RAPE OR PASSION - Chapter 11

Elaine seemed to know a lot of people that I had never met and everywhere we went she was always greeted with affection.
She knew musicians and all the regulars in Reg Browns, the biggest public house that occupied a huge site facing the seafront and wrapping the entire corner of Pier Avenue in Clacton-on-Sea.
It was a very popular place and Reg treated everyone with joviality and charm. Local people were his bread and butter throughout the year and he frequently would hold live music events or discotheques in his huge function room upstairs.
Elaine and I seldom missed the chance to be present and much of our time was taken up with acquiring the fabric we needed to create new, highly individual dresses to wear for our nights out there.

One night a guitarist from a local group, a local guy maybe a year or so younger than myself offered to take us for a Chinese meal. Elaine and I spent all our spare money on our outfits, make up and hair products so we jumped at the chance to eat well for once.
He took us across the road from Reg Brown's to a restaurant that was above the amusement arcades. We sat in a booth watching the late night revellers stagger home under the glaring lights of the fruit machines and holiday decorations.
When our meals arrived I managed about half of the portion before my shrunken stomach rebelled. I just made it to the ladies room before heaving everything I had eaten straight into the toilet.
The cramps were tremendous and I was shocked at myself. Never in my life had I been so starved and yet unable to digest.
Cliff, the guitarist, was completely sympathetic and insisted upon taking me home.

There began a brief interlude in which I was Cliff's girlfriend.
I would attend all his band practices, gigs and events. Eventually it was agreed that we would sound proof the largest room at Elaine's two storey apartment so that the band could store their equipment safely and practice there whenever they wanted.
The room had not been used before because, being very large and square, it was impossible to heat. Elaine was using a much smaller room on the same floor as a lounge. We had decorated and furnished it in a cosy fashion and it had a powerful gas fire.
Old mattresses were acquired and attached to the walls all around. Egg boxes were glued to the windows. Elaine or I would run outside during band practice evenings to check if our efforts were adequate and, over time and experiment, we soon worked out how to keep the sound in and not disturb the High Street beyond.
This was quite important because we did not need to attract police attention or cause the music shop below any grief.
We were rapidly becoming good customers for Jack, the music shop proprietor and we supported his band, the Martells, whenever they performed locally.

The Clacton music scene was jam packed with budding musicians in 1975 and we got to know them all.
Elaine's squat soon became a buzzing exciting place to hang out. I was there more than I was at home, it seemed and Elaine was enterprising enough to let out two of her three spare bedrooms.
First to take advantage was a young roadie for Status Quo who needed a place to crash when he was not on tour.
He soon acquired a local girlfriend and she moved in too.
Then came an Australian girl, called Sue. Everyone referred to her as Sheepshagger because she had the most uncanny ability to grab and drag guys back to her room, where she would wear them to a frazzle before they crawled out, dispensed with at dawn. She was immensely funny and worked in the Royal Hotel as a waitress. She seemed to always be loaded with cash, so we guessed that she got great tips.
The income that Elaine made from these new tenants came in handy for her to improve the decor and first to be given the artistic flair was her bedroom.
I can't remember how she got her hands on a full sized brass bed but we spend hours polishing it until it gleamed.

She always referred to it as the "1812 Overture" because during her more exciting nights it would be rattling and ringing like a full symphonic orchestra.
We painted the room in gold and dark tan, with lots of features that complimented the Victorian bed.
It was an extravaganza of delicate lighting and femininity.
Elaine made some gorgeous sexy bed covers and there came a fateful evening when a few of the visiting crowd of young men sneaked upstairs to bounce about in her much celebrated boudoir.
Suddenly there was a huge crash and Elaine belted up the stairs.
There was a moment or two of complete silence as she surveyed the bedstead ends folded inwards on top of several irrepressibly giggling young men.
"You will be fixing that I presume?" I heard her boom at them and of course, they obeyed her apologetically.
Nobody ever argued with Elaine. It just was not going to end well if you did.
I was apoplectic with laughter on the lounge floor, probably stoned out of my tiny mind and totally incapable of being any use as back up for her in her rage.
She came back into the room and stood like a towering inferno over me.
"I see YOU think this is hilarious!" she stormed and I just got much worse, tears streaming down my face with uncontrolled hilarity.
The guys came sheepishly down the stairs and left before Elaine ripped into them again, but they were good for their word and returned the next day with all sorts of tools and wood.
There was much discussion over many dope joints before they actually got the bed rebuilt but it was a little more quiet when they had finished and it felt firmer somehow, a lot less fragile.

We sometimes sunbathed on the flat roof over the music shop store which we accessed from Elaine's lounge window. Also some of our friends would fail to get attention at the door, when the bands were practicing and they would gain access by shimmying up the drainpipe to the flat roof and climb in through the lounge window. Elaine herself had to do this a couple of times when she forgot her keys.

As the hot summer weather gave way to autumn downpours Jack from the music shop knocked on the door to say that his roof was now leaking like a sieve, soaking his stock.
We felt terrible and were obliged to admit to him that we were indeed totally guilty of abusing his roof.
He was such a good natured guy that he got it recovered with something that we could walk on and it became almost a garden space for us thereafter.

My relationship with Cliff was jogging along nicely but I was aware that I was not in love with him.
I loved him dearly but when he asked that we should get engaged I froze.
I was still married to Tony and did not feel that it would be right to waste Cliff's time any longer.
We discussed all this regretfully and he was so completely understanding. What a terrific guy he was.
Luckily for him he found a new girlfriend shortly after who was free to marry him. That pleased me enormously at the time and he went on to live a very happy life with that lovely woman and of course, we remained firm friends throughout.

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Meanwhile Tony was aware of my apparent happiness and I think it made him jealous.
One stormy and cold full moon night, just before Christmas that year, I was sound asleep in my bedroom when Tony arrived in the early hours of the morning and kicked the door open, splitting the lock away from the frame in one almighty crash. The door flew back banging against the furniture and he forced it back into it's place with another hefty kick.
Wordlessly he set about a full brutal rape and I fought with everything I had.
I cried and I screamed but nobody heard me, the wind and storm covered every sound it seemed.

When he finally left, as wordlessly as he came, I was left bruised and miserable in a trashed room.
By this time, Tony was fourteen stone of solid muscle, gained from working so hard and eating very well on the oil rig. He had proved himself to be an unstoppable force.

I tried to fix the broken door frame but it was just shattered.
The landlord was shocked when he saw it and furious when I explained how it had happened.
He made a repair, replacing the wood but when Tony returned from the rig just before the New Year of 1976 he kicked it apart again.

This time I was ready for him.
I had brought Dan to sleep with me, rather than in his small bed in the alcove of the kitchen diner. Dylan was standing fully to attention in silence at the end of the bed and Tony stopped dead still in the doorway when he saw us all in the bed together.
Dylan started making a rumbling sound, the like of which I had never heard from him before.
Tony quietly said "Easy boy!" but Dylan continued his low throaty rumble and looked as if he was preparing to pounce.

Dan broke the tension completely, recognised his Dad's voice and jumped out of the bed to run to him.
"Dad!" He yelled joyfully and flung himself at his father.
Tony seemed to sober up in a split second and sunk to his knees.
He cuddled Dan and began to cry so much so that his whole body shook with emotion.

I got up, switched on the light and went to the kitchen.
I put the kettle on and made two cups of coffee and a hot chocolate drink for Dan.
Dylan came with me and his hackles took a while to go down.
"Good boy!" I praised him and smoothed the fur until he relaxed.
I had never seen Dylan feel the need for violence in all his life before that night.
I had not expected it but was full of admiration for his bravery.
I gave him a drink of water and he drank long and deep.
I think he was as surprised at his own behaviour as I was.

When I returned to the bedroom Dan was showing Tony his fire truck. His most prized possession.
He was telling him about the fire that Mum had put out with her bare hands.
Then he was pulling his new Scalextrix track out from under the bed.
Guiltily, I had stolen it for him for Christmas, there being no way that I could afford to buy it on benefits. I asked him to leave the Scalextrix where it was and come back to bed before he got cold but he cuddled up on his Dad's knee and ignored me.

Tony could not look me in the face when I gave him the cup of coffee.
I skinned up a fat and well loaded joint while he played with Dan on the floor.
Tony did not notice what I was doing until he stood up and came to sit on the end of the bed.
I lit the joint and asked him if he wanted a drag.
He looked as if he was seeing things.
He silently took the joint and drew on it expertly without coughing.
I could see that he had done this before.
"Good gear." he stated appreciatively.

Dan got back into bed, admitting that he was getting cold and soon after finishing his chocolate drink he was back asleep cuddled up and wrapped in my arms.
Dylan took this as his cue and settled on my legs.
He was no fool, that dog.

Tony and I stayed awake for the rest of the night whispering.
He told me that there was no woman like me, no one who understood him like I did.
I pursed my lips and remarked that he was, effectively, calling me a complete fool for tolerating his bad behaviour and not reporting him for twice busting my door open and rape.
"I was drunk" he offered lamely but I could see that he knew that, in reality there could be no excuse.

"Are you still seeing Lorraine?" I asked and he winced.
He said that he was finished with her for good.
I didn't believe that for a second.

"I want you to come home" he stated, and for once he seemed to be speaking from the heart.
"No chance" I countered immediately, looking him straight in the eyes and shaking my head.
"Surely you don't want to spend another winter in this freezing hole?" he said looking around at the cramped furnishings and feeling the chill night air.
I didn't.
I had been considering asking if I could move into Elaine's flat.
There was still one large bedroom vacant.
Tony reminded me that we had bought the house near the town hall together and therefore it was still half mine. I laughed at him and reminded him that I had half shares in a wrecked doss house to which he grinned and nodded in agreement.

When the morning light finally shone on our faces he stated that he was starving and got up to leave.
I lay back on the pillows and got an hour of rest before Dan woke up ready to start another fun filled day.

I felt so confused, so out of sorts.
I had that same old sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The one that always told me I was heading for disaster again.