Born Bad. Josephine Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ Ask Alan,’ she sobbed. ‘He was there. He took me back to Pauline. I would never beg, and why would I need to?’ She had to humour him, or pay the price. ‘Since I lost my job at the factory, you’ve always provided for me.’

      Clinging to him, she appealed, ‘Listen to me, Phil. I was not begging. You ask Alan. He’ll tell you.’

      He stared at her hard and long, before stretching out his arms and crushing her to him. ‘You’re right.’ He stroked her long fair hair. ‘You’ll never need to beg, while you’ve got me. Nor will you need to work in a place where men gawp at you all the time, itching to get their hands on you. I won’t have it, d’you hear?’

      He had the look of madness. ‘I’ll take care of you. Me – Phil Saunders. I took care of you when nobody else would,’ his manner softened, ‘because I love you. I’ve always loved you.’

      Holding her away from him, he said, ‘I’ll give you a few more pounds, then you can buy yourself some nice new clothes. The old ones are getting a bit tatty and folks might blame me. I can’t have that now, can I?’

      He thrust his hands into his trouser-pocket. ‘Here.’ Shoving a fistful of money into her hand, he ordered, ‘Take it – it’s yours. Tomorrow morning, I want you to go out and get some decent-looking clothes, so nobody can ever say that Phil Saunders’ wife is a beggar!’

      She looked at the wad of notes, realising they were the best part of his wages. ‘I can’t take this.’ She stuffed it back into his pocket. ‘We need it for more important things.’

      He made no move to return the money to her. Instead, he continued to stare down on her, his eyes narrowed and his face set hard.

      ‘Honest, Phil, I’ll be fine.’ She saw the signs and began to panic. ‘All right then, I’ll just have a few pounds,’ she gabbled. ‘I’ve seen some really nice things in town. There’s a little skirt and top, and a really pretty jacket … blue with black trim. I could buy all of those things for just a few pounds. We don’t need to use all your hard-earned wages.’

      For a long moment, it seemed as though he wasn’t even listening, but then he gave a begrudging half-smile. ‘Whatever my Judy wants is fine by me.’ When he raised his hand, she instinctively flinched. ‘Aw, poor little mouse, look what you made me do.’ With the cuff of his sleeve he dabbed at the line of blood trailing from her temple. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you just get me all riled up.’

      Loudly tutting, he uprighted the cocoa cup which had been spilled over. Then, taking her by the hand, he switched out the light, and pushed her up the stairs.

      Judy knew full well what was coming, but she said not a word. Instead she allowed herself to be led to the bedroom, where he roughly stripped off her nightgown and threw her bodily onto the bed.

      ‘Who do you belong to?’ It was a question he often asked of her.

      ‘You.’

      ‘Say it properly!’

      ‘I belong to you.’

      ‘That’s right. You need to remember that. They all need to remember that.’

      Tearing off his clothes, he straddled her, his hands all over her, touching her face, fondling her small, pert breasts, and now he was running his hands over her smooth, bare thighs. ‘You’re very special to me,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘There are men out there who would give their right arm to have you.’

      He sniggered. ‘They can’t have you though, can they? Not when you belong to me!’

      Judy thought it was a strange kind of love that wanted to hurt and dominate. There was a dark hatred in him that filled her with terror. But still, she said nothing, for if she dared to disagree, she would be made to pay the price. Sometimes, he was incredibly gentle. Sometimes, like now, he was the unforgiving enemy.

      Cruel or gentle, he raised no feelings in her, other than fear and repugnance, and a deep-seated urge to tell him the truth: of how she cringed under his touch; of how her dearest wish was to find the courage to put a million miles between them.

      At times like this though, when he was in this mood, Judy knew to keep her silence.

      ‘You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.’ He traced his finger over the hollow of her neck. ‘My dear, sweet little mouse.’ His passion so obviously aroused, he whispered harshly, ‘If any man ever tried to take you from me, I would have to hurt him. Really hurt him! You do understand that, don’t you?’

      When again she gave no answer, he grabbed her by the mouth. ‘What was that? I didn’t hear what you said.’

      When he gave her room to breathe, she whispered the answer he wanted. ‘Yes, Phil. I do see that, yes.’

      Smiling, he bent to kiss her. ‘Good girl. Now then, you haven’t forgotten how to please your man, have you, because that would really upset me.’

      She shook her head. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

      ‘Good!’

      His taking of her was self-gratifying and incredibly cruel, and when she cried out with pain, it only spurred him on.

      Trapped beneath his considerable weight, Judy could almost taste the booze on his breath, and something else, heavy on his skin – a woman’s perfume. She felt defiled. She should confront him, she thought angrily, walk out on him, and not worry over what he might do to her.

      Like a predator, he had swooped on her when she was at her lowest; over the years he had moulded her to his will, skilfully quashing all her resistance.

      After Harry was gone, the family rejected her, and the nightmare worsened. For a while, she was totally lost, until Phil Saunders took her under his wing.

      At first he was kind, sometimes funny and wonderful, always there, waiting, watching, ready to take care of her; a much-needed shoulder to cry on. But then slowly, subtly, almost without her realising it, he became her jailer.

      He knew exactly how to torment her mind – about Harry having deserted her, and the callous way in which her family had kicked her onto the streets. He goaded her about the other, faceless men who had used and left her, and other bad things that still haunted her, so much so that she had no self-respect, no sense of identity.

      Phil Saunders had drained her of ambition and purpose. He knew her past. He knew her fears, and for his own gratuitous ends, he had played on those fears until now, she truly believed that no one else would want her – that she was less than worthless.

      Like a young fool she had gone to him – willingly, blindly. More and more she grew to depend on him.

      He had succeeded in that, if nothing else.

      There was a time, long ago, when she lived in hope that something, or somebody, would rescue her. But they never did.

      And why would they?

       PART TWO

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