Sweetie (19 page)

They came out of Maria’s mouth automatically, without her having to think about it, and as the first verse progressed she could feel her voice expanding and becoming more confident until she was belting it out. She kept her eyes trained on Mrs Davy, who was mouthing along with her and nodding vigorously to indicate that Maria was doing well. The three 182

minutes of the song flew by. She pulled off the tricky breath after the C sharp and followed it with a top A

– an amazing sound that echoed through the hall.

The next thing she knew people were on their feet, clapping and cheering.

Maria stood stunned before the appreciative audience. Even Mrs Davy jumped to her feet and clapped. Maria looked to the side of the stage where her friends and fellow performers stood, to find them cheering and smiling at her too. She stayed on stage for the finale and only afterwards, when Mrs Davy lost all composure and kissed her, did she realise just what she had achieved.

Children and parents hung around the school hall chatting until the caretaker began noisily stacking the chairs, to indicate that he wanted to close up and go home. Although he was obviously annoyed, Maria wanted to stay just a little bit longer, to soak up all the praise and accolades. She had been a resounding success!

In a daze and high on triumph, Maria went out of the school gates with three of her friends and they wandered through the light summer evening towards their homes. The sound of music drifted out of open pub doors and passing cars, and the girls giggled feverishly when a group of boys walked past and gave them the eye. The excited chatter focused mostly on how brilliant Maria had been, and how funny it 183

was when Alan Green dropped his recorder halfway through his piece and Mrs Davy looked like she was going to have a fit.

Maria was halfway home and in the high street before she remembered she had left her precious sheet music in the girls’ toilets. As she chatted with her mates, she could see a drunken Michael Potts leering at her, drinking a can of Special Brew and smoking a rotten old roll-up. Ignoring him and the others standing in a small group outside the bookie’s, she told her friends she had to go back. Despite them telling her not to worry, that the music would still be there in the morning, Maria got into a panic, scared that the caretaker or cleaners would chuck it out.

‘I can’t lose it, Mrs Davy bought it for me specially. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.’

She ran back and was relieved to find that the lights in the hall were still on and the main doors stood open. There wasn’t a soul about, not that she could see anyway, but Maria felt that she was being closely watched. A strange sensation ran through her.

She looked around quickly and saw no one, but it was odd, she could feel a presence. She sprinted up the corridor to the girls’ loo, pushed open the door and felt relief wash over her as she spied her sheet music on the windowsill above the row of sinks. She stuffed her music back into her bag, gave a silent prayer of thanks and squeezed her rabbit’s foot in her top pocket. It was old and worn now and the claws 184

were sharp where the fur had rubbed away. It had certainly brought her luck tonight.

As she made her way back down the corridor she heard a door slam and made her way quickly to the main school porch where a disembodied voice made her jump by saying, ‘Quite the little star, aren’t we, dearie?’

As he dragged her back into the hallway, he whispered into her ear, ‘Keep looking straight ahead and don’t try to turn round, sweetie.’

His voice was rasping and croaky, and his breath stank of tobacco. Maria could hardly breathe. An arm was wrapped tightly around her throat, and she felt something sharp piercing through her blouse and hurting her ribs. He had a knife or another sharp object.

Frozen with fear, but forced to put one foot in front of the other, Maria found herself back in the girls’ toilet where she was pushed face first against the wall. Her arms had been raised, outstretched above her head, and she held on to the windowsill, her fingers turning blood red under the pressure. His hand was on the back of her head, squashing her face against the cream-painted wall. Her mouth was open.

Paint was peeling off the wall and bits of it were swirling round with the boiled sweet she was still sucking from earlier.

She felt his other hand reaching up inside her school kilt, grabbing her bottom and pinching and 185

squeezing it so hard that it really hurt. He wrenched at her knickers and she felt them tear at the side seams and start to slip down her legs. In an instant, she was naked beneath her skirt and he was forcing her legs apart. She felt her fanny being explored and squeezed, and then the sudden thrust of thick sausage-like fingers entering her vagina. After what seemed like an eternity and with the man moaning and speaking low-pitched disgusting words in her ear, he took his fingers out.

He grabbed her by the hair, warning her once more not to turn round or look at him. She flailed her arms in panic and in an instant reached into her blouse pocket for her lucky rabbit’s foot. She grasped it and threw her hand back, knowing she had scratched it on something soft. She heard a sharp intake of breath. She had angered her attacker.

He pulled her roughly away from the sill and forced her down on her stomach on the stone floor.

She spat out the sweet. Her arms smashed to the ground and her hand released the rabbit’s foot. She watched from the corner of her eye as it flew across the floor and spun round like a spinning top until it finally stopped. She felt her knees being grazed as he roughly put her into position. Within seconds, he was raping her from behind, pushing deeper and harder, and all she could do was clench her teeth and close her eyes tight. She felt powerful blows on her bottom in time with his thrusts but he never spoke, he just got 186

faster and harder. She felt blood flow from her mouth where she had bitten her tongue, but all she could think to do was pray and hope he would finish soon.

He withdrew himself, but her ordeal was not yet over. She felt him open her bottom and clenched the cheeks together in a vain attempt to stop him. She felt her head being lifted from the stone floor by her hair, and as she let out a scream, he smashed it to the floor and Maria blacked out.

Mrs Davy was cross with herself. She’d left her precious
Times
in the staff room and she recalled that there were a few clues left unsolved on the crossword.

After all the euphoria of the evening she’d rushed out to get away from the few parents still grumbling that their children had not had bigger parts in the concert, explaining that she’d see them at the next open evening, and headed for the school car park. She had got a mile down the road in her Triumph when she remembered the paper. It was her favourite way of winding down in the evening. She loved the challenge of the crossword. It tired her out as she sipped her gin and tonic and put her feet up while Bach played softly in the background on her new music system. Mrs Davy sighed heavily, knowing she would have to go back.

As she entered the main porch, she could have sworn she heard footsteps inside the school. She ignored them and made her way to the staff room. As 187

she passed the girls’ toilets, she noticed the door stood slightly ajar, and with her nose wrinkled, went over to pull it closed. She wished they’d never moved the loos inside when they’d added the new extension to the old rundown building. The smell of urine always wafted out, but the authorities had insisted on an inside lavatory for the girls.

As she started to pull the door towards her, Mrs Davy heard a faint voice say, ‘Help me . . . please help me.’

188

Chapter Twelve

He was startled by the sound of a car pulling into the new parking spaces behind the girls’ toilets. Bollocks!

he thought as he looked at the back of the uncon -

scious girl’s head, his throbbing penis still tightly locked up her arse. He was in heaven, lost in satis -

faction, and now he had been rudely interrupted.

How dare they interfere with his special time, his precious moments of pleasure? He hesitated momen -

tarily, wondering if he had time to finish the girl off.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, he was nowhere near to climax, but some instinct for self-preservation made him heave himself up from the floor, hastily fasten his trousers and head for the door. He faltered again, bitterly regretting what he was going to miss, what he’d had planned for her, but he heard another noise and knew he had to get away, leaving his prize behind.

He cut through the school hall and out through the fire door at the rear; he quickly lost himself in the school shrubbery and then slowly sauntered on to the street. His heartbeat quickened. It was all he could do not to break into a run. Calm, he told himself, nice and easy, don’t arouse suspicion. He made his way 189

past the main gates at the front and did his best to look casual as he walked the hundred and fifty yards along Columbia Road to the Royal Oak. Inside he nodded at some familiar faces as he made his way to the gents’ where he locked himself in a cubicle and sniffed his fingers. He could smell her but he knew that the smell alone would not be enough to bring him off. He needed more. He needed to go back and finish what he’d started, but he knew he couldn’t. It was too risky, even for him.

He felt furious and frustrated and not a little afraid. He’d always taken every precaution, made sure he was somewhere he would not be interrupted and have plenty of time to finish his work. He grabbed a handful of hard toilet paper and wiped the blood and shit from around his groin, scratching at it furiously with the hard nasty sheets of paper before flushing it away. Then he ran his hands under the tap for several minutes, cursing the lack of soap, and splashed his face until his breathing had slowed and most of the muck had been rinsed away. He took out his old linen handkerchief then, not noticing the lollipop inside it fall to the floor, and wiped the excess water from his face.

Sniffing loudly, he composed himself and went out in the main bar area. He made his way up to the bar and fished in his trouser pocket for change. ‘Usual, love?’ asked the barmaid. His hands shook as he counted out the money. Beads of sweat still hung on 190

his brow; his breath came in shallow bursts. The barmaid eyed him strangely as she set down the pint mug on the bar towel.

‘Don’t usually see you in here on a week night.’

She handed him back his change.

‘No, I’ve been working late, thought I’d just stop for a quick one before I went home.’ His voice was higher than usual and had a faint tremor in it.

‘You all right? You look a bit flushed,’ the woman persisted.

‘Yeah, bit of back trouble. Bloody pills from the quack make me hot, but nothing serious,’ he replied, unable to meet her eye.

‘Oh, right you are.’ From the other end of the bar a group of men were calling noisily for refills. ‘Yeah, all right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’

He knew the place would be crawling with coppers soon but decided to take a minute to think.

He sat himself down at a small table to one side of the open door. A plan was already hatching. He would swill this drink back, head home, scrub up, then return to the scene where he’d left his beautiful plump-arsed girlie, mingling with the others, offering help where he could, being the perfect friendly neighbour and local.

In the girls’ toilets Mrs Davy knelt down next to Maria and took in the scene: the knickers ripped off and lying by the basins, her skirt hitched up around 191

her waist, body twisted so that her bottom stuck up while her face lay flat against the floor tiles. The smell was overwhelming and Mrs Davy opened her mouth wider to try and combat the odour of shit and blood.

‘What on earth . . .? Maria, can you hear me?’

The girl was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Her face, already swollen and disfigured, was covered in blood from her nose, which had been smashed against the floor. She could manage only a low moan in response.

‘Maria, can you sit up?’ The girl tried to move herself but slumped back to the floor. ‘I’m going to the school office to call an ambulance, I’ll be two minutes!’ Mrs Davy exclaimed. ‘Christ, who did this to you?’

Maria, a tortured look on her face, turned slightly and said, ‘Don’t leave me, Miss,’ in a tiny frightened voice.

‘I promise you, I’m coming back, but you must go to hospital. Do you understand, Maria?’

The girl began to sob and reached out her bloodied hand to Mrs Davy who bit back her own tears and stroked her hair. ‘Two minutes, darling. Two minutes, I promise.’ Her little star pupil, such a lovely girl . . . she could hardly take it in.

She ran like the wind down the corridor to the school office only to find it locked. She rattled the handle furiously and shouted out for the caretaker:

‘Mr Rush!’ When no reply came she ran to the staff 192

room where there was another phone and with a trembling hand dialled 999. ‘Come on, come on!’ she muttered. When an answer finally came she told the operator that she needed both the police and an ambulance. The operator didn’t seem to grasp her sense of urgency until Mrs Davy bellowed down the phone, ‘A little girl has been raped!’

As soon as she had finished instructing the operator that the emergency services were to come to the back entrance of Columbia Row Primary, she ran back to the toilets where Maria lay curled up on the floor, sobbing. Somehow she had got herself into a foetal position. Her bare bottom half was exposed and Mrs Davy could see that the child had not only been raped but buggered as well. That smell again . . .

it was sickening. Blood oozed from the wound around Maria’s anus, and together with shit flowed freely on to the concrete floor.

Mrs Davy removed her expensive lime green cashmere cardigan and placed it against the tear, in an attempt to stem the flow of blood and lend Maria some kind of decency. ‘They’re on their way, Maria, just a few minutes.’ She looked down at the hand that held the cloth against the girl’s body and saw it change colour as the blood soaked right through. She remained calm, smoothing the child’s hair and trying to soothe her by repeating, ‘It’s OK, it’s OK.’