Selfish People. Lucy English

      ‘It’s my past,’ he said.

      ‘Your past?’ she said, moving closer. He said nothing although several times it looked as if he were about to. He coughed again, and made a choking noise, but she didn’t back away. Then he said it. ‘I get bad dreams. I can’t sleep. My dad used to rape me.’

      She was shocked and caught her breath. ‘When you were young.’

      ‘He did it a lot.’

      ‘And your mum?’

      ‘She didn’t know. She worked nights.’

      ‘And France?’

      ‘I forgot about it. Until I had Ghislaine. Then I had the dreams and then I started to remember. I thought I was going mental. I thought I was fucking mental.’

      ‘So you left?’

      ‘When I came back to England I was off me head. Then it went away …’

      ‘But it’s come back.’

      ‘Yes, that’s the probs.’

      ‘Well, I suppose it will, you can’t run away from it.’ They looked at each other. I have crossed the ice and we are now both hack on the ground. She had a headache from concentrating. Bailey was exhausted.

      ‘When did you last sleep?’

      ‘Dunno, seems like ages.’

      ‘You sleep now,’ said Leah, ‘and I’ll stay for a bit.’ He lay down on the sofa with his head on the cushions. He lay there stiffly.

      ‘By the way, it’s a secret. I don’t want folks to know.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘You didn’t flip. When I tell folks they usually flip.’

      ‘There was no need. Do you tell many people?’

      ‘No. Because they flip.’

      She rested her head on the arm of the sofa. She wanted to sleep as well. Bailey’s eyes were now closed and his face was expressionless. She stayed, listening to the gas fire and the wind blowing up Steep Street.

      I didn’t flip. I coped. I always cope. I never flip. Why didn’t I scream, my God that’s awful, that’s dreadful? But he would have ended it. He would have shut up like a clam. I held it. The whole weight of his confidence … I’m not sure I want it … You are so big and noisy it’s difficult to think of you as a small hurt person … but I’m thinking of you like that now, frightened and waiting for a footstep behind a door. No wonder you behave erratically.

      But you forgot and that is so odd. How can you forget being raped?

      His hand was under the cushion, under his head and then like a page turned in a book where one suddenly sees a shocking picture, she remembered.

      There was a baby in a wicker basket … a baby … it was Tom, in a basket by my bed in my room in Garden Hill and I woke up. I thought it was the baby but it wasn’t, it was Al sitting on my bed in the dark and then, he didn’t speak, he got into bed and had sex … I didn’t make a noise or struggle because I didn’t want to wake the baby … but it was horrible. It was brutal and horrible. Then he went away and that was the end of it. I lay there in the dark and I thought, did that really happen? because if it did then he’s in charge and he can have me whenever he wants … but that was so scary and I thought it was a bad dream. He said nothing about it and neither did I. Then I forgot …

      She turned away from Bailey and the tears were trickling down her face. And I stayed another four years with Al and I’m an adult with a rational mind. Bailey, you were a child. I remember I was scared because what happened was hate, and I couldn’t accept it, being hated like that. Bailey, I know what it’s like. I want to wake you up and say, I know, I know, but in spite of all this you are still a stranger.

      Then Declan came home. He clattered his bike in the hall, but it didn’t wake Bailey. He went into the front room and saw Leah on the floor with her head on the sofa and he said, ‘Oh dear.’

      ‘He’s not very well,’ she said, unsure whether Declan knew about Bailey or not. ‘He hasn’t been sleeping.’

      Declan looked tired as if he hadn’t been sleeping either. ‘Oh dear,’ he said again.

      ‘I have to go,’ said Leah. ‘My children will be back from school.’

      Declan ruffled his hair and said, ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

      Leah got up quietly but Bailey was in the deepest of sleeps. ‘He has bad dreams,’ she said, not sure how much she should reveal.

      ‘Not again! Oh no, oh dear. He never says. He never ever says.’ He sighed deeply. He too was a part of it all.

      ‘Will he be all right?’ said Leah.

      ‘He usually is.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Bailey, I’m worried about you and I can hardly think of anything else. Why did you tell me? We hardly know each other. You said, it’s a secret. I want to talk about this with somebody but I can’t. I can’t discuss it with Al. I mention you and he goes berserk. There are too many things to discuss with Al: money, Christmas, moving out. There are too many rows to be had.

      Al gave her ₤80 and said, ‘That’s for Christmas,’ and Leah said, ‘It won’t be enough!’ and Al said, ‘That’s all we’ve got.’ She nearly burst into tears because it meant no presents for her brother and sister and mother. The children had made their Christmas lists long ago including things like mountain bikes, computers and videos – and who would tell them? She ran upstairs with Al shouting, ‘What did you expect?’ She shut herself in her room and looked through her jewellery, but anything valuable had been sold long ago.

      Al was calling for her because Rachel was on the phone.

      ‘I’m back in the land of the living. Do you want to come out?’

      ‘I’d love to, I would. When?’

      ‘Tonight.’

      ‘Tonight? I’ll have to ask Al.’

      Rachel made a tutting noise. She didn’t get on with Al. He was listening to the conversation. ‘Yes, go on bugger off, I don’t want you round here.’

      ‘I think he says yes,’ said Leah.

      She took a long time getting ready. She changed clothes at least four times.

      ‘I don’t know …’ She was in a blue velvet dress and in front of the mirror. The children had just had baths and were jumping about with no clothes on.

      ‘Mummy’s all posh,’ said Tom.

      ‘Daddy will read the story,’ said Al. ‘Looks like Mummy’s too busy.’

      ‘If it’s a pub then I’m overdressed …’

      ‘For goodness’ sake!’ and he took the children into their room.

      By eight o’clock she had tried on nearly everything black and she had decided. Black jeans and a black polo-necked sweater. It was lamb’s-wool and felt soft and delicious. She dashed downstairs to show Al, who was now watching telly.

      ‘How do I look?’

      ‘Why on earth should you care about what I think about how you look?’

      She had forgotten. They were splitting up. She had forgotten everything. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

      ‘You look like somebody who spent three hours getting ready so they can look like somebody who just walked out of the door.’

      Leah