Winners and Losers (28 page)

‘Well, what have we here?' a deep voice asked from her right. ‘I think things just got interesting, boys. Buy you a drink, pretty lady?'

‘I'll have a whisky, if you don't mind,' Maura said. She appraised the man who had spoken. He was dressed in decent clothes and looked as if he had a few bob in his pocket – and the gleam in his eyes told her that he was looking for company. He wasn't really her type, too big and bulky, but she was past caring. She smiled, forgetting her son sleeping at home. ‘My name is Maura – what should I call you?'

‘Call me Pete,' he suggested and his hand moved to touch her backside, giving it a little squeeze. Maura didn't move away or glare at him. He was making it obvious that he wanted sex, but so did she, so that was just fine. ‘I think we are going to have ourselves a good time . . .'

Sarah glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already nearly eleven o'clock. She'd been having so much fun she hadn't noticed the way the time was going. There was a small bar and Rod had bought her two glasses of gin and orange, which she had drunk straight down because she was thirsty. He had nuzzled her neck during one of the slower dancers, and she had let him, even though she didn't really fancy him. He looked different dressed in drainpipes and leather jacket, his hair slicked down with oil that smelled strongly of some heavy perfume. Connor always had the fresh smell of soap on his skin.

Rod was a good dancer and he'd introduced her to his friends. She had danced with several of the men at the start of the evening and chatted to the girls, but the last few dances had all been with Rod. Sarah had enjoyed herself, but she felt a little apprehensive as she told him that she had to leave soon.

‘You don't need to go for ages yet,' he told her. ‘Stay for another half-hour, Sarah. We're having a good time, aren't we?'

‘Yes, it has been fun,' Sarah replied and smiled. ‘I've enjoyed myself – but my mother will worry if I'm later than eleven. I could catch a bus if you tell me which one I need.'

‘Don't be like that,' Rod said and looked annoyed. ‘I'll take you back to your hotel, Sarah. I brought you and I'll see you home. Just another couple of dances and we'll go.'

Sarah hesitated. A little voice in her head was saying she should go now. She thought Rod might have had a few beers too many and she didn't really want a snogging session in the car. Dancing with him had been fun, but she suspected that he would be looking for more than a couple of kisses. At the start of the evening she had been up for it, but now she had changed her mind. She didn't want anyone but Connor touching her and kissing her.

‘All right, one more dance,' she told him. ‘But first I have to go to the cloakroom . . .'

She kissed him on the cheek and walked away, disappearing into the cloakroom to fetch her coat and bag. She had money in her purse and some in her coat pocket too. If she couldn't find the right bus stop, she would look for a taxi.

She left the club, going down the stairs and through the pub. There was a lot of raucous laughter in the bar and it was very busy. She hadn't realized what a rough crowd it was when she'd arrived, but it had been early then and she'd been with Rod and his friends. Now she was alone and she felt suddenly vulnerable as a couple of men wolf-whistled her. She ignored them and went outside, aware now that it was dark, late and, worst of all, she had no idea where she was. She knew that Rod had driven for some twenty minutes or so before they reached the club, so she wasn't going to be able to walk home.

The door from the pub opened, spilling light on to the pavement. Sarah started to move off but hearing a shout behind her she glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the men from inside. He lurched towards her, making a grab for her arm. Sarah gave a little scream, dropping her handbag as she fled down the street. The man didn't attempt to run after her, but Sarah was too nervous to look back or retrieve her bag.

She ran for some time, because she was frightened. She was alone in the streets of a strange part of town. She had only a pound or so in her pocket and she couldn't think straight. She wished she had stayed for that last dance with Rod. Even if he had tried it on, she didn't think he was the sort who would make her do anything she didn't want to. She had behaved like an idiot and this was all her fault.

She was crying now. She seemed to have been wandering for ever and she didn't know where to go. She hadn't seen a taxi since she left the pub, and she realized that it had been naïve to think they would be easily available at this hour. There were plenty of taxis at the sea front where the hotels and theatres were located, but here in the middle of this residential area there were none.

Perhaps she could find a phone box. There might be a number for taxis in there – or she could ring the hotel and ask them to contact one for her. If she only knew where she was . . .

Sarah saw the lights of a car approaching. It slowed to a halt and she gasped as she saw it was a police car. One of the policemen wound down his window and looked out at her.

‘Are you all right, miss?'

‘No,' Sarah almost sobbed with relief. ‘I was attacked as I left a jive club and I dropped my bag – and I'm only here on holiday. I need to get to my hotel.'

‘Where are you staying?' the officer asked. He leaned over and opened the rear door for her. ‘Do you want to make a statement about the attack? Did the man steal your bag?'

‘I dropped it as I ran away,' Sarah said, feeling foolish as she slid into the back seat. ‘He grabbed my arm, that's all. I was frightened. I should have waited for Rod.'

‘Had a row with the boyfriend?' The young police officer smiled at her. ‘You should have asked the landlord to call you a taxi, love. There are some rum folk about at night. You're all right now. Where are you staying? We'll drop you off.'

‘Thank you,' Sarah said. ‘My name is Sarah. I'm so grateful . . .'

She felt so foolish as the police car sped through the streets and then she began to recognize her surroundings. The car stopped outside her hotel. She got out and thanked the officers again. The young one grinned at her. He handed her a small piece of paper.

‘Here – ring this number tomorrow, Sarah. You never know, your bag might have turned up.'

‘There was only a lipstick, hanky and some money in it,' Sarah said. ‘I'll try phoning but it doesn't really matter – thanks so much for helping me.'

‘It is our job, miss.' He waved to her as they drove off.

Sarah walked into the hotel. She still felt a bit foolish. Her mother would scold her if she knew, but she wasn't going to tell her. Sarah had learned her lesson. She would stay clear of people and clubs she didn't know for the remainder of their holiday.

She went up in the lift. She had decided to go straight to her own room, but as she left the lift on the third floor she saw the door of her mother's room open. She was preparing her excuse for being late when she saw a man emerge and caught a glimpse of her mother. She was wearing a pink silk dressing gown, which had opened at the front, revealing her breasts. Her lipstick looked smeared and her hair was untidy. The picture told its own shocking story.

Sarah stood absolutely still as the man leaned forward to kiss her mother and then walked past her and pressed the button for the lift. Mrs Jenkins had become aware of Sarah now and the look on her face said everything. She looked startled, then guilty, and finally ashamed.

‘Sarah,' she called as the man disappeared into the lift. ‘It isn't what you think. Come in, please, we have to talk.'

Sarah followed her mother into the hotel bedroom. The bed was rumpled, the pillows bearing the indentation of someone's head. It seemed obvious that the bed had been used for sex and she could smell something – a man's cologne mingled with sweat.

‘Sarah, what you saw . . .' Mrs Jenkins broke off as Sarah brought her gaze back from the bed. ‘It is no use lying to you. Besides, you are old enough now. Your father and I . . . we go our own separate ways. Our marriage hasn't been what it should be for years. He has his lady friends when he goes away on business trips. I had an affair a year or so back, but this is the first time I've ever picked a man up in a hotel bar. I'm sorry you had to see it.'

‘You've always been so strict with me,' Sarah said. She stared at her mother and felt sick. ‘All the time you were lying . . .'

‘No, Sarah!' Her mother moved towards her, hand outstretched to touch her, but Sarah jerked back, anger and disgust in her eyes. ‘Don't be like this, dearest. I care about your father but I'm not in love with him. He started having affairs soon after we were married. I wasn't unfaithful for years – not until you were nearly old enough to leave school. We've stayed together for you; we don't live as man and wife any more, but we're still friends.'

‘All the things you said to me, about saving myself for marriage – all the warnings . . .' Her eyes glittered. ‘It makes me sick. You make me sick!'

Her mother flinched as if she had struck her. ‘Maybe you'll understand one day. Please don't condemn me, Sarah.'

‘You condemned Connor. It was because of all the things you said that I sent him away. I knew he wouldn't rape that girl, but I wouldn't listen to him, because you kept saying there was no smoke without fire. I doubted him – and that's your fault.'

‘Blame me if it makes you feel better,' her mother said. ‘It was your own decision to send him away, Sarah. I dare say he will come back if you ask him.' Sarah turned away. ‘Where are you going?'

Sarah paused and faced her. ‘I want to go home tomorrow. I know we have another few days booked, but I don't want to stay here. I'm going to pack my case, but you can stay here if you want. You might find someone else you fancy.'

‘Don't you dare talk to me like that!' Mrs Jenkins lashed out, striking Sarah across the face.

Sarah put a hand to her face but she didn't say anything. She didn't need to because her eyes said it all.

‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have hit you. Please don't look at me that way,' her mother said. ‘I may have tried to keep you too innocent, Sarah, but I didn't want you to be disillusioned with life too soon. I've never been happy. I wanted you to be happy. Please believe me.'

‘I believe you,' Sarah said coldly. ‘But I'm not sure I can forgive you.'

She left her mother staring after her. She regretted going to the club with Rod and she regretted letting him kiss her. She wished she had stayed in the hotel with her mother – perhaps this might not have happened if she'd been here.

Sarah felt disgust turn in her. She was angry with her mother. She couldn't come to terms with what she'd been told about her parents' marriage. She had thought it was all so perfect, but all those times they played happy families on birthdays and Christmas – they had all been lies. Her father had a mistress. When he went away at the weekends it was to see another woman. He had lied to her for years. Both her parents had lied to her so many times.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Sarah looked at herself in the mirror. Did she look any different? She certainly felt it – older if not wiser. She must have been stupid not to see the signs: all those nights her father had been late home, she'd imagined he was working hard. It was a sham, a front kept up for her sake – and perhaps because it suited them both.

Would they get a divorce now that she knew what was going on? Or would they still keep up the respectable front for the sake of appearances? She felt angry and betrayed. Why hadn't they told her the truth ages ago?

Maura opened her eyes and shivered. She was lying on grass and she felt frozen. How had she got here? She sat up, blinking as the blinding headache struck her. Just how many gins had she had the previous night? She struggled to her feet and looked down at herself. Her dress was stained with something and her stockings had holes in them. She must look like something the cat dragged in! She tried to remember what had happened. She had been with a man . . . Pete. He had suggested they go outside and she'd gone willingly, but then his friends had followed. What happened then was a blur in her mind, because she had been so drunk, but her body felt sore and she could vaguely remember being thrust down on the ground as one after the other they raped her. She wasn't sure how many, but it must have been at least five . . .

Maura tried to block the pictures of her humiliation. They had raped her and laughed as she struggled and screamed, begging them to stop. Shame washed over her. She knew she had brought it on herself. They had called her a whore and the rape had been a form of punishment; she vaguely recalled Pete standing over and urinating on her as she lay in a daze, telling her she'd got what she deserved. Oh, God, what had she done? How low had she got that a man would do that to her?

She staggered a few steps and then vomited. Glancing round, she realized she was on the playing field where the football matches were held in the season; they held the schools athletic championships here, too, and sometimes fêtes. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tasting the bitterness on her tongue. She needed a drink of water.

She heard a church clock chiming somewhere in the distance. Eight strikes of the bell. It was eight o'clock in the morning! Suddenly, Maura remembered her promise to David. She had gone out for one drink and left him alone all night . . .

She started running as the panic swept over her. She was such a fool. She had got drunk and then let those men she couldn't even remember properly abuse her. Shame and remorse swept through her as she dashed into the street. She had to get home before David got up and realized that she had been out all night.

She never stood a chance. She didn't see the heavy lorry speeding through the back street, and he didn't see her until it was too late. As it hit her, Maura saw her son's face and that of his father. David would be all right. Please, please, let him be all right . . .