Chapter 1

A Saturday in September - [Andrew]

The party at my neighbours was getting to the point where I felt excluded and bored. There were a great many young people there and their uninhibited conduct, fuelled by alcohol and illegal substances frustrated me. Most of the people in my age group were talking kids or television or work. I had work to do at home next door, so I decided to sneak out through the end of the garden. I could say thanks to my hostess, Mary later.

The bottom end of the garden was quiet - it was rather neglected and a bit of a push to get to, but there was a gap in the hedge at the bottom that let me through into my own garden. I was moving quietly. Since I was sneaking out, it would have been embarrassing if Mary had spotted me. I stood for a moment, looking over the hedge at my house, reflecting that it needed painting, but that the garden looked pretty good, when I noticed a heap of rags behind a bush at the bottom of my garden. I pushed through and went to tidy up the windblown - what? My mind froze as I got near. It was a body, wasn't it? I pushed under the bush and knelt in shock and confusion. The body stirred and then began a panicked scramble into the further recesses of the bush. It was a girl - it was Elizabeth, my neighbour's daughter, wasn't it? I hardly recognised her - she was bloodstained and filthy, her hair disarrayed and her face a silent scream of terror. She couldn't get further into the bush and fell down, scrabbling at the floor.

"No!" she shouted, "leave me alone. No... No" I realised she couldn't see me against the light.

"Elizabeth", I said, "is that you? It's me Andrew". I'd hoped to reassure her, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. She collapsed on her front and began sobbing.

"Go away! Leave me alone" her voice was muffled but audible.

I'd known Elizabeth for the last eight years, first as a neighbour's twelve-year old child and then as a girl in her own right. She'd been good friends with my wife - they'd walked dogs together and been interested in gardening and a friend to me too - but with an edge - after all I wasn't unsusceptible, despite the difference in our ages. My wife and I had marvelled at the way she had grown into a stunning beauty - fortunately not taking after either of her parents. She was one of those girls who stopped conversation when she entered a room. But at the moment, there was little sign of those good looks. And she'd been around a lot since Barbara died - being kind - helping me to come to terms with loss and loneliness.

"Come on" I coaxed, "come up to the house". The sobbing was now snivelling. Her party dress was crumpled up and I couldn't help admiring her thighs, even in torn tights. Torn tights? What had been going on?

"Elizabeth, Its no good just snivelling" I said, "Come on out and do something about it".

She'd always been a practical and self-possessed girl, so I hoped that hard words might help. There was no way I could get her out of that bush other than dragging her by the ankle.

"Oh you shit!" I heard her say with some relief. At least she could be angry with me.

She rolled onto hands and knees and crawled out. She looked up at me and I knelt beside her. Her anger dissolved into tears. I tentatively put my hand round her shoulders and she looked at me, the epitome of misery. She rolled over to sit against me and said, "Go away" again, but not very resolutely.

I stood up, bent and put an arm under her thighs and another round her shoulders. As I straightened, I thought, "This is where I slip a disk and look a real fool". I stood holding her, getting my balance, because she was no nymph and I'm no Hercules. She saw me grimace and her face crumpled in a parody of a smile.

"How's your hernia?" she said in a feeble attempt at a joke, but then her face crumpled again and she pressed her face against my shirt. She put an arm round my neck and I could feel her body heaving as she sobbed. I carried her slowly up to the house and into the kitchen. She had to open the door, but at least she had stopped crying for now. I put her down and sat her in a chair beside the kitchen table. Ginger the cat leapt up onto the table and purred at her. She feebly raised a hand to stroke the cat and that set her off crying again. Now her hands were shaking and she wrapped her arms round herself and began to rock as she sobbed. She was in shock I thought, startled. What had happened? This was no time to quiz her. There was a woollen blanket over the settee next door. I got it and wrapped it round her shoulders, tucking it round her legs. Booze or tea for shock, I wondered?

There was some whisky next door and I fetched some, mixed it with hot water and a spoonful of honey. I put it on the table for her and she tried to pick it up. Her hand was shaking so much that she had to abandon the attempt. She looked up at me hopelessly. I put my arm round her shoulders and held the glass for her to drink. I was shocked to see that her lips were split and beginning to swell and that her left eye was turning puffy. She sipped the drink, coughed and sipped some more. Her face was smeared with blood from her nose, which had been bleeding. That accounted for the state of her dress. She sipped some more from the glass and followed my gaze to her bloody dress.

"Shit! Shit!" she said, "That was new"

"Let's try a rescue job then" I replied and put the glass down. "Cold water and biological-detergent. Worth a whirl?" She looked interested for a moment and then slumped with weariness and despair.

"What does it matter?" she muttered.

"Well, for one thing, it's a pretty dress" I said, "Come on." Her fingers fumbled feebly at the buttons, but fluttered away. It fastened down the front, so I started at the top and she held her arms out of the way. I tried to avoid looking at her bosom as I undid the top. She was wearing a rather flimsy brassiere that showed her nipples. In fact it left little to the imagination. "What the Hell", I thought; I'd just have a peek at her breasts. They were perfect, or they would have been, except for a big bruise on the top of her left breast. She had been hit hard enough to break the skin, for there was a graze. She was sitting with her eyes closed, waiting for me to finish, so I unbuttoned down to her waist. I fumbled the belt undone and unbuttoned the skirt. It fell apart and she was sitting practically naked in front of me. Her tights were badly torn exposing her thighs and her minimal lacy knickers had been ripped so they covered very little. There were two fist-shaped bruises on her belly and her thighs were bruised and scratched. Despite my shock at the signs of the beating she had received, I was startled to realise that despite the red hair that normally hung like a bell on her shoulders, she had luxuriant black pubic hair that escaped from her knickers and covered the inside of her thighs.

"Oops a daisy" I said, pulling her gently up by the hands. I pushed the blanket and dress off her shoulders and then wrapped the blanket back round her and sat her down again. I offered her the whisky again and she managed to hold if for herself. The glass rattled against her teeth, but she finished it. I put the dress in the sink, ran cold water and read the directions on the detergent packet. I doubled the quantities and stirred it around. When I looked back at her and she was weeping again, huddled in the blanket. I went across and hugged her very gently. She leaned her head against me and her face crumpled in another paroxysm of crying. I stroked her hair for a while until she stopped shuddering. I went up to the bathroom, turned on the heater and ran a bath. A hunt round the cupboards revealed some foam bath salts that had been there since my wife died. I went back and found her hunched miserably where I had left her. I took her hand and on impulse examined the nails. Those on her right hand were broken and there was dried blood beneath them.

She looked at me bleakly, but I only said "Can you walk upstairs to the bathroom? I'd hate to drop you".

"I think so" she said and I helped her to her feet. She could hardly walk and I had to hold her tight as we went upstairs, my arm round her waist. We went into the bathroom and she looked helplessly at me.

"Will you undress me please Andrew?" she begged, "I don't think I've got the strength." The blanket dropped off her shoulders as she held out her arms in supplication, or what? Offering? Despite her damaged state, or possibly because of it, I was suddenly aroused. Undressing her didn't make things any better, but she didn't seem to care. I stood behind her to unfasten her bra and noticed finger marks on her upper arms where she had been held tightly enough to bruise. The bra came off and she let the straps slide down her arms. I stood beside her and hooked my fingers in the waistband of her tights. It was impossible to avoid sliding my fingers down her buttocks and I thought I felt her press herself against my hand. I gathered the remains of her knickers and pulled them down with her tights. I knelt in front of her to get them down her thighs and her calves. Oh! Those legs were perfect, or would have been if it hadn't been for the bruises and scratches. She staggered as she raised her leg to let me take the tights off and I grabbed her to stop her falling. My hand went round one thigh onto the back of the other and my thumb pressed hard up into her groin. Her weight was on me and I couldn't move. She got her balance and I removed my thumb. She looked at me and grinned.

"Whoops!" she said. I gulped and removed her foot from that leg of the tights. She put her hand on my head to keep her balance while I did the other leg, acutely conscious of her bush, level with my eyes. She had freckles on her tummy! I stood up, conscious also of my erect penis pushing against the front of my trousers. I held her hand while she stepped stiffly into the bath. She groaned as she sat down and the hot water soaked her bruises and scratches.

"Right." I said, "Another drink?" She nodded.

"Do you want a doctor?" I asked, but she shook her head and sighed.

"No, you seem to be the doctor I need. Thank you" I got up and she said, "Don't leave me".

"Only for a minute" I told her and went and got her another drink - just whisky and water this time - and a beer for myself. She had her eyes closed when I came back. The foam had subsided a bit and her breasts were floating visibly, the nipples soft and pink above the water. She opened her eyes and looked at me appraising? Speculating? I couldn't understand her look. Her eyes were green, I decided, grey-green, the left one beginning to close. She took the drink and sipped.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" I asked. She put her dripping hand out in a gesture of gratitude. I knelt beside her and shampooed her gently, removing bits of twig and leaf from her sojourn in the bush. I carefully wiped her face, removing blood and dirt and washing her ears.

"It's like being a little girl again" she said, "it's years since I had my ears washed."

"H'm" I said, "not so very like a little girl", looking at her nipples floating near my hand. She paddled some foam over them playfully.

"You're very kind" she said and closed her eyes again. I rinsed her hair and found a towel to turban it. I sat on the edge of the bath with a nail file and reached over for her right hand. The foam was going and her body was tantalisingly visible beneath the slightly grubby water. Her breasts were soft spheres, with small pink aureoles and nipples. Her legs were parted a little and I thought I could just see the lips of her labia among her amazing bush. I held her small soft hand and did what I could to repair her broken nails.

"Best I can do. " I sighed, putting the hand back on her tummy and taking the other one. "I hope he gets blood poisoning. Joseph?" She nodded and sighed.

"Yes" she said, "Bloody Joseph. Bloody me. Oh shit!" And she began to cry again. The tears streamed down her face as she lay there. She pulled her hand away and sat up to fling her arms round me, almost pulling me into the bath. I held her naked body as she wailed and shook. I could feel her breasts pressed against me.

"Oh God", she said, varying the epithet, "It's all a mess. What am I going to do?" About what, I wondered, but just held her while she sobbed. She let go of me and sank back into the water, sniffing and hiccoughing. I ran some more hot water for her and she took another gulp of whisky.

"Now you're all wet" she said waving a hand at my shirt.

"Never mind, I'll dry. Give me your hand" She put her hand out and I took it.

"Where's the nail file?" We both peered into the water.

"Down here somewhere, I think" she said and reached between her legs. As she parted them to fish for the file, her vulva parted bright pink from the heat of the water. It was startling among that mat of black pubic hair lying sleekly with the wet. Was she teasing me deliberately I wondered. She gave me the file and lay back. Her left hand wasn't so bad, thought the nails were now too soft to do a very neat job. A right-handed scratcher, I thought.

"Talk about it?" I suggested gently, raising my eyebrows.

"I suppose so," she said, dully. She lay in silence for a long time and I kept hold of her hand. Eventually, she began to speak quietly, not looking at me.

"There's not much to talk about," she said. "I encouraged Joseph, you know." She was embarrassed, but then decided not hold back.

"I unzipped him while no-one was looking and touched him." She giggled.

"I think he was shocked because I'd always resisted before. Anyway I did intend to let him..." She hesitated, carefully choosing her next word. "... fuck me."

Another pause.

"Well, I think I meant to. Anyway, I took him down the garden - you know how secret it is down there. I think it might have been all right, but he was so - urgent - rough. He mauled me and I froze. I couldn't think and he was so strong."

I could vouch for that. He was built like a wrestler. An arrogant bastard I'd always thought, never understanding what Elizabeth saw in him. I was no wiser now.

"He tried to rape me" she continued, "and I thought he was going to succeed. You know, I didn't want to scream because it would have been embarrassing. God, the things that go through your mind at times of crisis!" She was contemptuous of herself and looked at me philosophically for a moment before looking away again.

"I scratched him and he hit me. I panicked, because he really hit me. Hard. I honestly thought he was going to kill me. Then I bit his nose and went for his eyes with my fingernails." She laughed a little wry laugh.

"I think that scared him. His face was bleeding, but I think I missed his eyes. He pushed me so hard, I went through the hedge. I just lay there waiting for him. I couldn't have raised a finger. He could have done what he wanted. But he didn't come after me. I've no idea why not and I don't know where he went. He must have gone out into the lane - his car was there. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him." She was silent for a long time.

"I crawled under that bush and just lay there. I think I was half-asleep. I never heard you coming. Thought it was him coming back. God, you gave me a fright." She was crying again and brushed at the tears impatiently.

"I can't stop crying," she said and then more pensively, "I wonder why we cry. What good does it do? I'm in shock I suppose."

"What do you want to do?" I asked, "about Joseph?"

"Nothing. Bloody nothing, nothing, nothing! It was my own fault - at least partly. I mustn't let David know. He'd probably go after Joseph and get himself beaten up or arrested or something."

David was her brother and had even less love for Joseph than I did. We sat in silence for a while and her eyes closed. I stirred the water.

"Come on, Elizabeth" I said, "the water's getting cold and you're going all wrinkled. Can you wash your other bits for yourself."

She pouted and said, "I was enjoying being washed. You've no idea how comforting it is to be looked after. Won't you finish me off, please." My ghast was thoroughly flabbered by this outrageous suggestion and I flared angrily.

"Elizabeth! No wonder you get yourself nearly raped! What do you think I feel?"

Mistake. I knew it as soon as I said it. I saw the hurt look crumple her face and the tears start and then a blaze of anger.

"You rat-bag! You..." she paused, half sitting up in the bath, her breasts bristling with rage. I was fascinated to see that her nipples had erected. She gathered herself and sat up to face me.

"How dare you think I'd do this with anyone. I mean..." she hesitated, her anger suddenly dying as she realised what she was saying, then trailed off

"... I feel safe with you." We looked at each other. What was going on in her head, I wondered?

As lightly as I could, I said, "You mean I'm so old that I couldn't possibly be a threat to women any more. By the way, do your nipples always stick up when you're mad?" She looked down, giggled and slid back under the water. Phew! Things back to where we were, I thought, but was I supposed to wash her? She made that clear by reaching for the cloth and passing it to me and then sitting up. I began soaping her back and shoulders.

"You know," she said, raising an arm for me to soap it, "you're the only person who calls me 'Elizabeth'. I hate being called 'Lizzie', but it seems to be stuck."

Her armpits were unshaven, the hair soft and silky and nearly the same colour as her hair. I washed her other arm and then there was nothing left above the water to wash except her breasts. I began soaping them with the cloth, but she said "Ouch. That's too rough. Use your hand."

Oh well. And I began to gently rub her breasts.

"Do tits turn you on?" she asked, conversationally and then added, "When I said I felt 'safe' with you, I didn't mean 'safe' exactly." I was mystified and stopped rubbing her breasts.

"They're clean now, " she said, "my breasts, I mean. Do they turn you on?" She raised a leg out of the water and I started nervously at the foot end, trying to keep my eyes off the inside of her thigh. I had to clear my throat before I could answer her question.

"Well, only as part of the package, so to speak. A tit on its own would be rather dull" Best I could manage in the circumstances.

"Good!" she said, " men are always mauling them and it doesn't do anything for me. Its nice to know that it doesn't do anything for you either." I forbore to point out that I hadn't said that at all. I'd washed both legs by now, chickening out at the middle of her thighs.

"That's all I can get at" I told her.

"Didn't try very hard," she said, "Now, help me. My thighs have stiffened up." I helped her to stand up, a creaking dripping Venus, moving like an old woman. She took the soap and washed herself between the legs, then soaped her buttocks.

She looked up at me and said, "Stop gawping. An old married man like you must have seen a girl washing before now." But not this particular girl, I thought. "Now, rinse me off" she ordered. Feeling better now.

I rinsed her off with the shower spray, not even flinching when she parted buttocks and legs. Then I helped her out and she leaned wetly against me. She was suddenly shivering despite the warmth and her teeth began to chatter.

"God," she muttered, "I'm a wreck. I think I'm going to faint." She sat down hastily on the loo seat and I held her, reaching for a towel to wrap her up. I helped her dry herself.

"Do you want to go to bed?" I asked her and she shook her head.

"I'll find you some clothes then. You OK?" She was looking white and shaky, but nodded. I'd never had the determination to clear out my wife's clothes, so I found some knickers, a skirt, blouse and sweater. She looked at them for a moment but said nothing. I put the knickers round her ankles and pulled them up above her knees. She pulled them up and they fitted well enough. I offered her the brassiere but she shook her head. I helped her dress in silence. Her mood had swung from flirtation to gloom. I found the hair drier and plugged it in for her. My watch said it was six o'clock, three hours since I'd left the party.

"I'd better tell Mary where you are." I said. She looked at me hopelessly.

"I suppose so. Dry my hair for me, my arms are too stiff." I undid the towel and her hair tumbled out. I began to disentangle it and dry it.

"I only had it done yesterday" she'd started crying again, "just to please Joseph. Oh shit!" She lashed out with her foot in rage, kicked the side of the bath and howled with pain. I abandoned her hair and held her shaking body until she was calm again. She looked up at me and I thought she looked as despairing as I'd ever seen anyone look.

"Andrew, help me" Her fingers were digging into my arms. "Don't tell Mum how bad I am. Let me stay here tonight" She was trembling and looked relieved when I nodded, too worried to speak. Did she really think I'd refuse? I was now beginning to worry about her mental state. All this emotion seemed more than the shock of the attempted rape could account for. She'd always seemed such a practical, sensible girl.

Perhaps she was a thought-reader too, because she grinned and patted my arm.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to crack up on you. At least I hope I'm not. I just need a bit to get myself straight." We went back to drying her hair. She sat in a trance while I turned the rats' tails into a semblance of their normal beauty.

She put her hand up and felt, then said "Enough."

I passed her a brush and said, "I'll ring Mary then." I found drying her hair quite erotic enough and I needed a breather too. I left her making an effort to brush her hair and went downstairs.

"Mary, this is Andrew." Mary is a bit of a chatterbox.

"Oh hi. I noticed that you'd abandoned us. I'm sorry if you were bored, but thanks for coming..."

"Mary!" I interrupted her and she went silent. Chatterbox, but sensitive too. "Mary, I've got Elizabeth here."

"What? Lizzie? No, she's gone off somewhere with Joseph - hasn't she?"

"Nope. She's over here. Look..." I was gathering my thoughts and Mary panicked at my hesitation.

"What? Is she all right? What's happening? I'll come over."

"No!" I said. "All under control." Who am I kidding? I thought. "Stay put. She and Joseph had a fight."

The mother hen broke in with anxiety for her chick. "What? Fight? That arrogant bastard! Is she all right? What happened?"

Elizabeth had come into the room, a waif in bare feet and a pullover too big for her. That expression 'my heart turned over' is remarkably close to the actual feeling.

"Well, no bones broken, but she's a bit shook up" The shook up Elizabeth had sat down beside my legs and passed me the hairbrush. "And not fit to be seen in public." I peered down at Elizabeth. "Black eye, split lips, bloody nose, scratches and bruises... no she doesn't want anything doing about Joseph... and you're not to let David know."

Mary was spluttering a bit and I started to brush Elizabeth's hair. She'd already got the tangles out, so it was more of a comfort brushing. "No, it happened at the bottom of your garden, I found her as I left the party... no she wasn't raped... well she's had a bath and a drink... shocked badly... no I think she's over the worst... no she wants to stay here... yes that fine by me, plenty of room."