Into the Water(66)

Popped your cherry. Pop! A joyful sound, of balloons and birthday parties. And cherries, sweet on the lips, delicious and sticky; these things were a million miles from his slimy tongue in my mouth and his dirty fingers pushing me open. I thought I would gag.

‘No, Robbie,’ I said, and I was surprised by how clear my voice sounded, how loud, how steady. ‘You didn’t pop my cherry. You raped me.’

The smile slipped from his ruined face. He cast a glance over his shoulder before stepping towards me again. My head swimming with adrenaline now, breath quickening, I clenched my fists and stood my ground. ‘I what?’ he hissed. ‘I fucking what? I never … I didn’t rape you.’

He whispered it, rape, as though afraid someone might hear us.

‘I was thirteen years old,’ I said. ‘I told you to stop, I was crying my fucking eyes out, I …’ I had to stop because I could feel the tears filling my throat, drowning my voice, and I didn’t want to cry in front of the bastard now.

‘You cried ’cos it was your first time,’ he said, his voice low, wheedling, ‘because it hurt a bit. You never said you didn’t want to. You never said no.’ Then, louder, definitive, ‘You lying bitch, you never said no.’ Now he started laughing. ‘I could have whatever I wanted, don’t you remember? I had half the girls in Beckford trailing after me with their knickers wet. I had your sister, who was the hottest girl around. You honestly think I needed to rape a fat cow like you?’

He believed it. I could see that he believed every word he said, and in that moment I was defeated. All this time, he’d never felt guilty. He’d never felt a second of remorse, because in his head what he’d done wasn’t rape. All this time, and he still believed he’d been doing the fat girl a favour.

I walked away from him. Behind me, I could hear him coming after me, swearing under his breath. ‘You always were a mad bitch, weren’t you? You always were. Can’t believe you coming in saying this kind of shit, saying—’

I stopped suddenly, a few feet from the car. Wasn’t there some part of you that liked it? Something shifted. If Robbie didn’t think he’d raped me, how could you have done? What were you talking about, Nel? What were you asking me? Some part of me that liked what?

I turned around. Robbie was standing behind me, hands hanging at his sides like slabs of meat, his mouth open. ‘Did she know?’ I asked him.

‘What?’

‘Did Nel know?’ I yelled at him.

His lip curled. ‘Did Nel know what? That I fucked you? You’re joking, aren’t you? Imagine what she’d have said to that, if I told her I’d banged her little sister just after I was done banging her?’ He laughed. ‘I told her the first bit, how you tried it on, how you were drunk and sloppy and leaning all over me and looking up at me with your sad fat face and begging, please? Like a little dog, you were, always hanging around, always watching us whenever I was with her, spying on us, even when we were in bed you liked to watch, didn’t you? Thought we didn’t notice, didn’t you?’ He laughed again. ‘We did. We use to joke about what a little perv you were, sad little fatso, never been touched, never been kissed, liked to watch her hot sister getting it.’ He shook his head. ‘Rape? Don’t make me laugh. You wanted some of what Nel was getting, you made that very fucking clear.’

I pictured myself, sitting under the trees, standing outside the bedroom, watching. He was right, I did watch them, but not with lust, not with envy, with a kind of horrible fascination. I watched the way a child does, because that was what I was. I was a little girl who didn’t want to see what was being done to her sister (because that’s what it looked like, it always looked as though something was being done to you), but who couldn’t look away.

‘I told her you tried it on with me and then you ran off crying when I knocked you back, and she ran off after you.’

There was a sudden tumbling of images in my head: the sound of your words, the heat of your anger, the pressure of your hands as you held me down in the water and then grabbed my hair and pulled me to the bank.

You bitch, you stupid fat bitch, what have you done? What are you trying to do?

Or was it, You stupid bitch, what were you doing?

And then it was, I know he hurt you, but what did you expect?

I made it to the car, fumbling for my keys with trembling hands. Robbie was still behind me, still talking. ‘Yeah, run along then, you lying slag. You never thought that girl was here, did you? That was an excuse, wasn’t it? You came to see me. Did you want another taste?’ I could hear him laughing as he walked away, delivering his parting shot from across the street. ‘No chance, pet, not this time. You might have lost a bit of weight, but you’re still a fucking minger.’

I started the car, pulled away, stalled. Cursing, I started the engine again and lurched off down the road, putting my foot down, putting as much distance as possible between him and me and what had just happened, and knowing I should be worrying about Lena, but unable to think about that because all I could think was this: You didn’t know.

You didn’t know that he raped me.

When you said, I’m sorry he hurt you, you meant you were sorry I felt rejected. When you said, What did you expect? you meant that of course he would reject me, I was just a child. And when you asked me, Wasn’t there some part of you that liked it? you weren’t talking about sex, you were talking about the water.