1993
The cord was now loose enough for Gray to remove his hands. He resisted the temptation to free himself, and gave himself a moment to plan his next move.
‘I’m using the knife to slice through the front of your sister’s T-shirt, Graham. Don’t worry. I’m being very careful. Because I don’t want to hurt her. At least, not yet.’
Gray flinched again at the sound of fabric rending, his sister’s intake of breath.
Then: ‘Wow. I mean really – wow. Those are about the most incredible tits I have ever seen. Truly. Have you ever seen your sister’s tits, Graham?’ Mark asked this conversationally, as you might ask someone if they’ve seen a certain movie. ‘Such a shame you can’t see what I’m seeing. You’re really missing out.’
Gray breathed in deeply, holding down the flames of fury. He slipped his good hand gently from the cord and then used his fingers to locate one of the wire coat-hanger hooks Kirsty had put in the back pocket of her jeans earlier. She adjusted her position slightly to let him ease it out, which Mark misread as an indication that she was enjoying herself. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘your sister seems to be getting into things now, Graham. Right, let’s let these beauties free, shall we?’
Gray felt Mark’s hands reach behind his sister’s back and begin to fiddle with the fastening of her bra. He stilled his hands and stopped breathing. It seemed to take for ever.
‘Have you never undone a bra before, Mark?’ he asked.
‘Shut up, you fucking dweeb.’
‘No, seriously. You appear to be a bit of an amateur. And actually, I’m starting to wonder, given the way you’re behaving like a total fucking freak, if maybe you’re a virgin.’
He felt Mark’s hands loosen from behind Kirsty. Then Mark was in front of him, his face twisted with disgust. He brought his arm back and slapped Gray hard across the cheek. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’
And there it was, the moment. Swiftly Gray pulled his bad hand from the cord and then leaped to his feet and brought the wire hanger hook down on to the crown of Mark’s head. He felt it puncture the flesh, felt it rip the flesh, saw Mark’s hands reach up and meet together over his scalp, saw the blood ooze through his fingers, saw the heavy-based lamp on the floor at his feet, brought it up with his good arm, brought it down again, saw Mark’s hands leave his skull and grab it midway, felt it come away from his one good hand like a flower plucked from a meadow.
‘Oh my God,’ Mark was saying, the lamp in his hand, blood dripping down his face in three separate rivulets, ‘you’ve done it now. You’ve really, really done it now.’ His voice had changed, the high-pitched whine lowered to a bass rumble.
‘The door!’ Gray shouted at his sister. ‘Get out! Go!’
He caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face as she hurled herself towards the door, one hand holding the shredded flaps of her T-shirt together across her breasts, the other tucking something into her pocket.
‘Go!’ he shouted again.
Dropping the lamp, Mark stumbled across the room, almost grabbing hold of Kirsty’s arm as she slipped through the door which she slammed hard in her wake, right on to his arm. Mark stopped, grabbed his arm, howled; then he flung the door open, setting off after her like a wounded animal. Gray followed in pursuit; he saw Kirsty hurtling down the staircase two steps at a time, stumbling, sliding down three steps on her backside before regaining her feet, but leaving a vital beat for Mark to catch up with her. Then Mark brought her down on to the stairs, landed with his full weight on top of her, began tugging at her bra, tugging at her jeans, blood dripping from his wound on to her chest. Gray grabbed the back of his collar and tried to yank him off her but he didn’t have enough strength in his one arm and Mark easily pushed him away. But while he was distracted by Gray’s lame efforts to manhandle him, Kirsty launched her left foot right between his legs, throwing him back into a foetal ball of pain.
‘You fucking bitch,’ Mark wailed, clutching his crotch. ‘You disgusting, ugly bitch.’
Gray grabbed Kirsty’s hand and they ran, shouting out for help as they went, in case there was still someone in the house.
‘No!’ Gray said, pulling Kirsty away from the front door. ‘It’ll be locked.’
They ran across the tiled floor of the hallway and towards the back door. Gray turned once, to see how much of a lead they had, just in time to see Mark’s blood-smeared face inches from his, to feel his hot, angry breath, and then he was down, hard, his jaw cracking against the hard tiles, momentarily winded, Mark on top of him. He felt Mark’s hands meet tightly across the crown of his head, pick it up and then smash it against the hard floor, felt his brain bounce against the walls of his skull, his hearing fade to a drowsy buzz.
His sister was screaming, and then there was a strange and terrifying moment of silence. Mark suddenly rose away from him, then slumped again. His sister had stopped screaming and stood over them both breathing loudly, hyperventilating.
She was clutching a bloodied knife. Mark’s knife. Blood dripped on to the pure white floor. Then they were both running, through the door at the back of the house, across the glorious, moonlit lawn, hand in hand.