Page 11 of In the Still of the Night

‘Do you have to have everything spelt out for you? Stupid girls don’t go far, little Alice. Of course that’s what I mean!’

‘Do you think Lee Kirk will go far?’ she shouted. ‘You got her a job in return for sleeping with you, didn’t you?’

He laughed, unworried by the accusation. ‘Jealous? No need to be. Lee was hot stuff in bed but I couldn’t teach her a thing, she knew it all already. I’m going to have more fun with you, sweet, innocent little Alice. And remember, I always keep my word, darling. Give me what I want, and I’ll make sure you get what you want. So come over here and start by taking your clothes off.’

Annie just stood there. Waiting.

It seemed to her an eternity before the door behind her was pulled wide open and two of the school governors walked in. One of them was Rob’s father, a broad, bald-headed man who was a leading film director.

Roger jerked upright, spilling red wine. He had turned grey; he suddenly looked old.

‘We’ve heard enough,’ Rob’s father said. ‘You can go now, Miss Lang, but we may need you to give evidence to the police if Keats isn’t sensible.’

Roger’s eyes turned on her; she flinched at the look in them. His voice hoarse, he muttered, ‘You little bitch.’ He came off the chaise-longue in an angry lunge, dropped the glass, which shattered into fragments in a glittering shower, splashing wine like blood on the floor, on the chairs, on Roger’s trousers.

‘I’ll kill you,’ he grunted as his hands reached for her. ‘You set me up! I’ll kill you, you little bitch.’

She was paralysed by fear. Roger’s hands closed round her neck, squeezing inwards, her breath choked in her throat. Her eyes rolled upwards; she was half-blind, dark blood flooding her face.

‘Let go of her, you bastard!’ she heard somebody say, then the two other men tore Roger away from her. He fell backwards, crashed into the wall and tumbled over, arms and legs sprawling.

‘Are you OK?’ Rob’s father asked, putting an arm round her.

Her throat hurt, she was gasping for painful breath, and she was shaking violently.

Annie nodded, then had to get away from there. She turned and ran out, her stomach churning.

She never remembered afterwards how she got home – the whole journey was a blank. She was in shock.

Her mother was still at work when she walked into the house. Johnny was there alone, sitting at the table, working on a piece of copy for that week’s paper, his brow creased as he checked a word in a dictionary.

‘You’re late, darling, I was beginning to get worried,’ he said, absently, glancing up and smiling.

Annie was shivering. It was February the thirteenth, the day before St Valentine’s day, and there was snow whirling in the cold wind, snow piling up in gutters, against garden walls, on bushes and trees. She was wearing a thick woollen jacket, but she was bitterly cold. She stood in front of the fire, holding out her frozen hands to the blaze.

‘Annie? What’s wrong? What is it?’

Johnny came towards her but she held her hands out, palms towards him, stopping him.

‘No! Don’t come any closer, Johnny.’ She felt dirty. She didn’t want him to touch her. Not until she had told him. She hadn’t meant to tell him, but now she saw she had to, or what had happened would poison her life. Telling Johnny would be like lancing a boil, letting the sickness and corruption ooze away.

She started talking before she could change her mind, her voice disjointed, sobbing; the words poured out of her, tears running down her face without her noticing.

Johnny went white as he listened. His eyes turned wild. Crazy. She didn’t know his face any more.

She saw his mouth moving and barely heard his groaning. ‘Christ, Christ.’

‘He made me do it to him,’ she sobbed. ‘I hated what he made me do.’

She wanted him to hold her and tell her he loved her and he would never let any man hurt her, never again, she was safe now and Johnny would protect her – but he didn’t. He turned and almost ran out of the room suddenly without a word.

‘Johnny, where are you going? Johnny!’ For a moment she was too shocked to move, then she ran out after him and was just in time to see him roaring away on his motorbike, in his black leather jacket but not wearing his helmet.

He was driving too fast. If he crashed without a helmet he’d be killed.

; ‘Johnny!’ she screamed after him but he didn’t look back.