Bleed for Me (34 page)

‘They had to put metal pins in my leg and I was in plaster for three months. Mr El is signed my cast. He drew a bird and signed his name.

‘“Why a bird?” I asked him.

‘“Because birds can fly, which you obviously can’t.”

‘I remember looking at his long fingers as he signed his name. He had such nice hands. And when he talked he had this deep round voice that rol ed out of his mouth and burst in my ears. He said I could cal him Gordon, but only when we were alone.’

‘You started to babysit Bil y?’

She nods and smooths her skirt over her knees. Her bruised-looking eyes now look sleepy.

‘I missed six weeks of school, but Gordon helped me catch up. I know you think he’s done something wrong, but it wasn’t like that. He made me feel lovely. Grown up. Special.’

‘How old were you when he made you feel grown up?’

‘We were just sitting in his car and he put his finger beneath my chin. Suddenly his lips were right there, pushing against mine.’

She won’t look at me. Her forehead is resting on her knees.

‘I knew about sex. Lance kept magazines in his room and I once saw him and Margo Langdon going at it like nobody’s business in Simpson’s barn. Margo was on her back and Lance had his pants down and his backside was going up and down on top of her. I remember because Lance started whimpering and shaking and that’s when Margo turned her head and she looked straight at me.’

‘How old were you when you had sex with Gordon?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘That’s against the law.’

‘Juliet was only thirteen when she fel in love with Romeo. Gordon told me that.’

‘Romeo wasn’t forty.’

‘That doesn’t matter. True love doesn’t wait.’

She says it defiantly, parroting the words that I’m sure Gordon whispered in her ear when he took her.

‘I wish you could understand,’ she explains. ‘You don’t know how wonderful he makes me feel. He could have had any girl he wanted, but he chose me.’

‘He’s married.’

‘He was going to leave Natasha when I finished school. He doesn’t love her. He loves me!’

I produce a photograph from my pocket, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.

‘Remember I told you that Gordon had been married before? Her name is Carolinda Regan. Everyone cal ed her Caro. She’s Bil y’s proper mother. Nobody has seen her in three years.’

‘What about Natasha?’

‘Gordon met her at school - just like he met you. She was about your age.’

Sienna chews at her bottom lip leaving a carmine mark that slowly fades. Hugging her knees more tightly, she grimaces as though in pain. Her bare feet are tucked beneath the bedspread.

‘You told me that Gordon took you away for a weekend. Where?’

‘I don’t know exactly. It was during the summer. Natasha was in Scotland visiting her folks.’

‘Where was Bil y?’

‘He came with us. We took him for a trip to the seaside. Gordon has a caravan. I told Mum that I was spending the night with Charlie.’

‘This caravan - is it near the beach?’

‘I think so. I can’t remember much of anything. The whole weekend is a blur. I know we left on Friday afternoon and I can remember coming home. Gordon said I slept most of the time.

He said it was food poisoning.’

‘Is that the only time you went away?’

She nods. He eyelids are half closed. She forces them open.

‘Did anyone ever see you with Gordon outside of school?’

‘I don’t think so. Mostly we stayed in the car or went somewhere private. Sometimes I slept over when I was babysitting. I stayed in the spare room, which is next to where Bil y sleeps.

Gordon would sneak in and spend a few hours with me.’

‘What about Natasha?’

‘She was sleeping. I was scared she might wake up, but Gordon said that wouldn’t happen.’

‘Why?’

‘He mentioned something about sleeping pil s.’

Sienna’s skin has grown ashen and beads of sweat prickle on her upper lip.

‘Did you ever tel anyone about Gordon?’

‘He made me promise.’

‘Did anyone suspect - someone at school, a friend?’

Her head rocks from side to side and then stops. ‘Miss Robinson asked me.’

‘What did she ask you?’

‘If I was spending time with Gordon outside of school.’

‘When was this?’

‘Late last year.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tel me where you went on that Tuesday - after Danny dropped you in town.’

Sienna shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Did you meet up with Gordon? Did he take you somewhere?’

Sienna’s line of vision sweeps past me as though watching something terrible approaching. Something she has to escape from. She wants to run but I need her here. Gently gripping her shoulders, I make her meet my gaze.

‘You don’t have to be frightened, Sienna. I’m going to protect you.’

‘I didn’t kil Daddy.’

‘Show me. Prove it to me. Where were you?’

Tears hover at the edges of her eyelids.

‘With Gordon,’ she whispers.

‘Gordon says he wasn’t with you. He’s given a statement to the police. He has an alibi. Natasha has backed him up.’

‘They’re lying.’

‘He’s letting you take the blame, Sienna. Just tel me where you went after Danny dropped you off.’

‘Gordon wanted me to do something for him.’

‘What was that?’

Her mouth opens, but she can’t bring herself to tel me. I wait and she tries again. The words come slowly and then in a rush as though she wants them gone, forgotten, buried.

‘Gordon said he was in trouble, but I could help him. I just had to do this one thing for him and everything would be OK. I’d prove myself. He’d know I was the one. Then we could be together.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘What did he want?’

She shakes her head, embarrassed, ashamed.

‘I had to visit someone and do what he asked.’

She puts the heel of her hand against her forehead. There are patches of colour on her throat as if someone has wrapped an invisible rope around her neck.

‘What did you have to do?’

‘I had to sleep with him,’ she whispers.

There is a tingling in my chest like a heated wire is being pressed against my heart.

‘Who was he?’

‘I don’t know his name - some old guy who lived in a big house.’ Her voice starts to break. ‘I was dropped off and picked up later.’

‘Who dropped you off?’

‘Gordon and another man.’

‘Another man?’

‘His eyes looked like they were bleeding.’

‘Where did they take you?’

‘I don’t know. It was a big house. Old. It smel ed funny.’ She rocks forward, breathing through her mouth. ‘It was horrible. I had to have . . . I had to let him . . . he did things to me. Gordon said it would prove how much I loved him.’

I can hear the wetness in her throat as she swal ows. At the same time, a shudder goes through her body like tension leaving a metal spring.

‘What happened afterwards?’

‘Gordon drove me back to his house but we couldn’t go inside because Natasha was home. He said it turned him on - knowing what another man had done to me. He took off my clothes and we had sex in the car but he was rough. He hurt me. I told him to be careful.’

‘Did you tel him you were pregnant?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He swore and shoved me away. He was yel ing at me, saying I’d tricked him, saying I got pregnant on purpose. He told me to get rid of the baby. An abortion. That’s when I ran away. I ran home.’

Sienna looks at me blankly, too numb to cry. Touching her upper arm with my palm, I feel the coolness of her skin. She leans against me, pushing her face under my chin. Motionless in my arms, she remains curled up, her skirt pul ed tight over her knees.

The patchwork quilt has slipped down, uncovering her feet. A dark stain runs over her right foot. It looks like a birthmark or a lesion. Then I notice that it’s shining and viscous, soaking into the sheet beneath her.

‘What have you done?’ I whisper, unhooking my arms and raising her skirt up her calves and over her knees, which are slick with blood.

Sienna’s eyes are closed as though she’s fal en asleep, but she’s stil conscious.

‘Don’t tel Mum,’ she murmurs.

Twin lacerations on her inner thighs are swol en and leaking. She has cut from the edge of her panties towards her knees, probably using a razor blade wrapped in a tissue.

I glance around the room. Where did she hide her implements?

‘You need stitches.’

‘I’l be OK.’

‘You need to go to hospital.’

‘It doesn’t matter any more.’

Her eyes are closing.

‘Have you taken something, Sienna?’

She doesn’t answer. I shake her gently. ‘Did you take something? ’

In a sing-song voice, ‘White pil s, yel ow pil s and long green pil s.’

‘Where did you get them?’

‘I stole them,’ she sings. ‘From the trol eys and from bedside tables.’

She’s talking about Oakham House.

Flinging open the door, I yel down the stairs, ‘Cal an ambulance! ’

Sienna opens her eyes just long enough to give me a pitying look. ‘They’re never going to let me out now, are they?’

I grab her top sheet and rip it into bandages to wrap around her thighs. I need to know what she took. What drugs?

Sliding sideways down the wal , Sienna rests her head against a pil ow and mumbles, ‘He told me not to write a note. He said too many suicides spend too much time composing letters, trying to find words. “You could die of old age, trying to write a note,” he said. “You just have to do it.”’

‘Who told you that?’

‘He said to do it like Juliet, but I couldn’t. So I did it like Romeo.’

37

Gordon El is is laughing at me, mocking me with his bloodstained teeth and reptilian smile. I keep picturing Sienna’s bloody thighs and seeing her eyes rol back into her head.

Hurting him won’t be sufficient. I want to feed him broken glass. I want to see spittle fly from the corners of his mouth. I want to see him suffer like she’s suffering.

After fol owing the ambulance to the hospital, I continue driving. Sick. Dry-mouthed. Fists clenched on the wheel. A mantra playing in my head: ‘She’s just a kid. A child. He used her.

He poisoned her mind.’

Rage consumes me. Rational thinking has been replaced by a single linear idea that runs on tracks like a bul et train, hurtling towards a single destination.

Parking the Volvo, I push open the groaning door and walk to the rear. Pul ing out a tyre jack, I slam the boot closed. Sienna’s face is melting in front of me. Her eyes are closing. Her thighs are sticky.

Julianne is divorcing me. My eldest daughter thinks I’m a failure. My life’s going to shit, but I should have stopped this. I should have seen this coming. Predators like El is don’t stop.

They never relinquish control. They invest too much time and effort in grooming a victim.

Bounding over the gate, I walk towards the house. Tunnel vision. Halfway up the path and Ruiz appears in front of me. I try to step around him but he won’t let me pass. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

Then I feel my left arm being twisted up my back, fol owed by the searing pain that spreads from my shoulder socket to the base of my spine. His leg swings into the back of my knees and I stagger forward crashing into a garden bed.

Ruiz fal s with me, knocking the wind from my lungs. I try to rol away, but he wraps his arm around my neck in a chokehold.

‘Enough now!’ he warns me, squeezing my neck.

‘S’OK.’

‘Concede.’

‘OK.’

A bubble of exhaustion breaks inside me. Rage leaks away.

‘I’m going to let go,’ says Ruiz.

‘OK.’

His arm slips away. He pul s me up to my knees, but I don’t have the strength to stand.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘Sienna took an overdose. She tried to kil herself.’ I stare at my muddy hands. ‘El is told her to do it. He wants her dead.’

‘How?’

My throat swel s. ‘I don’t know. She told me that El is could always reach her. I didn’t believe her.’

Ruiz drags me to my feet. ‘So you decided to confront El is. You came here to give him another beating - or were you gonna kil him this time?’

He pushes me away in disgust. ‘What sort of idiot . . . you couldn’t count your bal s and get the same answer twice. You’re on remand. I lodged my house as surety. You’re not al owed within a thousand fucking yards of Gordon El is and yet here you are - breaking the law. They can lock you up. Forget about that - they can take away my house!’

‘I’m sorry.’

He shoves me in the chest, pushing me towards the car. ‘Get in the fucking car.’

‘I didn’t think . . .’

‘Do as you’re told.’

I glance at the house. Natasha El is is standing at the window, holding the curtains aside. She looks like a child looking outside at a rainy day. We’ve made a mess of her garden.

Ruiz opens my car door. ‘Get inside and drive.’

‘Where?’

‘The hospital.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’l fol ow.’

‘What were you doing here?’

‘Watching Gordon El is.’

I start the engine and pul away from the kerb. By the time I reach the end of the street, Ruiz’s Mercedes is in my rear mirror, a 280E with two-tone wheels and a bright red paint job.

Think pride. Think joy.

My anger has subsided but the black hole survives within me, stil and even, sucking in the light. El is can’t get away with this. He can’t destroy another life.

The air in the hospital feels dirty and recycled. Ruiz has gone to get tea at the canteen, leaving me sitting at a table, staring at spil ed sugar and an old coffee ring.

Sienna is in a stable condition. Doctors have pumped her stomach to get rid of any pil fragments and given her activated charcoal to bind the drugs in her stomach and intestines, reducing the amount absorbed into her blood.

She overdosed on TCAs - antidepressants that are the drug of choice for treating depression. The lethal dose is eight times the therapeutic dose, which makes it a risky drug to have around someone like Sienna.