Edward Blake had designed a house on a grand scale that furnished space without light. The windows, now barred, fought off the sun on a daily basis and the rooms were always dark and chilly, even at the height of summer. In winter, the house was so cold the inside of the windows iced up frequently and pipes burst on a regular basis.
Cathy came there in early October when it was just getting cold. Sometimes the girls were given a fire in the dining room, but only at Christmas or other holidays. For the most part they were left cold, hungry and tired.
Their day started at six a.m. and they were then kept occupied for the rest of the time until bed at seven-thirty. In winter the girls were glad of the regime; in summer they were heartbroken.
The sound of the gulls and the noise of the holiday-makers beyond the fence tormented them, and the inmates would listen and dream that they too were part of the outside world once more and free to enjoy Deal.
Cathy was not to know that a few of the girls in Denise’s circle had found a way to stop the boredom from growing too intense. In fact they had a system, and soon Cathy would be offered the use of it. It was just a question of whether she would have the guts actually to implement their daring plan of action, as other girls frequently had.
Only time would tell.
Denise wanted to make sure that Cathy was definitely kosher before she offered her the out.
Cathy was already classed as an ‘A’ girl by the fact that she was at the top of the house and not in one of the dormitories on the middle floor. These were the original bedrooms, made into bigger rooms with only butler’s sinks for sanitation. The girls were expected to defecate into buckets and empty them in the morning. Urine was put straight down the sink and washed away. They also washed themselves in the sink, under supervision of course. Girls with periods were treated no differently. They washed their ‘monthly rags’ out after each use and dried them as best they could on the towel rail.
In the 1960s and early 1970s girls’ institutions were not commonly discussed. Most people didn’t even know they existed. Many of the girls were sentenced for trivial offences, often caused by appalling home circumstances, and then promptly forgotten about, even by their own families. Problem children were taken away and that was that.
Cathy was to a certain extent at home in this environment. After living all these years with a prostitute, the girls’ talk of violence, theft and their own premature sexual activity was not shocking to her. In fact she was swiftly made aware that what had happened to her at Eamonn’s hands had not been nearly so shocking as she’d thought at the time. He did after all love her in his own way, and was free to do so. Some of the girls had received treatment far worse from their brothers, fathers or uncles. Often all were using them at the same time. Denise had been offering fellatio for money since the age of seven and as she had been in care for a great deal of her life, the beneficiaries of her money-earning talents were the people who were supposed to be guiding and looking after her.
She had bragged over cocoa that she could bring a man to full orgasm in under two minutes, using only her tongue. After listening to Madge and Betty’s talk, this sounded pretty tame to Cathy, which was noted and respected by Denise who was really trying to psych her out.
The tough little angelic blonde intrigued Denise. She realised that there was a lot to the girl she hadn’t yet fathomed. Denise believed her when she said she had knifed the man. There was an underlying current of ferocity in Cathy Connor and she wanted to make full use of it if she could. As small as she was, she had an air about her of a girl who knew what was going on, who knew the score, and in institutions such as Benton School for Girls, this was a rare occurrence.
Most of the girls were dumb animals. A few were cunning, really cunning, and they ruled the roost.
Denise had a feeling that Cathy, once she was initiated into the school properly, would be an asset and wanted to use her as soon as she could.
The strict regime, instead of cowing the girls, made them more violent with each other. Constant humiliation, both physical and mental, made them crafty. They were meek in the face of their superiors, and gave vent to their feelings of suppressed rage by fighting each other.
It was the survival of the fittest, as in any institution, and the brains used the brawn all the time.
All were broken, all were hurting inside, all wanted to hurt others. It was a brutal and frightening environment and each girl had adapted as children do and worked out her own way of coping. Some were weaker and so became gofers, even offering sexual favours to older girls as well as their possessions. The stronger ones just took what they wanted and didn’t think twice about it. It was, after all, their right as top dogs.
In fact, many of them blossomed in the Home. They felt they had a place there, a niche, they were someone. They were important in their own little world. For many of them, Denise especially, that was enough.
Cathy unconsciously took all this in on her first day, and after the events of the previous forty-eight hours it was almost a relief to have something else to think about.
She had already relegated Ron to a distant unpleasant memory, just as she had rewritten history and turned the bruising encounter with Eamonn into a romantic interlude. She was already learning, as all the other girls had, that you must adapt. If you didn’t, you were as good as dead.
Cathy was escorted to her room on the second night by Sally Wilden; Denise had called her over to the table and introduced them. Cathy recognised the girl who had winked at her in the dining-room queue. Sally was a lot like Cathy and they hit it off at once.
So at seven-thirty the two girls were locked into their room and finally made each other’s acquaintance properly.
Sally was tall and slim, with a lean boyish figure. She had thick honey-coloured hair - her best feature - and greeny-brown eyes. She had a cheerful, easygoing manner and her voice was low and musical. She and Cathy were the perfect foil for one another. Sally, for her part, was pleased as punch to share with the new girl, as she was pretty and intelligent and had a nice way about her. Which was a welcome change after some of the girls she had roomed with over the last few years.
‘So what you here for?’ Sally’s friendly voice was reassuring in the dimness and Cathy quickly explained the situation.
Sally shook her head sadly. ‘You’re finished, girl. I’m sorry to put the kibosh on you, but I was in the same boat. Old Mother Barton hated me on sight. She knew it wasn’t me who’d caused the trouble . . .’ She paused then and explained exactly what had happened.
‘I was a witness to a fight between me brother and me stepfather. Me stepfather’s a bastard. All right when he’s sober but a fucker with a drink in him. Me brother battered the shite out of him and I helped, so to speak. Anyway, the upshot was Mrs Barton was sent round our house and I gave her some lip. This was made into a statement to the police and I was then arrested for threatening to kill her. I know that sounds crazy but it’s true. In court I was made out to be the cause of the fighting in my home, the cause of everything that had gone wrong with the world including the Second fucking World War! Mrs Barton put on her act so well even
I
felt fucking sorry for her! She blew my mind.
‘Anyway I got three years because the judge said I was a menace to society and that a woman of Mrs Barton’s stature should not be threatened and terrified when carrying out her legitimate tasks. So I was sent here and for the first week I was in the quiet room. It was a psychological thing, I realise that now. That place can really break some of the girls, you know. The dark and cold are terrifying things. Often the most terrifying to the people who come here. I was finally forced to lick condensation off the fucking walls to quench me thirst.’
She laughed again as she said this, but it was a bitter sound.
‘Still, I survived and I’m still here to tell the tale. One girl was found dead in there, and didn’t that cause a fucking furore? Officially she died of pneumonia. But really she died of fright. We all knew that, and Henley and Hodges gave us an easy time for a few months because of it. The last thing they wanted was all of us up in arms. We used poor old Mary’s death as they used her. So in a way we’re as bad as them. But you have to survive, girl.
‘I’m seventeen soon and then I’ll be out of here and back in the real world. I’ll be honest and tell you there have been times over the last few years when I thought I would never walk out of here. Now I use the system. It’s all you can do.’
Cathy was quiet after hearing this and both of them thought about the girl who had died. Then Sally continued with her advice.
‘I’ve heard the SP on why you’re here and all I can say is: use it. Let them know you were the murderer. It will give you kudos, even with Hodges and Henley. They won’t trust you, and that’s what you want. Be nice to their face, but a bit insolent like. You know what I’m saying, don’t you? Never give them cause for actual complaint, nothing they can accuse you of. Just have it in your face, in your eyes, and they’ll give you an easier time of it. Denise is all right, a bit of a nutter but fair. Cultivate her friendship. You might need it. Don’t stick up for the weaker ones. I made that mistake. They either learn to take it or to fight back; either way they survive without you getting involved. Now I’m going to ask you to do something, and I swear there’s no weird motive to it. Take the blankets off your bed and put them on mine.’
She grinned at Cathy’s expression and said jovially: ‘Then get in with me. Believe me, this isn’t a sex thing, though it would be if Denise or Harriet said the same thing. This is purely for practical reasons. Two bodies are warmer than one and, believe me, after a night in this room you’ll see exactly what I mean. Like, you’re pretty but you’re not manly enough for me!’
The two girls both giggled then and soon were ensconced in one bed.
By morning Cathy understood her new friend perfectly. Even cuddled up together, the room was like an icebox.
Breakfast was cold porridge, and bread and marge. Cathy was given sugar and honey with her porridge, and sugar and milk in her tea. Her new garments were huge and she laughed when Denise called out: ‘Fuck me, it’s the orphan in the storm!’
After breakfast they were all assigned jobs and Cathy was informed that she was to scrub the hallway by the front door with Denise. The work was hard, but at least the movement warmed them up and the scalding water gave their freezing hands some relief.
They chatted amicably as they worked and though the scrubbing was tough, Cathy soon had the swing of things. Denise was good company and regaled Cathy with stories and anecdotes about the school which shocked but intrigued her.
Suddenly, though, Denise went very quiet. Cathy looked at her and realised that something was very wrong.
A shadow passed over them and Cathy stared up into the most terrifying face she had ever seen.
The man was tall, and thin to the point of emaciation. He was in his late fifties or early sixties, it was difficult to tell because of the enormous beard that covered practically three-quarters of his face. It was a gingery colour with a lot of silver in it. Even in the dim light Cathy could see that his eyes were a flat grey and his eyebrows met in the middle, giving him a threatening look.
The worst thing of all was his slack red lips. She could see spittle at the corners of his mouth and he licked at it in an unconscious, habitual way.
‘Who are you?’
His voice was thick, as if he had a phlegmy cold, but she somehow knew this was how he always sounded. It was sick-making and Cathy swallowed down a mouthful of bile before she answered him. Something told her to beware of this man, that he was dangerous to her. Nevertheless, she stood up. Wiping her hands on her rough apron, she looked into the man’s face and said, gently but firmly, ‘I’m Cathy Connor and I shouldn’t be here.’
Denise closed her eyes in shock and waited for the explosion she was sure was going to come.
Instead, to her surprise, she heard Mr Hodges laugh gently.
‘From what I understand, Mrs Barton will soon remedy that situation. I’ll see you in my office at seven this evening.’ He walked deliberately across their clean floor and Denise let out a sigh of relief at his departure.
Cathy looked down at her and said pleasantly: ‘Mr Hodges?’
‘Mr Arsehole Hodges himself,’ the other girl confirmed. ‘Tonight, tell him you think you’ve got a dose. Because he likes to break the new ones in. Funny, he don’t touch the likes of me. It’s the little ones like you he’s after. Skinny mares with blue eyes and a bit of tit.’
She grinned and tried to lighten the situation. ‘Still, gives you something to look forward to, don’t it? Almost a date, if you think about it.’ She roared with laughter at her own joke and they carried on washing the floor in silence.
Cathy felt sick with apprehension as the real force of her predicament hit her then. She had been chucked out of the frying pan and into the fire. Her eyes filled with tears and for the first time in years she wanted her mother. The thought of what Madge had done for her made her even more upset and she wished she could have her mother beside her once more.
She hoped Madge was faring better than she herself, wherever they had sent her.
Mr Hodges walked past them a while later and Cathy stared at his thin retreating back and stuck out her tongue. It was a childish gesture and she knew it would not do any good, but for those few seconds it made her feel much better.
Chapter Ten
Harold Peter Hodges was a secretive man. It was a conscious trait and had served him in good stead all his life. He had risen to be head of Benton School for Girls after taking over a young offenders’ institute in Dartmouth and terrorising the boys there so completely he was rewarded near retirement age with the cushier job of running a girls’ institution.