Chapter 74: Victoria Schormann

Ashford: Tuesday, October 21st

‘What’s the big deal?’ River leant against the kitchen door-frame. He took a long drag from his spliff, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It’s only a shag.’ His voice was strained as he held onto the smoke before letting it trickle out of his nostrils. ‘Or two.’

He threw the tab-end onto the flags, ground it beneath his sandal and took a couple of steps into the room, pulling the door behind him and wedging a chair under the handle.

Victoria dropped the tie-dyed skirt she’d been washing into the sudsy water in the tin washtub, and whirled around to face him, wiping her hands on her purple chiffon kaftan . ‘Take one step towards me and you’ll be sorry,’ she said. She cursed inwardly in disbelief; she’d spent the last few days making sure she was never alone. Ignoring the snide whispers behind her back that she’d been ‘let go’ by Seth, she made herself stay with the other girls, whatever they were doing. But this morning she’d made the mistake of assuming River would still be in his bed.

His face was impassive as he watched her glancing around for something she could protect herself with. The only thing that looked any good was the thick rounders bat that someone had once found and brought to the commune to be used to pummel the washing in the large metal tubs.

He moved closer. She could smell his odour; the mix of sweat and bad breath made her want to heave. She inched sideways, feeling with her hand along the draining-board whilst still keeping her eyes on his. The sunlight from the window behind her lit up his greasy hair and the grime in his lined features.

He moved again, this time so close he was almost touching; Victoria turned her head away from him but could still see him from the corner of her eye. He was a tall skinny man but deceptively strong, she guessed; there would be no way she could fight him. She had to get hold of the bat. Her fingers scrabbled for it.

Then his hand came down on hers. ‘No you don’t, missy.’ His voice was gruff, his breath hot on her ear.

Putting both hands on his chest Victoria shoved him, grabbed the bat and, with a shout, brought it down on him. It missed his head and landed on his shoulder. She thought she heard a crack beneath his shout of rage and pain. She lifted her weapon again, enjoying the surge of anger in her.

This time he caught hold of her hair and dragged her head back, wrenching the rounders bat from her and flinging it across the room.

Flailing out at him, Victoria was forced to her knees. ‘Let me go!’ The anger dissipated just as quickly as it had come. She heard the tremor of fear in her voice. Not this, she thought, not this.

Somewhere there was chattering and laughter, somewhere a guitar played, somewhere outside birds sang.

She should have hit him harder. Even as she thought it, Victoria knew it was hopeless; he was too strong. She tried to stand but he forced her back down, crushing the bones in her wrist with his grip. He tugged at the back of her woollen waistcoat, her kaftan. She wrenched her neck from side to side, held on to the front of her clothes with her free hand, trying to stop him pulling them over her head.

He let go of her wrist and gave a last pull until the sleeves of the waistcoat and kaftan were bunched over her arms pinning them together in front of her. Victoria was naked except for her knickers. Panting, she kicked out at him, twisting and turning, aiming for his crotch but he avoided her feet, dropping to his knees at the side of her and forcing her arms upwards until, wrapping her clothes around the iron legs of the sink, he tied them in tight knots.

Victoria didn’t scream; she knew there was no point. It hadn’t taken her long to see that the girls were scared of River, that they were glad he wanted her and not them. Nobody would come to help her.

He got hold of her legs and dragged her onto her back. The grit on the stone flags burned her skin. She put her feet flat on the floor and tried to push herself back into a sitting position but he knelt astride her hips, holding her down with his legs and, at the same time, whipping his grubby kaftan over his head. He wore nothing underneath and he was ready for her.

When he forced her legs apart Victoria closed her eyes and let her body go limp. His weight held her down as he pushed himself into her. She tried not to hear the grunts of each thrust, the regular scrape of the toe of his sandals on the floor. The tears slid sideways off her face as she stared at the dirty floor, the mouse-droppings, the pile of clothes and worn blankets waiting to be washed.

After the final groan River was silent except for the quick drawing-in and letting-go of his breath. Victoria felt him loosen the knot that tied her to the sink, heard the rustle of clothes, the scuffle of his feet, the squeak of the chair being pulled from the door, the click of the handle.

When she was sure he’d left, she opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet. Then she stepped into the washtub and squatted down into the cold water.