Dirty Old Man (A True Story) (19 page)

But his students would hang on his every word.

     One of his other stories involved a Chinese gang he was involved with. I won’t go too much into detail other than to say that when he left, he was threatened with a bullet in the head. This part was true because I’d witnessed it. He stayed in contact with a couple of them and would constantly threaten that he’d ‘put out a hit on me’ I ever tried to leave him.

I wondered which story he’d use to pull in Celine and his new students.

     Celine stood in the doorway as I was arranging the old jigsaw shaped mats before class. The hall we rented in the community centre had a huge beech floor and my job was to set everything up while Bernie charmed his new arrivals.

     “Have I come to the right place?” she asked me.

     “I hope so,” I smiled, “unless you were looking for ballroom dancing which is next door.”

She laughed and I felt a little warm flame ignite inside me.

We were inseparable throughout the whole session, she was ten years older than me but it made no difference at all. We giggled like teenagers and she stuck like glue to my side.

     “You’re very good at all this kung fu stuff aren’t you Moll?” she said, “I suppose it helps having a dad who’s into it as well doesn’t it?”

I cringed a little but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to ruin my new friendship because she thought I was a freak. I wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible before she found out that Bernie was my fiancé. This would be at the end of the session.

     “Who’s coming to the pub then?” asked Bernie, “we always go to the pub after class; it gives students time to ask me any questions.”

There were a couple of volunteers, and to my delight, Celine came too.

     I went to use the toilets of the usual dark public house where nobody besides us ever went to drink, and as I was washing my hands; Celine came bounding in.

     “Why didn’t you tell me he was your fiancé?” she giggled, “I feel silly now.”

     “That’s okay.” I laughed, “I hoped you’d feel silly when you found out.”

     “So how old are you then Moll?”

I thought back to the incident with Bernie’s family, he hadn’t told me to lie about my age at the club but I thought the same rule applied so I told her I was nineteen.

     “Wow, you’re just a baby then really aren’t you?” She said, “never mind though, so long as you’re okay, you’re old enough to know what you’re doing eh?”

I could sense her unease about the situation but it seemed she too desperately needed a friend.

There was nothing I didn’t like about Celine. She was funny, quirky and her eyes were always full of wonder and adventure. She was well educated and the most intelligent person I’d ever met, or would meet. She was my perfect, untainted angel.

(I talk about Celine in the past tense because tragically she took her own life some years later in 2010.)

The good news for me was that Celine accepted me the way I was, she wasn’t interested in my life with Bernie so long as I was okay, she just wanted to be my best friend.

     The classes took off quickly and most nights, there would be at least thirty students present.

We were training Monday, Tuesday and Thursdays in Peterborough, and Friday’s in Leicester. It unnerved me to travel back to my home town every week, not knowing who I’d be bumping into. I had a lot of friends from the old club and we’d always go to the pub after class.

     Bernie decided that we needed an additional income and allowed me to set up my own junior kickboxing club. He printed off some posters and before I knew it, the class was full of students.

It was all I’d ever dreamed of and now it was happening.

Some of the children were as young as five, and their humorous perception of the world brought many a smile to my face. It wasn’t without its problems though.

     Bernie would turn up at the end of each class to flirt with the mothers as they came to pick their children up, making them well aware that he was my instructor.

He degraded me on so many occasions, that it wasn’t long before my young students started to lose respect for me and treat me in the same manner that they’d seen Bernie get away with.

There was even an incident with a fire extinguisher one of them had set odd whilst I was momentarily distracted by a crying child. The hall quickly became flooded, and the people that owned the community centre were not impressed at all.

     At seventeen, I was making in excess of £300 a week as I slowly introduced a second class.

I told Bernie that he had to stay away from the hall whilst I was teaching because he was putting the students off. He told me that he would do as he pleased; though he never interfered as much afterwards.

     It started with dried peas in the beginning, then it to ball bearings. Bernie had cut up the only pair of jeans I owned to make a small denim bag to fill with dried peas. Then he’d secure it to a bungee strap and hang it from the doorframe.

He forced me to spend two hours each evening, punching the small bag as it bounced about the place. He described it as a moving target. It made my knuckles sore and my hands were always covered with friction burns.

When he filled it with ball bearings, the pain was indescribably excruciating. My knuckled would bleed until I could feel little other than a burning throb.

     “This was how I learned,” he’d say, this is how they learn over in China, not the poncey crap you get over here.”

The worst move Bernie practiced on me was when he pushed his knuckle into an area I believe to be called the Jungular Notch, pushing right down into it with force. I’d seen him perform the move before on people at the club and had seen full grown men choking on the floor afterwards.

If I tried to back away to avoid absorbing the force, he’d have me up against the wall. He said the only way to execute the move effectively was to know what it felt like. On occasion, he’d use a pole and strike me in the same area.

He was able to viciously attack me and justify himself because he was apparently teaching me some of the most deadly moves in his opinion.

     We started to attract more females to the class and Bernie appreciated them much more than I did. I found myself constantly concerned for their safety and paranoid that Bernie would try to corrupt them.

Michelle particularly concerned me. She was twenty five years old and quite vulnerable. She had a history of sleeping rough but had recently sought help and landed herself a job as a care assistant. Bernie would obsess over her and it made me sick when I felt a little jealous. Not because I thought he found her attractive (which he did), but because I felt he’d soon cast me off and I’d be left to fend for myself.

He’d bounce over to her during the classes and use her to demonstrate all of his moves at every opportunity.

Then there was his choice of music.

We’d have the stereo playing during training and when Michelle was there, Bernie would make sure his ‘The Beatles’ cassette was packed.

During the warm up, the song ‘Michelle’ would play and you could se
nse the unease in the room.

I believe he was secretly trying to send her a message, to groom her
even. I’d seen the pattern before with myself and now she was falling for it. From their quiet conversations in the pub, to their whisperings in the corner of the hall. She probably thought he was her ideal man, and that she could win him. I almost felt sorry for her.

     “Orange has sent me some free gifts to choose from,” said Bernie, as he pulled a leaflet from his pocket and placed it on the beer soaked table. “One of the gifts is a trip to France for four people. Anybody fancy it?” He looked at Michelle.

     “What does it include?” She asked.

     “It includes a return ferry and two nights stay at a campsite in Calais.”

     “Yeah, I’m up for that.” She smiled.

     “You’ll need to sort yourself a passport out Moll.” Said Bernie.

I’d never had a passport; we’d barely taken any family holidays during my childhood so I never had
a use for one.

     “I’ll need to get my birth certificate first.” I said.

     “You can make a start on that tomorrow then can’t you?”

I wasn’t supposed to talk to Bernie in the pub after class. He insisted that it was his time to speak to the students and answer any questions. I often found myself sitting on my own in silence with a pint of cider, unless Celine was there of course, she was on holiday though.

     It wasn’t long before Bernie invited Michelle to join the Friday class in Leicester. She’d come with us in the car and Bernie would always make me sit in the back because Michelle was older than me. I struggled to hear their conversations sometimes but did notice one occasion where she put her hand on his thigh, I watched his expression in his rear view mirror and it sickened me.

I felt very odd about Michelle coming with us, almost as her being in my hometown tainted it a little.

I hated her coming to the pub with all my old friends afterwards too, I felt as though she’d invaded my life. Her constant flirting with Bernie was getting on my nerves.

The landlady didn’t once question my age and would quite happily let me drink pints of cider and order from the bar. Bernie liked the land lady, though he liked her daughter more.

Her name was Polly and she was around my age. She had long blonde hair and Bernie would often refer to her as ‘young and innocent’ or ‘angelic’.

     After the pub, we’d make our way over to Barbara’s house. Apparently some of Bernie’s possessions were there. He went every week and I’d sit in the car on the driveway for rarely less than an hour.

When Michelle brought the subject up one night on the driveway, she asked me if it bothered me that Bernie spent so much time with his ex still. I told her that I was used to it because it happened every week. I had complained about it before but he told me I was being a selfish cow, because Barbara had nobody else apart from Lou, and she was lonely.

     I sent off for my birth certificate, Bernie had written a cheque to the registry office and I’d filled out the form myself. I assumed my place of birth would be the same as my siblings, who were all born in the Leicester Royal Infirmary. An envelope came back soon afterwards which would confirm I was wrong. Bernie was angry because they’d cashed the cheque too.

     “I want you to ring them and get my money back.” He yelled. “I will not have you ruining our holiday plans.”

There was no point in me doing this, you pay for the search as well as the certificate, it said so in their small print.

     “Our holiday plans?” I spat, “more like yours and Michelle’s holiday plans, I know what’s going on don’t think I’m stupid Bernie.”

     “You stupid bitch,” he shouted and smacked me across the face. My cheek was burning and I wanted to cry.

     “I’ve had enough of your shit, you’re just a jealous little cunt,” he threw me against the window and swiped at my face again.

     “And you’re just a fucking pervert.” I screamed.

     It didn’t hurt until I saw the blood pooling from underneath my top. Bernie had attacked me with a screwdriver. It had been left on the side from the previous evening when he’d tried to fiddle the electric coin meter.

I didn’t know how deep the wound was, he’d plunged forwards but my natural instincts had me turning off at an angle to deflect some of the blow. Perhaps it had only grazed the skin.

I felt light headed and fell against the rickety kitchen table. I think I must have fainted because when I woke up, Bernie was at the side of me and he’d dressed my wound. He’d left me uncovered from the waist up.

     “Look, Moll, I’m sorry for what happened but you really made me angry. You know I’m not interested in Michelle, she’s a fucking tramp and her sister is a junkie. You can’t go making accusations like that. When you called me a pervert, I just flipped. You know I’m not a pervert, I can’t understand why you’d say such a thing.”

I didn’t dare move a muscle, I was in a very vulnerable position so I just nodded and went along with whatever crap Bernie threw at me about hurting his feelings. Then I apologized.

     I had to take a couple of days off from training because I didn’t want to disturb my wound. This meant that Bernie had to take over my junior class for me which I hated. He’d always comment how the girls were like little angels and incredibly supple and flexible for their ages. He made me sick.

     He constantly pestered me about my birth certificate, asking me to ring my parents and find out where I was born. I refused to do it and the holiday was off. I didn’t care one little bit, I was glad I’d scuppered Bernie and Michelle’s romantic getaway whilst I tagged along.