Bleed For Me

29

Oakham House looks different today, blurred at the edges and bleached into monotones like an old black-and-white film. A sea mist is shrouding the whitecaps and obscuring where the sea meets the land. Only the pine trees stand out darkly, bedraggled and scabrous, like a silent army massing on the ridges, ready to invade.

I get lost trying to find the same lounge as before. Sienna is in her favourite place, sitting on the windowsill.

Elsewhere in the same room, an overweight teenager with apple cheeks moves between pieces of furniture, picking lint from the sofas and rearranging the cushions. He has a leather helmet on his head, strapped beneath his chin. Another youth is playing chess with himself, moving his chair to the opposite side of the table before making each move.

The one cleaning reaches the game and unexpectedly picks up the white queen, polishing it with his rag.

‘For fuck’s sake, Trevor, leave my queen alone.’

Trevor sheepishly replaces the piece and grabs another. The player tries to retrieve it, chasing him around the table.

‘Do that again and I’ll deck you, Trevor.’

Sienna has continued staring out the window. Her shoulder blades look like stunted wings beneath her clothes. She turns at the sound of my voice and gives me a tired smile. Then she spends a moment watching the chase until Trevor is cornered and surrenders the chess piece.

‘Trevor is our resident clown,’ she explains. ‘The rest of them are mad, but he’s just an idiot.’

‘Why doesn’t he speak?’

‘He doesn’t have a tongue. He bit it off.’ She leans closer and whispers, ‘They say his entire family died in a plane crash and Trevor was the only survivor. They found him strapped in his seat surrounded by dead people. Imagine that. You can see what it’s done to him.’ She twirls her finger close to her ear.

‘Why does he wear a helmet?’

‘To keep his brains from falling out.’

She makes it sound so obvious.

Trevor goes back to dusting and rearranging pillows. Sienna swings her legs off the windowsill and sits on a sofa.

‘Do you want to play poker? Nobody else will play with me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I always win.’

‘You sound very confident.’

‘It’s true. People try to bluff me, but I can tell.’

She separates her knees and pushes her dress between them to form a hammock. My left arm swings of its own initiative and almost hits her. Sienna flinches.

‘What was that?’

‘Just a tremor. No need to worry.’

‘You could be a really good poker player - all that twitching and squirming. People wouldn’t know if you had four aces or sweet FA.’

I laugh out loud and her face brightens. Then she shrugs and tilts her head. ‘I like you.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You’re kind of broken.’

The statement rattles something in my chest.

‘I’m not the one in here.’

Again she shrugs. ‘Do you have a cigarette?’

‘You’re too young to smoke.’

‘It’s not for me. I can swap a cigarette for other stuff.’

‘Such as?’

‘Cans of drink and chocolate bars and stuff.’

On the far side of the lounge Trevor has stopped in front of the TV and is singing along to a commercial for a breakfast cereal.

‘I thought you said he bit off his tongue.’

Sienna looks at me sheepishly. ‘It’s a miracle.’

She quickly changes the subject. ‘Are you going to get divorced?’

‘I’m here to talk about you.’

‘Charlie wants you to get back together.’

‘I know.’

‘Why did you separate?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘The shaking business?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Julianne didn’t like who I’d become.’

Now the TV is showing a reporter on the steps of Bristol Crown Court. The camera cuts to a police helicopter flying low over the courthouse and images of police on horseback forcing back protesters.

Sienna glances at the screen. ‘Is that where I’m going?’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘It would help if you told the truth.’

‘The world is full of liars.’

‘That’s not an excuse.’

Her skin is so translucent I can see the veins running down her neck.

‘Did you know you were pregnant?’

Her eyes widen. Something sparks inside them. Fear. Shock. She looks at me with unexpected coldness.

‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘But you were. The doctors can tell.’

Holding my gaze for a moment, she calculates her next move, before slumping back on to the sofa.

‘Who was the father? I know it wasn’t Danny.’

She pulls strands of hair across her forehead and down between her eyes.

‘It doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Who are you protecting?’

‘No one.’

‘Tell me about Gordon Ellis.’

Sienna hesitates.

‘I babysit for him. Gordon has a little boy, Billy. He’s such an angel. You should see him sleeping. He has a Tigger that he takes everywhere with him. He’s chewed off Tigger’s tail and ears so that it looks like a genetic mutant, but Billy guards Tigger like nobody’s business. I made Tigger a new tail and sewed it on. Billy didn’t say a thing. It’s like he thought Tigger had always had a tail and it had never been chewed off.’

Sienna doesn’t want to stop talking because she fears the next question. Eventually she has to draw breath.

‘Did Gordon Ellis rape you?’

‘No!’

‘Was he the father?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘Were you sleeping with him?’

Again she remains silent, but her reaction is one of defiance. She’s not ashamed or embarrassed.

‘Do you love him?’

‘Yes.’ A whisper.

‘Tell me how it started.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

She is still toying with her hair, pulling it along her nose, making herself cross-eyed.

‘Explain it to me.’

‘You’re going to say bad things about Gordon. I know what you’re thinking. You think he’s done something wrong.’

‘I’m trying to help you.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to break us up. You’re trying to drive him away!’

She spits the words, turning them into accusations. Lashing out with her foot, she kicks a chair, sending it skidding across the polished floor, where it cannons into the wall. Sienna shrinks at the noise and looks up at me apologetically.

‘How old are you?’

‘Forty-nine.’

‘Do you think there is a proper age for people to fall in love?’

‘I think you have to be old enough to understand what love is.’

‘My mum said that some people never understand love.’

‘That may be true, Sienna, but some relationships are wrong. Gordon Ellis is your teacher. It’s against the law.’

She smiles to herself. ‘You don’t understand. It’s going to be all right.’

‘Why?’

‘Because love always finds a way.’

‘Where is he, this person who loves you so much? He’s left you here to take the blame.’

‘No, he hasn’t. He’s going to rescue me.’

‘He denies having any relationship with you.’

‘He has to do that.’

‘He says you’re a foolish infatuated teenager who imagined it all.’

‘He has to say that.’

‘Did you know that Gordon was married once before? His first wife disappeared. Billy’s mum. She walked out, according to Gordon, but she hasn’t been seen since. She hasn’t contacted her parents or friends. She hasn’t tried to see Billy. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

Sienna has fallen silent.

‘Gordon met Natasha when she was still at school. She was about your age. He was her teacher.’

‘This is different.’

‘How is it different?’

‘He loves me.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘Did he tell you that he was going to leave Natasha, but only when you’re older?’

‘You don’t understand him.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen a lot of sexual predators.’

‘TAKE THAT BACK!’ she screams, on her feet. ‘YOU DON’T KNOW HIM LIKE I DO. HE COULD HAVE ANY GIRL HE WANTS, BUT HE CHOSE ME.’

Her words come in a hot rush of snot and tears.

‘NOBODY HAD EVER CHOSEN ME. NEVER. NOT ONCE.’

From the far side of the room, the chess player looks up and puts a finger to his lips, asking for quiet. Sienna pulls a face at him and then shrugs, her anger dissipating into a sullen silence. Resuming her seat, she squeezes her hands between her thighs. Her narrow chest rises and falls.

‘I know exactly how he made you feel.’

She doesn’t respond.

‘Do you remember the first day he smiled at you? He wasn’t like the other teachers. You thought he was handsome. Charming. That’s why you blushed when he looked at you and laughed when he told you jokes. You flirted with him. It was innocent. And he reciprocated. He asked about the book you were reading. Talked about your acting. I bet he commented on your curls. You said that you wanted straight hair, but he said he liked your curls and that straight hair was boring.

‘Soon you found excuses to spend time with him, hanging back after class or arriving early. You could talk to him. He listened. You told him about your father, your problems at home, how lonely you felt once your brother and sister had gone. You talked about not belonging in your family - how you felt like you’d been adopted. Did you cry on his shoulder? Did he tell you that he understood?’

‘Stop it,’ she whispers.

‘Pretty soon you were sneaking looks at each other in class and sharing private jokes that none of the other students understood. Gordon left small presents in your locker, treats that he knew you’d find. He found excuses to brush against you and to bend over your desk in class. It felt sweet, exciting, not at all weird or wrong.’

‘Please stop.’

‘I bet he asked about your boyfriends. Teased you. “If only I were twenty years younger . . . ” He said you were beautiful. He made you feel beautiful. You weren’t just another student and he wasn’t just another teacher. It was more than that. He didn’t treat you like a child. And when he put his hands on your shoulders, or whispered something in your ear, your heart was beating faster than a kitten’s.’

Sienna won’t look at me now. Head bowed, I can see only the top of her scalp and faint traces of dandruff along the parting.

‘He was grooming you, Sienna. He knew you were vulnerable.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she groans.

‘You went to his house to babysit and you saw him with Natasha and Billy. He drew you into the warmth of his family and you saw how close they were. You envied what they had. You wanted to be just like Natasha.’

Her head rocks from side to side in denial.

‘And then one night Gordon kissed you and held you and told you how much he loved you, but it had to be a secret. Nobody could know. Not yet. Not ever. His face was close and his lips were pushing against yours. His tongue was there, lapping at the space between your teeth. He didn’t want sex. He took things slowly, touched you, praised you, his breath in your ear. “You want this. You need this. You’ll like this. Nobody understands what we have . . . Let me show you how special you are to me. And you can show me how special I am to you.”’

A tear lands on Sienna’s clasped hands. It hovers on her knuckles and then slides between her fingers.

‘Afterwards you felt ashamed and embarrassed, but Gordon made you feel as though you were being prudish and uptight. When you didn’t want to do it again, he got cold and sarcastic, but then he apologised. “You don’t understand how much I love you,” he said. “How I’d die if you stopped loving me.”’

Another tear slides down her cheek.

‘Soon you were meeting him after school and on weekends. Sometimes you stayed the night when you babysat and he would sneak into your room. Did he ever take you away?’

She gives a slight nod of the head.

‘But you had to be careful. There could be no notes or text messages or phone calls. You always spoke face to face and you were careful not to be seen alone. You met him that Tuesday afternoon? Where did he take you?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Why?’

‘He’ll punish me.’

‘He can’t reach you.’

She lifts her head. Eyes on mine. Flecks of gold in the brown.

‘He can always reach me.’

The drive home is through a water-streaked windscreen beneath a sky that looks like torn wallpaper. The wipers slap open and closed. Red tail lights flare and fade ahead of me. My Volvo has been repaired but looks like its been coupled together in a breaker’s yard and customised with knocks, bangs and squeaks.

The radio playing: news on the hour.

A false rape allegation made by a teenage girl could have triggered a firebombing in which a family of asylum seekers died, a court was told today. A teenage girl claimed to have been abducted and sexually assaulted by four Ukrainian men, but later admitted having made up the story because she was frightened of getting into trouble from her parents for staying out late.

The prosecution alleges that the firebombing of a Bristol boarding house was a payback attack for the alleged rape. Five people died, all members of the same family, including three sisters aged four, six and eleven. The lone survivor, Marco Kostin, jumped to safety from a second-floor window.

Stacey Dobson, aged seventeen, gave evidence that she’d spent the previous afternoon and evening with Marco Kostin, but later made up a story of being dragged into a van and sexually assaulted by four asylum seekers. Several men, including Marco Kostin, were arrested but subsequently released without charge.

Twenty-four hours later, Marco Kostin’s house was firebombed while he and his family slept. Three men, including British National Party candidate Novak Brennan, have pleaded not guilty to charges of murder and conspiracy to commit murder with the intent to endanger life.

Brennan allegedly drove the van used in the attack and was later seen celebrating at a bar where one of his co-accused boasted he had been to a ‘Russian barbecue’.

Parking beneath a dripping oak, I run to the door of the terrace, dodging puddles and sheltering beneath my coat. The key turns and the door opens. Even before I step across the threshold I sense a change. It’s not so much a foreign smell as a variation in the air temperature or the pressure. Perhaps I left a window open upstairs. Maybe I’m disconcerted because Gunsmoke isn’t outside, thumping his tail against the back door.

Gently, I place my wallet and car keys on a side table and glance along the passage to the kitchen. There are two doors off to the left. The first opens into the lounge. Nudging it with my foot, I reach for the light switch. Nothing is moved, missing or disrupted.

The gas fireplace has a decorative poker on a brass stand. I pick up the polished brass bar and weigh it in my hand. Backing into the hallway, I move to the next door, the dining room. Empty.

Again I pause and listen.

Edging along the hallway, I approach the kitchen. Through the window I can see the vague outline of the trees in the garden and the edge of an eighteenth-century brick millhouse next door. A flash of lightning fills in the details. The sink, the kitchen table, three chairs . . . Why not four?

‘Come on in, Professor, it’s just me,’ says a voice. Gordon Ellis has been sitting in darkness. He rises to his feet and swivels to face me. ‘The door was unlocked. Hope you don’t mind.’

I’m still holding the poker in my hand. ‘I didn’t leave the door unlocked.’

‘My mistake,’ he says. ‘I found the key under a rock. I’d be more careful about where I hid it next time.’

He’s wearing denim jeans and a dark shirt with faint traces of dandruff or powder on the front. A carmine-coloured scratch weeps on his right cheek, below a bruise. Ellis sniffs and rubs his nose with the palm of his hand. I can see the dilation in his pupils, which are working hard to retain the light.

‘What were you going to do with that?’ he asks, motioning to the poker.

‘Wrap it around your head.’

‘I didn’t take you for a violent man.’

‘You’re trespassing.’

His lazy half-smile slowly widens. ‘Do I frighten you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s all right to be afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid.’

Moving slowly, he carries his chair to the table. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not very polite.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to stop harassing my wife.’

‘I asked her some questions.’

‘You were out of order. I don’t want you going near her again.’

‘Does she know about Sienna Hegarty?’

Ellis closes his eyes as though meditating. ‘What’s that young girl been saying?’

‘That you were having sex with her.’

‘She’s lying.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘She’s embarrassed and she’s angry. She tried to kiss me one night after she babysat my boy. I pushed her away and spoke to her harshly. Maybe I hurt her feelings.’

‘That’s not what Sienna says.’

‘Like I said, she’s lying.’

He’s a cocky bastard. I want to wipe the smug grin off his face.

‘You once told me that teaching was a process of seduction. You seduced your students into learning. You seduced Sienna into bed.’

‘No.’

‘She was special to you.’

‘All my students are special.’

‘Yes, but some are more precious than others. Every once in a while, a girl emerges from the pack and you take a special interest in her. She’s not the best or the brightest or the most beautiful - but she has something that makes her attractive to you. Some weakness you can exploit or an arrogance you want to punish.’

Ellis shakes his head. ‘It’s her crush, not mine.’

‘I bet you can remember the first time you saw Sienna. You noticed her from a distance at first - coming through the gates or walking in the corridor. She stood out from the other girls. She was confident. Highly sexualised. Flirtatious. At the same time there was something vulnerable about her. Damaged. You thought maybe she was being abused at home or bullied at school. You recognised her potential as a plaything.’

‘I recognised her potential as a drama student.’

‘Sienna didn’t even realise that she was being seductive. Young girls often don’t. They pretend. They practise. They make mistakes.’

‘I nurtured her. I know the boundaries.’

‘That’s right. You kept telling yourself that you were just doing your job. Pastoral care is so important. She talked about her problems at home . . . the unwanted attentions of her father. You comforted her. Patted her knee. Squeezed her hand.’

Ellis bristles. ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’

‘You began finding ways of getting her alone - isolating her somewhere quiet, somewhere private, somewhere you could show her how much you cared, how you understood, how you wanted to protect her.’

‘You’re sick!’

‘You told her she was beautiful. She believed you.’

‘She’s lying. There isn’t one shred of evidence to support her story.’

‘At first I couldn’t understand how you managed to keep it a secret. And then I remembered seeing you criticise Sienna during the rehearsal. That’s how you removed suspicion - you picked on her, you punished her and she played along.’

‘You’re a pervert!’

‘Oh, I’m not the sick one, Gordon. I know all about you. I know how you did it. I know why you did it. You were the fat, four-eyed kid at school, who got teased and bullied and ridiculed. There’s one in every playground. What did they call you? Lard-arse? Butterball? How much toilet water did you swallow, Gordon? How many people laughed at you?’

Ellis is no longer sitting. He’s an inch taller than I am. Younger. Fitter.

‘I bet there was one girl at school who didn’t laugh at you. She was nice. Friendly. Pretty. She didn’t tease you. She didn’t call you names.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You really liked her, Gordon. And you thought she might like you.’

Ellis takes a step out of the shadows into the half-light spilling from the hall. ‘I told you to shut up!’

‘One day you decided to tell her how you felt; ask her to be your girlfriend. Did you write her a note or send her a Valentine? Then what happened? She laughed. She told the others. She joined in the tormenting.’

Ellis rocks forward, his neck bulging and fists clenched.

‘That’s why you target the nice girls, Gordon, the popular ones, the princesses. You’re preying on the girls who wouldn’t look at you at school when you were overweight and short-sighted - the ones who laughed the loudest. You want to punish them. You want to tear them apart. Living things. Young things. I know about your first wife. I know what you did to her. That scratch on your cheek - did Natasha get angry with you? Did she accuse you of seducing another schoolgirl? She should know—’

‘Don’t talk about my wife!’

‘Sienna was pregnant. She was carrying the evidence inside her - the proof. That’s why you tried to kill her.’

His eyes lock on to mine. Ropes of spittle are draining from the corners of his mouth.

‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’ he says, laughing drily.

‘This is not a game.’

His eyes leave mine momentarily and focus on the fire poker in my fist. His nostrils flare and partly close.

‘You want to know?’ he whispers, challenging me. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Yes.’

A strange twisted light appears in his eyes.

‘Yeah, I fucked her. I fucked her every which way, in her pussy, in her arse.’ He steps closer. ‘And guess what, Joe? I fucked your little darling. Charlie was begging for it and I made her bleed. She was moaning under me, saying, “Fuck me harder, Gordon, fuck me harder.”’

What happened next is something that I can’t explain. My vision blurs and the room swims. My fist is holding the poker, which swings savagely, backstroking Ellis across the side of the head. The back of my hand scrapes against his unshaven skin and his mouth leaves a streak of saliva across my knuckles.

His head snaps sideways and I hit him again from the right, sending him down. Ellis tries to curl into a ball but I beat his arms and his spine and his kneecaps and shins. With each blow I can feel the metal bar reverberating in my fist, sinking all the way to his bones.

‘This is for Charlie,’ I yell, ‘and this is for my dog!’

He raises his head from the floor and gazes at me uncertainly.

The poker clatters to the floor. Lifting Ellis by the front of his shirt, I drop him to a sitting position on a chair. His bladder has opened on the floor. My hand is streaked with his blood.

Instead of cowering, he turns his face to mine. Through bloody teeth, he grins. ‘How do you feel?’

I don’t answer him.

He says it again. ‘I fucked your princess, how do you feel?’

I knot my fist in his hair and wrench back his head.

‘I don’t believe you.’

He smiles. ‘Yeah, you do.’