A Cockney's Journey (16 page)

Bloody hell. Why? Come on, Ed,
why
did you ask her name?
    “Err, I was just curious,” I said, thinking what a stupid reason that was.
    “It’s Jill, actually. Are you trying to chat me up?” she asked all seriously.
    “Well, Jill, Err, yes and no, I mean yes, sort of.”
    She started laughing before I could finish my cocked up answer. “Make your mind up! You are or you’re not! Anyway, what’s your name?”
    
Man, it’s hard work trying to chat a bird up.
    “Eddie’s my name.” I cringed, thinking the worst. “Yes, I was trying to chat you up, in a round about way,” I said, with half a smile.
    We stood looking at each other in silence for a few seconds. Her face was dead straight like a poker player. I feared the worst. Then her poker face cracked into a large smile.
    “Fine! Where you taking me tonight, Eddie?” she asked, staring deep into my eyes and making me feel uncomfortable. Well, I didn’t know it at the time but this bird was a complete headcase. She was a very good-looking girl, but unfortunately slightly unhinged, as I soon found out for myself. My instincts told me not to turn up, although this wasn’t the first time I ignored them! We met that evening at seven thirty; we had arranged to meet outside the Crown Pub in Nunhead.
    “Come on, let’s go in here for a drink,” she demanded, walking straight into the saloon bar. I stood there for a second, wondering what to do. I’ve only been in a pub once and that wasn’t for a drink. I followed her in, thinking that this was going to be so embarrassing, especially when I got refused serving for being under age. I stood at the bar, lighting up a fag trying to blag it.
    “I’ll have a Bacardi ’n’ Coke,” she gestured to the barman. He looked at me. I thought, here we go, chucking-out time. To my surprise, he asked me what I was drinking. I quickly scanned the bar. “I’ll have a…err…light ale, please, mate,” I said nervously.
    “Bowl glass or half pint?” he asked. I didn’t know what he was talking about so I just said bowl. He returned with our drinks and, after paying the bill, we stood next to the jukebox listening to ‘Mother and Child Reunion’ by Paul Simon. Then one of my favourite records came on, ‘Standing in the Road’ by Blackfoot Sue, followed by Argents’ ‘Hold Your Head Up’. After a few light ales, I started to feel really strange, but it was a nice feeling. This was the beginning of my love affair with boozing and going out on the piss every weekend, making new mates and hanging around with the wrong people. I was soon to leave the path chosen for me, instead going down the wrong one.
    Jill started to get very loud. In fact, she got louder and louder the more she drank. I was stood at the bar ordering another round of drinks when Jill informed me she was going to the toilet. I was still leaning on the bar when she reappeared, swaying from side to side. Suddenly she bumped into another girl, swiftly getting covered in the girl’s vodka and orange. What followed next was totally uncalled for. Instead of apologising, Jill lost the plot. She grabbed the girl’s hair, screaming, “I’ll fucking kill you, bitch.” She started laying into her, just like a bloke would do to another bloke. During the struggle, tables were overturned, glasses were smashed and drinks spilt over customers. The pair of them were rolling about the floor, pulling lumps of hair out of each other, wailing like a couple of banshees. I stared in disbelief. They were like wild cats; scratching, biting and kicking the shit out of each other. I tried to act like I didn’t know her.
Blimey! A few hours ago, I was in the company of this innocent wet girl under a canopy, or so I thought. Now look at the stupid prat; rolling about like a mud wrestler.
Blokes were standing with their arms folded, laughing at the spectacle and cheering them both on, taking bets on who would win.
    After about ten minutes, the publican broke up the fight. He threw both the girls out, telling them they were barred. Outside the pub, Jill was still shouting and screaming at the poor girl. I walked out the pub very discreetly, trying not to draw attention to the fact that she came in with me. I tried to escape from her sight and I must have got fifty yards from the pub when I heard this loud yell.
    “Wait for me, Eddie!” she cried. She staggered towards me, hobbling on one shoe and looking completely wrecked and bedraggled. Now this is where I should have legged it but, being a soft touch, I never. She put her arm around my neck as we strolled down the street. She was hanging on to me, limping and trying to straighten her hair with her free hand.
    “How far do you live? I’ll walk you home,” I said to her quietly.
    “Not far, just around the next corner,” she said, sighing. For some insane reason, I started to feel sorry for her. She had completely calmed down and was behaving like the girl I had met a few hours ago. We arrived outside her front door. There weren’t any lights on and there were no signs of anyone being at home. She took her arm from around my neck, fumbling in her handbag. I assumed she was looking for the keys to the door. Jill opened the gate and limped up to the door. Putting the key in the lock, she turned round and looked at me with a frightening smile. Her eyes looked wild and menacing but I knew why. My old man had the same look when he was angry and completely intoxicated. Or so I mistakenly thought. That error in judgement would prove costly later.
    “Fancy a coffee, Eddie?” she asked, in a slurring voice. I should have said no but the truth was that I felt slightly drunk too. Her wild look also really excited me. There was something very horny about her at the time. She hung her head down, shaking her hair and quickly flicking it backwards in a vain attempt to straighten it out.
    “Well, yes or no?” she said, licking her lips as if trying to entice me.
    “Yeah, OK,” I said, accepting the offer of coffee as I entered the house. Following Jill into the kitchen, I sat down on a long wooden bench by the side of the kitchen table. She filled the kettle with water, plonking it on the gas ring. She leant against the sink giving me this funny look. Her eyes were all glassy. She licked her lips again, running her tongue along her front teeth. Now, I didn’t know the signs of lust, being a virgin at the time, so forgive me for not jumping up and giving her one over the sink. Standing in front of the sink, Jill put her hands on both hips, slightly parting her thighs. She stared impatiently at me. My mind was doing overtime. What should I do? Stay put, get up or what? I decided to stand up. Well, I tried but I was rooted to the bloody chair. She walked over, pulling me up from the chair. I felt my heart jump on the way up, like I was on a rollercoaster at the funfair. My body tingled from head to toe; the sensation I felt was indescribable. Sheer excitement was followed by nervous anticipation, all that before I even touch her.
Fuck me!
I thought as she dragged me violently down onto the floor. I didn’t know it at the time but I was just going to be raped. What followed next was one of the most bizarre sexual experiences I have ever encountered. She attacked me like a wild animal, ripping my clothes off and scratching, biting, licking and sucking every part of my body. I cursed myself for ignoring the warning signs and not listening to my inner voice. She attacked my throat like a ravaging vampire drawing blood on the first bite. It was such an onslaught that at one stage I thought she was going to kill me. This went on for hours until she decided when to stop. She got up and left the kitchen. I laid there in agony. My throat was bleeding and every part of my body ached. I struggled to stand up. My head was spinning and I felt physically sick and weak. Jill opened the front door, looking out into the street. It was obvious she wanted me out the house. Trying to compose myself, I walked towards the front door in shock. I walked out the house to the gate and, turning round, I looked at her with hatred in my eyes.
    “What’s that for, boy? Didn’t you enjoy it, because I bloody did,” she laughed, like a women possessed. “Next time, don’t tell porkies about your age, sonny,” she said, sniggering.
    My judgement on a person’s age was a bit crap in those days. I actually thought she looked seventeen instead of being in her late twenties. I started walking home thinking that my back was still very sore. She must have cut my flesh with her long fingernails. I hastily made my way down Lyndhurst Way towards my turning. I decided never to tell anyone about that night and I’ve kept that secret till now.
    I stood outside the back gate. My mind was in turmoil.
What am I going to do now!! It’s four o’clock in the bloody morning. Everyone’s asleep and I can’t get in the house. Somehow I’ve got to get in so I can get changed for work.
The thought of breaking in filled me with terror.
If he catches me, I’m finished.
I leant on the back wall, puffing my last fag, contemplating my next move.
In any case, if he sees the state I’m in he’ll dig me out for sure. I stink of booze, my clothes are ripped and I look as if I’ve been in a fight. That in itself will condemn me to a hiding and, believe me, I’ve had enough for one night let alone the last five years.
I had completely and utterly had enough, period. I glanced up at the house, looking at the bathroom window.
It’s the only way in,
I thought and the feeling of dread and fear came over my body. I stood staring at the window, thinking.
I can’t, I really can’t, I’ll get caught, I bloody know I will.
I took a deep breath. I opened the back gate, knowing somewhere in my mixed up head I was making a big mistake.
    Sneaking around the garden searching for the ladder, I tripped over my little brother’s bike and fell flat on my face.
Fucking hell, I don’t believe this.
I lay there in total darkness not making a sound, fearing the worst. Suddenly, half the garden lit up. I started to tremble. After a few minutes, it went dark again. Someone had used the toilet.
Thank God.
Then the garden lit up again.
Bloody hell, they’re in the kitchen now!
I heard the faint sound of the kitchen radio, followed by the whistle-blowing of the kettle.
He must be on the early shift today.
I crawled along the floor on my elbows like an army sniper, through the wet grass, and made it unseen to the garden wall. Jumping over the wall, I fell to the pavement, sighing with relief. I hid behind a parked car, soaking wet, waiting for him to leave. He eventually emerged from the house, unlocking his moped from the front railings. I watched in amusement while he tried several times to kick-start his pathetic mode of transport.
Vroom-Vroom
went his tin can as he sped past me, turning left down Lyndhurst Way. I gave him a few minutes before I jumped up, rushing through the back gate. It took me a matter of minutes to find and erect the ladder up to the bathroom window. Once in the bathroom, I quietly rushed down to the kitchen feeling pretty smug with myself. I dropped the ladder, putting it back and made my way up to the bathroom. Locking the door, I turned on the taps, filling the bath with welcoming warm water. I stripped off and looked in the mirror.
Fucking hell.
My throat was in a right state. It looked like it was bruised and my neck was red-raw, purple and black. I spun round and, glancing over my shoulder, I could see that my back was slashed to bits with claw marks running the whole length of my upper body. My penis was sore and covered in friction burns down both sides. I slipped into the bath, feeling pissed off. I quickly jumped up, nearly hitting the ceiling; every part of my body was stinging. I tried again, slowly submerging my aching and stinging body into the water while gritting my teeth. I lay soaking in the bath for half an hour, topping the bath up every so often with delicious hot water, trying to wash away the night’s sick events. After I finished in the bathroom, I made my way up to the bedroom to get dressed for the market. I left the house quietly, hastily rushing to work, not wanting to be late.
    I returned home after a hard day’s graft feeling pretty shitty. I sweated all day in my roll neck jumper just so no one saw my throat. I was totally cream crackered and very tired. He was waiting for me as I entered the kitchen looking really mad and ready to spit feathers.
    “What have you got to say for yourself this time?” he said, trying to keep his temper under control but looking at me with malice in his eyes.
    
He must know about last night,
I thought. I was racking my brain for the reason why. I didn’t break anything or wake anyone up.
    “About what?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders like I didn’t know what he was talking about. He stood up and advanced in my direction. My mother sat in the living room, not wanting to get involved, as she always did.
    “Where you been today? And don’t fucking lie to me,” he shouted in my face.
    “Why? What’s all this about?” I enquired, thinking that this is nothing to do with last night and something else must have happened. My leg started to twitch and I had this terrible feeling he was going to hit me again. He raised his hand. I flinched my head backwards to avoid contact with his fist.
    “Fucking coward,” he laughed, dropping his fist. His action gave me a false sense of security. With the speed of a greyhound, he head-butted me across the bridge of my nose. I cupped my hands around my face in agony. The blood was spurting everywhere, through my fingers and dripping onto the floor. As I hung over the sink, I felt a searing pain shoot up to my temple.
    “What was that for?” I cried, choking on the blood as it ran down the back of my throat.
    “You broke the spare room window kicking a ball about. I want you to pack your fucking clothes and get the hell out of my house. Do you understand? If you ever come back, I’ll kill you!” he screamed, shaking with anger. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and marched me out of the door. “In fact, you can piss off now. I’ll throw your shit out the fucking window, you little wanker!” he yelled, pushing me into the street. I stood at the front of the house, trying to stem the blood-flow from my nose. After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped, but my hands and face were smothered in blood. I heard my bedroom window open. Looking up, I saw the contents of my wardrobe being flung down into the street.
    “I’ve been at work all day since six o’clock this morning I never broke nothing,” I pleaded. My pleading fell on deaf ears. He hated me so much he only needed a minute excuse, regardless if I was innocent or not.