Chapter Six

I TRUDGED up the stairs to my room and found some dry clothes. I took them into the bathroom and spent several minutes standing motionless under the hot shower until I warmed up. I dried and dressed and peered at myself in the mirror until I realized I couldn’t delay any longer. I didn’t want to talk to Shirley about this, but I knew she wouldn’t let it go. She rarely said much to me, but she had expressed concern once or twice about my endless trips into town. She and Sarah knew I went to La Rues, and my lack of relationships and the things I said to Sarah gave away what I was up to.

I combed my fingers through my hair and made my way downstairs. Each step reminded me of the hunk in the toilet and the derogatory way he’d spoken to me. My lower back hurt, and I knew I’d feel like shit the next day. It wasn’t helped by the punch I’d taken to the stomach. At least I had an excuse to give Shirley as to why I was limping.

I found her still in the dining room, with two mugs of hot chocolate on the table. I sat down opposite her and avoided her eyes. I felt ashamed even before she opened her mouth. I was mortified that my false sense of confidence had made me end up like this.

“Tommy, how badly are you hurt?” Shirley asked gently.

“I’m fine, really. Two drunks turned on me. I got a couple of punches, but then they left me alone, and the police found me. I’ll have a bruise...” I rubbed my face. “... but it’s really not that bad.”

“Right. Did you get descriptions or anything?”

“No.”

Shirley sighed heavily. “I know I’m not your mother–”

“You’re the closest thing I have to a mother,” I interrupted. I felt a pang of sadness as I thought of my own mother. She’d been gone almost thirteen years. I wondered what she would have thought if she could see me now. I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut for a second.

“Tommy, I’m worried about you,” Shirley said. “I know you go to that club and meet a lot of different... people.”

“I have friends who go there,” I lied.

“Friends? Then why do we never see any of them? Or even hear about them? Look... what you do is your business. You’re twenty-three years old now. But what concerns me is that you seem so desperate for company. Desperate to the extent that you went out with all those men who didn’t seem suitable for you and now... well, let’s just say Sarah’s as worried about you as I am.”

“You talked about me?” I gasped in horror. I could feel my face burning in embarrassment, and I stared down at the table.

“We care about you, sweetheart. You’re part of the family, and when there’s something so obviously wrong, of course we talk about it. We’ve been wondering what we can do to help.”

“I’m okay.” I picked up the mug of chocolate and sipped some. “I won’t be going out much from now on.”

“Is that because you were attacked?”

“Not really. I’ll always have to deal with homophobic people, wherever I go. I just mean I’m sick of doing... what I was doing. So you don’t have to worry about me. I was just trying to find someone to... um... go out with. That club isn’t the best place to do it.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“Can I go now?”

“In a minute. If all this—the way you’ve been carrying on—is anything to do with how that Colin treated you, then maybe it’s time you talked about it.”

“Oh, God,” I groaned. “The last thing I want to talk about is him.”

“Maybe not, but maybe it’ll help. I’m not suggesting you tell me all about it, or even Sarah if you don’t want. But maybe there’s someone you know who would understand this.”

I raised my head at last and met her eyes. I really didn’t want to talk about Colin, or even think about him, but he did keep forcing his way into my mind, and it would soon be a year since I left. She might be right.

I thought about Margaret, my colleague at work. She’d told me if I ever needed to talk about what happened, she would understand. Perhaps it was worth a try. She might be able to point me in the right direction to feeling better about everything.

I finished my chocolate, gave Shirley a New Year hug, and went up to bed. By the time I lay down, I ached all over, and when I woke in the morning my face was badly bruised and my insides felt as if they’d been rearranged. I spent most of the day in my room, and when Sarah got home around lunchtime, she came to join me.

“You look awful,” she said as soon as she saw me.

“Yeah, thanks. Happy New Year to you, too.”

“Tommy, what happened? Mum said you got beaten up and brought home by the police!”

“Two drunks saw me near La Rues and decided to use me as a punching bag.” I shrugged despondently. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay. Mum said she talked to you when you came in. I didn’t tell her a lot, by the way.”

“What did you tell her exactly?”

“Well, not that you meet men just to have sex,” Sarah said in a low voice. “I think she has an idea, though. It’s been ages since you’ve dated anyone, but you’re always at that club.”

“Please. Spare me the lecture,” I grumbled. “Like I said to your mum, I’m not going to be doing that anymore. I worked it out for myself. I’m a slut. Okay?”

“I don’t think that. I think Colin made you feel worthless, and all these blokes make you feel wanted. Am I right?”

“God, Sarah,” I groaned. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Okay. Sorry. Are you all right, though? After last night?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I was relieved when she dropped the subject. I’d been close to blurting out exactly how I felt about everything.

“Good. So, what do you think of this?” She passed me a leaflet I hadn’t noticed she had with her. It was about a martial arts club and showed pictures of various people in white pajamas, throwing each other around. “This is the club Jake goes to. He thought it would be a good idea if I go and learn some self-defense. Do you want to go with me? It might be fun, and if you learned some moves, you wouldn’t have to worry about... gay-bashers?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see myself doing this type of thing.” I flicked through the leaflet thoughtfully.

“Just try it. One session. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep going, do you? Who knows? There might be a really hot guy there who wants to sweep you off your feet and take you on romantic dates.”

“Yeah, that’s very likely.” I pulled a face and then laughed. “One session. Do I need to get one of those suits?”

“No, not until you know you’re going to stick with it. A T-shirt and jogging bottoms are fine to start with. We’ll only be doing the basics at the first session.”

“When is it?”

“The day after tomorrow. They have them three times a week.”

“Oh, not Thursday. I need to recover from... um... my stomach really hurts, and I banged my head last night,” I said quickly. “I’ll go with you, but in a few days.”

Sarah nodded. “Okay. I’ll go on Thursday, and then I can tell you about it. The next one is Sunday, so if you feel better then, we can go together.” She beamed at me. “I always wanted to do something like this.”

“Is it Karate?”

“No, it’s Jujitsu. Jake does Taekwondo as well. I think they’re similar. The group isn’t very big. He said there are usually no more than eight or ten people, and there are four black belts who train the others.”

I was surprised the idea appealed to me. I wasn’t the fittest person in the world, and I wasn’t keen on exercise, but learning how to protect myself was certainly a good idea. Suddenly I couldn’t wait until I was up to going and trying it out.

The next day I went back to work after the Christmas and New Year break. Luckily my bruised face wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t disguise it with a hint of makeup. Margaret immediately came to speak to me and asked if I’d enjoyed the holiday. I debated about broaching the subject I’d been thinking about since my talk with Shirley, and I chewed my lip while I considered.

“Is anything wrong?” the lady asked. She eyed the side of my face, and I wondered if she’d seen through my efforts to cover up what had happened.

“Last year—you know when I broke up with Colin—you said I could talk to you?” I felt my face flush and I avoided her eyes.

“The offer’s still there if you want it,” she said at once. “Are you struggling?”

“I’m... uh... maybe.”

“How about we go for a coffee after work?” Margaret suggested. “My husband’s spending the evening with his golf friends. It’s not the weather for playing, but they still like to visit the nineteenth hole as often as possible.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I sent Sarah a text to tell her I’d be late home and then got on with my work. I found it difficult to concentrate and was relieved when the day ended and everyone packed up to leave. Margaret came to my desk, all wrapped up in a long coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, ready to brave the weather, which had suddenly become almost Arctic.

“Do you still want to go for that coffee?” she asked, giving me the option to change my mind.

“Yes, please.” I knew I was fucked up. If she thought she could be of some help to me, it was worth a shot. I followed her out of the building, and we made our way to Marks & Spencer. The shop had a decent-sized restaurant upstairs, and it was usually bustling and noisy, so no one would overhear our conversation.

Margaret went to the counter to fetch coffees and cake while I found a corner table. I sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping my cappuccino and wondering how to begin. It turned out I didn’t have to say much at first. Margaret began to talk, and I listened. She told me about her daughter, who had been married and had two children. Helen had been older than me—in her late twenties—when her husband began to hurt her. It started with little things—insults, ordering her around, belittling things she did or liked, and making her feel a failure. One day he slapped her, and that developed into punches. She suffered it for almost two years before she left him. She and the children fled the house one Sunday when her husband turned on their son, and she realized she had to protect the kids, if not herself.

Helen had begun going out a few weeks after she moved back in with her parents. Margaret and her husband, Paul, were happy to have their grandchildren with them, leaving Helen free to enjoy things she hadn’t done in a long time. She began dating one man after another, and her confidence soared. She loved the attention, but the men she spent her time with were completely unsuitable. Most of them were failures in life, usually fairly unattractive—the types Helen could never see herself falling for. She got herself together after her daughter came home from school in tears, claiming her school friends were calling her mother a tart.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. I looked up at Margaret and met her eyes. “That’s like me.”

“Tell me, Tommy. When did it start?”

“A few months after I moved in.” I picked out various memories as examples. It was strange, but it didn’t upset me to think about it now. It was as if I was describing things that had happened to another person. “There was this one time, I thought he was being romantic,” I said. “He rang me at work and asked me to go home for lunch. He’d made me this delicious meal, set the table with candles and everything. It was a baked potato stuffed with cheese and cream and herbs, and some ham and asparagus. There was a dessert, too—chocolate mousse. He made it all himself. He left all the washing up for me to do when I got home later. Anyway... I ate every bite, and we sat there cuddling for a while, and then he said he had something to tell me. He was really serious, and I thought he was going to point out some error I’d made, but he took me into the spare room where I kept my pet. I had a rat in this fancy cage with climbing things and a slide. He was so tame. He’d sit on my shoulder and eat snacks and nibble my ear. I’d had him a couple of years, from before I met Colin. His name was Ginger. He was white with ginger-colored patches.”

I paused and looked down into my empty cup. “Ginger was dead. Colin said he’d gone in the room to get something and he’d seen the rat just lying there. He showed me, and I believed what he said. I was gutted. I loved that little animal. But there was something strange about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. I had to get myself together and go back to work, but the more I thought about it... Ginger had been stretched out with his legs all in different directions and blood coming out of his mouth. I think Colin had poisoned him. He never admitted it, but he hated me giving my attention to anything other than him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Margaret reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “Colin sounds just like Nathan. He couldn’t stand for Helen to spend her time on anything other than him. It’s a wonder he let her have children.”

We talked on and on. Margaret got up once and fetched more coffees, and I made my way through three slices of chocolate cake as I related various incidents of Colin destroying the person I’d been when I met him. I finished up by telling Margaret—not in very much detail—that I’d done the same thing Helen did. I was a slut, and I’d even been told that by the last man I was with, on New Year’s Eve.

“Tommy, you need to stop looking for attention the way you’re doing,” she said. “You’re making yourself seem desperate. If you want to find someone decent, who’ll be good for you, you need to start living your life and wait for him to find you. It might not be tomorrow, or next month, or even this year, but does that matter? Enjoy doing things. Find a new interest, or a new friend. Stop looking at sex as a way to find love, because it’s probably not going to work. Not while you think so little of yourself.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m intending to do that. Sarah’s boyfriend goes to a martial arts club, and she started going a few days ago. She asked me to go with her, and I said I would. I... um... I was beaten up on New Year’s Eve.”

Margaret’s eyes slid to the side of my face again, and I grimaced and nodded before I continued. “It wasn’t... um... it wasn’t the man I.... It was two drunks in the street who guessed I’m gay. Sarah thought learning self-defense would be a good idea, and maybe I’ll meet some new friends there.”

“That’s great,” Margaret said. “If you like it, you could make that your focus for a while. With Helen, it was cross stitch. I used to do it until my eyes got too bad to see the little stitches. She took over a project I was doing and got hooked. She joined a local sewing group and met some lovely new people who made a big difference to her. Her new man is the brother of one of her sewing friends.”

I hadn’t expected to open up as much as I had. Nor had I expected to feel any different after talking about what I’d been through and what I’d been doing. But it had made a difference. I felt lighter as I walked Margaret to her car and then went to find my own. I decided to go to the next Jujitsu class with Sarah and Jake and put everything I had into it. If I didn’t like it, I’d find something else.

Jake picked up Sarah and me in his car on Sunday, just after half-past seven. I was wearing a T-shirt and jogging bottoms as instructed, with my hiking jacket over the top and warm boots. The temperature was below zero, and two or three inches of snow covered everything. We traveled the couple of miles to the outskirts of town and parked outside a large single-storey building with lights in every window.

Jake and Sarah both had rucksacks with them containing their Jujitsu suits. When we entered the building, I followed Jake into the men’s changing room while Sarah went into a different room with one other girl. I took off my outer gear and socks, and the other men in the room changed into their white suits, which I’d always called pajamas. Jake had a black belt, as did three of the others. The remaining men had a variety of colors—green, blue, and brown.

When everyone was ready, we went back into the main area and gathered around a table. The entire floor was covered in thick pads, presumably to protect bodies from bruising when they were thrown around. I handed over the three pounds charged for “subs” when requested, and gave my name to the man who was taking the money and ticking off people’s names in a book. When this was done, everyone stood in a circle on the mats.

A tall man with blond hair took charge of the proceedings and led a warm-up session, which involved jogging on the spot, star jumps, press-ups, and so on. I was positioned between Sarah and a young dark-haired man who introduced himself as Andy. Sarah told me the blond man ran the club. He was a Second Dan, and it took me a little while to realize his name was actually Ian and not Dan. I discovered “Dans” were the ranking system of black belts in martial arts.

After the warm-up, everyone paired off, and I found myself facing another older man. I estimated him to be in his early thirties. He was my height, but stockier, with muscular shoulders and a broad chest. His light brown hair was cropped short, and he had serious gray eyes, a crooked nose which looked as if it might have been broken, and an angular jaw. The belt holding the jacket of his suit around him was black. He gave me a brief smile and introduced himself as Marcus.

“I’m Tommy,” I said.

“Nice to meet you. Now, we’re going to practice some breakfalls first. How to land safely and take the impact in your arms, shoulders, and legs, rather than your head and back.” I nodded and watched as Marcus toppled over to one side and crashed to the mat. He slapped his lower arm down hard and rose again quickly. He repeated the exercise on the other side, and then it was my turn.

“You can start from your knees if you like,” Marcus said. “It’s easier to let yourself go if there’s not so far to fall. Until you get used to it.”

“I’m okay. I’ll give it a go from here.” I was determined to do this and do it well. I leaned to the side and let myself go, trying to copy what Marcus had done. I had my arm in the wrong position and didn’t bang it down to take the impact. Consequently I jarred my elbow and hit my chin on the mat, but the padding saved me from any real discomfort. I scrambled up again, red-faced.

“Don’t worry, no one gets it right the first time.” Marcus demonstrated again, and I had another go. After three or four tries on each side, I was pleased with the result, and we moved on to backward breakfalls. The idea was to save yourself if you tripped or were pushed over. Despite the protective matting, the idea of falling back didn’t appeal at all. Marcus led me to the far corner of the room where there was an eighteen-inch deep landing mat, the type used under acrobatic equipment. After two or three tries falling onto that, I was happy to make a proper attempt and found it much easier than I’d expected.

After the first hour, I had mastered all three breakfalls—side, back, and forward roll. The latter was my favorite. Tripping forward, you would tuck your head into one shoulder, roll over, land on your feet, and spin around ready to face your imaginary attacker.

The second half of the session was spent learning blocking and deflecting techniques to escape punches and jabs. I put everything I had into it and concentrated fiercely on getting it right. I was glad I’d taken both Sarah’s and Margaret’s advice. This was something I could do and enjoy, and at the same time, it would hopefully prevent the situation I got into on New Year’s Eve happening again.