Two Women (56 page)

‘When we see the man I want, you bring him bodily to the car but don’t let passers by or anyone else guess anything’s going on, right?’

He nodded. He did this all the time. He was the acknowledged master of the take.

‘Then me and you are going to put the fear of Christ up him.’

Danny really grinned then, looking forward to it.

‘If he’s a nonce, surely I get to kick him in?’

Roselle laughed gently.

‘Oh, he’s a nonce, all right, and you do get to scare him. But let’s see how he reacts before we start the pain. Sometimes the fear of a kicking is a much worse punishment. We’ll see.’

Danny relaxed. He liked Roselle. Unlike most women she thought like a man. She was a loner like himself and understood the mechanics of fear.

 

Alfred Potter walked out of his flat at just after eight-thirty in the evening. He worked as a volunteer at a local youth club and was late tonight. He had just had a visitor, a girl called Leyla, eleven years old and well developed for her age. She was also educationally subnormal. His type of girl in fact. Her parents thought he was great the way he helped her with lessons and took her on days out. After all, he was a social worker and knew what he was doing. They could trust him.

Leyla, for her part, was a quiet, amicable girl. She understood the world only as feelings and thoughts. If she pleased people she experienced a feeling of well-being. If they were angry she cried. If she pleased Mr Potter she got shop-bought cake and Pepsi, things she never had at home.

Mr Potter and Leyla had had quite a long session that evening and he had forgotten the time. As they left he put her in a taxi cab and waved until she was out of sight.

Then, pleased with himself and feeling indestructible, he buttoned up his jacket and walked jauntily along the pavement, smoothing down his sparse hair.

The black man, he noticed, seemed to glide towards him. No expression on his face, nothing. It wasn’t until he was in a vice-like grip and actually hearing the man talk that the danger he was obviously in occurred to Alfred Potter.

By then he was also in a rather dashing car.

His neighbour, Mrs Henderson, waved at him and he waved back. Because the black man informed him if he didn’t act normally his gonads would be ripped off and put through his letter box.

He believed the huge man with the yellowing whites to his eyes and the impossibly white teeth. At least, he reasoned, he had no reason to disbelieve him.

Now the woman, very good-looking and well dressed, pulled away from the kerb and still waving to Mrs Henderson Alfred was driven away at a fair speed, though not so fast as to attract attention, and told to keep his mouth shut until he was spoken to.

He was terrified. Which was exactly what the two people with him wanted him to be. He did not disappoint them. He started crying before they left his road, and he was sobbing when they hit the motorway. If only they would say something, tell him what he had done.

But not a word was spoken by anyone and he wasn’t going to risk incurring the black man’s wrath for anyone.

Roselle found she was actually enjoying herself.

 

‘Another night in nick, eh? What a thrilling prospect.’

Matty’s voice was going right through Susan’s head. It was as if she was determined to talk herself to death.

‘Look, Matty, why don’t you listen to me letter? See what you think.’

Matty nodded. She stopped her pacing and sat on Susan’s bunk.

‘Go on then.’

She cleared her throat and began to read.

‘ “Dear Peter” . . . that’s his name.’

Matty sighed. ‘Well, I hardly thought even
you
would get that wrong.’

Susan cleared her throat and started again.

‘ “Dear Peter, it was lovely to hear from you. I was pleased to hear from you. I hope you are well. I am as well as can be expected in the circumstances. The kids are all well. I think they miss me, but then I miss them as well.

‘ “What is happening with you? How is Australia and the ship? What is it like living on a big ship? What do you do on your days off on the ship? Are there any women on the ship - women sailors, I mean? Ha ha. Please write again soon, as it was so nice to hear from someone from my other life. From happier days.

‘ “Write soon. Love from Susan Dalston.”

Matty put her hands over her face and threw herself backwards on the bunk. Susan bridled in annoyance.

‘It ain’t that fucking bad, is it?’

Matty hauled herself up.

‘Susan Dalston, that’s the worst letter I have ever heard. You sound like a moron.’

Susan was getting really cross now and it showed.

‘Not so much of the fucking moron, you.
You’re
the moron. You don’t understand anything about anything. I think it’s a nice letter. It asks questions and answers queries.’

Matty wiped her eyes with her hand, a habit she had when annoyed. ‘If you’re interested in Peter, don’t send that letter. I’ll write you one to send.’

Susan shook her head vehemently.

‘Oh, no, you won’t. I don’t fancy him and he don’t fancy me. We’re just mates. Old mates from school. He’s stuck on a ship and I’m stuck in here. We just want to hear a word from another mate, that’s all. Why does everything have to be about sex and fancying and blokes all the time?’

Matty shook her head and grinned.

‘Because that’s what makes the world go round. Women and men, men and women. It’s what it’s all about.’

Susan snorted and lit a cigarette.

‘All the men I’ve ever known have caused me nothing but fucking hag. You can keep all that malarkey for people like yourself. For me a mate will do. Stuck in here, the last thing I need is a head full of nonsense. Romance is for prats, Matty. Prats like you and Sarah and the others who think that once they’re out they’ll be okay.

‘Well, listen to me, I’m about to give you a wake up call. This will stay with you all your life. If you ever get another bloke, he’ll always be wondering if you’ll kill him and all. The sooner you realise what you’ve done, what you’ve caused, the better off you will be.’

Matty stared at her in that way she had. A hard stare without any kind of feeling in it whatsoever.

‘You’re wrong, Susan. We’re victims and will be seen as victims by decent people.’

Susan shook her head in derision. Then in a temper she said something she should never have said.

‘You ain’t a victim, you admitted as much to me the other week with the vodka talking. None of us is really a victim. We marry these men and even when we see what they are we still stay with them. We’re trapped but we trapped ourselves. Barry was me father, love. I married me father, the man I hated most in the world. I was a victim, all right. I was a victim of trying to get away from home, of trying to put some distance between me and my old man. That’s all. There’s no great plan, no big ideal. Fuck all but the truth - and that, as we all know, fucking hurts.’

Matty was staring hard now. She looked frightening. Susan realised she had gone too far, but Christ Matty annoyed her at times.

‘What did I say then, on the vodka?’

Her voice was flat, eyes watchful, and Susan regretted mentioning it.

‘Not a lot. I just sussed out the truth of it, that’s all. But don’t worry, I’m the last person to talk, ain’t I?’

Matty stood up, and as small and petite as she was, she looked seriously menacing. Susan stood also and the disparity in their height and weight was obvious to them both.

‘Listen, Matty, what you do is your trip, right? It’s nothing to do with me. I have enough on me plate keeping body and soul together, looking out for me kids and trying to write letters. If I was going to use what you said I’d hardly have told you about it, would I?’

Matty saw the sense in what the other woman was saying and relaxed.

‘I say a lot of silly things when I’m drunk, Sue. It doesn’t mean they’re true, does it?’

Susan shook her head. The tension had left the cell and Matty was smiling again.

‘Well, I know what you’re saying there, mate. I can’t remember that much about it to be honest. Now give me a hand with me letter, eh? I bow down to your superior vocabulary.’

The storm had passed but Susan realised just how close to the wind she had sailed. She also realised that Matty Enderby was a dangerous person. It was far better to have someone like that as a friend than an enemy as her own husband had found out.

 

Alfred Potter was standing in a cold wood, far from home, and without his clothes. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

‘Jesus, but that’s a small prick! Wouldn’t you agree, Dan?’

The black man nodded silently.

‘It’s much too small for a real woman, Mr Potter. Is that why you have a penchant for little girls?’

Roselle’s voice was loud in the gloom and he realised exactly what was going down and was silent.

Danny grabbed him with one meaty fist and shook him.

‘Answer the lady when she talks to you, man. Okay?’

Mr Potter really did not know what to answer so he shook his head vigorously.

Roselle laughed loudly.

‘So you’re calling me a liar, are you? You’re not a beast, a predatory piece of shit who goes after the most vulnerable children in our society. Children in care, children taken from their homes for no other reason than their parents fucked up. You think it’s quite all right to do that, do you?’

Mr Potter wanted to cry, he felt so vulnerable, so frightened and so powerless. Naked and cold, he was at the mercy of strangers, two people who obviously knew about him. About his quiet times with the children, as he called his little games.

‘I wouldn’t ever call you a liar, madam.’

He hated himself for the pleading tone in his voice. Get me out of this, God, he prayed, and I will never go near another child as long as I live.

Roselle grinned.

‘How does it feel to be so exposed, to have strangers looking at you - strangers who could make you do anything they wanted? Because they are stronger, more evil, more vicious than you.’

He still couldn’t answer. There was no answer.

‘Is that what turns people like you on, eh? The fear, the defencelessness of the girls you abuse? Because it
is
abuse, you know. Abuse of the worst kind. You consciously work with children, pretending you are taking care of them. Like the little girl in Wales, now what was her name?’

She pretended to think hard, as if the name had escaped her.

‘Was it Karen? Yes, Karen. The little girl with the pigtails. You still have photos of her in your flat. We’ve been in your flat, Mr Potter. Me and my friend here. We have been through all your things. Seen all your books, and your videos and your other crap. We know you better than anyone now.’

She was serious, hard-voiced and hard-faced.

‘You left Wales, didn’t you, Mr Potter? And the place in Newcastle, and the place in Leeds. You always leave before they throw you out, don’t you? Before you can get caught. You keep it among yourselves, don’t you? There are loads of people like you around.

‘Well, I’m here to tell you we know what you’re doing and we’re watching you. The big mistake you made was going after my little friend, my good friend, Wendy Dalston. You see, unlike you, Wendy has us behind her.

‘So where does that leave you now? I can’t let you get away with it, can I? I have to make sure you understand exactly what you’ve done. Make sure you never want to do anything remotely like it again. So that means pain, I’m afraid, extreme pain.’

He dropped to his knees in the undergrowth. Could feel sticks digging into his knees and dirt collecting on his shins.

‘Please, please, don’t hurt me! I’m begging you. Please, I have a bad heart . . .’ He was crying. Really crying.

Roselle was enjoying herself.

‘Oh, the joy of hearing a man beg. Any man. Well, beg away, wanker. You’ve been found out.’

She walked slowly back to the car and left him with Danny. What Danny did next was up to him, that was always the deal. He gave out the punishment he felt befitted the crime.

She had a feeling he was going to mete out rather a harsh punishment and tonight could not find it in herself to be sorry for Alfred Potter.

 

Colin was nervous. As he sat in the visiting room with the children’s social worker, Miss Beacham, he was sorely reminded of Susan’s behaviour on his last visit and smiled sheepishly at the other woman who nodded to him, as if to reassure him everything was going to be fine.

He liked Miss Beacham. She had a nice way about her. She was a calming influence with the kids in her care and impressed him. It was a shame she was so ugly. With her personality she would have been much in demand if God had seen fit to give her a face to match her temperament.

He realised as the thought flashed through his mind that if he voiced it to Geraldine O’Hara she would demolish him in a second. But it was easy for the Geraldines of this world to be feminists. They were never judged on anything but their looks so they didn’t have to go through the angst of mere mortals like himself and Miss Beacham.

The thought made him smile and Miss Beacham, assuming he was smiling at her, grinned back at him.

‘I’m glad we both had visits booked at the same time, Colin. Maybe we could have a bite afterwards and I can fill you in on the latest developments with the children?’

He nodded.

Another thing he liked about her was that she ate like people should eat. In huge quantities, and always food that was classed as bad for you. He knew from Susan’s children that she often took them for Wimpys, giving them large milkshakes and doughnuts as well as bender burgers and chips.

They all loved her, especially the eldest girl.