Mark Sennen - Touch

‘Shit!’ Savage raced forward to block the ramp to the next level. The driver floored the accelerator, the tyres screeching as the rear end spun out.

‘Stop police!’ Savage shouted.

The car was coming right at her, the man’s black eyes wide, white knuckles grasping the steering wheel.

‘Charlotte!’ Garrett shouted.

She didn’t need the warning and she jumped clear as the car careened across the ramp and glanced the side barrier. It slid sideways, straightened up and then lurched into a pillar, stopping dead. A loud bang echoed through the whole level as the front airbags exploded and a huge piece of concrete broke away from the pillar, bounced on the bonnet and smashed into the windscreen.

An empty car parked nearby started up with the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of an alarm and Savage heard the sound of running footsteps from the floor below. A moment later and Calter and Enders came up the ramp, breathless.

‘We got him, ma’am. Bloody hell!’

The four of them gathered round the car. The man slumped against the side window, face half-buried in the airbag and a trickle of blood running from his nose. The woman had just been sick on the back seat.

Savage opened the rear door. She clicked the catch on the headrest and pulled it upward and away, freeing the woman. The woman rubbed her hands and Savage could see red marks where the cuffs had cut into the skin when the car crashed. She scowled as Savage fumbled with the seatbelt.

‘Don’t worry, we will have you out of there in a moment, you’re OK now.’

‘Of course I am fucking OK!’

‘Did he touch you?’

The woman laughed.

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’ve made a big mistake.’ The woman paused and smiled. ‘You know who Sleeping Beauty up front is?’

‘No.’

‘He’s my husband.’

Harry risked a journey to the big Sainsbury’s supermarket at Marsh Mills in Plymouth because he needed a load of fruit and a set of bra and panties for Emma. Plain white, like all the girls from his childhood had worn. He suspected his mother had insisted on it. She wouldn’t have wanted all the frilly stuff because it would have made his father get a little bit too excited.

Harry found a space to park and sat in the car remembering the first time he had seen the white cotton offset against smooth, young skin. He had found a hole in the back of a built-in cupboard in an adjoining room. Through it he spied Carmel sitting on the bed in her bra and panties. Removing the bra and exposing her breasts and then standing up and peeling her knickers down to reveal a dark triangle of mystery, black alongside the pure white, Harry’s heart thumping even though he was still so young.

After that Harry sneaked into the spare room whenever he could and secreted himself in the cupboard with the little pinhole. He would watch Carmel for hours and sometimes she did little, just reading or watching the tiny black and white TV his parents had provided. At other times she would be getting ready to go out and Harry loved to watch her choosing her outfit and applying her makeup. Late at night, when she returned, he would creep from his bed and sneak a look at her undressing, watching as she cast her knickers into the linen bin for him to retrieve the next day and hold to his face, the material suffused with a strange, musty smell which was both frightening and intoxicating. Back then he felt nothing sexual; instead a wonderful warmth blossomed right in the centre of his chest, causing butterflies in his stomach and a lightness so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.

When Carmel had gone he thought nothing could replace her, but soon a new girl arrived for him to spy on. The same white underwear, the same purity on one side of the wall and Harry on the other.

He was brought back to the present by a woman getting into the car parked next to his. She hurried to get in and as he met her eyes she pulled the door shut and flipped the lock down. He must appear like a nutter, he thought, sitting there and staring into space. He turned the radio on and pretended to fiddle with the controls. The station blared out the news. They were talking about him again. That made him feel special. Of course they didn’t mention him by name because they didn’t have a clue who he was. Idiots.

On the journey back the sun played hide and seek behind heavy clouds, but by the time Harry arrived at the cottage the weather had turned damp and miserable. Like his mood. In the past couple of days thoughts had spun through his mind the way clothes tumbled in a hot, soapy wash, the colours running into one another, bleeding from each garment, mixing with the dirt and the grime. Now at last the stream of consciousness had reduced to a trickle, a grey discharge, and a flatness descended which deadened everything from before. At least inside he knew a hint of magic waited for him, someone to raise his spirits again.

Do you mean Easy Emma, Harry?

Trinny. Still butting in with the occasional comment. He had heard her less and less though and soon, he thought, she would be gone for good.

Don’t know about that, Harry. Anyway, there will always be one of us to keep you company.

Trinny’s words disturbed him. He didn’t want voices. He would need to think of a way of keeping the next one he had to deal with quiet.

You mean Legs Apart Lucy? Did she turn out as slutty as me then? Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Harry grunted. Trinny was only jealous. She had no interest in his project now she was not to be the one.

And neither does Lucy. I feel sorry for her so I think I will help her to stay around too. With both of us here I think we can stop you getting into so much mischief.

That was not good news. If Emma turned out not to be the one either there could be three voices in his head. And who knows how many more to come?

There are only six of us, Harry.

Yes. Six. A magical number.

Carmel had been the first of course. The first to come back to him. Rediscovered after all those years yet still looking exactly as she had done, as if time had merely breezed by in an instant. Mitchell and RT spoilt her though, and in the end desire killed her and now desire itself was the enemy.

Poor call girl, Carmel, couldn’t contemplate cock. Now sadly Carmel has ceased.

Trinny was too much. Harry jumped out of the car and stormed into the cottage, leaving her sniggering outside in the drizzle. She had never understood him properly and he wondered how he ever thought she could possibly be the one for him. He remembered she had been the last girl his parents employed, the one who had caused all the trouble, so maybe that had something to do with her attitude. Some months after she arrived she had an argument with his mother and later the same evening the police came calling. That night Harry watched his mother and father being led out of the house in handcuffs, a crowd jeering and throwing stones as they were driven away. He went up to his bedroom to wait and shiver in the darkness and before long the light came on and a policewoman arrived to take him away to a new home.

Ah didums. Poor Harry.

Trinny had come inside to tease him. He would ignore her.

Temper, temper.

He wished she would go away. He didn’t want to remember.

But remember you must. Remember the children’s home.

There he hoped to find some relief from the terrors inflicted by his father.

Wrong.

He remembered the shock at the end of his first day when three boys he thought of as new friends had beaten him half-senseless and proceeded to shove his head down a toilet. And then there was Mr Grimes, the Principal. His name was only the sub-plot, his after-dark activities the main story. How could Harry have been so mistaken? But then hadn’t he also been badly misled by the girls who looked after him as well? Each seemed to be the one who would give him love, but in the end each left to find it somewhere else.