The Midnight Hour (19 page)

“Jenny will be here by half past Mom. She has her own key. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Her mother smiled at her.

“I’m not worried dear. Now hurry or you’ll miss the bus.”

Mrs Watson watched her daughter rush out through the door in a swirl of long grey skirt. She sighed. She might not be able to walk but it was her daughter who was truly crippled. Crippled by shyness. Crippled by low self-esteem. Crippled by having to care for her elderly mother.

For the first time since he had left twelve years ago she thought about asking Helen’s father for help. She had hoped to spare Helen any contact with the dubious heritage her father offered. Now she wondered whether that would be her only hope of salvation.

“Oh my god. Here comes Watson. What
is
she wearing?”

Cheryl Mortimer stared in mock horror at the rapidly emptying school bus and the girl struggling up the steep path towards the school. She laughed, she sneered, she gathered her three closest friends around her, all dressed in the same school football team jackets and tight designer jeans.

Helen tried to ignore them as she stomped past, intensely aware of her big, worn shoes, her long grey skirt, her pale, faded blue fleece that had been a present from her mother four years ago. But she couldn’t avoid Cheryl, stepping into her path, breasts that Helen suspected were more silicone than girl stretching the pink cheerleader’s sweatshirt to near tearing point, pushing the edges of the jacket back to her shoulders.

Cheryl Mortimer was everything Helen Watson was not. Cheerleader, popular, beautiful, and the easiest lay in school.

The last was a well-kept secret known only by her closest friends, and most of the school football team.

Helen knew because she had once
been
one of Cheryl Mortimer’s closest friends. That time was only a distant memory now, before Cheryl made the cheerleader squad. While she was still busy climbing her way to the top flat on her back.

Cheryl
knew
that Helen knew. She hated her for that, and for everything she represented. Mostly her own past.

“Where’s the funeral Watson? Has that crippled mother of yours finally done the decent thing and killed herself? Oh, I forgot. You always dress this dull!”

Helen forced her way past, her elbows digging into Cheryl’s breasts. Surely they should give a little?

“They shouldn’t let you into our school Watson,” called Cheryl after the retreating girl. “You’re too ugly to be in the same school as me!”

When she turned back, smiling, to her friends she was surprised to find that they had disappeared and that the other students nearby on campus were staring at her. She turned to a boy nearby. She didn’t recognise him. He wasn’t a football player.

“What’s your problem? Never seen a body this good before?”

She turned and flounced towards the school. She would never understand the common people.

“Before I left, Celia, you made it very clear that I was to have nothing to do with Helen.”

Celia Watson nervously shuffled her wheelchair back and forth on the living room carpet. She had sent Jenny home early, assuring her that she had friends coming round and would be fine, promising her full pay for the day regardless of the actual hours worked. Now she wondered if she should have kept the young home-help around. Someone outside the family group. A touchstone in the real world.

“Things change.” Her voice sounded weak in her own head, but she had forgotten how imposing a figure he was. How strong he could be just standing there. How deep and resonant and mesmerising his voice was.

He turned from the window and smiled at her, a smile blinding in its whiteness in the dark, bearded face.

“I thought you wanted me to leave our daughter alone? You were adamant that she should never know of her birthright.” He picked up a framed photograph of Helen in a gloved hand and studied the smiling, young girl of some eight years ago. “I warned you at the time that it might rise to the surface even without my influence. I cannot control nature.”

“She is a normal sixteen year old girl.
That
is not the problem.”

“Then why did you call me?”

Celia took a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time since making the phone call, whether she was doing the right thing. But she needed to do
something
. For Helen’s sake.

“Our daughter is unhappy. Miserable even. I am a burden to her. Her looks are a burden to her. School is a cruel and unforgiving place. I can’t watch her sink like this. She deserves better.”

“She is made fun of for the way she dresses, the way she looks. For the fact she is clever and studious, not flirty and sporty like those tramps who parade around in clothes girls five years older would be embarrassed to wear! I know all this Celia.”

“You know? How…?”

“I promised I would not interfere, not that I would take no interest. I have had people placed to keep me informed.”

She had always known he had influence. Sometimes she forgot how far and how deep that influence spread.

“Then you know she needs help.”

He stepped forward and placed a hand on Celia’s shoulder. She softened, felt the old desire blooming inside her again. It had been the hardest decision of her life to tell him to leave. For Helen’s sake.

“Years back I offered to cure you. You would no longer be a burden then.”

For a moment she felt tempted. To be able to walk again. To no longer need others to look after her. But she knew another’s need was greater.

“No. It’s not me who needs to be cured. It’s Helen.”

Eileen Tasker swayed down the corridors of Rosemont High impeccably dressed in a cream trouser suit, her slim leather briefcase swinging gently from her right hand. She smiled at the female students, knowing they admired and envied her looks, her confidence. She smiled at the male students, knowing their eyes strayed with satisfying predictability to the curve of her breasts just visible through the carefully arranged white blouse, top buttons teasingly undone. She could almost hear the creak of their necks as they turned to watch her walk away, buttocks creasing the tight cream trousers. They wanted her and that knowledge made her smile.

Eileen Tasker was both the coolest and the hottest teacher in Rosemont High, and with the exception of certain elderly, barren members of the staff, everyone liked her. She was a role model to the girls and a wet dream to the boys. But more than that, she actually cared about the students, something that had been more of a surprise to her than anyone else. There had been other motives, other reasons for her applying for a post here. She had never expected to actually
like
the job!

“Miss Tasker. Are you going to the dance on Saturday?”

Eileen turned a bright smile on the girl who had spoken.

“No Sandra. The dance is for students only. You know that. Other than a few chaperones there’ll be no staff there.”

“But you’re different Miss Tasker. It’d be
fun
to have you there.”

Eileen laughed. “It’ll be more fun without me, believe me.  Who’s your date for the dance Sandra?” It was safe to ask Sandra. She was tall, pretty, and going steady with at least three boys in the school at any one time.

“I haven’t decided yet Miss Tasker. Thought I’d keep them waiting until the last moment. Keep them eager, you know?”

“Have a good time Sandra.”

Eileen watched the girl hurry away and then continued her walk towards her classroom. For a moment, in the crowd of students making their way to lessons, she caught a glimpse of Helen Watson, plain, dowdy Helen Watson. She felt sad for the girl and hoped that she hadn’t overheard the little back and forth with Sandra. It was a near certainty that Helen didn’t have a date for the dance. In fact, it was a near certainty that Helen wouldn’t go to the dance at all.

Eileen Tasker wished she was allowed to help the poor girl. She knew she could, but she was not allowed. There were some kinds of help that didn’t fit into the school curriculum.

Still… if only she could…

“Miss Tasker…”

The call came from further back down the corridor. Not a student this time. An older, raspier voice. There could be no mistaking it. She stopped, turned, and forced a slight smile. All that the caller deserved.

“Yes Mrs Rosco?” The school secretary. Prim, proper,
dull
. One of those with a definite dislike of Eileen Tasker and her bright, modern, sexy approach to teaching.

“Miss Tasker,” the older woman gasped, out of breath from the short run up the corridor. “There’s a telephone call for you. A man! He
said
it was urgent.”

Eileen Tasker ignored all the suggested criticisms and innuendos in the woman’s words and frowned, genuinely puzzled as to who would call her at work.

“There was another murder last night. Some guy in his car up on Leaper’s Point. My dad said there was blood everywhere!”

As Samantha Groker’s dad was a policeman, Helen was inclined to believe her. She imagined the scene and gave the only suitable response she could think of.

“Gross!”

“Yeah. My dad said his throat was ripped out, just like the others. They don’t know if it’s a person or some kind of wild animal!”

Samantha sat next to Helen in class and, in as much as she was friendly towards her, was Helen’s best friend. Helen’s
only
friend in school. She was that rarity, a pretty girl who seemed not to be aware of the fact, or at least not obsessed by it. For whatever reason, she had chosen Helen to speak to on her very first day in school and, despite overtures from the more beautiful girls and an offer to become a cheerleader, had chosen to remain friends with Helen.

Samantha confused, disgusted and annoyed Cheryl Mortimer and her friends. It was not a situation that seemed to overly concern Samantha.

“Does that make it five now?” Helen had been following the murders in the local press. She had always been fascinated by such things, more so when it was right in her neighbourhood.

“Yeah, five. Scary eh?”

“What’s scary? Five what?” Cheryl strode past, sneering. “Can’t be dates for Watson here. She’s not had
one
, let alone five!”

“Screw you Mortimer! Better to be like her than to be right up there with broken bones as something every football player has had!”

Cheryl opened her mouth as if to respond and then turned away, storming to her desk at the back of the class, consoled by her fellow cheerleaders.

Helen grinned. That was another great thing about Samantha. She wasn’t afraid of Cheryl Mortimer. She didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” said Miss Tasker as she strode into the room. “I got delayed by an important phone call. Now, if you’ll all settle down we’ll get right on with things.”

The class itself went well for Helen. Human biology was a good subject for her. She seemed to have a natural talent for it. As soon as the bell went, however, the taunts began. She knew they would. Saturday’s school dance was too much of an opportunity for certain people to miss.

Of course, they waited until Samantha had left Helen’s side.

“Going to the dance Saturday Watson?” That was Cheryl Mortimer in her best sneering voice. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t have a date do you!”

“She’ll never get a date.” One of Cheryl’s cheerleading friends. Helen thought her name was Jackie. “Not looking like that!”

“Be better if you were crippled like your Mom. At least you’d have an excuse for never getting laid!” A nameless cheerleader. They all merged into one for Helen after a while.

“Oh, she has an excuse.” Cheryl again. “She’s too
ugly
to get laid.”

Laughing, Cheryl led her team out of the classroom, hips swinging, short skirts flicking, legs long and lithe. Helen hated them all. She only wished she had the quickness of wit to hit back with something, anything. Some devastating comment. Some witty remark that would shut their grotesque mouths and make them think twice before turning on her again.

Instead, she bent her head and tried to stop the tears that wanted to burst from her eyes, bringing with them great sobs that would only shame her more.

“Helen?”

She jerked her head up, shocked at the voice calling her name.

“Miss Tasker? I… I didn’t realise you were still here.”

Miss Tasker smiled at her.

“It’s ok Helen. You just need to learn to ignore those girls. They’ll get what’s coming to them eventually.”

Helen wiped away a single tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.

“No offence Miss Tasker, but that’s easy for you to say. No one would ever tease
you
about the way you look.”

“How
do
I look Helen?” Eileen Tasker moved closer to the seated girl and stood in front of her desk. “What do you see when you look at me?”

Helen looked up at the smiling teacher, suppressing the slight discomfort she felt at her closeness.

“Well, you’re beautiful, and sexy, and confident…”

Eileen leaned forward and Helen found her eyes drawn to the cleavage now revealed. It almost panicked her. She had no interest in girls, never had. Not that much in boys either to tell the truth, but never in girls!

“What would you say,” whispered Eileen, “if I told you I was once just like you?”

Helen said nothing but her discomfort grew. Miss Tasker? Like her? It had to be a joke.

Eileen Tasker straightened up and moved slowly around Helen, the fingers of her right hand tracing a snaking line over the girl’s shoulder. Now, standing directly behind her, she rested a hand on each shoulder and placed her lips close to Helen’s ear.

“I’m serious Helen. I was plain, frumpy even. The butt of everyone’s jokes at school. Bitches like Cheryl Mortimer picked on me just like they pick on you.”

Her fingers began to massage Helen’s shoulders and the younger girl found herself relaxing, closing her eyes. A curious warmth spread down her arms and across her chest.

“It was like that until I met the man who changed my life. Gave me a kind of makeover. A very
extreme
makeover.”