Ripped
Authors: Frederic Lindsay
RIPPED
Frederic Lindsay
© Frederic Lindsay 2013
Frederic Lindsay has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1987Andre Deutsch Ltd
This edition published in 2013 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
In
memory
of
Catherine
Stevenson
Lindsay
Author Note
In
the
Whitechapel
district
of
London
on
31st
August,
1888,
the
body
of
Polly
Nicholls
was
found
on
the
street.
A
week
later
on
8th
September,
Dark Annie
Chapman
was
killed,
also
from
knife wounds;
within
three
quarters
of
an
hour
on
the
night
of
29th
September,
Long
Liz
Stride
and
Catherine
Eddowes
were
murdered;
the
last
victim
,
twenty-five
year
old
Mary
Jane
Kelly,
was
discovered
in
her
room
on
the
9th
of
November.
All
of
the
women
engaged
in
prostitution;
all
were
mutilated
and,
given
time
and
privacy,
the
butchering
of
Mary
Kelly
in
particular
was
grotesquely
thorough
.
In
a
series
of
letters,
the
murders
were
claimed
by
someone
signing
himself
'Jack
the
Ripper'
.
The
murders
ended
as
suddenly
as
they
had
begun
and,
despite
theory
and
rumour,
the
killer's
identity
remains
unknown.
Prologue
ONE
DAY
IN
THE
BEGINNING
‘One
day
in
the
beginning’,
Jamie
said
to
her,
'if
I
put
my
wee
bobbie
into
your
vagina,
you'd
get
a
rare
tickle.'
She
knew
what
his
bobbie
was;
it
was
one
of
the
names
the
boys
used
for
that
part
of
themselves.
All
of
the
small
ones,
the
five
year
olds
or
the
six
year
olds
like
Jamie,
when
they
got
excited
or
worried
would
absent-mindedly
clutch
themselves
there.
Because
she
was
a
year
older,
and
for
other
reasons,
she
felt
superior
to
Jamie.
When
she
told
Miss
Sturrock
what
Jamie
had
said,
Miss
Sturrock
pretended
to
be
too
busy
to
listen.
'I
don't
have
time
for
your
nonsense,'
Miss
Sturrock
said.
She
looked
at
Miss
Sturrock's
neck;
it
had
gone
red
at
the
front,
all
the
way
down
to
where
it
went
into
her
blouse
out
of
sight.
'I
know
what
his
bobbie
is,'
she
said,
watching
Miss
Sturrock's
neck,
'but
what
does
“vagina”
mean
?'
'That's
not
a
word
you're
allowed
to
use.
It's
a
rude
word,'
Miss
Sturrock
said.
'I
don't
think
Jamie
should
be
allowed
to
use
rude
words
to
me,'
she
told
Miss
Sturrock.
Miss
Sturrock
pretended
not
to
hear.
'I
don't
think,'
she
said,
'Jamie
should
be
allowed
to
use
rude
words
like –
'
'Stop
it!'
Miss
Sturrock
cried,
not
pretending any
more.
Her eyes
were
watering
as
if
she
was
getting
ready
to
cry.
'I
don't
believe
Jamie
said
any
of
that
to
you.
He
didn't
say
any
such
thing
at
all!'
It
made
the
rest
of
the
morning
interesting,
trying
to
get
Miss
Sturrock
to
explain
what
the
word
meant,
and
wondering
why
she
would
not
give
Jamie
a
row.
At
the
end
of
the
day,
she
took
her
coat
off
the
peg
and
put
it on.
There
were
twenty
pegs
on
each
side
but
only
fourteen
children
in
the
school.
She
counted
the
pegs
on
her
side.
When
she
had
taken
her
coat,
all
the
pegs
were
empty.
In
the
quietness,
she
could
hear
the
sounds
of
Miss
Sturrock
tidying
away.
Softly,
she
turned
the
handle
on
the
door
of
Miss
Sturrock's
toilet
and
peeped
in
but
was
disappointed.
It
was
nothing-
only
a
lavatory
seat
like
the
girls'
ones
only
bigger
and
a
wash-hand
basin.
A
sound
behind
her
made
her
turn
round.
'Go
away,'
Miss
Sturrock
said.
She
was
standing
at
the
end
of
the
corridor
by
the
classroom
door.
Her
hands
were
hanging
by
her
sides,
and
she
didn't
look
or
sound
angry.
She
said:
'Just
go
away.
Why
can't
you
be
like
your
sister?
Why
can't
you
be
like
anybody
else?'
When
she
came
into
the
playground,
they
were
waiting
for
her.
'You're
a
clype,'
Peter
said.
He
had
a
fat
round
face
and
thick
red
hands
that
looked
as
if
they
were
swollen
.
'You've
been
trying
to
get
our
Jamie
into
trouble.'
He
was
Jamie's
cousin,
but
everybody
was
everybody's
cousin.
Except
her.
And
Francesca,
of course.
'You
are
a
crapule.'
She
said
it
carefully,
making
the
word
sound
exactly
the
way
her
mother
used
to
say
it.
His
mouth
gaped
at
her,
like
a
fish
in
a
box
at
their
stupid
harbour.
The
thought
made
her
smile
and
at
once
without
any
warning
he
kicked
her
on
the
front
of
the
leg.
She
screamed
tears
and
rage;
and
over
that,
as
if
she
were
listening
for
some
other
sound,
she
heard
one
of
the
boys
sniggering.
They
were
all
round
her,
laughing
and
pushing,
and
then
they
were
going
away.
So
quickly
that
her
mouth
had
not
emptied
of
its
screams,
they
were
all
gone,
running
off
round
to
the
side
of
the
shed.
In
the
quietness,
she
looked
up
and
Miss
Sturrock
was watching
at
the
window;
the
teacher's
face
made
a
white
circle
and
the
brooch
swinging
below
it
sparkled
through
her
tears.
The
school
and
the
field
beside
it
were
at
the
top
of
the
hill
and
that
was
the
end
of
the
village.
The
Woman
whom
Francesca
and
she
were
supposed
to
call
Mummy
stayed
in
a
house
at
the
bottom
of
the
road
that
wound
down
to
the
flat
ground
beside
the
harbour
in
two
loops.
Half way
down,
Fat
Chae
was
crouched
by
the
edge,
but
his
mother
wasn't
with
him.
Although
he
was
almost
grown
up,
his
mother
was
always
with
him. 'Poor
wee
thing
it's
hurt.'
It
wasn't
easy
to
follow
what
he was
trying
to
say,
since
even
his
tongue
was
fat
and
flopped
between
his
lips
as
he
spoke. She
hunkered
down
beside
him
to
get
a
better
look.
The feathers
on
one
side
were
all
puffed
out
so
the
bird
looked
fat
and
round,
but
the
other
side
was
broken
and
the
wing
was
pulled
half
off.
Two
yellow
legs
stuck
out
thin
and
stiff.
The
fish
lorry
coming
down
the
hill
threw
a
streak
of
brown
mud
on
to
the
white
feathers. 'You
are
stupid,'
she
said.
She
stood
up
and
stirred
the
bird
with
her
foot.
'It's
not
hurt,
it's
dead.'
A
soft
smear
came
out
of
the
dead
body
of
the
bird
across
the
shining
toe
of
her
shoe.