‘Did I?’ His smile widened, showing white teeth, and she was close enough to see he had a tiny chip on one of the front ones.
Somehow it made him more human, more approachable, and she found herself saying, ‘Thank you for not giving us away to your mam.’
‘My pleasure.’
Carrie hadn’t moved, mainly because she didn’t trust her legs to hold her. She had picked up the bottle and the two mugs while Alec changed the cloth, and now she proffered them to him. ‘Here. I don’t know what you want to do with the bottle.’
He took it from her and shook it, his eyes tight on her face. ‘Not much left.’ He pulled out the chair next to hers. ‘How about we finish it off before I walk you home?’
Walk her home. Alec Sutton was going to walk her home. The words had the magic ring of dreams about them. She stared at him as he sat down and gestured for her to place the mugs on the table. ‘I . . . I don’t want any more.’
‘Course you do.’
As he poured two more measures into the mugs Carrie wanted to make a protest, but the tone of his voice and his manner had been so friendly and warm she didn’t like to. She watched him as he drained the contents of his mug but made no attempt to lift her own. This was her moment, her opportunity, and nothing like it would happen again. What could she say, what could she do to make him really notice her?
When he reached out and lifted her chin she felt her heart jump with the thrill of his touch, and then he whispered, ‘You’re beautiful, lass. Do you know that? Got a lad, have you?’
‘No.’
She was looking right into his eyes and it made her dizzy, along with the wonder bursting from her heart. He was going to kiss her, she knew he was, even before he whispered, ‘You should have,’ and bent forward, putting his mouth on hers.
He smelt faintly of smoke but overriding this was a nice smell, like the eau de Cologne Renee bought but sharper. She had never been close to a man wearing aftershave before - her father and Billy and the other miners she knew would have scorned what they saw as womanly titivation - and it added to the trembling that was spiralling through her body. His lips were warm and firm, and when he stood up, drawing her with him, she didn’t object.
‘You’re lovely, Carrie.’ He was holding her in the circle of his arms now, so close she could feel the pounding of his heart under his shirt, and she felt engulfed in the height and breadth of him. She shivered, and as he stroked her hair from her brow his voice was thick as he murmured, ‘You’re cold. Let me warm you, lass,’ and then he was kissing her again.
Carrie knew she was being kissed, really kissed for the first time in her life, and at first the floating, dizzy feeling was all that registered. It was some moments before she became aware that his hands were moving all over her body and now the kissing was of such an intensity that it frightened her. ‘No . . .’ She tried to pull away a little. ‘Don’t, Alec, please. I don’t want--’ Her breath was cut off by his mouth which had become hard, grinding, and his leg was behind her knees as he twisted his body and brought her falling to the floor with him on top of her.
For his part Alec was conscious of her struggling beneath him and of hands beating against his chest, but the quantity of alcohol in his system and not least Madge Patterson’s provocative teasing earlier had inflamed him to the point where he only knew he wanted release from the burning in his groin. He pressed one hand across her mouth and with the other fumbled for the hem of her dress. When it was up round her thighs he wrenched at her knickers with such force that they tore away from one leg.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right.’
His voice was like a chant, and in spite of her blind panic and fear Carrie could make no impression against the strength of the hard male body crushing her against the floor.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right . . .’
But it wasn’t, for she was suddenly pierced through with pain, ravaged by it as he pounded away at her with hoarse groaning until, with one final convulsive thrust, everything became very still.
Carrie wasn’t crying, the shock was too great. She lay wide-eyed, staring up at Lillian’s mam’s whitewashed ceiling, her mind numb but her body hurting. And then, as the head which had dropped to nestle in her shoulder moved, she came to life, pushing at Alec with shaking hands as she tried to hotch back away from him.
He stirred again with a low groan, levering himself up on to his knees to adjust his clothing. When her legs were free of him Carrie rolled over on to her stomach and pulled her dress down. Then she realised she was without her knickers. Oh, God, oh, God, help me. He’d done it to her, Alec Sutton had taken her down. What would her mam and da say?
‘Carrie?’ It was tentative, but when she scrambled as far away as she could get before she turned to face him, his tone changed. His voice was rough as he said, ‘Don’t look at me like that, you wanted it same as me.’
She was shaking from head to foot as she sat staring at him, her teeth chattering so much she found it difficult to speak. ‘I didn’t, you know I didn’t.’
‘Look, the first time is always . . . Well . . .’ He rubbed his hand across his mouth as he got to his feet, glancing down at the torn remnants of her underclothes before he said again, ‘You wanted it.’
‘Stay away from me.’
The shrillness of her voice as he made a move towards her brought him to a halt, but now there was real aggression in his manner when he ground out, ‘Don’t come this lark, not with me. You can’t lead a man on and then leave him nowhere. Look, no one need know.’ He reached down and before she could blink he had thrown her knickers on to the fire where they flared briefly before being consumed by the flames. ‘There, it’s done with. Let that be an end to it.’
An end to it? He had . . . Had he said an end to it? Was he mad? Carrie struggled to her feet, nausea and dizziness making the room swim. She watched him gather the mugs and gin bottle and disappear into the scullery again.
She was still standing in exactly the same spot when he returned, and as he glanced at her white face and stricken eyes his voice was softer, with a wheedling note. ‘Look, it’s done now, lass, so don’t take on--’ And then he froze, his head turning towards the scullery as the sound of voices reached them. ‘Quick, out, it’s me mam.’
Before she knew it Carrie found herself in the street with the front door closing against her, vaguely aware that he had pushed her out of the house after thrusting her coat into her hands. She stood, swaying slightly and making no attempt to put her coat on in spite of the raw east wind. He’d said she’d led him on, that she’d wanted him to do that to her but she hadn’t, she
hadn’t.
She stared down the dark street, her eyes dry but burning. She had wanted him to kiss her but not the rest of it, and he must have known. She had fought him, hadn’t she, struggled, tried to call out? How could he have imagined she wanted him to do it then?
She began to walk, still holding her coat against her chest. When she reached the junction with Collingwood Street, she left the main road and skirted round to the narrow track running at the back of the houses. She needed to get to her backyard and go to the privy, she told herself numbly, waves of nausea making her feel faint. If she just kept putting one foot in front of the other she could get there and slide the bolt and be safe.
The odd flake of snow was spinning in the icy wind; the biting cold and black night was all part and parcel of the desolation which had claimed her. Her father didn’t like her walking the back lane once it was dark, but tonight any shred of nervousness was gone. Nothing could be worse than what had already happened. She stumbled along, and it wasn’t until she was almost home that she thought to pull on her coat, shrugging it on with hands that were frozen and had little feeling.
She had only taken one step into the backyard when the sickness claimed her, wave upon wave of retching culminating in an attack of vomiting which left her kneeling on the flagstones utterly spent, tears streaming down her face.
‘Carrie? Carrie, lass, get up. Come on.’
When David’s voice sounded above her head she made no effort to move, and kept her eyes tightly shut. They would say she was bad now if anyone found out, a loose bit like Eva Barber or Muriel Price who went to pubs together and painted their faces. Only last week she had seen Mrs Gray and Mrs Weathergill from a few doors up spit at Eva as she’d passed them, and when she’d told her mam and da about it over dinner that night, her mam had pursed her lips and shaken her head, saying, ‘I’ve no sympathy for the lass. Anything she gets she’s brought on herself and that’s a fact. Different lad for every day of the week and staying out all night as often as not. She’ll be the death of her poor mother, you mark my words.’
And when Billy had winked at her and said casually, ‘Eva’s not so bad, I was thinking of asking her out myself,’ their mam had rounded on him, her voice tight as she’d said, ‘Over my dead body, lad. Over my dead body. You’ll have a decent lass, pure, untouched, or she won’t be welcome in this house.’ Billy had laughed then and patted their mam on the hand. ‘Keep your pinny on, I was only funning. I wouldn’t touch Eva with a bargepole. Who’d want other men’s cast-offs anyway?’
And now, thought Carrie, she was like Eva, defiled, dirty. She could still feel where Alec had touched her, hurt her, and she was all sticky between her legs, and with all that lot in the house she couldn’t even have a washdown.
‘Carrie, come on, lass, get up out of it, you’ll catch your death.’ David was kneeling beside her and he reached out to help her up.
Carrie surprised them both by the fierceness with which she said, ‘Don’t touch me, don’t you dare touch me.’
David froze and for a moment there was absolute silence, only the sound of faint laughter and voices from within the house breaking the stillness. ‘What’s the matter, lass?’ He spoke very quietly. ‘Someone hurt you?’
Oh, she mustn’t let him guess, she mustn’t let anyone ever know. She forced herself to stand up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I . . . I was silly, it’s my own fault. I had a drink, sloe gin, and it’s made me feel bad.’
He had risen with her, and now, in the shadowed night, she was aware that he was peering at her and she was glad it was too dark to see clearly. ‘Is that all?’ he asked quietly after some seconds.
Carrie drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Aye, yes.’ She pushed her hair back from her face with a shaky hand. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
David frowned. There was something wrong here, something not quite right. She might have been drinking but . . . ‘Look, lass, if there’s something else, you can tell me. We’re friends, aren’t we?’ He didn’t make the mistake of trying to touch her again.
Carrie nodded slowly, her chin deep into her neck. What would David say if she told him what was in her mind at this moment? That lads, men, were a race apart, possessed of the power to so hurt and destroy that she didn’t feel she could ever refer to one as her friend again. ‘It’s just the drink,’ she muttered, willing him to go back into the house or to the privy which he must have been making for. ‘That’s all.’
David stared at the bowed head and wished he could see her face. She was shivering so violently it was like someone with the ague but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. And it was obvious she wanted to be alone. But how could he leave her out here in this state? ‘You’re cold.’ He slipped off his suit jacket and placed it round her shoulders, careful that his hands made no contact with her flesh.
The small act of kindness was nearly Carrie’s undoing. She gulped once and then again, her body aching and her heart sore. How could this have happened to her? It was Renee’s wedding day, it was supposed to be a happy day, wasn’t it? She licked her dry lips, her head pounding, and then visibly flinched as the back door opened. But then her father’s voice said, ‘Carrie? Is that you? Your mam an’ me was wonderin’ where you’d got to.’
‘Da.’
It was a soft whimper, and immediately the small stocky figure was at her side. ‘What is it, lass? What’s wrong?’
For a quivering moment she almost blurted out the truth but something outside herself, born of humiliation and shame and guilt, warned,
don’t say a word, not a word about Alec. Blame it on the drink. Just the drink
.
‘I . . . I feel bad.’
‘Bad?’
She reached out to him, clinging like a child to the one man she could trust. ‘We . . . it was Granny Sutton’s sloe gin. I’ve been sick.’