Desperate Measures. Kitty Neale

to beg for some of her food.

      ‘You won’t want salad,’ Betty laughed, ‘but is it all right if I give him a piece of my bread and butter, Val?’

      ‘Just a tiny bit. Honestly, he’s like a dustbin.’

      ‘I think he’s lovely,’ Paula said. ‘I’d love a dog but I’m not allowed animals in my bedsit.’

      ‘Don’t you live at home?’ Betty asked.

      ‘No. When my mum got married again she moved out of London and her new bloke made it pretty obvious that I wasn’t welcome.’

      ‘But that’s awful. How old were you?’

      ‘Eighteen, but it wasn’t a big deal. All me mates were here so I didn’t want to move out of London anyway.’

      They continued to eat, and Val was pleased to see them looking more relaxed. When the meal was finished and the coffee made, they all sat on the sofas, Betty asking, ‘How did you two meet?’

      ‘Another long story I’m afraid,’ Val said. ‘I met Paula by chance about eighteen months ago. She had hurt her ankle and I took her to casualty … But I’ll leave Paula to tell you the rest.’

      Betty turned to look at Paula, but the girl had her head down.

      ‘Paula, do you feel up to talking about it?’ Val asked.

      ‘Yeah, I fink so,’ she said, but then took up her handbag. She removed a packet of cigarettes and, after opening them, offered one to Betty.

      ‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’

      ‘What about you, Val?’

      ‘Yes please.’

      Paula’s hands shook as she lit the cigarettes, but then turning to Betty she said, ‘I know it was a while ago, but it still haunts me. I can’t face going out at night knowing that he’s still out there – and even during the day I’m shit scared.’

      Val could see that Betty disapproved of Paula’s language, and as the girl paused, she quickly took over, saying gravely, ‘Paula was raped, Betty.’

      ‘Oh no! Oh God, how awful.’

      When Paula began to cry, Betty moved along the sofa and, as though all her mothering instincts came to the fore, she wrapped the young woman in her arms. ‘There … there,’ she murmured.

      For a while Paula cried, whilst Betty held her, but then with a juddering sob Paula finally stopped. She moved away from Betty to reach for her cigarettes again, hands trembling as she lit one up. ‘Sorry Val,’ she said in a voice barely above a murmur, ‘do you want another one?’

      ‘No, darling. I’ve managed to cut down to ten a day now.’

      ‘I’m still on forty.’

      ‘After what you’ve been through, I’m not surprised but, like me, I think you should try to smoke less.’

      ‘If he was in prison where he belongs, I know it would make all the difference, but you know he isn’t, Val – he’s still around and sometimes it feels like he’s mocking me.’

      ‘But why is he still around? How did he get away with it?’ Betty cried.

      ‘There were no witnesses, and it was Paula’s word against his. After it happened she ran home, and it was twenty-four hours before she plucked up courage to go to the police.’

      ‘It was awful,’ Paula blurted out. ‘There wasn’t a policewoman at the station and the coppers who interviewed me made it obvious they thought it was my fault … that I had asked for it. I didn’t, Betty, honestly I didn’t. Just because I used to wear miniskirts and don’t talk posh, they treated me like a tart. It ain’t right.’

      ‘Did they at least try to catch him?’

      ‘It wasn’t hard. He lives locally and, though I hadn’t spoken to him, I’d seen him around. I knew his name, where he lives, and one night at a dance I let him take me home. That … that’s when it happened. The cops said they’d bring him in for questioning, but it was a waste of time. He denied it, of course, and because there wasn’t any evidence, the case didn’t even get to court.’ Once again Paula began to cry, this time spontaneously falling into Betty’s arms.

      Val had heard the story before, but it still touched her, angered her that Paula had to live like a virtual recluse. She went to work during the day, but never ventured out at night, her young life destroyed.

      ‘It ain’t right,’ Paula cried, ‘it isn’t fair that he’s still free. I just wish there was some way to make sure that he goes to prison where he belongs.’

      ‘I agree,’ Betty said, ‘he should be locked up and the key thrown away.’

      It was dreadful to see Paula in such a state again and, though it was necessary to recruit Betty, Val felt awful for putting her through such an ordeal. The girl moved from Betty’s arms again to light yet another cigarette, her fingers stained brown from heavy smoking. When Paula finally stubbed it out, she stood up.

      ‘I’m sorry, Val, but I don’t like being out in the evenings and I’ve got a splitting headache.’

      ‘Paula, I’ve got some aspirin. There’s no need to leave yet. It won’t be dark for ages and when you want to go I’ll give you a lift home.’

      Betty then rose to her feet, her smile soft and kind as she spoke to Paula. ‘If you’ve got a headache, I think you need a bit of peace and quiet. I’ll leave, but if you ever need anything …’ Her voice trailed off.

      ‘Fanks, Betty, and it was nice to meet you. I … I’m sorry I broke down.’

      ‘Oh, sweetheart, there’s no need to apologise.’

      As Betty moved to the door, Val followed, saying quietly, ‘You don’t have to leave.’

      ‘I know, but I think it’s for the best. Bye, and I’ll see you soon.’

      When Val closed the door she turned to Paula. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have realised that talking about it would be too much for you.’

      ‘It … it’s like reliving it all over again, but other than this rotten headache I’m all right now. I like Betty, she’s nice.’

      Val nodded in agreement. Yes, Betty was nice and had been so sympathetic, but would she understand what they wanted to do – and why? Not only that, unless she too had been badly hurt by more than a divorce settlement, Val still wasn’t sure that she’d want to join them. Once again she felt a surge of impatience. How much longer was this going to take? Would she have to drop Betty? Oh, she hoped not.

       Chapter Seven

      On Sunday morning, Betty was thinking about Paula. She had been sickened by what she’d heard, her heart going out to the poor girl. Paula was a lot younger than her own daughter, with none of Anne’s self-assurance. She was so tiny, only just over five feet tall, with dull blonde hair and baby blue eyes. Her clothes were dowdy, her face bare of make-up, hiding the fact, Betty was sure, that Paula was actually a pretty young woman.

      When there was a knock on her door she hurried to open it, delighted to see her daughter. ‘Anne, how lovely to see you – and on a Sunday for a change. Did you have a nice holiday? And what happened to my postcard? You’ve been back a week but it still hasn’t arrived.’

      ‘Hello, Mum. Sorry about the postcard, but I didn’t get a chance to send any. Mel was taken ill and Dad was worried about her.’

      ‘You didn’t tell me that your father and Mel were going with you.’

      ‘Didn’t I?’

      Betty was about