Georgia (11 page)

Celia heard the soft Sussex accent, noted the farmgirl complexion and knew immediately this girl had no personal experience to fall back on and even less intuition.

‘You don’t believe my daughter was raped by her father?’ Celia wanted to slap both of them to make them see sense.

‘But he isn’t her father is he?’ Inspector Forbes had a look of cunning in his bloodshot eyes. ‘Mixed-race girls are volatile. She’d been drinking.’

‘He’d been drinking,’ Celia corrected the man. ‘Not Georgia.’

‘Then why won’t she tell us?’

‘She’s in shock.’ Celia’s eyes rolled with impatience. ‘Do you really expect her to sit here and tell you the whole traumatic story?’

‘But the knife?’ the inspector said, looking down at the weapon in his hand, dried blood sticking to its covering plastic bag. ‘She could have killed him. I can’t see a girl capable of wielding this, being incapable of defending herself against sex.’

‘He weighs fourteen stone,’ Celia said through clenched teeth. ‘Georgia about eight. If she’d had the knife handy before he attacked her she might have had a chance.’

‘Perhaps we’d better try again in the morning,’ Forbes sighed. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. I don’t see a man like Anderson being a rapist. Let’s wait till I’ve interviewed the boyfriend. To be honest Mrs Anderson, I’m surprised at you not taking your husband’s part.’

‘I’ve never heard of anyone attempting to cut off a man’s penis unless that same organ was used against them,’ Celia lost control entirely, almost screaming at him.

‘I do believe you are getting hysterical,’ he said disdainfully. ‘He has stomach wounds and his loose clothing was consistent with someone who tried to examine himself before losing consciousness.’

It was after four in the morning when they finally left the house. Georgia sedated by the doctor upstairs. Brian in hospital and there was no one she could turn to for help.

‘How can they be so stupid and blind?’ she cried helplessly in the kitchen, her head on the table. ‘I wish I’d let him die now.’

‘I know you can’t bear to talk about what happened,’ Celia stroked her daughter’s face. ‘But if you don’t talk soon you’ll be taken from me. You might even be charged with attempted murder. Think about it Georgia, unless Brian is charged with rape he’ll walk out of that hospital a free man!’

But Georgia just lay in her bed, her eyes blank as if she were deaf and dumb.

‘What are we going to do?’ Celia sat in the kitchen with Peter later the same morning, her face lined and drawn. She reached out to touch his hand, the social worker at odds with the distraught mother. ‘She knows exactly what’s going on. She’s fully conscious, she goes out to use the toilet. Yet she’s eaten nothing, only drinking the water I left by her bed.’

‘You’re frightened they’ll take her away from you?’ Even after all the questioning Peter had been subjected to, he was still perceptive enough to understand Celia’s fears.

He looked ill. His face was white, eyes ringed with dark circles. His chin had a rash of stubble, even his shoulders were stooped. Now he was risking more trouble by refusing to go back to school.

‘I don’t know how much longer I can stall the children’s department,’ Celia said wearily, resting her head on her hands. She looked old. Her brown hair uncombed, wearing the same old tweed skirt and jumper she’d put on the morning after the event. ‘Unless she starts talking they’ll almost certainly take her. I keep trying to distance myself from it, work out what I’d do if Georgia and her foster mother were clients. And I don’t like the answer I keep coming up with.’

‘What about him?’ Peter winced as if even using Anderson’s name hurt him.

‘He’s out of danger now,’ Celia snorted with anger. ‘I never thought I’d admit to such a thing, but there’ve been times in the past few days I hoped he’d die. She only cut his abdomen, he’s got a lot of stitches, but he’ll survive.’

‘What’s he been saying?’ Peter asked.

Celia’s mouth trembled.

‘He claims he fell asleep in a chair, woke to see Georgia smuggling you out of her bedroom after the others had gone and that he had a row with her about it. He insists the last thing he remembers is Georgia coming at him with the knife and when he came round he was in hospital.’

‘But even my parents can vouch that I got home just after half past twelve.’ Peter flushed an angry shade of red. ‘I left only ten minutes after the others.’

‘A good lawyer would wipe him out,’ Celia reassured him. ‘But without Georgia’s statement he can’t even be charged.’

‘You mean he could come home here?’ Peter’s face blanched in horror.

‘It’s his house.’ Celia’s greeny-grey eyes were blank with misery, her face contorted by dark thoughts.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell Peter the full strength of it. Brian claimed to have caught them naked in bed together, that Peter had grabbed his clothes and made a run for it and Georgia screamed abuse at him and even threatened she would say Brian raped her if he told her mother.

At the hospital they all believed his story, but then they’d never met Georgia or Peter and Brian Anderson was charming and persuasive when he wanted to be.

‘Let me try speaking to her?’ Peter leaned forward earnestly. ‘I might be able to get through to her.’

‘I don’t think she’ll respond to you or any man,’ Celia shook her head. ‘But you can try. Just don’t try to touch her that’s all.’

‘Georgia!’ Peter whispered in the darkened room. ‘Are you awake?’

There was no reply. In the gloom all Peter could make out was a small lump in the bed, her dark hair sticking out of the covers like a chimney-sweep’s brush.

Peter walked across the room and drew back the curtains.

It was bitterly cold outside, a dark, grey day as if all the world was suddenly monochromatic. The heath across the road was deserted, bare branches of trees looked menacingly like skeletons.

‘I think it’s going to snow,’ he said, taking a chair just close enough to see her face.

It was crumpled, as if she’d aged ten years. Her eyes were open but they showed no signs of recognition.

‘You’ve got to talk,’ he said, keeping his voice as normal as possible. ‘Maybe not to me, but to your mother. She’s tearing herself apart, and she’s the one who is trained for things like this.’

No movement, not so much as a flicker of an eyebrow.

‘Would you like some music on?’ he asked. ‘I could get your record player and plug it in?’

Still nothing.

For five days he’d waited patiently for this opportunity, convinced Georgia would open up to him. But she lay there like a doll, dark eyes staring into space and now he understood why Celia was so frightened.

‘School started again,’ he went on. ‘I haven’t been though,’ one hand reached out, but paused in mid air. He could feel tears pricking the back of his eyelids. ‘I went to bed dreaming of you that night. I intended to come round to help you clear up in the morning. Then the police came.’

He had trusted the police until that morning. One moment he was lying in bed thinking of Georgia, the next he was bundled down the stairs into a squad car, accused of having sex with a minor.

For three hours they interrogated him. First in an almost jocular ‘all-boys-together’ manner suggesting he had been caught by Mr Anderson with his pants down. But later it turned vicious, with insinuations about Georgia’s character that left Peter bewildered.

It was only when he discovered Mr Anderson had been stabbed that the hideous truth filtered through. He remembered the way Anderson had been as he left, Georgia’s insistence she would get him to bed before her mother got home. Why had he let her persuade him to leave?

Maybe it was foolhardy to take a swing at Inspector Forbes, to scream out his anger and frustration at their callous indifference to Georgia’s pain, and stupidity at blaming him. But at that moment he didn’t care if they locked him up forever.

There was no understanding or sympathy when he got home eight hours later. No concern that his girl had been raped, or even anger that he was being blamed. His father made lewd suggestions. His mother could see no further than Georgia’s colour.

‘I’ll never get over the shame,’ she raved. ‘My son mixed up with some wog. I won’t have it Peter. Don’t you dare go near her again.’

Celia was the only one who shared his outrage. It was her arms he turned to for comfort instead of his own mother’s, and now he hoped together they could bring Georgia out of her silence.

Peter wriggled in the small cane chair. There was still no movement from Georgia in the bed. She didn’t even look round to watch him.

‘I’m not going to give up,’ he said petulantly. ‘I shall just keep on coming until I bore you into telling me to shut my mouth. Day after day, year after year. I’ll tell you what I ate for tea, what I did all day. You are my girl and I’ll keep coming till you tell me to go.’

He peered at her to see if there was even a flicker of amusement.

‘Right, I’ll try the music,’ he said, getting up and making for the door.

The playroom was much as they’d left it the night of the party. The garlands hanging down, stray balloons and records still littering the floor. Only the food, glasses and plates had been removed.

He unplugged the record player and sorted through the records, selecting only one.

Then carrying it back across the landing, he noticed the blood-stain.

Celia had obviously tried to get it out of the carpet, but still it stayed, dark and menacing against the pale, flowery design.

That animal had taken her here, only feet away from the place where Peter had held her in his arms earlier. Rage washed over him, his hands shook and he could understand only too well why Georgia had got the knife.

Taking a deep breath he pushed his way back into Georgia’s room.

The record crashed down from the spigot, the arm moved across and for a second there was only a scratching noise.

‘How did I exist until I kissed ya. Oh, you’ve got a way about ya, now I can’t live without ya. Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya.’

It sounded trite and silly under the circumstances. But they’d played it over and over the night of the party.

He hummed along with it, wondering what to do next.

Leaning forward he saw a tear trickling down her cheek.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ his hand reached out to touch her, but recoiled almost immediately as he remembered her mother’s warning. ‘It’s just it’s our song isn’t it?’ He was sure she was going to speak now, but still she was silent.

‘My feelings haven’t changed,’ he whispered. ‘I love you.’

It was all he could do to prevent himself from sweeping her up in his arms. He wanted to hold that small crumpled body, breathe life back into that blank face, somehow he was sure the power of touch would succeed where words never could.

‘Now I can’t live without you.’ He sang the words softly, then turned away, stumbling to the door.

Georgia lay staring at the ceiling. The soreness had faded now, though when she turned over she could still feel the bruises on her buttocks. Nothing felt right anymore. Not her own body, or even her bed. She had felt like this before, in the early morning before Celia had collected her from St Joseph’s. Sister Mary’s kind words had softened some of the wounds Sister Agnes had infliced on her, just as Celia’s and Peter’s tenderness had, but still inside was this core of terror that nothing could make go away.

‘Devil’s spawn’! That was what Sister Agnes had said about her. Maybe it was her fault. Something bad within her that caused destruction and pain.

She couldn’t stay here, not now. Celia and Peter might want to help, but they couldn’t. What good would it do telling the police the truth? So Brian might get locked up, but what sort of hell would she have to drag Celia, Peter and herself through? And for what? It wouldn’t make her forget what happened. She wouldn’t even be able to stay with Celia.

Celia came in with a tray of food around lunchtime. Once again Georgia lay silently, staring into space.

‘Look, dear,’ Celia sounded as if she was losing patience. ‘You must be hungry, even if you don’t want to speak to me. Sit up and eat this, just for me.’

The smell of the casserole made her feel nauseous. Why did Celia keep bringing food, when all she really wanted was to be left alone?

‘I’ll put it down here.’ Celia’s voice was firm and business-like as she placed the tray on the floor by Georgia’s bed. ‘I’ve got to go into the office this afternoon. You know how it is Georgia. When all’s said and done the children’s department will have a final say. By speaking to them now I might just get us a few weeks grace. Even the doctor has suggested you need to be taken into hospital. I can be back in a couple of hours. Will you be all right?’

Georgia nodded. The first indication she’d given her mother that she even understood what was going on around her.

Celia sat down on the bed and took one of Georgia’s hands in hers.

It was that same look Georgia had seen all those years ago when Celia had taken off her clothes and found the wounds on her back. So much pity and understanding, so willing to give her anything to make things right.

‘I love you darling. This evening I want you to come downstairs with me. I know why you don’t want to speak,’ her voice was breaking with emotion. ‘But the sooner you open up to me, the sooner we can put this horrible affair behind us. Together we can find a solution.’

‘’Bye darling,’ she said at the door. ‘Eat that dinner just for me?’

In that second Georgia’s resolve nearly crumbled. Celia looked so careworn, the small lines round her eyes deeper, etched with unbearable sadness. She had made an effort to look smart again. Her navy pin-striped suit with its long jacket hid the plumpness, a small brooch at the neck of her white blouse, her hair washed and brushed back from the soft cheeks. Powder and lipstick had done their best to cover the putty-coloured skin. But the apple cheeks Georgia knew so well looked sunken.

Georgia waited until she heard the front door slam and the car start up. She sat up gingerly, looking down at the tray of food. She didn’t want it, but it might make Celia feel better knowing she’d eaten something.