Dirty Old Man (A True Story) (16 page)

I sorted out my hair out as best I could, though I now smelt like a stew.

We got into Bernie’s car and headed to an Indian restaurant on Lincoln Road. The food was really nice and Bernie was really nice to me also. I’d ordered a biryani for vegetarians. Bernie said I could order anything I wanted.

     “I’ve just got to nip out to the car
Moll; I’ve left my bloody wallet in there. I won’t be a minute petal okay?”

He’d parked in Kwik Save car park just around the corner. I watched as he walked past the window without looking at me. He still had that stupid bounce when he walked.

The waiter brought over some after dinner mints and the bill.

     “He’s just gone to get his wallet.” I said.

I waited for almost an hour and Bernie didn’t come back. He’d left me there on my own, about an hour’s walk home in the growing darkness.

The waiter looked concerned and began muttering something to a person I assumed was the manager. They both came over to the table.

     “What’s happening? It’s been nearly an hour, is he coming back to pay for this meal or not?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Can I just nip around the corner and see if he’s still there?”

     “You can’t leave,” said the waiter, “you have to pay for your meal.”

     “I don’t have any money to pay for it,” I said, trying to hold back my tears. My face was now burning in a similar way to my scalp. “I’m sure he’ll be back if you don’t mind waiting a little bit longer.”

     “Well where is he parked?”

     “Just around the corner, in the Kwik Save car park.” I sniffled.

The waiter looked at the manager and he left the restaurant. He came back a couple of minutes later shaking his head.

     “There isn’t a single car in the car park. IS there anybody you can call to pick you up? How old are you?”

I wasn’t going to hide my true age this time; Bernie didn’t know these people and obviously didn’t have any respect for them either. I thought my young age would help me in this situation.

     “I’m only sixteen,” I sobbed, “I don’t have anybody I can ring, he doesn’t have a phone.”

That last part was a lie, the last thing I needed was them ringing Bernie, it would have been almost unbearable for me. I had no idea why he’d left me there but thought it must have been something really important. Perhaps he was in trouble? I needed to get back and find out.

    
“And you don’t have any money at all?” asked the owner.

I shook my head.

“I’m going to let you leave because I can’t expect you to pay for this yourself. It was clearly some kind of cruel trick,” said the owner, “if you can give me your address though and if somebody could pop the money in before the end of the week, I’d appreciate it. A favour for a favour based on trust eh?”

I agreed and scribbled the address down on compliments slip. I even put Bernie’s name on there. I thanked them whole heartedly and began my three mile walk back to the caravan. The sky always seemed overcast in Peterborough and the rain, when it fell; always in a miserable fashion. I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of St. Peter’s Cathedral that I regularly walked past on my many trips to Asda; it just seemed to be a landmark to my hideous existence.

     Bernie’s car was on the driveway when I eventually got back. The lights were on. I was pissed off but felt more fear than anything else. My anger would have to go on the back burner again. I envisioned myself slamming the door as I entered and yelling at him. Asking him what the hell he was playing at and then packing my things and leaving him. This was only ever a fantasy though that I’d begin to live every day. The reality was that I had nowhere to go and nobody to turn to.

     “Maybe you’ll learn your lesson the next time you silly cow,” he said as he looked up from the computer screen, “we don’t have money to waste so the next time you go shopping, THINK about what you’re doing.”

I couldn’t see the exact point he was trying to make but I’d never put vegetables and meat in the same bag ever again.

     “In fact Moll, you’re too stupid to grasp what I’m trying to say, I think it would be better if you became a vegetarian like me.”

     “But I like meat.”

     “It isn’t up for debate you crazy bitch,” he laughed, “while you’re under my roof, what I say goes.”

     I started school the following day. I was incredibly nervous but I felt as though I could reinvent myself, be whatever I wanted to be. They didn’t know my past and I didn’t have to tell them anything.

I was assigned to girl called Stacey when I entered the common room. It was nothing like my old school, the paint was flaking from the walls and it was painted like the inside of a hospital. The other children were fascinated with me because I was living independently so to speak. I told them nothing of Bernie.

Stacey followed me around everywhere and in the first week, she had invited me over to her house every day after school. We’d do normal teenager things like listening to music and apply makeup. I even had an invite to her seventeenth birthday party. I remember exactly what I wore, a long cream satin skirt and a white vest top with a cream crochet jumper over the top. I drank enough taboo and lemonade to make me a tipsy sixteen year old, and I remember running down the main road at twilight with nothing on my feet because I had to get back before Bernie.

He got back before me that day and a massive row erupted because he wanted an invite to the party. Not only had I not told people about him, it was supposed to be an adult free zone; even Stacey’s parents had made themselves scarce. Above all else, I didn’t understand why he’d want an invite to a party surrounded by sixteen year old girls (though I’d soon find out).

     “This is Tony and Ady from work,” he said as he walked through the door after work the next day. “They're going to be staying for dinner. What have we got in?” He rubbed his hands together and looked at me like I was some kind of idiot.

I’d heard him speak of them before; one of them was South African and apparently had a wicked sense of humour. The other was a lot quieter.

     “There isn’t any food in really,” I said, “well not enough for everyone anyway. We’ll need to go to Asda.”

     “Why didn’t you go earlier then? What the fuck have you been doing all day?”

I was going to tell him that I’d been at school all day but I remembered that I was supposed to be nineteen if anybody asked and he knew it.

     “We don’t have to stay for dinner if it’s a problem,” said Tony awkwardly.

     “It isn’t a problem at all mate, the only problem around here is this lazy, stupid bitch. She can’t do anything right. You,” he pointed at me, “get your shoes on and take a walk up to Asda while you still have your legs.”

I went through to the bedroom and put on my shoes, I could hear Tony talking to Bernie in the living room.

     “The point, Tony; is that she lives here and contributes fuck all. I support the lazy bitch and she can’t even be arsed to make sure there’s enough food for dinner.”

     “I won’t be long.” I said.

     “You’d better not be, we were supposed to be upgrading the computers after dinner; now we’ve got to wait for you to get back.”

     “Why don’t you do that while I’m out?”

     “Why don’t you do that while I’m out,” he mimicked, “Because that wasn’t the fucking plan, that’s why. Just get out of my sight.”

Tony looked down at my shoes, it was clear to see that they had become un-bonded on the inside. I’d tried to stick them together with some super glue but it dried white and with every step I took, the sole parted and the glue came un-bonded like parting lips.

     “What size shoe are you?” he asked, “it’s just that you look around the same size as my girlfriend and she probably buys a new pair every week. She’s got loads she needs to get rid of. She’s a size five.”

     “I’m a size six
but thanks anyway.” I said, my cheeks were burning with shame as I turned to leave.

     “Don’t forget the wine this time will you?” Bernie shouted after me.

He always mentioned the wine, whether it was to convince his friends I was over eighteen; I do not know. It was always Hock or Leibfraumilch that he wanted. Of course I was only sixteen and had no chance of getting served. I was underage.

     I used to enjoy the walk to Asda, it would take me about forty minutes to get there, and I’d listen to my Club Ninja album on my imitation walkman to pass the time.

Walking back would always be a different matter altogether. I found myself struggling with the weight of the shopping bags sometimes, paired with my shoes that were falling apart; I’d often find myself in much discomfort.

I tried my luck at Asda again but the cashier asked for my proof of age. I wondered whether she’d let it pass out of pity just once, if only she knew what I’d be going home to. It always ended in humiliation and angry eyes upon me as my age held up the queue.

     It was dark when I got in, and the three of them were tinkering with computer parts. They were complaining about their foreman at work, and they called him a fat, greasy cunt.

I chopped the vegetables in the kitchen; the ancient grease ridden cooker had cleaned up almost satisfactory.

Since becoming a vegetarian, my diet consisted of vegetables, Bean feast and cheap lentil soup. They were the only items allowed on Bernie’s list of approved foods. He’d occasionally allow chick peas and kidney beans but I found them rather bland.

I made the mistake of leaving the living room ajar and I could hear their conversations. I hated how Bernie carried on as though the circumstances were normal. I hated to hear him laugh; it sickened me to my stomach.

Ady told a sick joke, the kind that would twist the very guts of anybody. It was truly chilling and undoubtedly referred to paedophilia and sexually abusing young children.

It was one of the most disgusting things I’d ever heard and I near physically threw up in the sink. I wanted to use my anger and disgust to castrate the disgusting bastard. I had the knife ready in my hand but again it was just a fantasy. The next most disgusting thing that came was the roar of Bernie’s laughter.

I’d learnt to recognize every creak of the floors in the mobile home. They’d warn me if somebody was lurking nearby, if I was being spied upon and if somebody was in a bad mood. They alerted me that Bernie had got to his feet and was bouncing with his stupid walk towards the kitchen. I composed myself and pretended I hadn’t heard a word.

     “Is it ready yet petal?” he said in an almost polite tone. It unnerved me how quickly his personality could switch.

I didn’t have dinner with them, Ady and Tony sat on the grimy patio chairs and Bernie took one of the rotten kitchen chairs through for himself.

I confined myself to the bathroom, locking the door whilst I ran myself a bath.

The taps were still covered with mildew despite my best efforts to clean them; I continually checked the water to make sure there were no bits floating around. The toilet was encrusted with faeces and the lino floor was peeling away; revealing years of rot underneath.

I turned up the radio and submerged my body to my shoulders. It was the only place I felt safe to let out my emotions and have a damn good cry; to let the radio drown out my painful, muffled cries. Sometimes I’d burrow my face deep into a towel to stifle the noise.

I’d weigh up the pros and cons of going home to my family but I could never come to a satisfactory conclusion. The guilt and shame were my internal struggles, on my exterior; I was a mess of cuts and bruises.

‘She trains too hard,’ Bernie would joke, ‘I keep telling her to calm it down a bit in case people think I’m a wife beater.’ This would always follow with raucous laughter, I wasn’t his ‘wife’, I hated him calling me his wife; it made my skin crawl.

     “Where’s the wine?” He shouted as he banged on the door.

     “I couldn’t get any,” I said as I tried to disguise the lump in my throat, I hoped he hadn’t heard me clear my throat; he’d know I was nervous, “they wouldn’t serve me.”

‘Did I lock the door?’ I said over and over in my head, it was all that separated me from him, all that hid my expression of horror; the thing he fed off.

He rattled the handle.

     “Why the fuck have you locked the door? I suggest you open it now before I break the damn thing down.”

I panicked but moved quickly, throwing my bathrobe on. The cord that held it closed must have been left in the bedroom as I couldn’t find it in my haste. I looked at the tiny window that opened only slightly at the top. Had I been able to climb out of it, I would have.

I opened the door and as the cool air hit my open pores, he grasped my hair and pulled me in the direction of the kitchen. We were going to the living room.