His Kidnapper's Shoes (31 page)

‘I think the way he feels about her was behind the whole thing. He loves her, but I’ve always thought it’s a pretty twisted, controlling type of love. I was part of the package. Like he had to accept me in order to get her, but he hated me for it. He despised me more and more as the years went on.’

Now he’d started, he found the words, dark streams of hatred, pouring from his mouth.

‘He abused me. It wasn’t enough him hitting me every time my so-called mother went out, telling me whenever he got the chance how much he hated me. No, he had to take things further.’ Annie’s arms tightened around him. ‘It started when I was twelve.’

‘He touched you?’

‘Yes. God, it was vile. She’d gone out one afternoon. I was in my bedroom. He came in and began mouthing off. Told me how worthless I was, how he had to put up with me for the sake of my mother, how he wished I were dead. Then he came towards me. He grabbed me by the arm, yanked me up onto my knees. Then…oh, God…’ Revulsion threatened to choke him.

‘He pulled down his sweatpants. He…he made me…Christ, Annie, it was awful. He held me by the back of my head, and he fucked my mouth; when I spat out his come he went mad, punching and slapping me. Afterwards he went back downstairs, and I lay on my bed, and I didn’t have a clue how to deal with what he’d done to me.’

‘You were twelve. Of course you didn’t. You never said anything to the woman who kidnapped you?’

‘Never. She was fragile, you see, prone to depression, and whilst I didn’t love her I couldn’t bear to tell her, make her realise the man she’d married was a monster. He played on my fears, too. Told me she’d suffer a complete mental breakdown if I ever said anything and I’d be to blame. I believed him.’

‘She never suspected?’

‘No. He was careful; he never hit my face, never did anything to leave visible marks.’

‘Jeez, what a bastard. Did it happen often?’

‘Every time she left the house, after that first time.’

‘How long did it go on for?’

‘More or less until I left home. I could have hit back by then. I was already taller than him. But I didn’t. He had something about him; he got me completely shit-scared of him. He only had to look at me, and I’d feel utter terror. As I said, he only did it when she left the house. In front of her, you’d never have known how vile he could get.’

‘Vile doesn’t even begin to describe him. He sounds a complete asshole.’

‘It was just mouth fucking, the first few times. I thought that was bad enough. I’d go through a bottle of mouthwash afterwards, trying to swill the taste of him away. He loved the control, the humiliation, and he got bolder the more scared I got. One day he told me to lose my jeans.’

‘Oh, my God. Did he…?’

‘He pushed me face down on the bed. He shoved his fingers into me. It hurt like hell. Then he thrust his cock in me. I’d thought his fingers were bad enough but being raped by him was something else. He made me bleed. I wanted to die, I really did.’

He slammed his fist into the bed. In his mind, he was punching Ian Bateman’s face, beating it into a bloody mess. ‘Thank God that only happened a few times. Mostly he’d just do the mouth fucking, and tell me what a little shit I was. In a way, I was lucky. The woman who kidnapped me, well, she was a real home bird. Didn't go out much. No friends; he wasn’t keen on her having any. So the abuse happened less than it might have done. But still often enough.’

‘Jeez, Daniel. You were just a kid. Now I get why you’re so angry about all this.’

‘Yeah. It’s more than being taken from my family. It’s more than the messed-up situation with Katie and the loss of my art. It’s what he did to me. My head’s all screwed-up because of this crap. Soon as I left home, I started going to the gay clubs. You’d have thought the bastard would have scared me off men, but no.’

‘So you like guys as well as girls. Are you ashamed of it? Do you think you shouldn’t want men, because of what your stepfather did?’

‘No. That’s not it. I’m ashamed of the fact I’m perverted, twisted, whatever you want to call it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I go to a particular type of gay club sometimes, Annie. Caters to certain tastes. I pick up a guy and I make it very clear to him who’s going to be on top. I go for the ones who I reckon will like their sex pretty rough round the edges. I take them back to their place and I fuck them hard, I fuck them brutal. Every time, it’s not them I’m fucking but my stepfather. Every guy I shag, I’m getting revenge for what was done to me.’

‘I can understand that.’ He didn’t detect any condemnation in her voice.

‘Hell, Annie! If that’s not completely screwed-up, I don't know what is. I’m as bad as my asshole of a stepfather.’

‘No, you’re not. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’ He didn’t think he deserved the compassion in her eyes. ‘Stuff like this, what you’ve got inside, has to be let out somehow. Otherwise, it festers and turns even more rotten. You say these guys are willing. You’ve never raped anyone like you were raped. The sex is consensual, Daniel; if they’re OK with the whole kink scenario, perhaps it's a good way for you to blow off steam. Get some of this crap out of you.’

‘Shit, Annie! It seems so incredibly messed-up.’

‘We’ve all been screwed up by life, Daniel. It’s a question of degree. Take the woman who kidnapped you. People who are happy and stable don’t snatch other people’s kids. You ever wonder what chewed her up so badly she ended up abducting you?’

‘Yeah. All the time. No idea if I’ll ever get an answer. Like I said, she won’t talk. I can’t help it, Annie. I’ve got huge amounts of anger bottled up inside me for what she did.’

Annie nodded. ‘I understand. But I reckon there’s a tragic story hidden in her somewhere. You say she suffers from depression. She has no friends. A controlling husband. Sounds like she married him for what he could give her. Something must have been badly lacking in her life. Like the way she took you. She needed a child and didn’t have one of her own, assuming she lost the baby whose birth certificate she gave you. Don’t think for a minute I’m condoning what she did. But try walking a few steps in her shoes. You may find you can start thinking about forgiving her.’

His disbelief must be showing on his face, he realised that. But something compelled him to look in her eyes, and he saw only compassion staring back at him. ‘Think what might have motivated her, Daniel. With your stepfather, it’s no mystery – jealousy coupled with a rotten, controlling nature. With her – who knows? But do your best to understand her. It’s the first step towards being able to forgive.’

‘Like you’re able to forgive the crack-head who smashed in your husband’s skull? Come on, Annie. That’s a load of crap.’

‘I’m trying.’

He stared at her. ‘Why? What the hell’s the point? Where does all this bleeding heart nonsense get you?’

‘It takes some of the pain away. I’m not perfect, believe me; I’ve not managed to practise what I preach yet. There’s no way I can look you in the eye and tell you I’ve forgiven Andrew’s killer. However, I’m trying. In the living room, you’ll find books about forgiveness. I’m making an effort to take their message on board, about how hatred keeps the hurt alive. I believe I need to forgive my husband’s murderer if I’m to move on and create any sort of a meaningful life for myself.’

‘You think you can do that? Seriously?’

‘Yes. No. I don't know, Daniel. But I do my best.’ She shrugged. ‘Can’t do much else. I think of what turned my husband’s killer to crack cocaine, and I try to take some steps in his shoes, and sometimes I manage it and other days I scream and curse and I hate him with every last part of me. But I keep trying.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I don't know if I can ever get past what Laura Bateman did. What I need from her are answers, and I’ll probably never get any. As for forgiving my stepfather – the thought seems like sheer impossibility.’

‘Maybe it is. Perhaps you’ll never forgive him, or her, but instead you’ll find a way to deal with what happened, something other than picking up guys to shag. Try to think of what you’ve gained. A whole new family, one where you can find love and acceptance and perhaps you can go on to do your art, now you’re with people who’ll be supportive of you.’

‘What about you, Annie? Can you find a way to deal with your life? Will things turn out OK for you?’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘I don’t possess a crystal ball, Daniel. But like I told you, I’m trying.’

33

REDRESS

Sleep is impossible the night after Daniel’s visit. I keep hearing his voice, the voice of condemnation, shouting those awful words I’ll never be able to tear out of my brain.

I reflect on my failure as a mother. I couldn’t stop my baby dying in his cot, and I have turned out to be every bit as bad a mother to my second Daniel. In my arrogance, I thought I was doing the right thing in taking him from his family. I thought I could give him a better home than they had, more love, more attention.

Turns out I was wrong. Unknowingly, I took Daniel straight into the lion’s den, where the place that should have been a loving haven for him was instead where he ended up suffering abuse and rape from a man I trusted. The man I deliberately chose to be a father to him.

Everything makes sense now. Why Daniel retreated to his room for hours on end as a teenager, something at the time I put down to normal teenage moodiness. Why he hasn’t seen Ian for years and always visits the house when he’s out.

Ian was dull but safe, I always thought. Now I realise he was anything but safe. I unknowingly brought a snake into the nest I’d made, and snakes always run true to form.

The signs were all there. Why didn’t I recognise them? Even before we moved in together, Ian never showed much interest in Daniel and things didn’t improve after we got married. I think back over all the excuses I made for him; how he wasn’t used to children, how things would get better in time.

Everything else seemed so right back then, you see. He was always so attentive to me, the sex was better than I thought it would be, and he appeared to be Mr Reliable. Exactly what I thought I wanted. Be careful what you wish for, as the saying goes, because you might get it.

It’s hard to understand, thinking back. I’d have done better to concentrate on what really mattered – how he treated Daniel – rather than his job as a financial advisor and his golf club membership. All the things supposedly making him so suitable. My main objective was to find a father figure for Daniel, so why didn’t I make that consideration paramount, instead of turning a blind eye to the fact Ian didn’t measure up in that respect?

Actually, I do understand my poor choice of father for Daniel. Lack of self-love cuts deep. I’ve never thought very highly of myself, you see. Ian seemed so smitten with me, and so suitable, and I guess I believed, deep down, I’d never get a better chance than with him. Not many men would take on another man’s child, or so I thought. Ian always said how pretty I was but I didn’t feel pretty. I always thought of myself as mousy little Laura, who was an easy target for those who wanted to take advantage. Matthew Hancock. My rapist. Ultimately, Ian Bateman.

I think about Ian’s motives for raping Daniel. Jealousy must have been the driving factor, along with his overwhelming need to control everything; I can think of nothing else. He wanted me, only me, and knowing the love of my life was Daniel obviously proved too much for him. He probably realised I’d only married him for what he could provide for us and to be a father for my boy. I guess he couldn’t bear the thought of coming second best to my child and so over the years his antipathy towards Daniel turned to hatred. Hatred he was always careful to conceal from me and which at some point twisted itself into something sexual, leading him to abuse my beautiful innocent boy.

I don’t understand how he could have done something so awful, though. However jealous he got, why did it translate into abuse? Why rape a young boy? He knew when he met me I came with a child attached and if he wasn’t happy with the situation he should have gone elsewhere. He’d chosen me and he should have damned well done his best with Daniel, instead of hitting and raping him whenever he got the chance. Bastard.

No wonder Daniel hates me. Not as much as I hate myself, though.

I agree with the police now; taking Daniel from his parents was a crime. I am guilty of an appalling injustice against my darling boy, who I love so much; I am the reason he suffered terrible pain. I should be called to account for my sins against him; what I’ve done warrants whatever the British legal system can throw at me. I deserve punishment but somehow I doubt earthly justice, where I’ll be locked up yet get food and drink and a bed to sleep in, is going to cut it. I wish I believed in Hell; an eternity of damnation, somewhere hot and fiery, might suffice to atone for what I’ve done.

I’m not the only one who deserves to be punished, though.

Ian Bateman repeatedly raped and abused my boy. I shudder as I recall the bitterness in Daniel’s voice as he shouts at me about having no means of redress. He’s right. It would be his word against Ian’s after so many years, and something tells me that somewhere inside Daniel is still a young boy who’s terrified of his stepfather. He’s not going to say anything, even now.

I think some more. I could break my silence. I’d tell someone what Daniel told me, and then it would be two against one. Somebody might listen then.