Cold Revenge (Willis/Carter #6)(77)

‘My life has nothing to do with you.’

‘But my life has everything to do with you? You have the power to stop my release. You have the power to extend my sentence. You hold my life in your hands and you come here to ask for my help – well, I want something in return. I want empathy. I want humanity.’ He stretched towards her across the table. ‘I want a little fucking give and take here.’ He sat back and smiled as he held up his hands by way of apology. ‘Excuse my French. For every question I answer about someone, I want something back from you. All the things I read about you just skim the surface, don’t they? The truth is something we never share with anyone, isn’t it, Ebony? Well, you want me to tell you things I’ve never told anyone, you have to trade.’

Willis knew she couldn’t walk away from this interview with nothing. She was confident she could take it so far and no further, and a part of her said, the more you hang on to these things in the past, the more power they have over you.

‘Tell me, in the children’s home,’ Douglas began, ‘did you find yourself dreading the nights? Did people come creeping into your bed and smother you to keep you quiet?’

‘No, my times in the children’s homes were happy. Tell me about Nicola.’ Willis took out a selection of the photos from the farm and pointed to the one of Nicola with her Indian-print skirt on, where she was holding a bottle of beer and standing over the barbecue.

‘Do you remember it being taken?’

‘No, I remember the skirt, what was beneath it, her fat juicy rump that had such a lot of rebound to it.’ His eyes came back to focus on Willis. ‘Who would hate her that much, you mean? My lovely Nicola was not the prettiest of women, nor the smartest, but she could curl her tongue around me in ways that you wouldn’t believe. Her tongue could reach so far into my anus she could tickle my pancreas with it.’ He laughed. ‘When I met her she was looking for someone to learn from.’

‘Is that how you saw yourself, as a teacher?’

‘No, not really, she didn’t need a teacher; she needed a vehicle for her imagination to turn it into reality. She found me, I didn’t find her.’

‘Did you teach her that? To make her fantasies into realities?’

‘Some of them. But Nicola had a secret side to her that she didn’t show, even to me. I am not the monster you think I am. I was only ever the person who put food on the table for a bunch of waifs and strays who were yet to find their way in the world. They came for nurturing. They came to be fed when they’d been rejected elsewhere.’

‘Drugs and sex, pain, isn’t nurturing.’

‘If that’s what they wanted, needed in life to grow, then yes it is.’

‘It was quite a unique set-up at the farm, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, people came and went, took what they wanted from it, and left.’

‘Not everyone had a good experience. Not everyone came out feeling loved, did they?’

‘They did at the time. It’s all right them coming back sixteen years later and saying, “I didn’t really enjoy that fifth orgasm, I want to make a complaint!” Now it’s my turn. Who was your best friend when you were in the home?’

‘Micky.’

‘A boy? That doesn’t surprise me, you would have been an awkward-looking child. Even now your eyes are too large for your face, your mouth too wide, not pretty enough for the girls to fuss over. I was beautiful. I was raped every night until I learnt to get in their minds, learnt what made them tick.’

‘Children are abused no matter what their rating on the prettiness scale. It’s a terrible fact and I feel sad that happened to you. I count myself very lucky that the homes I stayed in were good homes and I did not suffer abuse.’

‘No, because all your abuse went on at home, didn’t it? Did your mother farm you out to her boyfriends? Dress you up real pretty and make you perform for them?’

‘Tell me about Nicola’s life at Hawthorn Farm.’

‘Answer me.’

‘My mother was mentally ill and she didn’t understand boundaries.’

‘Ha ha, very well-rehearsed. How many times have you gone through that in your head?’ He mimicked her, ‘She didn’t understand boundaries . . .’

Willis stared at him. He wiped his face and tried not to smirk.

‘I didn’t control the people who lived in or worked at Hawthorn Farm; in many ways I was just as lost as them.’

‘You were much older than them, more than ten years older. Some of them were teenagers. How can someone end up somewhere like Hawthorn Farm, when they’re just a teenager? I believe you and Nicola did your best to draw them in.’

‘Of course we did! It was one big party. It was great fun.’ He sighed and sat smiling for a few seconds, then he leaned towards Willis, across the table, his forearms resting, his eyes sparkling. ‘It was all Nicola. She was the instigator of everything.’

‘The rape of Rachel McKinney?’

‘She knew about it.’

‘Who else was involved?’

‘I am not telling you any more.’

‘Why, because the other people involved are still living? The rest of your disciples?’

‘No comment.’

‘You were quite a team, weren’t you, you and your disciples?’