The Sister(48)

Instead of shying away from men, Jackie became promiscuous. It was like a tidal wave. Her pent up sexuality, driven by the need to stay in control – ran wild. No man would ever hurt her again, and as if to prove it, the risks she took were outlandish, having sex with one-night stands in toilets, cars and alleyways – Until the night she saw Harry again.

Harry wasn’t sure that it was her at first. It had to have been two years since they'd last met. Jackie was sitting on a soldier’s lap, drunk, teasing him. Harry grabbed her by the hand and pulled. ‘C’mon, you shouldn’t even be in here.’

Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Harry!’ she cried out – louder than she’d intended. The soldier, who up to that point had been laughing uproariously, suddenly went quiet. It seemed the soldier, a veteran of Northern Ireland tours of duty in the late eighties and lately a parade ground sergeant, had something of a reputation among the locals, because the whole bar grew silent. A few thin giggles and awkward throat clearings were the only sounds to penetrate the tense atmosphere. Pushing up out of his chair so quickly it fell back onto the floor, the soldier stood and pulled her round to one side of him. He’d invested a few drinks in her and wasn’t about to give her up without a fight. A space cleared around them, tables and chairs scraping as the crowd sensing trouble, moved out of range.

Standing right in front of Harry, he jabbed a stiff finger in his face, stopping short of his left eye. His face was contorted; the rage of a hundred conflicts fought with his hands tied, was about to be unleashed. Veins stood out at the side of his crew cut head. He growled menacingly. A parched parade ground voice tempered by instilling the fear of God into thousands of new recruits, barked out. ‘You! Get away from my girl!’

‘Your girl?’ Harry said, with quiet dignity. ‘Is that right, Jackie?’

A short sledgehammer blow collided with his jaw and rocked his head. His legs disconnected from his senses, and as they buckled, and he dropped; he thought, somewhat crazily. So you really do see stars!

Knocked too far from consciousness to get up easily, he felt each thud of the soldier’s boots, although he was mercifully detached from the pain. Distant voices reached through the swirling fog in his head; he latched onto them with the last of his awareness, pulling at the anchor they provided, helping him to recover. He heard the rain outside; he knew he was coming back. The warm rain cleared his head enough for him to hear voices protesting, outrage overcoming their fear.

‘Hey – no – soldier, don’t do that!’

‘Stop him someone, that’s disgusting!’

‘Is that what they teach you in the army? You should be ashamed of yourself!’

The soldier ignored their disapproval, a hideous grin on his face as he continued urinating on the semiconscious man on the ground.

‘You wanted to take the piss out of me? There you go; there’s the piss out of me! Nobody – NOBODY – takes the piss out of me and gets away with it!’ The soldier roared, shaking his shaven head from side to side, eyes daring intervention from anyone in the crowd around him. He stamped one more time on Harry, who doubled up on reflex, with a grunt.

He stood triumphant, one foot on the chest of his trophy. Jackie walked up to him.

‘Here’s my girl!’ he announced loudly, putting his arm out theatrically, like a protective wing for her to come under. ‘Come here to me, doll.’

Without warning, she unleashed a kick with startling accuracy, her toe point striking with an impact of around two thousand pounds per square inch – Harry worked it out afterwards – a kick so hard she ripped his trousers through the crutch, front to back, the soldier grunted, doubling up with the pain.

Hurriedly, she picked Harry off the floor and together they stumbled out into the night, leaving the soldier nursing his injured pride, amid fevered speculation.

‘Did you see that kick? She must have been trained to kick like that!’

‘No, it was just a lucky shot.’

‘Lucky? My arse!’

They did not hear the rest. The voices faded as the neon glow of the bars dimmed. They made their way out of town, back to his house.

Jackie swallowed him alive with the shameless things she did. Harry was smitten from that very first night.

Afterwards, snuggled up close, safe and warm, they slept.

The morning stole into the room through a gap in the curtains. A thin slant of light slashed through the gloom, across the foot of the bed and projected onto the wall opposite, like a sword blade. Harry had his eyes half closed; a cupped hand shielded them from its brightness; he felt her stir.

‘It’s far too early to be the morning already,’ she mumbled, turning away from the light.

‘Where did you learn to kick like that?’ he said, with an air of nonchalance.

‘Is it bothering you?’ she said.

‘No. Yes, actually it is. I keep thinking about that soldier. I just wish I was the one that kicked him like that. You’ll have to teach me,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s assuming, it wasn’t just a lucky kick.’

‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t,’ she said, staring at the ceiling. ‘When I was fifteen, my mum sent me to self-defence classes.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yes, she did.’ Jackie slipped deep into thought. It had been like locking the door after the horse had bolted. She couldn’t see the point of it, yet after just a few sessions, she threw herself into it with an anger and gusto that surprised her instructor. ‘Imagine I’m going to attack you.’ He was unprepared for the anger she put into her counter attack; he subdued her, but it was a close run thing. It wasn’t about the horse at all. It was about the stable door; it was about confidence, feeling safe and secure. Her mother, in all her wisdom, knew exactly what she needed to get her life back on track again.