Dirty Old Man (A True Story) (22 page)

     Bernie was awake when we got back to the camp; he behaved like nothing had happened. He and George (who now had a sore throat from the cold and had almost lost his voice), decided to go into Southampton to train at the headquarters. I was unable to go because my body felt sore and I was consumed by the usual sickness that normally came after Bernie’s attacks. It looked as though I would miss the opportunity to try out for the Wushu squad. I no longer wanted to be a part of Bernie’s dream anymore.

Celine didn’t go to the training centre either, she came with me instead and we visited the Southampton docks instead. We watched the boats for a
while; we talked about boys and anything else that came into our minds. When I needed to be silent, Celine would stand in silence with me also. I wanted to be on one of those boats so desperately, drifting out to sea, never to be found again. Celine could come with me of course. But Bernie would get thrown overboard if he thought he’d be coming too.

     I became quite well known for teaching around Peterborough and a short while after, I was offered a paid opportunity to develop a twelve week self defence course which a local school wanted to add to their curriculum.

They would be paying me £50 a session and pay any travelling expenses. It was quite an achievement considering the students I was teaching were only a couple of years younger than me. Then another class started when I was asked to teach ladies self
defence on a Sunday at the local mosque. I didn’t realise how much of an honour it was to have been asked. I was completely ignorant to their culture and on the first day, I walked through the doors with my arms revealed, a young white female, wearing a spaghetti strapped top.

     Celine had almost saved up enough money for that return ticket to Australia and every day, I worried about being left behind on my own. I wasn’t sure I could stay strong without having Celine to call on when I needed her.

Another surprise visit came in the form of Beryl; she came into the pub one Friday after class. I’d seen my brother on and off over the months, though he didn’t often speak of my family missing me anymore, it was more his disappointment for me not coming home after I suppose he’s told them he’d managed to change my mind. I suppose he wanted to be a hero in my parents’ eyes, it was too difficult for me to let him have that title though. They didn’t understand how difficult it was for me to leave. To return home to uncertainty, and to the abusive and paranoid ways of my father and my mum’s emotional vacancy

     “Happy birthday Moll, I can’t believe you’re legally old enough to drink now.” Said Beryl, her niceties were unnatural, and she was clearly choking on the words as she forced them out.

     “Everyone has bought you a present for your birthday.” She said, as she handed me a cardboard bag filled with gifts. I was moved by the gesture, but I still thought it was a trick to get me to go home.

    
“Mum and Dad told me to ask if you wanted to go and visit them sometime. They said they understand you live over in Peterborough now, but they’d like to see you anyway.”

A no strings attached visit? I wanted to say yes but I couldn’t commit. Bernie wouldn’t allow it anyway. He hated my family and wouldn’t even acknowledge my sister.

     I walked her back over to the car park as one of the students left at the same time.

     “Good luck for next week Moll, don’t get cold feet will you?”

     “What’s happening next week?” said Beryl, “are you getting bloody married to that paedo? You’re not are you?”

     “No, I’ve got a competition next week, that’s all.”

     “Okay, well look after yourself then. I’ll tell Mum and Dad that you’ll think about it okay?”

     “I can’t promise anything okay?” I said, I didn’t want her giving them the wrong message.

    “Why don’t you just stop putting them through all this heartbreak and go see them?” She said from the safety of her car.

     “See you later Beryl.” I said, and I walked back towards the pub.

I could have gone home if I’d wanted to. My
parents’ house was about fifteen minutes walk from where I was. I could have vanished and Bernie would never have seen me again. My heart told me to go home but my mind told me I still wouldn’t be safe. I was trapped and preyed upon wherever I went. At least I had a little control over my life at the moment.

There was no impending competition, Bernie had
booked the registry office for the fourth of November 2000. They said I’d have to wait a week after my birthday before I could get married because they had to put out a public notice about it.

He had also hired the Community Centre in Peterborough that we trained at out for the wedding reception. I was dreading it, and I did
n’t get a say in anything.
It‘s only a piece of paper,
I told myself,
I can always get divorced when I do eventually leave him
. It was inevitable, or perhaps it wasn’t. I’d fantasized about it continually, it was the fantasies and Celine that were pulling me through.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to buy her a dress so she said that she’d sort one herself.

     Back in the pub, Bernie had left my bag of gifts unattended, and the students had all left. Bernie was stood at the bar chatting up Polly who looked desperate to escape. I went and sat back at the table only to find that he’d already unwrapped my presents.

     “Told you they didn’t give a fuck,” he said as he swaggered over, “it’s your eighteenth birthday and they bought you just a load of old shit, there’s nothing of any value in there.”

Bernie hadn’t bought me anything for my birthday but I didn’t mention it. I didn’t really care.

To me, it wasn’t about how much they spent; it was the fact that they’d remembered. I looked through the bag; there was a pair of shoes and a jumper. I’d been wearing the same pair of shoes for the past two years and they barely kept my feet dry anymore. It was more of an effort to walk with them on than off, because my feet were always scrunched up so the shoes didn’t fall apart.

I dug a little deeper into
the bag and there was a box of coloured fairy lights. They’d remembered how I’d enjoyed decorating my bedroom with strange items when I lived with them. There was also an inflatable Mr. Happy from the Mr. Men. He was around a meter tall. I knew exactly where I’d put him once I’d get back to the caravan and blown him up. I thought he was great.

     There was no visit to Barbara’s house that evening, the last time he visited she had pushed him out the door telling him to ‘fuck off’ and never return. He’d taken her some flowers because they were still ‘friends’ and she was a lonely old woman according to Bernie.

Bernie fiddled with the key and pulled at an envelope that stuck out from underneath the door mat. The caravan didn’t have a
letter-box so somebody had left a birthday card under the mat. Bernie took it inside and opened it.

As it was a birthday card, I assumed it for me. He opened the card carefully and tipped the contents into the envelope. He threw the card in the bin and put the envelope in his lumberjack shirt pocket.

     “Who was that from?” I asked.

     “It was from Cumbrian Tom.”

I remembered Cumbrian Tom, I hated him. He had some land in the Lake District and once we visited. He lived as a hermit halfway up a mountain in a derelict house. Apparently, he used to be quite well off but his wife had left him and taken most everything he owned. He was left with this derelict property and clung to the hope that one day it would be fit for him to live in. He resided in a caravan just outside it. Me and Bernie took a tent.

The house had no windows or doors, it had no mains electricity and at night, it was pitch black upon that mountain. It was terrifying to hear the wind whistling through the empty spaces of the building where the windows once sat.

I had to catch food for dinner one evening and Tom and Bernie had sent me down to the river to catch a fish. When I came back with nothing, it turned out they had been to Tesco and bought food for that night anyway. They thought it was hilarious and I hated them all the more for it. I’d got lost down by the river, if I hadn’t found my way back before darkness; it’s likely I wouldn’t have come back. They completely underestimated how appalling my eyesight was.

     “So what’s in the envelope then?” I asked him.

     “Mushrooms. My birthday present to you.”

     “Mushrooms?”

    
“Yes, you know; the magical sort.”

Bernie had been saying for a long time that he wanted to
get some mushrooms, that he had taken them back in the day, and how much fun they were. I’d just gone along with it and nodded. I never expected he would actually get some for me. I was horrified at the idea of taking drugs, even though they were natural and had been picked from the Lake District. Tom said it was something to do with when the sheep urinated on the mushrooms. That was what caused the hallucinogenic effect according to him.

I could not have fore
seen spending the remainder of my birthday taking a hallucinogenic. I wanted to protest by Bernie would have called me ungrateful and probably laid into me anyway, saying that I’d thrown his gesture back in his face.

He’d taken the liberty of putting up the fairy lights in the living room and inflating my Mr. Happy. It made me feel sick that he’
d inflated Mr. Happy, so long as I had it, it would always have Bernie’s germs on it somewhere, near the mouthpiece.

He fixed the lights to the wall around the alcove and Mr. Happy stood inside.

     “If you don’t want the mushrooms, Moll, you can fuck off and find somewhere else tonight. I’m not having my experience ruined by you.”

He flicked on the
TV/DVD combo and put on his Father Ted DVD. He sat on a patio chair and I sat on the floor. Bernie divided the mushrooms in half.

     “You can either eat them or smoke them he said. What do you want to do?”

I didn’t know anything about drugs, I’d been spiked once by his sister Anne but I was doing it of my own free will this time.

     “Do I need to cook them to eat them?” I asked him.

     “You’re a stupid bitch Moll.” He said, and he threw his half into his mouth and swallowed them. So I copied him and returned to my seat on the floor with my back against the wall.

     I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d dozed off, but suddenly I was hyperconscious. I became acutely aware of my body, as it sank into the floor; beneath the veil of fog that lay thick just above the carpet. I tried to ignore it and focus on Father Ted.

I could see the twinkling from the fairy lights from the corner of my
eye; they seemed much brighter and warmer now. I could almost feel the heat radiating from them from the other side of the room. Though the lights weren’t the chasing variety, they appeared to dance, to reach out their colourful rays and touch me. The red ones were hot though and I remember flinching from them.

I concentrated once more on Father Ted, then something from the corner of my eye caught my a
ttention gain. It was Mr. Happy, lurking sinisterly in the corner, he’d probably become contaminated by Bernie’s saliva I thought, and it terrified me.

I tried not to look at him again but each time I turned towards the TV, I would see him in my peripheral moving just that little bit closer. My eyes would flick back to the TV and he’d appear larger and closer than before. Every time I looked over to the corner of the
room, Mr. Happy would be perched where he’d been placed, like butter wouldn’t melt.

I turned back to Father Ted and he was right up against the side of my face, his head was huge and his eyes were no longer playful slits of black plastic, and his mouth was host to a line of razor sharp teeth that were dripping with black slime.

I jumped out of my skin almost and looked back over to the corner. Mr. Happy was back in his spot again. I wanted it to end, so I got myself up and took him from the side; I stuffed him into a cupboard and went to bed.

I decided I’d never touch anything like
that again, I could see how it messed people up.

     The next day, Celine wanted me to go over to her house to discuss bridesmaid dresses with her. She’d struggled to decide which colour would best match the monstrosity I was borrowing.

     “I think the champagne colour would go quite well, what do you think?” She asked me. I was still shocked from the previous evening and was probably quieter than usual.