gropes the ground and swears.
Luke feels sick. He wants to go home. He would go home but he’s boarding tonight, and if the house master catches him in this state he’ll be in detention for a month.
And anyway, the field is spinning and he doesn’t think he can stand.
‘You like?’ the girl asks them.
The other two applaud but Luke can’t even nod his head. He doesn’t like, not at all.
That night had started the same as any other. With prep finished and Mr Philips dealing with one of the homesick new boys, Luke and his friends sneaked out of school to mooch around the village. They pledged how different their lives would be when they could drive.
Charlie’s the eldest and is getting lessons for his seventeenth, but that’s not for over two months.
Luke should be next, but every time he mentions it his mum gives him the look and talks about how many young people die in road accidents.
Tom is the youngest of the group but will probably still be first to pass his test. His dad already lets him drive an old Jeep across their land.
They wandered down to the off-licence. Luke didn’t know why they bothered because Mrs Singh knows they’re all from the boarding school and under age. Tom called her a ‘fucking Paki’ and knocked over a rack of crisps. Luke hates it when Tom does stuff like that.
They finally dragged Tom out with Mrs Singh threatening to call the police, and there was the girl, leaning against the Post Office window opposite. She was one of that lot from the hostel. You could tell by the way she dressed, the way she wore her hair. And she stood like they all do, hunched in on herself, as if trying to disappear.
‘Hey you,’ Tom shouted.
She looked startled at being spoken to and was about to move on when Tom dashed across the street and caught her arm.
‘Do you want to earn some money?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer, her face a blank canvas.
‘Money,’ he repeated, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as if she were deaf or an imbecile. So they paid her five quid to get them some bottles of cider and headed to the park.
It was built for the local kids but they’re all at home on their Nintendos. Only the boarders use it when they manage to slip out of evening prep. It’s cold and deserted, but at least they can get pissed in peace.
Luke doesn’t know why the girl came with them. Maybe she liked the look of Charlie, who’s tall and dark—all the girls fancy him. Or maybe Tom talked her into it. He’s ginger and has a big gap in his front teeth, but he has a way of getting people to do what he wants. ‘Leadership qualities’ his mum calls it.
Either way, she sat on the swings and shared their booze. She barely said a word, except that her name was Anna. Luke thought she was very pretty in a weird sort of way.
When she started dancing you could tell she didn’t really know what she was doing, that she was drunk. He should have told her to sit down. Why hadn’t he told her to sit down?
Now things are going pear-shaped. Tom has managed to pull Anna onto the floor. She’s still laughing but trying to push him away.
‘No no no,’ she says.
Tom mimics her accent. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’
She tries to push him away but she’s not very strong, and Tom’s the captain of the rugby first eleven. Luke notices how tiny she is and Tom easily holds the sticks of her arms above her head. Her sweater has ridden up and Luke can see her ribs protruding through her skin.
‘Come on, Tom, leave her alone,’ he says.
Tom’s breath comes in hard pants. ‘Fuck off.’ His forehead is greasy with sweat and the unmistakable bulge of Tom’s cock pushes against his trouser leg.
Luke feels the acid burn of bile in his throat and tries not to retch.
The girl struggles to free herself.
‘Give me a hand, Charlie,’ says Tom.
Charlie seems unsure and hovers above them.
‘Hold her arms,’ Tom grunts.
When Charlie still doesn’t move, Tom snarls at him.
‘Hold her fucking arms, you queer.’
Charlie steals a glance in Luke’s direction. He’s terrified of what’s about to happen, but more terrified of defying Tom. Luke wills him to walk away, to make a joke out of the whole thing. He doesn’t. He kneels above Anna’s head and presses firmly on her wrists.
Luke realises now that she is screaming. The air shatters around him.
Tom clamps one hand over her mouth and uses the other to pull at his flies. Luke tries to get to his feet to help the girl but falls sideways and ends up flapping like a fish in a net.
Tom laughs. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn, Lukey boy.’ He thrusts his hips forward and Anna’s eyes shoot open. He knows he has to do something. Anything. So why doesn’t he move? Why is he still lying on the hard autumn ground? He closes his eyes, disgusted at himself and wishes for tomorrow morning.
The sky outside the office was clear and welcoming. The pale October sun attempted to make its presence felt and Lilly longed to take her lunchtime walk. She’d instituted a daily turn around Harpenden Park after a four-week contested divorce case that had frazzled her mind. She found that the fresh air calmed her, and it stopped her from wolfing more than a sandwich for lunch.
She turned her gaze from the window back to her client and sighed. Mr Maxwell was so absorbed in his story he had failed to notice his solicitor’s evident lack of interest.
‘I simply cannot justify another penny,’ he said. ‘And I cannot see why she should be allowed to sit at home all day while I work my socks off.’
Lilly wondered why a man with such a profound lisp would choose so many words beginning with ‘s’, and pretended not to notice the spittle that was accumulating on his tie.
‘She has three children to care for,’ said Lilly, ‘and they are your children.’
‘We have an au pair for them.’ He fixed Lilly with eyes that bulged like marbles in an otherwise flat face. ‘You have a child, Miss Valentine, yet you seem to manage to work without too much trouble.’
Lilly thought of her ridiculously complicated child-care routine, involving her ex-husband, friends, and anyone prepared to offer a lift to school.
‘What do you think she could do to earn some money?’ Lilly asked.
Mr Maxwell gave a dismissive shrug. ‘She used to be a model.’
Lilly tried to hide her shock. What beautiful woman would go for this unappealing specimen of manhood? Mr Maxwell gave a tree-frog blink. The sort who would be happy to sit on her bony arse all day and count his money was the obvious answer.
‘As galling as it seems, Mr Maxwell, the court has ordered you to pay maintenance to your wife and children,’ said Lilly.
‘Ex-wife.’
Lilly nodded. ‘So you will have to pay.’
Mr Maxwell shuffled his whinging backside out of Lilly’s office, his eyes pulsating.
As he left the building she watched him limp up the road. Lisp, blinking eyes, a limp—maybe she was being too harsh on the poor man. Then a blonde bounced towards him, her plastic breasts fighting to escape. She covered his bald head in tiny kisses and squealed.
Mrs Maxwell Mark Two was waiting in