Authors: Ava Bloomfield
Dennis nodded
slowly, leaning on his knees. ‘Well if you’re sure you’re all right, all things
considered, I don’t see any reason why we have to tell your dad about this.
There, that makes you feel better doesn’t it?’
‘Sort of,’ I
said, sniffing. I looked at Dennis and ached. Peter had a real dad; kind and
considerate and smart. Sure, he was a bit rough, and he had that loud accent,
and he liked to drink and play in a band with middle aged blokes, but he was a
proper parent.
For one
moment, just a tiny one, I wanted to spill all to him — tell him about what my
dad had been doing to me since my mum left.
But I just
couldn’t.
Dad was his
mate, and he might not believe me — or worse blame me. He wasn’t my dad and I
couldn’t treat him like one. Just because he was understanding about Peter
didn’t mean I could trust his reaction where that was concerned, and I just
couldn’t risk it. I could ruin everything if I let the secret out — and then
what would I have?
Who would look
after me?
I thought of
Peter cradling Diane upstairs and realised I couldn’t rely on him right now,
not for a few years at least.
He was her
baby and, worse, he was going to let her keep him that way.
Dennis left me
to cool down in the living room on my own, but I was too miserable to stay
there. I needed to get out, get some air and clear my head. This house didn’t
feel welcome to me anymore, no matter what Dennis had said. Diane had caught us
and now she was going to ruin
everything
.
I got up and
wandered out of the front door, down the road towards the harbour, smelling the
brine of the sea. I let it fill my head like a drug, and left the party behind
me.
Around half an
hour later, Peter found me sitting on the sea wall. He silently took his place
beside me, saying nothing, even though I continued to cry and cry about so much
more than he knew.
And it was
then, as he put his arm around me and let me cry, that I couldn’t hold it
inside me anymore. I decided it was high time I told him everything, no matter
what the cost.
I didn’t know
it then, but I was more naive at this point than I was as a little girl posing
for dad’s camera in my mother’s clothing. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend
the cost of that decision, and what would follow later that night.
Peter froze
while I spilled everything, very suddenly, leaving no gap for him to interrupt
me. I told him about dad, when it all started, how long it’d been going on. I
told him about mum, and about the black night dress up the chimney, and why I’d
been choking myself on that cake the day we first met, and how I’d been
throwing up after meals ever since.
I said it all
in one long, wailing confession, shaking all over, watching his face getting
darker and darker, fury smouldering away in his eyes.
When I
finished, Peter smacked the harbour wall and shouted every swear word he knew.
I flinched and yelped as he hit it again, bruising his hand horribly, gritting
his teeth. When he was finished, he grabbed me by the shoulders and put his
face close to mine, our foreheads touching.
The chill of
the late night air was nothing compared to the chill his fierce grip sent
through my bones.
‘Listen to me.
I am going to go back there and I am going to fucking kill him,’ he said
steadily, a touch of spittle landing on my mouth. I was shaking, and as I shook
my head it became more violent. His fingertips squeezed my shoulders tightly,
digging in.
‘I’m going to
give you one option, OK? Because I’m going fucking crazy,’ he said, his eyes
turning bloodshot. I nodded. ‘There is a police station a mile down there.’ He
pointed left down the stretch of the harbour, then bent his finger to indicate
the turn. ‘I promise I will wait here while you tell them everything. When I
see a police car coming around that corner, I’ll know you did it. If I don’t,
then, God, when I get my hands around his scrawny little throat—’
‘Peter.’ I
sobbed. ‘You’re scaring me. Please, please let’s just sit here—’ I was already
regretting it, trembling with regret. Everything felt too unfamiliar, even the
town, even our beloved harbour — I’d let it all go the minute I opened my lips
and spilled about dad.
How could I
rat on my own dad? I didn’t care about him, not really, but I needed someone to
take care of me. I was fifteen, still in school, no mother to speak of. I
needed to go back home to Enfield, away from my fairytale Mevagissey where
Peter waited every year, and I would have absolutely nothing now. I’d be put in
a foster home and I’d never come back here again.
‘
You’re
scaring me,’ he spat, shaking me by the shoulders. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why
did you keep it all a secret?’
‘I was
scared,’ I said. ‘Please, Peter—’
‘What about
what just happened?’
I blinked.
‘What do you mean? Oh Pete I’ve wanted us to do that for so long. Don’t look at
me like that, for god’s sake, please! I’m not some filthy used up thing!’
He hugged me
tight then, nuzzling his face so far into the crook of my neck that I felt his
warm breath against my skin, his lips brushing me just softly. ‘I would never
think that about you,’ he said, his voice muffled as he pushed his face further
in. ‘I just wish I hadn’t pushed you.’
‘Pushed me?’ I
said. ‘Pete you couldn’t have stopped me if you tried.’ I laughed nervously,
tears falling from my eyes as I gulped back a cry. He laughed too, in much the
same way — fearful laughter.
He came away
and pressed a firm kiss on my forehead. ‘You’ve got to do this,’ he said,
looking me in the eyes. ‘If you don’t, I swear, it’ll be me going down instead
of him.’
‘It isn’t that
simple. Where will I go? Who do I have?’
‘You can live
with me,’ Peter urged. ‘You don’t need him, he’s done nothing but torture you.
He’s sick, Ellen, a sick freak.’
I wiped my
nose and eyes with the backs of my hands. ‘Right, Diane will want me there,
will she? After what she just saw?’
Peter bowed
his head, not meeting my eyes now. He knew I was right. ‘If you don’t I’ll kill
him,’ he said plainly, making my choice clear. ‘You don’t know how much I want
to kill him, Ell’, but he’ll go down anyway because I’ll tell. And if you let
me get done for assault over that piece of crap, then I’ll never speak to you
again.’
‘You can’t,’ I
said, sobbing, but I knew he could, and
he
knew he could, and there was
nothing else for it. I would always choose Peter. After a few moments and a few
deep breaths I said, ‘Come with me. Hold my hand while I tell them.’
He shook his
head. ‘It has to come completely from you. If I’m there you won’t admit
everything, will you? Let’s face it. You’ll gloss over everything and before
you know it you’ll be denying the whole thing.’
‘That’s not
true,’ I said, pleading with my hands clasped under my chin. ‘Please.’
He cupped my
face and kissed me. ‘I will be right here waiting for that car. You can do
this.’
‘Why can’t it
wait ‘til morning? We could—’
‘You’ll change
your mind. Ell’, I’m not playing. Do it.’ He took me by the elbow and twisted
me, before marching me to the kerb. I sobbed like a child, fighting against
him, until eventually he shouted and shoved and frightened me so much that I
ran.
There was
never anything so lonely as that street as I ran crying, away from Peter’s
shouts, away from the harbour, up the turning and on the cobbled street. It was
so awful and dark and hollow, and it seemed to take so long, that when I found
the police station with its single porch light I almost felt relieved.
I went inside,
hugging myself. The place was lit with halogen lights and two police officers
were handling a drunken woman, while a female officer at the desk typed the
information they weaned out of her into the computer. On the far end of the
desk was a male officer, watching the scene, laughing, before he noticed me
entering the building.
I know what he
saw. A young girl, small, makeup around her face with rumpled clothes, hugging
herself while she cried, and at this time of night too? Even though I was
almost deaf to my own words through numbness, he looked only grave and
unsurprised when I uttered them.
‘I want to
report s—sexual...A crime, an abuse...An...Harass...Rape,’ I said, my voice
withering away to nothing.
He came around
the edge of the desk and motioned to the female officers. One left the drunken
lady with the remaining officer and came over. She was short and chubby with a
small brown ponytail, her uniform choking her around the neck.
‘Do we need to
go into one of the offices?’ she said, smiling at me. She’d already summed me
up as well, and though I hated to admit it to myself, I was starting to feel
better.
The male
officer, a tall guy with short brown hair and very blue eyes, led the way
further into the station, to a small room with a table and a few comfy chairs.
On the table was a phone with a long winding chord.
The officers
took seats and motioned for me to sit with them; the female closest to me. ‘I’m
Constable Kathryn Martin,’ said the female, rubbing my arm. She fished a box of
tissues from a ledge under the table — the standard rape victim tissues, no
doubt— and pulled a couple out for me.
‘I’m Sergeant
Sean Michaels,’ said the male. Everything was such a blur that I hadn’t noticed
him gathering up some papers and a pen, which he placed down on the table.
‘Can you tell
me your name just first of all, and your age please.’
I parted my
lips and forced the words out. It was a start. ‘Ellen Woodley. I’m f—fifteen.’
He filled in
the sheet, then looked back at me again with the pen poised between his thumb
and forefinger. ‘Now, what is it you want to report? A rape, is it?’ said
Sergeant Michaels. Constable Martin gave me a soothing look as I nodded,
clinging to the hem of my dress.
‘And this
occurred just now, did it?’
I shook my
head, a fresh load of tears spilling down my face. He cocked his head to one
side.
‘Earlier,
then? How many hours roughly?’
‘We know this
is hard, but try and breathe and remember how, when and where it happened.’
Constable Martin patted my knee.
I didn’t know
what to say, or where to begin. I hadn’t planned any of this, none of it at
all, it had all just happened and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I couldn’t
lie on command, and I couldn’t tell the truth.
I felt as if
everyone in the world was demanding answers and I just didn’t know how to give
them. I just wanted it all to stop. I just wanted it to be easier. So I told
them what they expected to hear, for just that reason: it was easier.
‘Earlier,’ I
said, gulping. ‘Yes.’
A voice in my
brain was screaming
stop stop stop stop
, but the lies were coming out
before I could take them back, and it was already too late, far, far too late.
‘How long
ago?’ said the male officer, pen at the ready. The room was closing in on me,
everything turning black.
‘Two hours,’ I
said, stuttering.
‘And just to
confirm, you are reporting an instance of rape?’
I nodded.
‘Yes. No. Tonight, yes.’
The officers
frowned at one another. ‘Is this an ongoing offence? I’m sorry, we know it’s
difficult. Try and breathe.’
‘Calm yourself
down a bit,’ said the female officer. She had a soft Devonshire accent, which
helped a little. ‘Take a deep breath. Is this an ongoing offence or did it just
happen tonight?’
‘Ongoing,’ I
admitted.
‘How long? You
don’t have to be too specific just yet, but we need a few details. I’m sorry,’
said the male officer. ‘Roughly, how long?’
‘Years.’
They both
nodded. The female officer patted my back gently. ‘And what happened tonight?’
I described it
as if I was describing me and Peter, the party, everything, but I left out his
name.
Stop stop stop
the voice was saying, but it was too late and my
way was easier, and I just needed something to be
easier
for once in my
life. I said I was taken up to Diane and Dennis’ bedroom to look at a Les Paul
guitar, when there on the bed it all happened.
‘And you came
straight here?’
I nodded.
‘Yes.’
‘This man you
described, he lived at the house where the party was taking place?’
I held my
breath and said it. ‘Yes.’ In my head I could hear the rapping on my bedroom
door, felt dad crying against my chest, and yet...
‘And can you
name the man you’ve described?’ said the male officer, looking more serious
now. Constable Martin patted my back.
I thought of
Dad, I thought of Peter, I thought of being all alone in London with nothing
and nobody. Yes, dad gone, but everything else with it. I would be a ghost,
wandering through the empty house of my own life. I couldn’t say a name and be
safe, never, and with Diane against me she would shield Peter from me at all
costs because he was
hers
and I knew it.
And God, at
that moment, I swear, I was so full of hatred for her. If she hadn’t caught us
none of this would have happened, and now she was getting what she wanted while
I was here, ashamed of myself.
Why didn’t bad
things happen to people like Diane, I thought? Why only me? Why did I have to
compromise, and lose, lose, lose, at every turn?
And that’s
when the name came to me, and it wasn’t dad’s. I couldn’t help myself. I was
partially,
bitterly
glad to say his name, just to damn that stuck up
woman with her hands all over my boyfriend, the only person to ever really love
me. Even though it was so, so wrong. Even though he never deserved it.
But even when
the voice was saying
stop stop stop
it was far too late.
‘Dennis
Denton,’ I said, my voice impossibly loud in that tiny room. I immediately
erupted into tears and thought of Peter, and how devastated he would be. I
thought of dad and imagined his sly relief, and inside I was seething, asking
myself why I was letting him get away with what he was doing to me, and why I was
lying when it was just so simple—
And yet. It
wasn’t simple, and it never was simple. It was just the only way I could keep
my father and Peter; the only way I could stay safe, whatever safe was. I could
have let Peter throttle my dad, let the police come, let him explain
everything. We might have found a way, but I was just too frightened to find
out.
And now it was
too late.
‘Dennis
Denton,’ said the male officer. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ I
croaked.
The officers
looked at one another as if they knew his name already; knew exactly who I was
talking about. And neither of them could quite believe it, I could tell. And
yet here I was, giving them his name.
I had to wait
while they called an on–call social worker and a nurse to come and look me
over. They needed evidence, they said, even though they knew it was so
difficult and horrible for me; there there, poppet.
The nurse made
me lay down on a bed covered with a long sheet of tissue while she examined me,
but it didn’t take long. The evidence of intercourse taking place was there,
and she was satisfied.
After that I
met a social worker called Anne, who had a blond bob–cut and looked to be in
her forties. She sat down with me and explained that the officers were going to
go on their way to make the arrest soon, and we spent a while going over
everything that had happened in detail.
‘Now I know
we’ve already had a long chat about this, but I just want you to confirm a
couple of things. So, in the bedroom there is a bedside cabinet containing the
contraception?’
I nodded.
‘Somewhere there’s a wrapper.’
My shaking was
subsiding. Somehow the lies were making it seem true, as if it really had been
Dennis all along and not dad. The only thing that hurt was pretending that my
first time with Peter had never happened, like I was denying him completely and
replacing him with something ugly.