CHAPTER 9
I settled into my new life after a while, and with the settlement from the police abuse I was able to afford the deposit on a two-bed flat in Crabble.

I had turned thirty in 2000, and as I hit 31 I was finally independent. Eight years after that bastard had ruined my life, I was also still alone. The growth remained as my courage never returned, and I wondered how I had ever found the strength to come out in the first place. I lived as a woman now partly because it was routine. Mostly, of course, because I AM a woman, but there was still the fact that routine left me more at ease.

I had done one big thing, though, and that was to have my poison factories evicted. I was now on HRT in effect, and as I had had the good luck to start earlier than many I was properly rounded, if still a little lean and leggy, not exactly a bad thing. My breasts, as Elaine and my mother had promised, filled out to a C-cup, and I was more than happy with them. I would have been even happier with someone to share them with, but each time I thought of that I felt Joe’s hand between my legs, and his fist breaking my cheekbone, and I knew I would have to stay hidden.

Arris had taken the plunge two years after the assault, and moved to Reading when she married Steve. A year later, and she was the mother of a daughter, the first of her three, two girls and a single boy for Steve to spoil, and I was so, so happy for her and so, so jealous. Never to be a mother, never to hold a child of my own, could anything be better designed to crush me? She was a regular visitor, though, and I settled for what I could get, a soft-touch ‘aunty’ to her brood.

I did get to meet Siá¢n, and she was indeed lovely, and it nearly broke my heart to see how much she and Elaine were in love. All the shit and mess of my life seemed to have done something worthwhile to my parents as well, and they stumped up a lot of the money for a civil partnership ceremony that was a wedding in everything but legal name. I was a bridesmaid, along with Alison, which was a bit of a confusing term given the nature of the celebrants, and for a tiny moment as they kissed and Mam cried as Dad stood up straight and proud in his new suit I was almost grateful to Joe for the changes he had brought to my parents’ lives.

Almost.

I stopped rallying after that night’s pain. It was far too risky, especially if I drank what I usually did at them, and for the same reasons I stopped going to pubs. About the only thing I ever went out for were things like the staff Christmas dinner; all my horizons pulled in tight, as I played my part at work. I seemed to be well liked, and Alan the boss knew just about everything about my history. We had talked it over when I arrived, and he went absolutely white-lipped with anger. He let me know off the record that Joe had been placed under a very close watch, and each little trick had served to stack the deck until he could be eased out of the company. It turned out that the staff in Swansea had been fonder of me than I had realised, and after one too many complaints about ‘inappropriate touching’ they had him.

I still wanted to cut off his remaining ball, though. Bastard. Utter bastard; the hate never, ever left me. The trouble was, every time I thought of him, I cried at my own stupidity, my own daft vulnerability. How could I feel so in need of a man in my life while being so fucking terrified of them?

I put my need into my riding, of both sorts. I was doing long solo cycle rides, out to Grove Ferry to watch the birds and then back round through Sturry and Canterbury for the ford by Patrixbourne and the nasty little climb of Keeper’s Hill and the rolling country through Adisham, Aylesham, Barfrestone and Whitfield to Dover and a shower, my mind wandering as the endorphins swam in my bloodstream.

The Kwak, on the other hand, would serve as my anger beater, allowing me to break down the darkness with the thrill of a main road thrash or a track day at Lydden Circuit., straining to get my knee down as the beast wallowed in the corners and the tacho needle bounced off the rev limiter, abusing the bike for my own pain.

Time just passed me by, as a grey hair or two made an appearance a handful of years before my fortieth. I realised I needed to do something with the life I still had, but it remained easier to do nothing. Work, sleep, see my doctors, and eventually the GP tried me on Prozac, which went into our drugs bin after the first one wore off. Never, ever again.

Alan went part time, eventually, and I just seemed to fall naturally into the branch manager slot when he was off, doubling up as pharmacist. I know this sounds like it all happened in a week, but it was actually spread over more than ten years. Joe robbed me of my youth, then my thirties. Then….then it all fell apart again. All my carefully arranged routine went out of the window, and it happened when I got a phone call from Elaine.

“What are you up to this weekend, sis?”

“Arris was going to visit, why?”

“Siá¢n and I want to visit. You’ve got room, we’ll have the spare room, Arris can have yours and you can have the sofa bed”

Her voice softened. “Sar, love, you can’t go on like this. You’re dying on your feet because of that cunt, and I can’t stand it, and neither can Alison and Siá¢n. You have to learn to live your own life again, and not let him win”

“Easy to say that, love, but it works for me. Tell you what, I’ll see if there‘s any music on at the weekend, and we can have a girly bop, OK?”

I logged onto the internet after we finished our gossip, and looked up the local scene. There was an R&B group down to play Crabble sports club on the Friday evening, and a quick call secured four tickets. I was actually feeling quite excited, rather than nervous; being out with Arris would help, but two coppers watching over me trumped all that. I was ready long before they arrived, in my faithful old leather mini and my spiky boots topped with T-shirt and leather jacket. I didn’t look too bad at all for an old woman heading far too quickly for forty.

Arris was first to arrive, changing in my bedroom into THOSE boots again, and I revised my ideas about myself downwards at the sight of her bending down to adjust the fit. She was blisteringly hot for a mother of three. Elaine put a hand over her wife’s eyes, and called out to Arris “For god’s sakes, woman, give a pair of old dykes some advance warning when you’re going to do that with your arse! Sarah, the restorative cuppa, please, my lady wife is taken with the vapours”

We walked down the footpath to the sports ground arm in arm, four sets of heels clicking away like some much more interesting version of “Sex in The City”, and I felt wonderful for the first time in years. Arris was buzzing about not having the kids for once, and the others were just their usual symbiotic pairing. Life could still please me, it seemed.

The place was bouncing, the girls, including me, were hot to trot, and the band not at all bad. I was almost back to my old wildness, hair everywhere as I danced away, and with my protection I felt able to relax my vigil enough to have a few drinks. I was struggling through the crowd to the bar when a hand came down on my shoulder, and a voice called out “Sarah?”

I looked round, and up, and into a beard and hair speckled with grey and my heart skipped several beats.

“Tony?”