The following Wednesday, I made my way to a church hall behind Euston station, in two minds about whether I wanted to be there at all. I’d picked up a leaflet from a local café the previous morning on my way to work, when I was buying coffee as a substitute for breakfast. I’d discovered my fridge was empty the night before but the shop was a ten-minute walk. It would be the height of stupidity to offer myself up to whoever wanted me dead for the sake of a meal, I’d decided, and then lay awake cursing myself for being a coward instead.
The leaflet was a cheerful yellow with a row of silhouetted figures punching and kicking along the top and bottom.
Self-Defence Classes!
Learn to defend yourself
Get fit and have fun!
WOMEN ONLY
Drop in – No Need to Book
£10 per session/10 sessions for £80
7pm
Wear comfortable clothing and trainers!
Experienced Female Instructors!
No equipment or experience required.
I wasn’t convinced that there was a lot of point in a self-defence class; it would have done nothing to help Belinda as she plunged into the path of a lorry, and I knew Vicki had fought hard for her life. The words of the pathologist’s report I’d nagged out of Jennifer Gold kept repeating in my mind: defence wounds to her forearms and hands … deep wounds to her chest and abdomen. The tendons in three of her fingers were cut … I had no illusion that I could do any better. But it was something to do instead of hiding in my flat, waiting for the next attack.
I dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt and my big parka, and set out into the dark and drizzling night. Belinda was on my mind, but it was Vicki who haunted me. Pure chance that she’d been in my flat, pure chance that she’d answered the door instead of me.
It should have been me.
London was full of surprises and the church was no exception. It wasn’t a heavy, pillared affair as I’d expected but a 1960s building that seemed to have sunk into the ground under the weight of its drum-shaped nave. There was no sign of a hall though. After wandering around it for a bit I realised the church hall was actually underneath the church itself. I made my way down the steps and stopped at the door to read the notices pinned to it, playing for time. I could still double back, I reminded myself. No one knew I was supposed to be there; I hadn’t needed to book. In the meantime, the handwritten notices gave me something to look at. Do-gooders fed the homeless every day from the kitchen at one end of the room, but a glance through the glass set into the door confirmed it was shuttered now. There was a drop-in play session twice a week for carers and toddlers. A further notice informed me that Monday nights were devoted to Irish Dancing, Tuesdays to English Language Lessons, Wednesdays to Self-Defence and Thursdays to Swing Classes. Would I, I wondered, prefer to put myself through this self-defence class or swing-dancing? Given my lack of coordination, I would probably be at more risk of hurting myself at the dance lessons.
Two women came down the stairs behind me, chatting and laughing. They were large, cosy women, cheerful and loud, mid-twenties and full of confidence.
‘All right, love? Going in?’
‘Is this where the self-defence classes are?’ I asked.
‘That’s the one. Come on. It’s fun. They don’t bite.’ The first woman put a hand on the door, pausing to examine her heavily detailed manicure. ‘That jewel’s gone, look. Fell right off. What’s the point in that?’
‘I told you it wasn’t worth the extra,’ her friend said.
‘I’m going back in to complain.’
‘You should. You should get your money back for that.’
‘I will.’
Assertiveness didn’t seem to be a problem for either of them; if this was what the class could do for you, I was signing up for ten sessions immediately.
The aggrieved woman shoved the door open and a gust of air greeted me that was familiar from every other parish hall I’d ever been in: equal parts mince, dust and holiness. The room itself had institutional cream walls that were in need of a paint, a sprung wooden floor and pavement-level windows just under the ceiling. Pedestrians hurried past, visible from the ankles down.
‘Hi, Cookie. Hi, June.’ A tiny woman with cropped fair hair was dragging mats off a stack in the corner. She was pure muscle and no nonsense in a favourite-gym-teacher kind of way: discreet stud earrings, no make-up, the tanned skin of the outdoors athlete and a smile with double dimples like inverted commas around it. ‘Give me a hand, girls.’
The two women pushed past me and took charge of the mats, giggling and shoving each other around. The blonde woman dusted off her hands on the seat of her tracksuit bottoms and turned to me. ‘We haven’t seen you here before, have we?’
‘First time.’
‘You’re very welcome. I’m Kate.’
‘Ingrid.’
She turned her back to the others who were starting to arrive and dropped her voice to a murmur that couldn’t be overheard. ‘Any particular reason for wanting to be here?’
‘Not really,’ I lied.
‘Any issue with having a male instructor?’
‘Er … no. But I thought – the leaflet said it was all women?’
‘I usually teach this class with my friend Tara, but she’s away this week so I’ve asked a mate of mine to come along and stand in for her. He’s really just here so we can beat him up.’ Her eyes tracked over my shoulder and she grinned, the skin around her eyes fanning into creases. ‘I was just saying, Ben, you’ve come along so we can practise our moves on you, haven’t you?’
‘It’s a pleasure.’
I turned, pushing my hood back, and found myself staring at the dark-haired man from the scaffolding accident – the man who I thought had followed me through the Temple. My whole body jerked in shock.
To give him credit, he looked as horrified as me. He froze in the act of lowering his kit bag from his shoulder.
‘Do you two know each other?’ Kate was looking from him to me.
‘No,’ I said blankly. ‘Not really. We met once.’
‘Sort of. You were pretty shaken, as I recall. Not what I’d call a proper meeting.’
I nodded.
‘Can I have a word, Kate?’ He took her by the elbow, guiding her as far away from me as possible. He was speaking rapidly and earnestly as she listened, and nodded, and shook her head once.
He looked awfully like the man I’d seen in the Temple – the man John Webster had scared away – but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be sure of anything.
If I was a predator, I might volunteer with scared women. I might find out more about them than they realised. I might gain their trust.
I could leave, it occurred to me. No one would come after me if I just walked out; there would be no repercussions.
I tore my eyes away from him to find that Cookie and June had ground to a halt in their mat-laying, the better to stare at him.
‘He’s all right,’ Cookie pronounced.
‘Too short for me.’
‘You’re so picky.’
‘Well, you have to be, don’t you? Or what’s the point?’ The two of them cackled happily.
From the expression on Ben’s face he hadn’t been expecting to see me any more than I had expected to see him. If he’d been following me, he’d have known I was there. And I didn’t know he had been in the Temple. Paranoia could convince me he was dangerous when there was no evidence at all to prove it.
I occupied myself by shoving a tenner into the tin by the door and draping my coat over a chair.
Whatever he was talking to Kate about, they came to an agreement. He settled himself in the corner on a plastic chair, concentrating on his phone rather than the class. I felt myself relax a fraction. I had been afraid of being watched, I realised, but he couldn’t have looked less interested. Kate looked around at the twenty or so women who had gathered since I arrived – all ages and races and sizes. She clapped her hands.
‘Right. Most of you have been here before, I think. Any first-timers?’
A pale, wan girl put her hand up tentatively, and I waved too.
‘You’ll get the hang of it quickly enough. Let’s get ourselves warmed up and focused. Spread out, please. Give yourselves some room to swing your arms.’
The chatting died down as we sorted ourselves out and began to copy her in a series of stretches and exercises. I had found a place near the back of the room where I could see most of the class failing to keep time with Kate. Coordination was an issue for most of the participants, and flexibility. I started to feel better about my skill level. Kate was endlessly encouraging and missed nothing, barking at me to look where I was punching instead of staring into space. She came and stood behind me with her hands on my hips and swung me into the move.
‘The punch comes up from your feet, not your shoulder. Turn into it. Use your hips and abs to power it.’
I felt the difference immediately, and said so.
She nodded. ‘That’s it. You’re a quick learner.’
She gave us moves to practise in pairs, such as dragging our hands out of an assailant’s grasp by drawing them in and down instead of pushing away. It was surprisingly effective. ‘Use their own force against them! They’ll be pressing inwards to control you so go with it. Assume they’re stronger than you – don’t test your strength against them because you’ll just get tired.’
Kate’s emphasis was strongly on getting free and running away but she had a few aggressive moves too. I liked the hammer strike, driving the side of a fist into the attacker. ‘Better if you have keys in your hand! You’ll see people recommend putting the keys between your fingers but that’s fiddly – bunch the keys in your fist and you won’t drop them. And make some noise. Get used to shouting. When you’re afraid, your vocal cords tighten up and you’ll find it harder to get a deep breath, so you won’t be able to shout as easily. The more noise you make, the more likely it is that you’ll attract attention. Attackers don’t like noise.’
Vicki hadn’t made a sound, according to my neighbours.
All around me, the women were yelling and shouting, but I couldn’t join in. Neither could the wan girl, who had sought me out so we could trade pretend punches and kicks. Her name was Laura, she whispered shyly, and she was there to get more confidence. She seemed even less prepared than me for physical exertion; she had come straight from work in neat trousers and a cardigan, with suede loafers instead of trainers.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ I pushed my hair back with my wrist, unsticking it from my forehead. ‘God, it’s warm in here.’
‘Boiling.’
‘Let’s take a break,’ Kate called, and I joined a queue for cups of tepid tap water.
‘Get your drinks and take a seat around the edge of the room,’ Kate said. ‘Ben, your time has come.’
He jumped up, swinging his arms and stretching as he bounced around. Kate watched him with her arms folded. ‘Ben is a nice guy, but tonight he’s going to be a violent and threatening attacker.’
‘Ooooh,’ the class chorused, as if this was a pantomime. I said nothing.
‘So where are we going to hit him?’ she asked.
‘Eyes,’ a tiny Asian woman called.
‘Throat!’
‘Get him in the balls,’ Cookie suggested. The watching women giggled.
‘And the nose.’ Kate mimed a heel palm strike to the centre of Ben’s face and he threw his head back obligingly, staggering away from her. ‘He goes back, you turn and run. Don’t waste your time trying to kick him or injure him further. Make space and go. A kick to the groin is a good move but you’ll probably be off balance when you deliver it. If you miss and he grabs your foot’ – she kicked out and he twisted to catch it on his thigh, his fingers trapping her ankle at the same time – ‘you end up in this situation,’ Kate finished. ‘Can I have my foot back?’
I expected him to drop it instantly, and I think Kate did too, but he lifted it instead until she was hopping to keep her balance. His face was a sneer, suddenly, and we went quiet because it was a reminder that even Kate wasn’t quite a match for his physical dominance.
‘See? There isn’t a lot I can do. He’s out of reach so I can’t punch or shove him.’ She used him as leverage for a jump and kicked him hard in the chest with her free foot. He let go as she turned in the air and landed, springing away as we cheered.
‘Ow.’ He rubbed the middle of his torso.
‘I asked nicely first.’
Go, Kate.
‘It’s all right for you to do that kind of stuntwoman move, but I wouldn’t be able.’ The comment came from a grandmotherly woman with tight iron-grey curls.
‘I don’t suggest you ladies try that now, but if you keep coming to class, who knows what you might achieve.’ She grinned, well aware that what she had just done was showing off. ‘The main point to remember is that you don’t want to offer your opponent any advantage at all, so don’t be aggressive unless you need to be. Defend yourself and give yourself a chance to get away.’ Kate turned her back on Ben. ‘Right. Try to pick me up.’
He pounced on her, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug, and she bent forward. Suddenly his size wasn’t an advantage, I saw, as he almost overbalanced. She threw an elbow that caught him just under the jaw, and slammed her fist back, stopping just short of his crotch.
‘Oof.’ He slid his hand in between her fist and his tracksuit bottoms and moved her hand away with great care. ‘That was a close one.’
‘If I’d made contact, I’d have taken his mind off whatever he was planning to do. And now,’ Kate addressed the class, ‘if someone grabs you by the wrists from behind …’
Ben did as he was told and Kate swivelled on the spot. He got a shoulder in the chest followed by an elbow in the stomach and a knee that made contact with his forehead with an audible thud. He fell back, sprawling on the ground. ‘I give up.’
‘We haven’t even started.’ Kate grabbed his hand and pulled him back up. ‘There are no quitters here and that includes you, Ben.’
She beckoned to the nearest student, a competent-looking woman in her forties. ‘Let’s try you out. See what you’ve learned.’
One by one, the class went up and grappled with him as Kate shouted instructions and advice. I stood by the wall, watching with increasing unease. I did not want Ben to touch me, I realised.
‘Ingrid!’ Kate beckoned. ‘You’re up.’
I hesitated. Ben smiled at me.
‘Come on. All over in a minute.’
‘I bet that’s what you say to all the girls,’ Cookie drawled and there was a general shout of laughter. He grinned at her, then looked back at me and the smile faded from his face, leaving his eyes first.
I stepped forward.
‘Okay. Ben is going to grab you from behind.’ Kate steadied me, her eyes locked on mine. ‘Remember what you’ve learned. Create space, move away.’
I barely heard her over the thumping of my heart. The space between my shoulder blades tingled in anticipation of the moment when I would be caught, and held, and have to fight my way out. Three … two …
And Kate nodded at me, smiling …
‘I can’t do this.’ I half-turned and shoved Ben away from me before he could make contact. He stepped back smartly, concern now uppermost on his face. With speed that was as much from embarrassment as fear, I bolted towards the door, grabbing my parka on the way out.
‘Ingrid—’ The door slammed behind me, cutting off Kate’s voice and the class’s sympathetic murmuring. I hurled myself up the steps and onto the street, where I headed in the opposite direction from home. The drizzle had turned to rain, heavy and cold. I ran through it, letting it drench my hair and run down my face.