Lies And Consequences Collection

Chapter 11-1

A White Picket Fence

“I didn"t go to a family called Gleeson when I left that orphanage. That was Jack"s deception. I was fostered out to a home about ten miles away from it, where I had to attend a day school, one change of bus away from the pretty white picket-fenced house of Imelda Duggen and her husband Keith. It was in the early days of spring, when I was on my way to catch my first bus home from school that the attempted r**e happened. The bus only ran every half an hour and I missed it by seconds, seeing it drive off as I rounded the corner leading to the stop. I had stayed late for an art class. I wanted to be a painter at that age. It was so mild that the jacket I had worn in the morning, when the dew hung on until the warming sun melted it away, was no longer needed. It rested under my arm that carried my school bag. There were three boys about my age coming towards me. All of them were in high spirits, joking and giggling amongst themselves. Their faces got more threatening as they neared me.

“Are they real those t**s of yours, or just apples stuffed down your blouse?” the middle one asked. Seconds passed before I could answer. “Go away,” I said, but by now they were beside me and no one else was about.

“I bet they"re only pimples and it"s all padding to make them look that big,” the shortest one baited, and stupidly I reacted to his derision.

“No, they are not,” I replied without fear of what was to come.

The tallest of the three boys said, “We don"t believe you. Show us then.” There"s no point in asking me why, but I cupped my breasts in my hands and shook them. “You"ll just have to dream about them then, won"t you.” I had been around boys all my life, never frightened by them but shortly I was to find out that these three were different.

“No, we won"t, Rory, will we? We"re going have a look now.” Rory was the tall one. Foolishly I thought I could outrun them across the field to my right and for a while I did, but then I tripped on some roots I hadn"t seen, falling face down on the grass. We were behind a big, spreading bush under a tree. One of them fell on my back and pinned my arms to the ground.

“I"ll have her after you,” he said, spreading his weight over me, forcing the air from my lungs. I knew exactly what was about to happen, but I tried desperately to appeal to a better nature that just wasn"t present.

“Leave me alone,” I pleaded. I felt more hands pull my briefs clean off, ripping them as he did so. The one on my back was now sitting on my shoulders. It was then that I felt n***d flesh pushed against my legs. Then I felt cold hands on my hips as the boy between my legs attempted to lift my bum up. From somewhere I found the strength to lever the one off my back, sending him flying to one side. Then I twisted and kicked the boy, Rory, who was trying to penetrate me in the face, leaving him sprawled out with his trousers and pants trapped around his ankles. His nose was bleeding. As I got to my feet I swung my bag at the third one, who too had his pants around his ankles. This one fell awkwardly, screaming in pain holding two fingers of his left hand. I prayed to God for a knife that day, Shaun, and had he granted that prayer it wouldn"t have been fingers I would have cut off! I picked up my coat and bag, and made off across that field.

“I"ll kill you, you bastards! You wait and see,” I cried through my tears in their direction, hoping it could be so.

When I arrived home it was Keith who called the police after Imelda had told him almost all of what I had told to her. I was pretty in those days of 1961, Shaun, and yes I followed the fashion of the day imitating what I saw on the TV. Keith disapproved and had remarked in the past about my choice of clothing along with what he called my general behaviour. Imelda thought it best not to start him off again.

“Her clothes are too tight and too short. She acts and dresses like a tart. She"ll get into trouble that one; you mark my words, you"ll see,” he had said more times than she liked to remember.

Her clothes are too tight and too short. She acts and dresses like a tart. She"ll get into trouble that one; you mark my words, you"ll see

It was she who poured me a bath, taking my grass-stained skirt, blouse and cardigan from me as she did so. Then she asked, ”Was it so warm this morning that you had no need for tights or panties, Fianna, my dear?” She was now thinking that maybe all along her husband had been right.

”I left them there in that field. They were ripped off. There"re no good now are they?” I replied maybe a bit too harshly, but I was unaware of the thoughts mulling through her mind.

The absence of that particular clothing was the same issue that the policewoman put to me.

“They say you were not wearing any underwear, Fianna. What"s more they contend that you lifted your skirt, exposing yourself to them, when you were walking towards to the bus stop together. This, they say, led them to believe that you would be a willing participant in what they had already proposed. They add that you had plenty of time to catch that bus at six forty-three had you not previously invited them to join you in the girls" toilets at the school where you performed an act of m**********n in front of them. They also allege that later in the park, where you had agreed to have s*x, you changed your mind and they stopped; never pressing you on that promise.” The policewoman waited for my reply; I had none other than a complete denial, but that did not stop the accusations.

“They deny attempting to r**e you. One of the boys" fathers is saying that you are malicious in making this complaint, attempting to cover up your own guilt in misleading his son and the other boys. In essence he"s saying that you are trying to protect your own reputation by slurring their names. You had second thoughts, in other words.”

She leant forward across the dividing coffee table and looked me directly in the eyes.

“What they are saying, love, is that you started it all by provoking them, leading them on to believe that you wanted s*x. You never screamed nor fought back, any bruising that you may have was caused accidentally when you invited one of them, (she checked her note book), James Craig to sit on you just before you had a change of mind. He claims that you broke his fingers when you snatched your bag from him when he was about to place it under your head. He alleges that it was your suggestion by the way. I have to tell you that unless an independent witness comes forward it is your word against theirs, and there are three of them, remember. Attempted r**e is a serious crime. One that we investigate thoroughly, including all allegations of it. Unless you can prove that the boy, Rory Mulligan, ripped off those missing briefs of yours then I"m afraid my advice must be to forget it. If you go to court, no jury will believe you. They"re going to be more inclined to believe three stories rather than one, especially if it"s unsubstantiated by evidence, Fianna.”

she checked her note book“They are either very good liars, Mrs Duggen, or it"s true that Fianna led them on,” the welfare minded policewoman quietly told Imelda as she left, with opportunistic Keith overhearing every word.”

* * *

Sitting back heavily into her chair, she recalled what I can only describe as a story from hell. As much as I tried to listen without showing emotion I couldn"t. I reached for her hand and she took it.

She told how life became unbearable after that, both away from home and in it. No longer could she attend school without feeling shame. Not simply for what had happened, but for what she saw as her stupidity. If only I had stopped and had thought of those torn briefs, then things would have been different, she had told herself, quick to level the unjust blame where others too directed theirs. She was called "that w***e" by the judgmental neighbours and girls living nearby, or "easy" to the lustful onlooking boys that were only aware of a side of the story as told by Rory, James and Michael.

If only I had stopped and had thought of those torn briefs, then things would have been different“It will be best to go back, Fianna, you can"t mope around here all day,” Imelda advised her after two days of self-examination which she had spent on her own, venturing only as far as the corner shop where she encountered some of the sanctimonious who lived close with their smug vilification and censure. Reluctantly, accepting Imelda"s advice, she found the courage to return to her studies, hoping that things were not so bad at the school. But hope didn"t last long. The bus rides were the first obstacles to face. That was where the first opinionated groups were gathered and they were short on mercy that first day.

“Can"t keep her legs closed, can"t keep her mouth shut. You"re nothing but a little tart,” bravely called out an anonymous voice shifting behind acquiescent friends when Fianna had turned around to confront him. Abject loneliness was how she felt, without anyone standing beside her shouting the innocence of credibility. Then pride left her. She felt let down by everyone, including most importantly herself. She would not stay, nor travel on to find more a***e and denunciation. To the pretty picket-fenced home she returned. The only place of comfort left to her. Or so she thought.

Something more sinister than the loss of self-belief and confidence entered her life shortly after her decision to confine her studies to that foster home that she called home. Keith Duggen started to hang around more often than he used to do, and Imelda began to question why. He had less puritanical intentions than his outbursts would have his wife believe.

Why do you think I"m at home, woman, it"s dead at work. There"s nothing coming in. Do you think I want to stay around here all day with that girl, listening to her music playing? I asked her yesterday to turn it down, I couldn"t hear all the news about the rail strike that is crippling the country.

Why do you think I"m at home, woman, it"s dead at work. There"s nothing coming in. Do you think I want to stay around here all day with that girl, listening to her music playing? I asked her yesterday to turn it down, I couldn"t hear all the news about the rail strike that is crippling the country.

He offered a different excuse one Monday morning for not going to the warehouse where he worked. This time a sore back was the reason for absence. Done too much in the garden over the weekend, I think, he said, as he waved goodbye to his wife on her 7am departure to the bank where she was employed as assistant manager. He made toast and a pot of tea, found a tray and carried his bribe to Fianna"s room. She was asleep. Gently he laid the tray on her bedside table, carefully avoiding her now redundant pink alarm clock that stood alone. She was dreaming of young devils as an older one stood gazing at her, imagining her n***d body and what he would do with it as he silently slipped from his nightclothes and pulled back the single white sheet that covered her. Fianna awoke as his tobacco-smelling hand clasped her mouth and his flabby body descended alongside her stricken figure.