. Get this down you and you’ll feel more like talking.’
‘About what?’
‘About whatever you’re not telling me. Something happened yesterday, something that made you walk into the bar last night with a face like a funeral procession and needing to shag me senseless. Not that I’m complaining about the last part, believe me.’
‘You remind me of my ex. She was like a terrier down a rat-hole when she wanted to get information out of me.’ Daniel shook his head in amusement. ‘Are you sure you’re not her in another body?’
Annie laughed. ‘I’d bet a truckload of money my body is very different to hers. With that pretty face of yours, I don't doubt all your exes have been equally good-looking, whether they’ve been men or women. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I saw the way you and that guy checked each other out the first night you came in the bar. You’ve had your fair share of men and don’t you deny it.’
‘Guilty as charged.’ Daniel held up his hands in mock protest. ‘What’s my sentence?’
She gestured towards his plate. ‘You have to eat all that. Shut up and dig in. You can talk later.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The silence stretched between them as they ate. His breakfast finished, he put his plate down beside the bed, turning to her. She opened her arms and he pillowed his head on her breasts, relaxing into the warmth and comfort of her body. The faint remnants of her perfume lingered about her from last night and he inhaled the heady scent, turning his mouth to place a kiss on her skin. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands stroked his hair and he recognised the same sense of security he’d always had when he thought of his mother, sat beside his bed so many years ago.
Annie spoke first.
‘I’m here for you if you need to talk. I’ll listen. Whatever you want to tell me.’
He found himself wanting to, needing to, unburden his thoughts to her. Not the frenzied yelling of yesterday, the words spewed out in a torrent of hate and fury. Shouted at a woman who, despite hearing the awful truth she’d condemned him to by her actions, still sat silent and unresponsive, submerged deep in the enigma of her mind. No, he’d talk to Annie instead, pour all the crap out to her and let her common sense and compassion wash over the pain, as it had before.
The stopper had been well and truly taken out of the bottle yesterday when he’d confronted Laura Bateman. With Annie holding him, the words started to come.
‘I went to visit the woman who kidnapped me yesterday. To demand answers. Why she took me; how she could justify doing something so terrible.’
Annie nodded. He had an idea she wasn’t surprised. ‘Did she say anything?’
‘Not a thing. She’s still not talking. I had plenty to say, though.’
‘I’ll bet. You probably told her how much you hate her. Did you tell her why, though?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’ll be whatever you’ve not yet told me. The real reason you’re so mad at her.’
‘You’re right. She’s not the issue, though, Annie. She never was, not really. The problem was the bastard she married.�
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‘Uh-huh.’
‘He was an asshole.’ Daniel heard the tremor in his voice, the barely disguised fury.
‘Sounds like it, what with not letting you go to college. But there’s a whole lot more, right, Daniel?’
‘Yes. It’s ugly as hell, too.’
He clenched a fist around the bed sheet. Should he really tell Annie about the shit that had smeared itself all over him years ago?
Yes. Because he’d never get a better chance than right now. No psychotherapy or counselling for him; he’d never even considered revealing the raw hurt Ian Bateman had inflicted on him to some stranger, having them prod and poke into his psyche. Something about Annie made him feel relaxed, as though she wouldn’t judge him for anything he told her. Hell, she’d already proved that, when he’d told her about his relationship with Katie. She might speak plainly, but she’d understand.
The walls seemed to be closing in on him; he took a breath, forced the panic back down.
‘I think the way he feels about her was behind the whole thing. He loves her, but I’ve always thought it’s a pretty twisted, controlling type of love. I was part of the package. Like he had to accept me in order to get her, but he hated me for it. He despised me more and more as the years went on.’
Now he’d started, he found the words, dark streams of hatred, pouring from his mouth.
‘He abused me. It wasn’t enough him hitting me every time my so-called mother went out, telling me whenever he got the chance how much he hated me. No, he had to take things further.’ Annie’s arms tightened around him. ‘It started when I was twelve.’
‘He touched you?’
‘Yes. God, it was vile. She’d gone out one afternoon. I was in my bedroom. He came in and began mouthing off. Told me how worthless I was, how he had to put up with me for the sake of my mother, how he wished I were dead. Then he came towards me. He grabbed me by the arm, yanked me up onto my knees. Then…oh, God…’ Revulsion threatened to choke him.
‘He pulled down his sweatpants. He…he made me…Christ, Annie, it was awful. He held me by the back of my head, and he fucked my mouth; when I spat out his come he went mad, punching and slapping me. Afterwards he went back downstairs, and I lay on my bed, and I didn’t have a clue how to deal with what he’d done to me.’
‘You were twelve. Of course you didn’t. You never said anything to the woman who kidnapped you?’
‘Never. She was fragile, you see, prone to depression, and whilst I didn’t love her I couldn’t bear to tell her, make her realise the man she’d married was a monster. He played on my fears, too. Told me she’d suffer a complete mental breakdown if I ever said anything and I’d be to blame. I believed him.’
‘She never suspected?’
‘No. He was careful; he never hit my face, never did anything to leave visible marks.’
‘Jeez, what a bastard. Did it happen often?’
‘Every time she left the house, after that first time.’
‘How long did it go on for?’
‘More or less until I left home. I could have hit back by then. I was already taller than him. But I didn’t. He had something about him; he got me completely shit-scared of him. He only had to look at me, and I’d feel utter terror. As I said, he only did it when she left the house. In front of her, you’d never have known how vile he could get.’
‘Vile doesn’t even begin to describe him. He sounds a complete asshole.’
‘It was just mouth fucking, the first few times. I thought that was bad enough. I’d go through a bottle of mouthwash afterwards, trying to swill the taste of him away. He loved the control, the humiliation, and he got bolder the more scared I got. One day he told me to lose my jeans.’
‘Oh, my God. Did he…?’
‘He pushed me face down on the bed. He shoved his fingers into me. It hurt like hell. Then he thrust his cock in me. I’d thought his fingers were bad enough but being raped by him was something else. He made me bleed. I wanted to die, I really did.’
He slammed his fist into the bed. In his mind, he was punching Ian Bateman’s face, beating it into a bloody mess. ‘Thank God that only happened a few times. Mostly he’d just do the mouth fucking, and tell me what a little shit I was. In a way, I was lucky. The woman who kidnapped me, well, she was a real home bird. Didn't go out much. No friends; he wasn’t keen on her having any. So the abuse happened less than it might have done. But still often enough.’
‘Jeez, Daniel. You were just a kid. Now I get why you’re so angry about all this.’
‘Yeah. It’s more than being taken from my family. It’s more than the messed-up situation with Katie and the loss of my art. It’s what he did to me. My head’s all screwed-up because of this crap. Soon as I left home, I started going to the gay clubs. You’d have thought the bastard would have scared me off men, but no.’
‘So you like guys as well as girls. Are you ashamed of it? Do you think you shouldn’t want men, because of what your stepfather did?’
‘No. That’s not it. I’m ashamed of the fact I’m perverted, twisted, whatever you want to call it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I go to a particular type of gay club sometimes, Annie. Caters to certain tastes. I pick up a guy and I make it very clear to him who’s going to be on top. I go for the ones who I reckon will like their sex pretty rough round the edges. I take them back to their place and I fuck them hard, I fuck them brutal. Every time, it’s not them I’m fucking but my stepfather. Every guy I shag, I’m getting revenge for what was done to me.’
‘I can understand that.’ He didn’t detect any condemnation in her voice.
‘Hell, Annie! If that’s not completely screwed-up, I don't know what is. I’m as bad as my asshole of a stepfather.’
‘No, you’re not. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’ He didn’t think he deserved the compassion in her eyes. ‘Stuff like this, what you’ve got inside, has to be let out somehow. Otherwise, it festers and turns even more rotten. You say these guys are willing. You’ve never raped anyone like you were raped. The sex is consensual, Daniel; if they’re OK with the whole kink scenario, perhaps it's a good way for you to blow off steam. Get some of this crap out of you.’
‘Shit, Annie! It seems so incredibly messed-up.’
‘We’ve all been screwed up by life, Daniel. It’s a question of degree. Take the woman who kidnapped you. People who are happy and stable don’t snatch other people’s kids. You ever wonder what chewed her up so badly she ended up abducting you?’
‘Yeah. All the time. No idea if I’ll ever get an answer. Like I said, she won’t talk. I can’t help it, Annie. I’ve got huge amounts of anger bottled up inside me for what she did.’
Annie nodded. ‘I understand. But I reckon there’s a tragic story hidden in her somewhere. You say she suffers from depression. She has no friends. A controlling husband. Sounds like she married him for what he could give her. Something must have been badly lacking in her life. Like the way she took you. She needed a child and didn’t have one of her own, assuming she lost the baby whose birth certificate she gave you. Don’t think for a minute I’m condoning what she did. But try walking a few steps in her shoes. You may find you can start thinking about forgiving her.’
His disbelief must be showing on his face, he realised that. But something compelled him to look in her eyes, and he saw only compassion staring back at him. ‘Think what might have motivated her, Daniel. With your stepfather, it’s no mystery – jealousy coupled with a rotten, controlling nature. With her – who knows? But do your best to understand her. It’s the first step towards being able to forgive.’
‘Like you’re able to forgive the crack-head who smashed in your husband’s skull? Come on, Annie. That’s a load of crap.’
‘I’m trying.’
He stared at her. ‘Why? What the hell’s the point? Where does all this bleeding heart nonsense get you?’
‘It takes some of the pain away. I’m not perfect, believ
e me; I’ve not managed to practise what I preach yet. There’s no way I can look you in the eye and tell you I’ve forgiven Andrew’s killer. However, I’m trying. In the living room, you’ll find books about forgiveness. I’m making an effort to take their message on board, about how hatred keeps the hurt alive. I believe I need to forgive my husband’s murderer if I’m to move on and create any sort of a meaningful life for myself.’
‘You think you can do that? Seriously?’
‘Yes. No. I don't know, Daniel. But I do my best.’ She shrugged. ‘Can’t do much else. I think of what turned my husband’s killer to crack cocaine, and I try to take some steps in his shoes, and sometimes I manage it and other days I scream and curse and I hate him with every last part of me. But I keep trying.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I don't know if I can ever get past what Laura Bateman did. What I need from her are answers, and I’ll probably never get any. As for forgiving my stepfather – the thought seems like sheer impossibility.’
‘Maybe it is. Perhaps you’ll never forgive him, or her, but instead you’ll find a way to deal with what happened, something other than picking up guys to shag. Try to think of what you’ve gained. A whole new family, one where you can find love and acceptance and perhaps you can go on to do your art, now you’re with people who’ll be supportive of you.’
‘What about you, Annie? Can you find a way to deal with your life? Will things turn out OK for you?’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘I don’t possess a crystal ball, Daniel. But like I told you, I’m trying.’
33
REDRESS
Sleep is impossible the night after Daniel’s visit. I keep hearing his voice, the voice of condemnation, shouting those awful words I’ll never be able to tear out of my brain.
I reflect on my failure as a mother. I couldn’t stop my baby dying in his cot, and I have turned out to be every bit as bad a mother to my second Daniel. In my arrogance, I thought I was doing the right thing in taking him from his family. I thought I could give him a better home than they had, more love, more attention.