Dirty Old Man (A True Story) (24 page)

     “You’d better get yourself up these fucking stairs right now,” said a voice from Behind me
. It was Bernie’s voice, “if you don’t come now then I’ll drag you up by your hair you fucking bitch.”

I could feel my face burning with shame again. Why was he doing this in front of my friends? I turned around to answer him and was horrified.

Bernie was stood completely naked in the doorway, he not a single thread of clothing on. The others in the room didn’t know where to look and neither did I. I felt so sorry for George who was only young, but fearful for myself too. If he dared do something like this in front of others, how far was he prepared to go behind a closed door?

I got slowly and shakily to my feet, everybody
had been given a glimpse into the horror that was my life and I felt so deeply ashamed. I had to go upstairs to shake them of this uncomfortable situation if anything. I felt it was my fault they had to witness it, it was my problem that I hadn’t resolved, I’d let it get to this stage and now they were all suffering.

Bernie side stepped to let me pass through the door, following me out. Then he threw me against the stairs, grabbed my hair and manhandled me upstairs by it.

In the room, he pushed me onto the bed and grabbed a fistful of my hair; he brought his face close to mine and sneered.

     “You fucking whore, I told you to come to bed nearly an hour ago. You’ve been sitting downstairs flirting with those losers instead. You’ve made me look like a right cunt in front of my own fucking students. If you ever,” he struck me in the stomach with his fist, “ever do anything like this again,” he brought his face close to mine again, “I will fucking kill you.”

     I’d made such a mess of the crisp white pillowcases Rose had provided, my quiet tears had smudged mascara over them and there was a little blood from hitting my head on the stairs. It was a truly terrible sight.
I was sure Rose would understand. I’d heard through another student, tongues loosened at the pub one Friday, that Rose used to be in an abusive relationship. I hurt inside at the thought of it happening in her own house again. What would she have thought of me?

I could hear every whisper and clear of the throat from downstairs. They must have heard everything. They looked up to Bernie, they used to look up to me too, it was unlikely they would now though.

     The next morning, I had no idea how I would show my face. Whilst everyone was downstairs silently eating breakfast, I sat upstairs and hoped they would hurry up and leave so I could make a quick escape without the drag of prejudice eyes upon me. Bernie was behaving as though nothing had happened the night before and it sickened me.

Rose was silent as I came downstairs; she briefly made eye contact with me then told us all we had to go because she had to pick her daughter up. That was the last time I saw her because she didn’t return to training after that night.

I got into the car and we drove back in silence with a young George sitting silently in the back seat.

     I’d been married for almost five months and I felt as though I was nearing the end of my life. If Bernie didn’t take it in one of his rages, I may have taken it myself. I often checked the timetables for the next bus with the intention of throwing myself underneath it but there was a little part of me that wouldn’t let me give up.
Bernie cancelled my kickboxing club, he made me ring the parents to explain that he'd revoked my license. There was no way that he could have done this because I was part of an association that had nothing to do with him. He was jealous because I had considerably more students than him as many had left his class. It broke my heart to have to close down the club, the children’s parents had all paid money for uniforms, membership and equipment. They were not pleased and I suffered many angry words. Everything I did, it seemed Bernie would always be one step ahead of me, waiting to mess things up for me.

    Another Friday came and we were on our way home after the class, we didn’t go to the pub that night, people slowly stopped coming as the word spread of what happened at Rose’s house. He tried to start teaching children himself but I told him that I didn’t agree with it. A row ensued in the car and he pulled over in a layby at the side of the A47. I thought he was going to leave me there as he told me to get out of the car. There was a greasy spoon café in the lay by but it was closed. He grabbed hold of my hair and pulled me behind the greasy café where he attacked me.

I could hear the occasional car pass by quickly, not slowing to look at the car suspiciously abandoned in the lay by with the doors open and the interior light switched on. I could hear the radio playing and the tears ran into the crease of my neck and gathered there. I was glad nobody stopped, they would see what was happening to me and I couldn’t bear that humiliation.

We drove back home mostly in silence.

     “You bring these things on yourself Moll.” He said as I cried quietly, “nobody values your opinion because you behave like a fucking child. You’ve scared everyone away at the club. Things were fine until you came along; you’ve messed up my life. I have no contact with my parents now because of you.”

I didn’t say anything; I wouldn’t give that man the pleasure of shooting me down again.

     I traded a couple of emails with Celine; she was happy in Brisbane but was staying in a caravan whilst their house was being built. She’d decided to stay but promised to visit me when she could save up for a return flight. I stopped emailing her after that because I didn’t have anything to tell her. I decided that once I sorted my life out and found the strength one day to make myself safe, I’d be able to chat to her again and explain everything. Until then, I’d not bother her.

     Bernie was going over to visit his sleazy friend James in Sleaford again, and had told me to get some coal; he’d left me some money on the side. There was a coal yard in the industrial estate down the road. They charged extra for delivery but he only gave me enough to get one big bag that was almost as heavy as me.

The fat greasy men with their stomach hanging out from underneath their
shirts leered at me as I struggled to lift the bag. I dropped it twice before I’d even left the coal yard and they laughed as they watched me struggle. I got past the gates and dropped it again but I carried on. I wanted to cry, this was a stupid idea. They roared with laughter as I picked up the pieces of coal that rolled out into the snow because the bag had split slightly. I struggled down the road; people would beep their horns at me as they drove past. Some were laughing; some stared with pity which I hated more.

I dropped it again and the contents spilled out everywhere. It rolled into the road on the ice and it got wet from the snow. Bernie would be furious that the coal was
wet; it was no longer any good until it had dried out.

Then something snapped inside of me, I’d finally had enough.

     “Fuck it!” I yelled at the top of my voice. I kicked the bag until it was nothing but a wet mess in the slush. I didn’t care anymore. I’d lost the plot, gone stark raving mad; and I sobbed my heart out as I ran back towards the mobile home park.

     “Are you okay?” a young man on a bike asked me as I ran past him.

     “Fuck off and mind your own business.” I shouted at him as I ran back towards the mobile home park.

I screamed and kicked the wheelie bin around the garden. I threw the remainders of the patio set at the shed and it ricocheted off and hit me. This added further to my unstoppable rage. I felt
like I had a demon inside of me - that I’d become possessed, and to a bystander, they probably would have agreed. However, my mind and intentions couldn’t have been clearer.

I almost kicked the door in as my shaking hands hindered me to unlock the front door. When it did open, I burst into the squalid living room, smashing anything I could find. I ripped the curtains down and I kicked holes in the walls.

     The phone rang out on the other end and I knew he’d answer. I waited between the pauses, my fists were clenched and my blood pumped quickly around my body. I felt alive.

     “Hello?”

     “Dad, it’s me; Moll.”

I didn’t have time for questions or greetings, I could sense the relief in his voice but it mattered not one bit to me.

     “I need you to come and pick me up now while he’s out of the house. Can you come now? Right now?”

     “Yes of course, what has he done to you? Are you okay?”

     “I don’t have time for questions, I need you to get off the phone and come now. I don’t know what time he’ll be back.
If he gets here before you I don’t know what’ll happen. It turns out he’s quite fucking psychotic.”

     “Okay, I’m coming now okay. I’ll be there within the next two
hours, okay?

     “Just one more
thing, Dad”

     “Yes?”

     “When you get outside, beep your horn. If you see Bernie’s car parked outside then you call the police okay?”

     “What’s going on?”

     “You just do that okay? He’s got all kinds of things in here and he keeps a machete in the boot of his car. Just don’t come in here okay?”

I gave him the directions to the caravan park and hung up the phone.

That was it, I’d endured two and a half years of Bernie’s abuse, a simple phone call home could have ended it. I was full of rage and angry at myself too. For once, I felt I had the upper hand.

Fuelled
by adrenaline soaked rage, I collected my things in a flurry. I threw my clothes into bin liners and then I took them out and threw them across the bedroom. I couldn’t take them back with me; they had become tainted by Bernie. I couldn’t take anything back with me; I just had to get out of there.

My next stop was Bernie’s filing cabinet in the porch. It was a big metal ignorant bastard that I finally managed to break into with some persuasion from a screwdriver.

My VHS was on the top of a pile of many. The label said ‘Naughty schoolgirl pays the price.’ I went crazy, smashing it on the floor and pulling the tape out from inside it. I snapped it as many times as I could until there was an unravelled mess on the floor, all the time I remembered that night, the night I lost Stacey as a friend, the night James’ silhouette stood in the doorway pleasuring himself whilst Bernie attacked me.

I inspected further, to my horror; there were more video tapes. They were harmlessly labelled so I assumed the content was likely to be horrific. I smashed those up
too, and continued pulling the tape out from inside.

There were old love letters from his ex girlfriends, ladies underwear. He was a complete psychopath. I lost control again and rage had me throwing that cabinet around the porch as though it was a
rag doll.

I walked through to the dirty kitchen to write Bernie a note, he didn’t deserve an explanation but I felt I had to say something. I found a piece of paper in a drawer and scribbled him a note.

“Dear Dirty Old Man

It has taken me five years to realise that you’re nothing
more than a paedophile.

You have tried your best to destroy me but I’m still

Young enough to put my life back together.

If you try to find me, I will do what everybody else

failed to do, and call the police. I’ll tell the whole world about you

and your friends.

Moll.

Ps. I will never be associated with your disgusting surname.”

    
I placed the cheap pink stoned wedding ring on top of the note, and left it on the side.

A bang on the door almost made me jump out of my skin. My adrenaline kicked in again though this time I would be fighting, not flying.

I looked through the grubby plastic kitchen window. It wasn’t Bernie thank goodness; it was Frank, the man who owned the mobile home park. He was another pervert, always trying to get me on my own in the caravan, making excuses to check the electric meter every couple of days. His wife was always covered in bruises. He was a scrawny little man with a big mouth as is so often the case.

He banged louder on the door and I swung it open in my continued rage.

     “What the fuck do you want? You pathetic little piss ant!” I screamed.

He staggered backwards off the steps as though my words had blown him away.

     “I’ve had a complaint that you’ve been throwing garden furniture around and smashing things up. If you can’t stick to the rules of the park; I’ll have to evict you.”

     “So fucking evict me then!” I screamed. “And while you’re evicting me, you can get the fuck out of this piece of shit garden.”

     “I’ll call the police you crazy bitch.” He shouted back.

     “Do it! I’m sure they’d love to hear how you knock your missus about Frank.

     “You’ve got an hour to pack your things and get the fuck off my park before I call them.” He shouted over his shoulder as he walked away.

     “Fuck you Frank.” I yelled, I was never going to see him ever again and I didn’t care.