I Won't Forgive What You Did (10 page)

He went on to explain that if I got dealt certain cards, I’d have to take off an item of clothing. This didn’t worry me unduly because I thought I’d ensure I got rid of those cards, the way you did in other games, like rummy. I trusted him anyway. I didn’t think we’d be taking any clothes off, not really. We’d get rid of the bad cards and it would be okay.

But we began playing and for some reason I wasn’t having any luck. I obviously hadn’t thought it through. I’d been so pleased to be asked, I hadn’t really thought about what ‘taking our clothes off meant. It hadn’t occurred to me I’d actually be put in the position of becoming half naked.

But I seemed to be dealt the wrong cards every hand, and while the boys had only removed plimsolls and socks, I was already down to my pants. I’d removed everything I could: my skirt, my blouse, both wellies, one after another, plus my hair-band, the last thing I had left.

I lost the next hand, and with nothing else to remove I told him I wasn’t going to take my pants off. ‘That’s okay,’ he said, laughing again. ‘Never mind about that.’ Then he explained that it was okay if I didn’t want to remove them – the way the game worked was that if I didn’t want to do that, I’d instead have to let him touch me ‘down there’.

I stood up immediately, feeling uneasy. I was so taken aback by his suggestion I couldn’t seem to think straight. Had I misheard him? Surely he hadn’t said that, had he? I looked at him, to see what his expression might tell me, but as I did so, he stood too and stepped towards me. Without waiting for my answer he pushed his hand down my pants, and I stiffened at the feel of his rough, dirty fingernails. I knew they’d be dirty – boys’ fingernails always were. I could feel him moving his fingers now, trying to push them inside me, which hurt. He then shoved them hard into me and moved them around and then immediately withdrew them, half turning now to Derek, who was standing, hands in pockets, looking awkward.

‘D’you want a go?’ he asked him. I was stunned when I heard this, and also very worried he’d say yes. Derek looked at the ground, and then at my face. He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said to Phillip. ‘No, I don’t.’

I stood there staring at Phillip till I could hold his gaze no longer, then looked down, not knowing what to do next. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. There was silence, then. Nothing moved, no one spoke. I could feel this terrible upset rising inside me. Why had Phillip done that? Why would he
want
to do that? Had he planned it all along? I was so shocked, and I hadn’t a clue what to say or do. I simply couldn’t understand what had happened, or why. This was
Phillip.
What was happening here? Because
he’d
done it, did that mean it was okay?

Phillip turned on his heel then, and Derek quickly followed.

‘Come on, we’re going back now,’ Phillip said. I didn’t answer. I stood there, not moving, watching their retreating backs and not knowing what to think.

Then I followed, at a distance – neither boy looked back – and, once home, I went straight up the stairs to the bathroom. I had spent lots of time cleaning – had been doing it all my life. Not just pots and pans and crockery and filthy sheets, either. I had spent lots of time scrubbing Daniel’s ‘stuff off my hands over the years. Or off my chin, or my wrists, or where it had dripped down and dried on my dresses. But this was new. Here I set about scrubbing myself . . .

The incident with Phillip affected me greatly. As I approached my teens, I became obsessed with my own death and thought about when and how it would happen. Everything around me felt dark; I felt ugly, dirty, disgusting and useless, that I didn’t belong anywhere, and that I didn’t know what to do.

Terrified by the strength of the dark feelings I’d been having, I made an appointment to see the GP. What I wanted, I suppose, was to talk to someone about them, but I found it impossible to articulate what had happened with Phillip and the GP ended up, I think, barking up the wrong tree. I was offered a course of antidepressants, together with the instructions to ‘discover myself’. Have a nice warm bath, think, touch my body all over, and try to establish ‘what I liked’. I left feeling more sick about myself than when I started, and I didn’t take the antidepressants for long, as they made me feel even more desperate.

Instead, I withdrew into trying to work myself out. I couldn’t understand why this should be happening to me, and not, on the face of it, to anyone else. Why was I so different? Why so unhappy and afraid? My elder sister, now almost fifteen, seemed happy. She’d come back from outings and talk about all the fun she’d had when she was out, as she often was, with her friends.

My mother did intimate that it hadn’t always been so. She told me things about my sister that had happened to her when she was thirteen, and I wondered if thirteen was just a difficult age, and the reason I felt so strange and depressed. Perhaps it would get better. I so wanted to believe that. I didn’t want to have to take antidepressants. Perhaps the solution was to be more like my sister, to do what she did, to try to go out and have fun. Perhaps then, I reasoned, I’d make friends and be happy and not worry quite so much about dying.

I had been saving a little of the money I’d earned potato picking before Christmas; the bit I didn’t spend on buying presents. I also had a little Christmas money of my own, plus a small amount from my thirteenth birthday. I decided I’d spend this on something nice to wear, and eventually chose a smart cream military-style dress, with long sleeves and brass buttons on the shoulders, cuffs and front. I really liked it, not least because I’d bought it myself, and it was new. I had something of my own to go out in, something that hadn’t been worn by anybody else.

I didn’t have anywhere to wear it, of course, but in a mood of determination, inspired by my purchase, I put it on and walked into town. It was a Saturday afternoon, which meant that, hopefully, my sister wouldn’t be around, which was important because I knew if she saw me she’d taunt me. She was in town all the time, but never usually on a Saturday during the day, because she had a job at a local farm.

I had little in the way of a plan. The only thing I knew about town and what you did was that there was a place called the Honey Globe, a cafe where everyone hung out. From what my sister said, it sounded exciting. There was a jukebox, and everyone sat listening to music and smoking, and sometimes a crowd of teenagers would gather at the cafe before going on outings together.

I was far too self-conscious to go in on my own, but just as I was standing leaning against the wall I spotted Ellie in the distance, a girl from school.

‘What are you up to?’ she asked, as she approached me.

‘I was just going up to the Honey Globe,’ I lied.

‘Me too,’ she answered, and we fell into step. As we walked, I could hardly believe what I was doing. I was walking through town, in the company of another girl, and we were going to the Honey Globe together. When we got there, I could see she’d been there before. She strode in, full of confidence, and led the way across the room, then down some stairs that led to another room in the basement. There was a pool table, and lots of yellow-topped tables and yellow chairs, and there were groups of mainly boys, sitting around them, all with cups of tea or coffee, or cans of Coke. Quite a few were smoking, and the song on the jukebox was ‘Everlasting Love’. It was quite loud.

One of the older boys, who was sitting on the edge of a table with his legs casually thrown over the back of a chair, looked over as we entered, spotted me, smiled and said, ‘Well, hello.’ I felt horribly self-conscious. I hardly ever talked to girls, let alone boys.

Ellie again led the way and we went over to the counter to buy Cokes. While we were over there she told me the boy’s name was Colin and he lived in the next village. She told me she thought he fancied me. I admitted to her that I thought he was good-looking too, and we went back to his table and sat down. She was very relaxed with him – they both talked and laughed together – but when he asked me a question, I couldn’t seem to think of a single thing to say Ellie told him who my sister was and he smiled and nodded. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I see. I know your sister pretty well.’ His voice was warm and friendly, and I was pleased at the way he said it. He obviously liked her, and it was also clear he quite liked me too.

We all chatted some more – I was feeling a little more relaxed now – and when Ellie announced, at teatime, she had to be getting home, Colin asked me if I’d like to go for a walk with him. He suggested we might walk up on the downs.

This was new and stressful territory. Up to now I’d never thought about the concept of boyfriends; just had the vague notion of how nice it would be to be taken care of by someone, especially someone like Colin, who was friendly and good-looking and – to my shock – seemed to want to spend time with me.

However, this was so outside of my experience I felt terribly tongue-tied, inexperienced and young. He was so much older than me, so much more worldly-wise, and not knowing what he wanted – not knowing what
I
wanted – I felt completely out of my depth.

But at the same time, I’d no idea how to say no to him. I had no sense of being allowed to say ‘no’, to anyone about anything, least of all a male who wanted something from me. Saying ‘no’ to someone was to reject them, and I didn’t want to do that – my upbringing had taught me other people’s feelings always, always came before mine.

I therefore said yes, and before long, we were walking together towards the downs. As we headed out of town, bathed in spring sunshine, Colin reached across and took my hand. I felt a bit afraid, and in my stomach there were the first flutterings of panic, but at the same time, I didn’t want to pull my hand away. This was scary but it also felt grown-up and special – like I was out walking with
my
boyfriend.

We eventually got to the path, and crossed the stile that led to the downs, and some way along the path that formed a ridge along them, Colin suggested we sit down on a nearby bench. He put his arm around my shoulders, turned towards me and kissed me, which made me panic, and I started mumbling about getting home.

He tried gently to coax me to stay. ‘Come on,’ he said, laughing, ‘we’ve only just got here!’ and, presumably taking my silence for assent, continued to kiss me as before.

But panic was rising in my chest. Any fond thoughts I’d had about him being my boyfriend were expunged in an instant by a physical sense of dread. I felt frightened and, at the same time, so angry at myself. He’d been so kind, so attentive, so
interested
in me, yet it was all as nothing compared to my overwhelming fear about what might happen next. He’d clearly thought I was up for something I really, really wasn’t, and in letting him bring me to this bench I’d misled him – and now I was in trouble.

He obviously couldn’t sense my distress either, as the next thing he did was place his free hand on my knee. Now I really panicked. I jumped up and immediately started running, my heart thumping, desperate to get away.

I could hear him coming after me. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he shouted. ‘What’s the
matter
with you?’

Without thinking, I bent down, snatched up a stone and threw it at him, then doubled my efforts to run as fast as I could. I didn’t know if it had hit him or not, but he was still following and shouting. ‘What’s your
problem?’
he was yelling. ‘You mad or something?’

I clambered over the stile, and fled towards the hill and home, tears of anger and exasperation at myself streaming down my face. Now everyone,
everyone
, would know what I was like. Colin would probably tell everyone how useless and stupid I was. That I got all dressed up in nice clothes and wore make-up but actually, when you came down to it, I was dead inside.

And he was right, wasn’t he? Because there wasn’t any ‘I’. I had no likes or dislikes, no personality. The only way I could cope was to master the business of making everyone around me feel happy. My only need was to make sure I considered others’ feelings. My own feelings about anything were of absolutely no consequence – all that mattered was that I didn’t upset anyone.

Yet more and more I was discovering doing so was hard. That encounters with boys and men would be intolerable in themselves, because they would – it seemed – always mean them touching me. That Colin just wanted to ‘get his leg over’ seemed clear. How stupid of me to think he liked me as a person. And even if he had, being ‘liked’ by a boy clearly involved doing things that distressed me. But
why
did it? Why was it so frightning to me and so all right with every other girl? There seemed nothing I could do to make my affliction go away. Being a Wednesday’s child was going to be my destiny.

Unless I could conquer my fear. Stop feeling so afraid and let boys do what they wanted. Kiss me and touch me and everything else. What I needed to do was to try to like it. Maybe trying to like it was the answer.

When I got home, I took off my lovely new dress, and carefully hung it in my wardrobe, unable to imagine when I’d ever wear it again. A few days later, however, I found it screwed up and dirty in a pile of washing strewn on the bedroom floor. My older sister had taken it and worn it without asking, then just chucked it on the floor among her own filthy clothes. It was the sort of horrible thing she did all the time.

My father’s boss, Mr White – the only boss I’d ever known my father have – was, according to what many people said, very much like my father temperamentally. Like my father, he spent a lot of time shouting and swearing, and he also smoked roll-ups while he was out driving his haulage lorry. He was a lot older than my father, short and stocky, in contrast to my father’s tall, imposing frame, and he always seemed to wear a long brown coat, of the type worn by butchers and men in hardware stores. In its pockets would often be warm melting Mars bars, which he’d offer to me whenever I went with my mother to help her clean his dark, scary house.