Desperate Measures. Kitty Neale

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       Chapter Eight

      Paula nervously left her flat on Monday morning, constantly glancing behind her as she hurried to the bus stop on East Hill. As usual she was dressed dowdily Before it happened, before Ian Parker had raped her, she’d been full of confidence, wearing the latest fashions, like most girls, proudly showing off her shapely legs in miniskirts. She had enjoyed a laugh, nights out, and her friends had likened her to the pop singer Lulu. Paula couldn’t sing, but had to admit that there was a slight resemblance in their build and features.

      When her mother remarried and moved out of London, she’d been glad to remain in the capital, finding a little bedsit close to Clapham Junction. She liked her independence, loved being able to hop on a bus over to the King’s Road and Carnaby Street, but now the latest trends held no interest. A young man was walking towards her and Paula cringed, folding in on herself until he passed. At last she reached the bus stop to see one of the girls who worked at the factory already waiting.

      ‘Watcha. Did you have a nice weekend?’

      Paula just nodded, feeling nothing in common with the fashionably dressed girl of similar age.

      ‘I went to a new shop that’s opened in Kensington High Street. Biba, it’s called and you should see it. The décor’s all black, in the 1930s’ style, with potted palms and loads of hat-stands festooned with feather boas. It was packed, especially in the communal changing room, but the clothes are fantastic. I got a great dress and wore it to the Hammersmith Palais on Saturday night.’

      Paula eyes were fixed ahead, saved from answering as a bus drew up. She stood back to let the other girl get on first, relieved when she called, ‘I’m going upstairs for a ciggie.’

      Paula wanted to smoke too, but unwilling to chat to the young girl she stayed downstairs, relieved to find a seat next to an older woman. Her thoughts drifted to Betty, a woman she had liked, one who had held her, comforted her when she cried. Unlike her own mother, Betty had appeared warm and caring, her sympathy genuine. It had been six months since she’d seen her mother, but that wasn’t unusual. On rare occasions she travelled to Essex to see her, but never felt welcome as her mother’s life now revolved around her new husband.

      Paula had no idea who her father was, and had given up asking. From what she’d seen of her mother’s life, the men who had come and gone, she doubted if her mother even knew which one had fathered her.

      When the bus pulled up at a stop a passenger got on, taking a seat in front of her. Paula took one look at the back of his head and her heart stopped. He had red hair and that was enough to bring back the nightmare. She’d been so stupid, mad to be impressed that Ian Parker had a car. When he’d asked to take her home from the dance she had jumped at the chance, and he’d seemed so nice, with green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Ian Parker was over six feet tall and she’d felt diminutive beside him as they walked to his car, but he hadn’t driven home. Instead he’d taken her to Clapham Common, pulling up in a secluded side road. At first she hadn’t been nervous, and had in fact felt excited when he pulled her into his arms. Even when he tried it on she hadn’t panicked, used to boys’ fumbling attempts and how to put an end to them. As soon as his hand went up her skirt, she had shoved it away, and when he immediately stopped, she felt safe, in control. He had then suggested getting out of the car, saying that as it was such a warm, clear night, they would be able to see the stars, something he professed an interest in. She’d agreed, but that moment, that one decision, had changed her life. Something had been taken away from her – something she could never get back.

      Paula shivered, the scene playing over and over in her mind as her hands wrung in her lap. They had walked onto the common, Ian pointing out the Milky Way and other formations. She’d been impressed with his knowledge, trying her best to sound intelligent, but then shortly afterwards he struck. She’d been forced onto the grass, Ian’s hands pushing up her skirt, pulling at her knickers, ignoring her kicks and screams of pain as he entered her. She’d been left broken, sobbing, whilst he just walked away, never once looking back.

      ‘Are you all right, ducks?’ the elderly woman sitting beside Paula asked.

      It was only then that Paula became aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She fumbled for a handkerchief, wiped them away and managed to croak, ‘Yes,’ before rising swiftly to her feet, heading for the platform and willing the bus to stop.

      It slowed on the approach to some traffic lights and Paula jumped off, relieved to find that it wasn’t far to the factory. She clocked in, glad that she had managed to pull herself together as she entered the machine room. God, would she ever get over what Ian Parker had done to her? Would it always haunt her? And at the moment it wasn’t her mother she longed for – it was the comfort of Betty Grayson’s arms.